The Wandering Jew — Complete
little bit; what can it matter to you?"
So saying, Rose-Pompon, with a perfectly simple, though too familiar,
gesture, took hold of Adrienne's hand, as if to enforce her request. It
had required great self-command in Mdlle. de Cardoville to repress the
rush of joy that was mounting from her heart to her lips, to check the
torrent of questions which she burned to address to Rose-Pompon, and to
restrain the sweet tears of happiness that for some seconds had trembled
in her eyes; and, strangely enough, when Rose-Pompon took her hand,
Adrienne, instead of withdrawing it, pressed the offered hand almost
affectionately, and led her towards the window, as if to examine her
sweet face more attentively.
On entering the room, the grisette had thrown her bonnet and shawl down
upon the bed, so that Adrienne could admire the thick and silky masses
of light hair that crowned the fresh face of the charming girl, with
its firm, rosy cheeks, its mouth as red as a cherry, and its large blue
laughing eyes; and, thanks to the somewhat scanty dress of Rose-Pompon,
Adrienne could fully appreciate the various graces of her nymph-like
figure. Strange as it may appear, Adrienne was delighted at finding
the girl still prettier than she had at first imagined. The stoical
indifference of Djalma to so attractive a creature was the best proof of
the sincerity of the passion by which he was actuated.
Having taken the hand of Adrienne, Rose-Pompon was herself confused and
surprised at the kindness with which Mdlle. de Cardoville permitted
this familiarity. Emboldened by this indulgence, and by the silence of
Adrienne, who for some moments had been contemplating her with almost
grateful benevolence, the grisette resumed: "Oh, you will not refuse,
madame? You will take pity on this poor prince?"
We cannot tell how Adrienne would have answered this indiscreet question
of Rose-Pompon, for suddenly a loud, wild, shrill, piercing sound,
evidently intended to imitate the crowing of a cock, was heard close to
the door of the room.
Adrienne started in alarm; but the countenance of Rose Pompon, just now
so sad, brightened up joyously at this signal, and, clapping her hands
she exclaimed, "It is Philemon!"
"What--who?" said Adrienne, hastily.
"My lover; oh, the monster! he must have come upstairs on tiptoe, to
take me by surprise with his crowing. Just like him!"
A second cock-a-doodle-doo, still louder than the first, was heard close
to the door. "What a stupid, droll creature it is! Always the same joke,
and yet it always amuses me," said Rose-Pompon.
And drying her tears with the back of her hand, she began to laugh
like one bewitched at Philemon's jest, which, though well known to her,
always seemed new and agreeable.
"Do not open the door," whispered Adrienne, much embarrassed; "do not
answer, I beg of you."
"Though the door is bolted, the key is on the outside; Philemon can see
that there is some one at home."
"No matter--do not let him in."
"But, madame, he lives here; the room belongs to him."
In fact, Philemon, probably growing tired of the little effect produced
by his two ornithological imitations, turned the key in the lock, and
finding himself unable to open the door, said in a deep bass voice:
"What, dearest puss, have you shut yourself in? Are you praying Saint
Flambard for the return of Philly?" (short for Philemon.)
Adrienne, not coshing to increase, by prolonging it, the awkwardness of
this ridiculous situation, went straight to the door and opened it,
to the great surprise of Philemon, who recoiled two or three steps.
Notwithstanding the annoyance of this incident, Mdlle. de Cardoville
could not help smiling at sight of Rose-Pompon's lover, and of the
articles he carried in his hand or under his arm.
Philemon was a tall fellow, with dark hair and a very fresh color, and,
being just arrived from a journey, he wore a white cap; his thick, black
beard flowed down on his sky-blue waistcoat; and a short olive-colored
velvet shooting-coat, with extravagantly large plaid trousers, completed
his costume. As for the accessories which had provoked a smile from
Adrienne, they consisted: first, of a portmanteau tucked under his arm,
with the head and neck of a goose protruding from it; secondly, of a
cage held in his hand, with an enormous white rabbit all alive within
it.
"Oh! the darling white rabbit! what pretty red eyes!" Such, it must be
confessed, was the first exclamation of Rose-Pompon, though Philemon,
to whom it was not addressed, had returned after a long absence; but the
student far from being shocked at seeing himself thus sacrificed to his
long-earned companion, smiled complacently, rejoicing at the success of
his attempt to please his mistress.
All this passed very rapidly. While Rose-Pompon, kneeling before the
cage, was still occupied with her admiration of the rabbit, Philemon,
struck with the lofty air of Mdlle. de Cardoville, raised his hand to
his cap, and bowed respectfully as he made way for her to pass. Adrienne
returned his salutation with politeness, full of grace and dignity, and,
lightly descending the stairs, soon disappeared. Dazzled by her beauty,
as well as impressed with her noble and lofty bearing, and curious
to know how in the world Rose-Pompon had fallen in with such an
acquaintance, Philemon said to her, in his amorous jargon: "Dearest
puss! tell her Philly who is that fine lady?"
"One of my school-fellows, you great satyr!" said Rose-Pompon, still
playing with the rabbit.
Then, glancing at a box, which Philemon deposited close to the cage and
the portmanteau, she added: "I'll wager anything you have brought me
some more preserves!"
