Chapter XXXIX: Pure Love

For several days the Comte de Brevanne walked upon the boulevard where the pretty flower girl ordinarily stood, to no purpose. At last, after allowing three days to elapse without going to Paris, he went thither again, and as he drew near the Chateau d'Eau, he saw that Violette was once more in her place.

Violette did not notice the gentleman who approached her and halted in front of her flowers. But on raising her eyes and recognizing Georget's protector, the man who had treated her so harshly and turned her out of his house, the poor child shuddered and had not courage to utter a word.

"Yes, it is I, mademoiselle," said the count, imparting to his voice its mildest intonation; "I frighten you, I see; you lower your eyes in order not to meet mine. Oh! do not be afraid; you would not read in them any trace of anger, but rather an expression of sorrow; for I behaved very badly toward you, poor girl! But at that time cruel memories led my reason astray; since then I have realized how unjust, how cruel I was to you, when you came to ask for aid and protection; and so, on the day after that scene, I came here to ask your pardon."

"Pardon! pardon!" murmured Violette, not daring as yet to believe what she had heard, and timidly raising her eyes to Monsieur de Brevanne's face. "Ah! is it possible, monsieur? Then you no longer despise me?"

"I have never despised you, my child; I simply vented upon you a fit of anger which never should have touched you; for you are not the guilty one.--Once more, are you willing to forget my injustice? Are you willing to forgive me?"

"Oh! with all my heart, monsieur; I have never been angry with you, but it made me very unhappy."

"Have you been sick, that you have not been here selling your flowers?"

"Yes, monsieur, I have been sick; but only for a week; it is all over now, and I have forgotten about it."

"But you are still pale and changed."

"It is the result of the fever; but I feel better, and now, monsieur, that you have told me that you are not angry with me any more, why, I feel perfectly well; it seems to me that my strength has come back to me, and that my health is as it was."

"I am glad to hear that, for your absence from this place worried me a great deal; and if I had known where you lived, I should have gone to inquire for you."

"And--and--is he still with you, monsieur?"

"He? You mean Georget, do you not?"

"Yes, monsieur, Georget."

"To be sure; but he didn't come with me; I left him at Nogent. I must also confess to you, my child, that I didn't tell him that you had been to Nogent; after what happened, I knew that I should simply make him unhappy; and before telling him anything, I wished to see you again."

"You did well, monsieur."

"However, as the winter is approaching, we shall return to Paris in a few days."

"Will he come back with you?"

"Yes, I shall bring him with me; I shall find work for him here; he is an intelligent fellow and he writes well--it would be a pity to have him continue as a messenger."

"And you will return soon, monsieur?"

"Yes, and then I expect to see you again; you will not be afraid to come to my house? you won't bear me a grudge?"

"No, no, monsieur, I shall be at your service."

"I still have a--a certain handkerchief of yours; I am keeping it as a sacred trust; but do not fear, I will return it whenever it is likely to be of any use to you."

"Oh! I don't want it, monsieur. You know better than I if I can--if I ought to hope to find my parents some day. But no, I probably shall never find them, and I had better give up thinking about them, hadn't I, monsieur?"

"You must come to see me in Paris; I shall probably return next week. Georget will let you know."

"Georget! do you think he will speak to me?"

"I think that he will ask nothing better; for he has been very unhappy about not coming to Paris these last few days, the poor boy!"

"Oh! how kind you are to tell me that, monsieur!"

And tears of joy glistened in the pretty flower girl's eyes. The count, with a friendly nod, walked away, bidding her au revoir, and leaving in the girl's heart so much joy and happiness that there was no room there for the memory of her past sorrow.

While these things were taking place in Paris, Chicotin, seeing that Violette had recovered her health, had started early in the morning, on foot, for Nogent, in order to tell Georget all that had happened to the young flower girl.

Chicotin had found his former comrade walking sadly back and forth on the lawn in front of the count's house, gazing with a melancholy air at the Paris road, by which Monsieur de Brevanne had departed, without bidding him accompany him, and wondering why he went to Paris so often.

