Sister Anne Part 66

XXVIII

CHANCE BRINGS THEM TOGETHER

Frederic still loved his wife--perhaps with a less violent pa.s.sion than during the first month of their union; but the husband's facility of intercourse with his wife had not diminished his love, for he discovered new qualities, new virtues, in Constance every day. Beauty of feature fascinates, but does not suffice to enslave; happy the husband who finds in his wife attractions over which time has no power!

Constance was chargeable with but one fault--a very lamentable one when one cannot control it, but which she confined sedulously within her own breast. She was jealous; the very excess of her love for Frederic sometimes caused her a secret alarm. When he seemed dreamy and pensive, Constance became uneasy, and a mult.i.tude of apprehensions crowded into her mind. What could it be that engrossed her husband's thoughts, saddened him, and made him sigh?--for he still sighed sometimes. Before their marriage, she attributed to his love for her the melancholy that often darkened his brow. But now that they were united, now that they could give a free rein to their affection, and there was nothing to mar their happiness, why did Frederic continue to sigh? why was he sometimes preoccupied? That was what Constance asked herself, but the amiable girl was careful not to let her husband see what she felt; she would have been terribly distressed to display the slightest suspicion. Although jealous, she would not annoy her husband; she would continue to be as loving and sweet as always; and if she suffered, she would carefully conceal her suffering, in order not to distress him whom she loved better than her life.

After a year, their happiness was interrupted for a moment by the general's death. Monsieur de Valmont was beloved by all who knew him; he was very dear to his niece, to whom he had been as an affectionate and indulgent father. Her husband's love alone could comfort Constance in her profound grief for her uncle's death. Monsieur de Montreville mingled his regrets with her tears; he had lost a true friend; but in old age we often show more courage than in the springtime of life, in bearing the death of those who are dear to us. Is it because age makes us selfish? Is it because the heart, having become insensible to the flames of love, closes its doors to the transports of friends.h.i.+p; or is it rather because of the reflection that the separation cannot be for long, and that we shall soon join those whom we have lost?

Constance was her uncle's sole heir; the general was very rich, and owned a number of farms and estates in the provinces, with which Frederic wished to make himself familiar. So he had formed a plan of visiting their new possessions, and Constance was to remain at Paris, in order not to leave Monsieur de Montreville alone with his grief for the loss of his friend. But how could he make up his mind to leave his wife before her grief had begun to subside? As the visit of inspection was not urgent, Frederic postponed it from month to month; and Constance, who had not as yet been separated from her husband for a single day, could not decide to let him go.

Some time after the general's death, Frederic learned that Monsieur Menard, being frequently incapacitated by the gout, had lost all his pupils and was in very reduced circ.u.mstances. So he went to see his former tutor, and asked him to come to live with him.

"I need a prudent, clever man," he said, "to take charge of my affairs, overlook my stewards' accounts, and correspond with them. Be that man, my dear Menard. Remember that it is not as an employe, but as a friend that I ask you to come; and if heaven sends me children, you shall be to them what you were to their father."

Menard accepted gratefully, and he was installed under Frederic's roof, where Constance treated him with much consideration and affection; she loved the former tutor, because he was attached to her husband, and Menard, deeply touched by the young woman's attentions, often exclaimed, as he kissed her hand respectfully:

"Ah! madame, do have children! I will be their tutor, and they'll grow up like their excellent father, who was my pupil and who does me credit."

Constance smiled at that; doubtless she would have asked nothing better, but we do not always obtain what we desire.

Dubourg had not abandoned his friend.

"Come and see me whenever you please," Frederic had said to him; "your room will always be ready for you."

Dubourg made the most of that permission, not to quarter himself on Frederic in Paris, but to visit him at his country house. He was particularly apt to appear during the latter half of the quarter; for his income was paid quarterly, and he could never succeed in making it last more than six weeks; then he would take his meals at Frederic's, if he was in Paris, or would visit him in the country.

"Thanks to you, my friend," he would say, "with my sixteen hundred francs a year, I live as if I had twice that; I spend my income in six months, and you pay my expenses the other half of the year."

Dubourg's merry humor pleased Constance, and Frederic was always glad to see his friend, for he knew that he would never say a word to his wife that she ought not to hear, and that, despite his easy principles, he would look upon her as a sister. We can overlook some faults in the man who respects friends.h.i.+p. There are so many sincere, virtuous, high-minded friends, who take delight in sowing discord in families!

When Dubourg and Menard met at Frederic's board, which always happened toward the end of the quarter, the former tutor never failed to sing the praises of the couple who lived under his eyes.

"They are like Orpheus and Eurydice, Deucalion and Pyrrha, Philemon and Baucis, Pyramus and Thisbe!"

"Morbleu! yes," Dubourg would reply; "Frederic has a charming wife, who has every estimable quality--a perfect treasure, in short. It would be infernally strange if he were not content."

"True enough! But if I had not inculcated in my pupil excellent principles of virtue and morality, perhaps he wouldn't lead so decorous a life as he does, although loving his wife none the less. Peter the Great adored Catherine, but that didn't interfere with his having mistresses; many princes have had concubines; and I have known some excellent husbands who slept with their maid-servants, probably from a sense of owners.h.i.+p."