"Philly has brought something better to his dear puss," said the
student, imprinting two vigorous kisses on the rosy cheeks of
Rose-Pompon, who had at length, consented to stand up; "Philly has
brought her his heart."
"Fudge!" said the grisette, delicately placing the thumb of her left
hand on the tip of her nose, and opening the fingers, which she slightly
moved to and fro. Philemon answered this provocation by putting his arm
around her waist; and then the happy pair shut their door.
CHAPTER XXXVII. SOOTHING WORDS.
During the interview of Adrienne with Rose-Pompon a touching scene took
place between Agricola and Mother Bunch, who had been much surprised
at Mdlle. de Cardoville's condescension with regard to the grisette.
Immediately after the departure of Adrienne, Agricola had knelt down
beside Mother Bunch, and said to her, with profound emotion: "We are
alone, and I can at length tell you what weighs upon my heart. This act
is too cruel--to die of misery and despair, and not to send to me for
assistance."
"Listen to me, Agricola--"
"No, there is no excuse for this. What! we called each other by the
names of brother and sister, and for fifteen years gave every proof of
sincere affection--and, when the day of misfortune comes, you quit life
without caring for those you must leave behind--without considering that
to kill yourself is to tell them they are indifferent to you!"
"Forgive me, Agricola! it is true. I had never thought of that," said
the workgirl, casting down her eyes; "but poverty--want of work--"
"Misery! want of work! and was I not here?"
"And despair!"
"But why despair? This generous young lady had received you in her
house; she knew your worth, and treated you as her friend--and just at
the moment when you had every chance of happiness, you leave the house
abruptly, and we remain in the most horrible anxiety on your account."
"I feared--to be--to be a burden to my benefactress," stammered she.
"You a burden to Mdlle. de Cardoville, that is so rich and good!"
"I feared to be indiscreet," said the sewing-girl, more and more
embarrassed.
Instead of answering his adopted sister, Agricola remained silent, and
contemplated her for some moments with an undefinable expression; then
he exclaimed suddenly, as if replying to a question put by himself: "She
will forgive me for disobeying her.--I am sure of it."
He next turned towards Mother Bunch, who was looking at him in
astonishment, and said to her in a voice of emotion: "I am too frank
to keep up this deception. I am reproaching you--blaming you--and my
thoughts are quite different."
"How so, Agricola?"
"My heart aches, when I think of the evil I have done you."
"I do not understand you, my friend; you have never done me any evil."
"What! never? even in little things? when, for instance, yielding to a
detestable habit, I, who loved and respected you as my sister, insulted
you a hundred times a day?"
"Insulted me!"
"Yes--when I gave you an odious and ridiculous nickname, instead of
calling you properly."
At these words, Mother Bunch looked at the smith in the utmost alarm,
trembling lest he had discovered her painful secret, notwithstanding
the assurance she had received from Mdlle. de Cardoville. Yet she calmed
herself a little when she reflected, that Agricola might of himself have
thought of the humiliation inflicted on her by calling her Mother Bunch,
and she answered him with a forced smile. "Can you be grieved at so
small a thing? It was a habit, Agricola, from childhood. When did your
good and affectionate mother, who nevertheless loved me as her daughter,
ever call me anything else?"
"And did my mother consult you about my marriage, speak to you of the
rare beauty of my bride, beg you to come and see her, and study her
character, in the hope that the instinct of your affection for me would
warn you--if I made a bad choice? Did my mother have this cruelty?--No;
it was I, who thus pierced your heart!"
The fears of the hearer were again aroused; there could be but little
doubt that Agricola knew her secret. She felt herself sinking with
confusion; yet, making a last effort not to believe the discovery, she
murmured in a feeble voice: "True, Agricola! It was not your mother, but
yourself, who made me that request--and I was grateful to you for such a
mark of confidence."
"Grateful, my poor girl!" cried the smith, whilst his eyes filled
with tears; "no, it is not true. I pained you fearfully--I was
merciless--heaven knows, without being aware of it!"
"But," said the other, in a voice now almost unintelligible, "what makes
you think so?"
"Your love for me!" cried the smith, trembling with emotion, as he
clasped Mother Bunch in a brotherly embrace.
"Oh heaven!" murmured the unfortunate creature, as she covered her face
with her hands, "he knows all."
"Yes, I know all," resumed Agricola, with an expression of ineffable
tenderness and respect: "yes, I know all, and I will not have you blush
for a sentiment, which honors me, and of which I feel so justly proud.
Yes, I know all; and I say to myself with joy and pride, that the best,
the most noble heart in the world is mine--will be mine always. Come,
Magdalen; let us leave shame to evil passions. Raise your eyes, and look
at me! You know, if my countenance was ever false--if it ever reflected
a feigned emotion. Then look and tell me, if you cannot read in my
features, how proud I am, Magdalen, how justly proud of your love!"
Overwhelmed with grief and confusion, Mother Bunch had not dared to look
on Agricola; but his words expressed so deep a conviction, the tones of
his voice revealed so tender an emotion, that the poor creature felt her
shame gradually diminish, particularly when Agricola added, with rising
animation: "Be satisfied, my sweet, my noble Magdalen; I will be worthy
of this love. Believe me, it shall yet cause you as much happiness as it
has occasioned tears. Why should this love be a motive for estrangement,
confusion, fear? For what is love, in the sense in which it is held