At sight of his friend, Georget uttered a joyful exclamation and threw himself into Chicotin's arms; whereupon the latter, without stopping to rest or to take breath, proceeded to tell his comrade all that had happened to Violette,--her journey to Nogent, her despair, her illness, and finally her recovery.

It would be difficult to describe Georget's state during this narrative; listening intently, choking with grief, weeping and uttering cries of joy in turn, he exclaimed:

"She is not guilty! what joy! poor girl, turned away, determined to die! Oh! mon Dieu! I should have died too!"

He hardly gave his friend time to finish his story; he leaped on his neck, embraced him, kissed him again and again, stammering in a voice broken by sobs:

"It was you who saved her; it was due to you that she did not throw herself into the canal, where she would have died; for so late at night no one would have seen her, no one would have taken her out of the water! Ah! I love you almost as much as I do her; I pray for only one thing, and that is, that I may be able to prove my gratitude some day!"

"Well, well! what a silly fellow! here's a lot of talk for the simplest kind of an action: a man sees a girl trying to kill herself, and prevents her--I should like to know if that thing isn't done every day; any boy in the street would do as much."

"So it was really she who came here! My heart guessed it, but that cruel man deceived me; he told me that it wasn't she, because he had made her cry and had turned her out of the house with harsh words! Oh! that was shameful, and I will not stay any longer in a house where Violette received such an affront. Wait here for me, Chicotin."

"What are you going to do?"

"Pack up my things, and I'll go away with you; my mother will come after us."

"Bah! more nonsense! what does this mean? You mean to leave a man who has never been anything but kind to you, in such a way as this, without even saying good-bye to him? A man who, when your mother was sick and you hadn't a sou, gave you all that you needed to take care of her; a man who has taken you into his family, with your mother, and quartered you in this little chateau, where you are living like pigs in clover--you yourself said so? Well! that would be pretty! and you talk of gratitude, and this is the way you propose to treat your protector!"

"What difference does it make what he has done for me? He made Violette so unhappy by turning her out of this house that she wanted to die, and that she would have died without you!"

"As if he could have guessed that! You must see that this gentleman must know Violette's parents, and that they have played some vile trick on him, and that there's some deviltry in all this that we don't know about."

"I don't care; I propose to go to Paris and ask her to forgive me for suspecting her."

"So far as that goes, you will do well; but that ain't any reason for leaving your protector, for behaving mean to him, and I don't propose----"

"Hush! here he is!'"

Monsieur de Brevanne had returned from Paris. He saw the two young men. He observed Georget's excitement and agitation, and, divining a part of the truth, he went at once to his protege, and asked him, pointing to Chicotin:

"Who is this young man?"

"He is a friend of mine, monsieur, an old comrade; he is Chicotin, whom I've mentioned to you once or twice."

"Ah! yes, I remember. What does he want?"

"He came, monsieur, to tell me that Violette tried to throw herself into the water, when she left this house after you had driven her away; for it was she, monsieur, it was really she who came here, and you told me that it wasn't.--Poor Violette! but for him she would not be alive, and I--my mother would not have any son!"

Georget burst into sobs. Chicotin twisted his face and mouth, and did his utmost not to weep with his friend. Monsieur de Brevanne, who was deeply moved himself, tapped Chicotin on the shoulder, saying to him:

"You are a fine fellow; I shall not forget it."

Chicotin took off his hat and passed the back of his hand over his nose and eyes.

"And you, Georget," continued the count, "you are very angry with me, aren't you? But your young friend Violette has made her peace with me; won't you do as she has done?"

"Violette! monsieur has seen Violette? Is it possible?"

"Yes, my dear boy, and to-day isn't the first time that I have tried to express to her my regret for what had taken place. On the very next day after her unfortunate journey, I went to Paris expressly to see her; but she was not in her place; you must have noticed that I went to Paris several days in succession."

"That is true, monsieur."

"It was always in the hope of meeting Violette; but I did not find her."

"Because she was sick, monsieur," cried Chicotin; "because she was confined to her bed with fever."

"I know it, my boy; she told me all that just now; but she is in her place to-day; and now she is not angry with me any more, and she hopes that you will not be angry with her, Georget; for I told her that you would go to see her; did I do right?"