"Don't extol Frederic's virtue so highly, my dear Monsieur Menard! if he had had n.o.body but you to guide him----"

"Perhaps you would have done it better; for instance, when you travelled with us as Baron Potoski----"

"Hush, hush, Monsieur Menard! Let that journey be forgotten; there was nothing to choose between us. I trust that you have never spoken of that little adventure in the woods--that love affair of Frederic's--before Madame de Montreville?"

"Oh! what do you take me for? I am well aware that it would be a great mistake now: _non est hic locus_; and yet, Madame de Montreville could not take offence; anything that happened before her marriage doesn't concern her; she has too much good sense not to laugh at her husband's little escapades as a bachelor."

"Despite her good sense, there are some things a woman never likes to hear about; we should always avoid saying anything to make her think that another has possessed her husband's heart. Although when she marries a young man, a woman is well aware that he has already known love, she persuades herself that he has never loved anyone as dearly as he loves her; she desires to be the one who has inspired the most ardent pa.s.sion, and it is a great affliction to her to lose that illusion."

"I understand; it's like telling a cook that one has never eaten a better dish of macaroni."

"Precisely. You're an amazing fellow for similes. Besides, I believe that the young woman is capable of being jealous, she loves her husband so pa.s.sionately!"

"Indeed, I believe you are right. I noticed one day that she didn't seem in such good spirits as usual; I suppose that it was because her husband had amused himself for some time patting a cat."

"The devil take you and your cats! the idea of suspecting Constance of such folly!"

"Folly? Why, there are men who prefer their dog to their wives, just as there are women who prefer their canary to their husband. I don't refer to my pupil; but----"

"But has Madame de Montreville ever asked you, as she has me, whether Frederic has always been subject to fits of depression, of melancholy?"

"Yes, yes; I remember that only the other evening she said to me in an undertone: 'See how Frederic sighs! Do you know whether anything is troubling him? Can you guess the reason?'"

"Well! what was your answer?"

"Parbleu! I answered: 'I suppose it's because he has indigestion, madame; that interferes with the breathing; it is often the case.'--Since then, she hasn't asked me any questions on that subject."

"I can well believe it!"

Although Frederic was happy, he had not forgotten the dumb girl of the woods, and it was the thought of her that caused his frequent fits of abstraction. He longed to know Sister Anne's fate, but he dared not mention her to his father. The count had told him that he would take care of her, and Frederic knew that he could rely on his promise; but to have no idea where she was or what she was doing--not even to know whether she still loved him!--The ingrate dared to doubt it, for he had done all that he could to kill her love! Meanwhile, as his love for Constance became more calm and placid, the memory of Sister Anne obtruded itself more frequently upon his mind; a smile or a caress from his wife quickly made him forget the dumb girl, but a little later her image returned again; it would seem that the heart of man always craves memories or hopes.

For more than two years, Frederic had been Constance's husband. Their only sorrow was their failure to have children. Frederic longed for a son, Constance would have been overjoyed to present her husband with a pledge of her affection, and Monsieur Menard ardently desired the arrival of some little pupils.

The Comte de Montreville did not live with his children; but he came often to their house; he still had in his service the man who was with him when he was attacked in the forest, and whom he had forbidden to mention that adventure. But one evening, when he was talking with the other servants, he forgot his master's injunction; and as the others told stories about robbers, he did not fail to tell of the risk he had run in company with monsieur le comte, who had been saved, almost miraculously, by a young dumb woman. Frederic's valet was present; and the next day, while dressing his master, he asked him if what Dumont had said was true; because he believed that Dumont was a liar, and that monsieur le comte had never mentioned being attacked by robbers and saved by a dumb woman.

These last words attracted Frederic's attention; a secret presentiment told him that Sister Anne was concerned in the adventure. He made no reply to his servant, but hastened to his father's house. The count was absent, but Dumont was there; Frederic was able to speak to him alone, which was just what he desired. At his first question, Dumont blushed, remembering his master's orders; but it was too late for him to keep silent. Moreover, it did not seem to him that he was committing any great sin in telling his master's son the whole story, and he could not understand why Monsieur de Montreville wished to make a mystery of the adventure.

Frederic made him describe the girl his father had taken to the farm; from the beginning, he had no doubt that it was Sister Anne. He asked Dumont innumerable questions, and the valet told him all that he knew.

"Do you think that she remained at the farm?" Frederic asked.

"Oh! yes, monsieur; she wasn't well enough to continue her journey; and then, I forgot to tell you that she was on the point of becoming a mother."

"What do you say, Dumont?--that girl----"

"Girl or wife, I don't know which; but I can swear she was enceinte."

Sister Anne had a child! Frederic understood now why his father had acted with so much mystery. He inquired particularly as to the name of the village and the location of the farm at which they had left the dumb girl; then, giving Dumont a handsome present, he enjoined upon him absolute secrecy concerning their interview. Dumont promised not to mention the subject again, and lost himself in conjectures touching the conduct of father and son alike.

After Frederic had learned that Sister Anne had made him a father, he did not enjoy a moment's repose. The thought haunted him incessantly, and he was consumed by the desire to see his child. His reveries were more frequent, his brow was clouded more often than ever before, and Constance heard him sigh. She dared not question him; but she suffered torments in secret; she flattered herself that she filled Frederic's heart, that she was the sole object of all his thoughts; but she was always near him, she held his hand in hers, and it could not be she who made him sigh.

When she ventured to ask him what the matter was, he strove to recover himself, pressed her to his heart, and said:

"What more can I possibly desire?"