Chapter XLI

About three weeks had elapsed since the death of M. Bastien had been announced.

So many violent and contrary emotions had complicated Marie's disease, and rendered it still more dangerous. For two days her condition had been almost desperate, then by degrees it improved, thanks to the skill of Doctor Dufour and the ineffable hope from which the young woman drew enough force, enough desire to live, to combat death.

At the end of a few days the convalescence of Marie began, and although this convalescence was necessarily tedious and demanded the most careful attention, for fear of a relapse more to be dreaded than the disease itself, all alarm had ceased.

Is it necessary to say that since the announcement of the death of M. Bastien, David and Marie had not uttered one word which made allusion to their secret and assured hopes?

These two pure souls had the exquisite bashfulness of happiness, and although the death of Jacques Bastien could not be regretted, David and Marie respected religiously his ashes, which were scarcely cold, however unworthy of respect the man had been.

The illness of Madame Bastien, and the fears entertained so many days for her life, produced a sincere sorrow in the country, and her recovery a universal joy; these testimonials of touching sympathy, addressed as much to Frederick as to his mother, and the consciousness of a future which had, so to speak, no fault save that of being too bright, confirmed and hastened the convalescence of Marie, who, at the end of three weeks, felt only an excessive weakness which prevented her leaving her chamber.

As soon as her condition was no longer critical, she desired Frederick to undertake the studies planned for him by David, and to receive a part of them in her apartment, and she experienced an indescribable delight in seeing, united under her eyes, those two beings so much loved, and from whom she had so dreaded to be separated. Her presence at these lessons gave her a thousand joys. First the tender, enlightened interest of David, then the indomitable enthusiasm of the young man, who longed for a glorious, illustrious destiny, that he might be the pride and joy of his mother, and satisfy his ambitious envy, whose purified flame burned within him more than ever.

It had been decided by common consent that Frederick should first enter the Polytechnic School, and that from there, according to his inclination, he should follow one of those numerous careers opened to him by this encyclopaedical school,--war, the navy, art, letters, or science.

These few words will give an insight, somewhat incomplete, into the ideal felicity in which these three tender and noble creatures lived from the moment that Marie's condition ceased to inspire fear; a felicity altogether new to all, since, even in the happy days which followed Frederick's recovery, the coming of M. Bastien, often forgotten, yet always imminent, would appear on their bright horizon like a threatening cloud.

At this time, on the contrary, as far as the view of Marie and David and Frederick could extend, they beheld an azure sky of such serene splendour that its almost limitless magnificence sometimes dazzled them.

* * * * *

Three weeks had elapsed since the announcement of the death of M. Bastien.

Two o'clock had just sounded, and Frederick, assisted by Marguerite and old Andre, was filling the vases on the chimneypiece in the library with snowdrops, pale Bengal roses, winter heliotropes, and holly branches, ornamented with their coral berries. In the middle of the mantel, a portrait of Frederick, an admirable likeness done in pastel by David, was placed on an easel; a bright fire burned in the chimney, and on a table were preparations for a simple and rustic collation.

The three accomplices, as they were jestingly called, who presided at the preparations for this little festivity, or, in a word, this surprise party, were walking about on tiptoe and whispering, for fear Madame Bastien might suspect what was taking place. That day, for the first time since her illness, the young woman was to come out of her chamber and remain several hours in the library. Frederick also, and the two old servants, tried to give an air of mirth to this room, and David, without Marie's knowledge, was busy with Frederick's portrait, which she was to see that day for the first time.

During the mysterious coming and going, Marie was alone in her chamber with David.

The young woman clothed in mourning, half recumbent on a sick-chair, with silent happiness contemplated David, seated at a work-table and occupied in correcting one of Frederick's exercises.

Suddenly David, pursuing his reading, said, in a low voice:

"It is incomprehensible!"

"What is incomprehensible, M. David?"

"The really remarkable progress of this child, madame. We have been studying geometry only three weeks, and his aptitude for the exact sciences develops with the same rapidity as his other faculties."

"If I must tell you, M. David, this aptitude in Frederick astonishes me; it seems to me that those studies which require imagination and sentiment are what he would prefer."

"And that, madame, is what surprises and charms me. In this dear child everything obeys the same impulse, everything develops visibly, and nothing is injured. I read to you yesterday his last efforts, which were really eloquent, really beautiful."