Georget, who passed as quickly from wrath to affection as from sadness to joy, seized Monsieur de Brevanne's hand and squeezed it violently, crying:

"I was wrong to think that you were unkind, I ought to have known that it was impossible. Oh! let me go at once to see her, monsieur, to ask her pardon for thinking her guilty, to tell her that I have never ceased to love her."

"To-day? Why, it is quite late."

"It is only four o'clock, monsieur, and at six I shall be in Paris; at ten o'clock I will be back again. You will let me go, won't you, monsieur?"

"As I made you unhappy, I must make up for it."

"Ah, monsieur!"

"Go; I will tell your mother that I sent you to Paris on an errand; do not come back until to-morrow morning in order not to run the risk of being on the road so late."

"Oh! thanks, monsieur, thanks a thousand times!--Come, Chicotin, let us go."

"But I haven't had a chance to rest or to eat anything!" muttered the young messenger, making a wry face.

"Come, come; I'll treat you to supper."

"_Fichtre!_ the bill of fare will have to be long then."

"Here, my boy," said the count, putting a twenty-franc piece into Chicotin's hand; "here is something for your supper; I propose to treat you, for Georget is quite capable of starting off without any money."

"Thanks, monsieur, we will have a little spree, eh, Georget?--Why, where is he? Out on the road already! Bless my soul! he is capable of making me run all the way to Paris."

Georget was going at the speed of a Basque; Chicotin succeeded in overtaking him, however, and said as he trotted along beside him:

"We'll take a carriage at Vincennes. I have some money, for Monsieur Malberg gave me twenty francs; there's a fine man for you!"

"Why take a carriage? we can go faster on foot."

"Oh, no! not much! and even if we could, is it worth while to use ourselves up and arrive in Paris sick, or to be sick to-morrow? And besides, what hurry is there now? You are sure to find her,--she won't fly away."

"Ah! you are not in love, Chicotin! you don't know what it is to go back to the girl you love; and it seems to me that I have been away from her for years."

"Ah! there's a coucou.--I say, driver, two seats for Paris!"

"On the box, if that suits you?"

"I should say so; we adore the box."

The two friends mounted to the driver's seat. Each moment Georget was tempted to seize the whip and lash the horse, which did not go fast enough to suit him. The driver defended his horse and his whip, and Chicotin's hands were full in trying to keep peace on their seat. At last they arrived in Paris, and Georget said to his friend:

"Go to the wine-shop on the corner of Faubourg du Temple, and wait there for me; then we'll have supper. Au revoir."

And he disappeared like a flash from the eyes of his friend, who said to himself:

"Oh! run as much as you please now; I have no desire to follow you, for I don't propose to ruin my liver."

Georget was not at all anxious that his comrade should go with him to find Violette; when one has been parted for a long while from the girl he loves, when one has been at odds with her, one desires to see her again without witnesses; secrecy, aye, and silence, must preside at that interview, for one speaks with the eyes as much as with the voice, and any witness is a nuisance at such a blissful moment.

Georget drew near the Chateau d'Eau. It was flower market day, and although the weather was already a little cold, there were still enough people on the boulevard for the young man to approach without being seen by Violette. He spied her at last, but there were two ladies in front of her, selecting bouquets. So that he was fain to be content to look at her, to devour her with his eyes. He drew nearer and nearer, keeping behind her customers. Suddenly, as she raised her eyes, the young flower girl saw Georget standing like a statue and gazing at her as a repentant sinner gazes at a Madonna. Violette blushed and turned pale in quick succession. But her young friend's eyes were so expressive, they implored her forgiveness so eloquently, that the flower girl bestowed her sweetest glance upon him, and being unable as yet to speak to him, began to cover with kisses a small bunch of violets, which she then proceeded to drop on the ground, and which was almost instantly pressed against Georget's lips.

At last the customers went away, and Georget was able to approach.

"How happy I am to see you again, Violette! oh, how long the time has seemed to me while away from you!"

"And to me too, Georget."

"Ah! I suspected you, Violette, I accused you! I know that I was wrong; will you forgive me for thinking you guilty?"

"Yes, I forgive you, for appearances were against me; and even now you have only my word for a proof of my innocence."

"That is enough, and hereafter I want nothing else."

