Part 51 (1/2)
The last letters which I had received from Ernest had seemed to me different from the first ones; the style was no longer the same, and I detected embarra.s.sment and reticence in them. In the last of all, I had noticed this sentence:
”There has been a great change here of late, my friend; you would not recognize the person from whom you fled. I dare not say more for fear of breaking my promise and being scolded. But come back soon, my dear Henri; your children long to see you and your friends to embrace you.”
My children--he persisted in saying my children. But I had only one. As for the change that he mentioned, what did it matter to me? Did he want to arouse my interest in that woman? No, I could not believe that. I did not mention the subject in my reply.
I was anxious, before returning to Paris, to see Auvergne, that mountainous and picturesque province, the Scotland of France, which those Frenchmen who rave over cliffs and glaciers and precipices would visit oftener if it were not so near them. We admire only what is at a distance; our only ambition is to see Scotland and Italy, and we do not give a thought to Auvergne, Bretagne, and Touraine.
I had visited Talende, with its lovely streams, La Roche Blanche, and the Puy-de-Dome. Sometimes, when I was enchanted by a beautiful spot, I would turn to Pettermann and say:
”What do you think of this?”
But Pettermann was no painter; I never detected any enthusiasm on his face; he would shake his head and reply coldly:
”It is very pretty; but prout! it doesn't come up to the views in Munich.”
Munich was his home. There was one man at least who honored his own country.
As we pa.s.sed near Mont-d'Or, I determined to go there to taste the waters, and to see the little town to which so many invalids and sightseers resort, and, generally speaking, those people who do not know what to do with their time.
I took rooms at the best hotel in the place. I found a large number of guests there; many foreigners, especially Englishmen, but many Frenchmen too, notably those _chevaliers d'industrie_, men with refined manners, who are seen in Paris at routs and large receptions, and who go to Mont-d'Or solely to gamble; for there is much gambling at those watering places; and often a traveller who arrives in a handsome carriage with liveried servants, goes away on foot and unattended, as a result of yielding to the pa.s.sion for play.
I did not play cards; but there were also dancing and musical parties.
Music no longer had any attractions for me, and the sound of a piano made me ill; I did not dance, either; so that I must needs try to pa.s.s my time in conversation. Among the visitors with whom I was thrown every day, I could not help noticing a young lady from Paris who seemed to be about twenty-five years old. She was pretty, and was too well aware of the fact, perhaps; but there was in her coquetry a flavor of frankness and amiability which seemed to say: ”I am a flirt but I can't help it; you must overlook my faults and take me as I am, for I shall never change.”
Her name was Caroline Derbin. At first I thought that she was married or a widow, for her manner and her decided tone did not suggest a _demoiselle_; she was unmarried, however; she was said to be rich and already in control of her property. Rich, pretty and still unmarried,--it was probable that it was her own choice.
She was with her uncle, one Monsieur Roquencourt; he was a little, thin man, about sixty years of age, but alert and jovial. His little eyes gleamed when he was ogling a lady. He was well-bred, gallant, and attentive to the fair s.e.x; a little inclined to loquacity; but we may well leave liberty of speech to those who have nothing else. Moreover, he was most devoted to his niece, whose lightest wish was law to him.
Although Caroline was coquettish and tried to attract, at all events she had neither the peevishness nor the affectation of a _pet.i.te-maitresse_.
One became acquainted with her very quickly, and was soon on most friendly terms with her. Did that unreserve speak in favor of her virtue and her principles? That was a question that I could not answer. I had determined not to judge by appearances again. Of what account to me were her coquetry and her heedlessness? I did not propose to marry her or to make love to her. Her company pleased and amused me, and that was enough.
Monsieur Roquencourt liked to talk, and I was a good listener; a talent, or patience, which is more rare than one would think. I soon became his favorite companion.
”Monsieur Dalbreuse,” he said to me on the day after my arrival at Mont-d'Or, ”just fancy that I had no idea of coming here to take the waters. In the first place, I am not sick; but it occurred to my niece that she would like to see Mont-d'Or, and crac! we had to start. I remember being at Plombieres thirty-five years ago, with the famous Lekain. Did you know Lekain?”
”No, monsieur.”
”Of course not, you were too young. I acted in Lekain's presence the part of Crispin, in _Les Folies Amoureuses_.”
”Ah! you have acted, have you?”
”Because I enjoyed it,--with amateurs. Oh! I was mad over acting. I had a complete wardrobe. I still have several costumes in Paris; I used to play the upper servants.”
”And your niece?”
”My niece? oh, no! she declares that she could not act well. As I was saying, I played before Lekain; it was a party hastily arranged at a contractor's country house. We had a pretty little theatre, on my word, and Mademoiselle Contat was there and acted with us. Did you know Mademoiselle Contat?”
”No, monsieur.”
”Ah! you haven't seen anything, monsieur! Such talent! such soul! and such a face! One day--I forget what play it was in; wait, I believe that it was _Tartufe_. No, it wasn't _Tartufe_.”