"But I should like right well to force the man who slandered me to tell the truth."

"Let us not talk of that now; I am so happy! I was dying of ennui away from you, dear Violette. If you knew how I love you!"

"Mon Dieu! Georget, I realized that I loved you too, since your desertion caused me so much pain and unhappiness."

"Dear Violette! what joy! you love me, you tell me so! there is no one on earth happier than I am."

"And I am very happy too."

"I am eighteen years old now, Violette, and I can marry you."

"We have time enough, my dear, now that we are sure that we love each other; can we want anything more?"

"We will be married, all the same; you will be my wife, won't you, Violette?"

"What a question! when I refuse to be anybody else's!"

"Ah! it is nice of you to say that!"

"But it is growing dark; it is late, Georget; will you help me to close my booth and carry my flowers away? As I have been sick and am not very strong yet, I must not stay out late."

"You are right, you mustn't endanger your health. Give me all the flowers, all the bunches you have left; I will carry them, and this tray and the chair."

"Oh, no! I can carry something myself, Georget."

"Give them all to me, I beg."

"No, monsieur, for then I shall look as if I were lazy."

The two young lovers soon had the booth closed. Then they walked toward Rue de Crussol, Georget never weary of gazing at Violette, and she always smiling at Georget.

"So you have changed your lodging, have you?"

"Yes, I live here now, right up at the top; but it is very pleasant; and then it is a very decent house. I have a little corner of the courtyard where I keep my flowers, near a pump; it is always cool there.--Good-night, Georget."

"What! are we going to part already?"

"You know very well that you can't come up to my room, Georget, you who are my sweetheart; that wouldn't be proper."

"Oh! I have no idea of asking you to let me do that, Violette; but suppose, after you have put your flowers in the yard, you would take a little walk with me on the boulevard; we have been together such a short time."

"All right, I will do it; but we mustn't walk long."

"A few minutes, that's all."

Violette went in to arrange her tray and her flowers; then she returned to Georget, passed her arm through his, and they walked away, talking together, looking at each other, pressing against each other, happier than the great ones of the earth, happier than the millionaires, happier than all those whom people envy; for true love and youth!--you would seek in vain to find anything superior to these.

Meanwhile the evening advanced, and the two lovers, who had not begun to weary of looking at each other, of squeezing each other's hands and of repeating that they would love each other forever, could not make up their minds to part. When Violette said: "I must go in," Georget replied: "Just a minute more." When he expressed a fear that she was cold, she reassured him by saying that the walk would do her good.

But Chicotin, who was not in love and who was dying of hunger, waited in vain for his friend to join him at the place he had appointed. Weary of waiting, Chicotin went to the flower market, but found no one there. Then he went to Violette's abode, and asked the concierge if the young flower girl had come home; and Madame Lamort informed him that, after putting her flowers in their place, she had gone out on the arm of a very young and comely man, saying that she would soon return.

Chicotin sat down on a carriage stone, muttering:

"For a convalescent, Mamzelle Violette is very imprudent, to walk about so long after dark."

"That's what I told them!" cried the concierge. "But as Mirontaine barked at that moment, I guess they didn't hear me."

Chicotin had been on sentry duty for half an hour, when Monsieur de Roncherolle, on his way to his room, spied him and said:

"What are you doing here, my boy?"

"I am waiting for my friend Georget, who is walking with Mamzelle Violette, bourgeois."

"Ah! so this Georget is----"

"The fellow who loves her so dearly, who suspected her of having gone wrong, and who came to-day to beg her pardon, because I went to Monsieur Malberg, your friend's, at Nogent, where he lives----"

"To Monsieur Malberg's; you mean the friend who came to see me on Rue de Bretagne?"

"Yes, bourgeois."

"And who was the cause of my moving!--Look you, Chicotin, if you take it into your head to mention me to your friend again, and to tell him that I live in this house, I warn you that I will pull your ears so that you can cover your nose with them!"

"Never fear, bourgeois; I won't mention you; I have no desire to force you to move again."

"You will do well."

"Ah! here are the lovers coming back at last!"

"Then I will go up to my room."

"And I am going to supper! I am not sorry for that."