"The fact is, M. David, that there is a striking difference between this last production and the best things he wrote before this terrible malady, which, thanks to you will lead to Frederick's regeneration. All that I now dread for him is excess of work."

"And for that reason, I moderate, as much as I can, his eagerness to learn, his impatient and jealous enthusiasm, his passionate longing for the future which he wishes to make illustrious and glorious, and that future will be his."

"Ah, M. David, what joy, what transport for us, if our anticipations are realised!"

It is impossible to reproduce the tenderness Marie expressed in those words, "we--our anticipations," which in themselves revealed the secret projects for happiness, tacitly formed by Marie and David.

The latter continued:

"Believe me, madame, we will see him great in heart and in intellect. There is in him an extraordinary energy, which has developed twofold through this dreaded envy which has so much alarmed us."

"Indeed, on yesterday, M. David, he said to me, cheerfully:

"'Mother, now when I see the castle of Pont Brillant rising in the distance,--that once made me so unhappy,--I throw upon it only a glance of friendly regard and defiance.'"

"And you will see, madame, if, in eight or ten years, the name of Frederick Bastien will not resound more gloriously than that of the young marquis."

"I have the pride to share your hope, M. David. Guided by us, I do not know to what height my son may not attain."

"Then after a short silence Marie added:

"But do you know it all seems like a dream? When I think that it is scarcely two months ago, the evening of your arrival, you were there at that table, looking over Frederick's exercises, and deploring, like me, the veil which lay over the mind of this unhappy child."

"Do you recollect, madame, that gloomy, frozen silence, against which all our efforts proved unavailing?"

"And that might when, crazy with terror, I ran up-stairs to you, to beseech you not to abandon my son, as if you could have abandoned him."

"Say, madame, is there not a sort of charm in these painful memories, now that we are in perfect security and happiness?"

"Yes, there is a sad charm in them, but how much I prefer certain hopes! So, M. David, I will tell you that I have made many plans to-night."

"Let us hear them, madame."

"There is one, very foolish,--really impossible."

"So much the better, they are usually the most charming."

"When our Frederick enters the Polytechnic School, we must be separated from him. Oh, make yourself easy, I will be brave, on one condition."

"And what is that condition?"

"You are going to laugh at it, because it is so childish, perhaps ridiculous. Ah, well, I wish we could dwell near him. And if I must confess all to you, my desire would be to take lodgings opposite the school, if that is possible. Now you are going to laugh at me."

"I do not laugh at this idea at all, madame; I think it is an excellent one, because, thanks to this proximity, you will be able to see our dear boy twice a day, and, besides visits, there will be two long days when we will have him all to ourselves."

"Really," answered Marie, smiling, "you do not think I am too fond a mother?"

"My reply is very short, madame. As it is always necessary to provide for things in the distance, I am going to write to Paris to-day to a reliable person who will watch for a convenient lodging opposite the school and engage it for us."

"How good you are!"

"Very easy kindness, really, to share with you the joy of being near our dear boy."

Marie remained silent a moment; then tears of gratitude filled her eyes and she said, with inexpressible emotion, as she turned toward David:

"How sweet happiness is!"

And her tearful eyes sought and met the eyes of David; for a long time they gazed at each other in silent, divine ecstasy. The door of the chamber opened and Marguerite said to the preceptor, with an air at the same time joyous and mysterious:

"M. David, will you come, if you please?"

"And my son," asked Marie, "where is he?"

"M. Frederick is busy, madame, very busy," replied Marguerite, exchanging a glance of intelligence with the preceptor, who was going out of the door.

"If madame will permit it," said Marguerite, "I will stay with her, in case she may need something."

"Ah, Marguerite, Marguerite," said the young wife, smiling and shaking her head, "they are plotting something here."

"Why do you think that, madame?"

"Oh, I am very discerning! Since this morning, such goings and comings I have heard in the corridor, Frederick is absent during his study hour, and an unusual noise in the library; so you see--"

"I can assure you, madame, that--"

"Good! good! you are taking advantage of my condition," said Marie, smiling. "They all know that I cannot walk about and see myself what is happening out there."

"Oh, madame, what do you think?"

"Well, Marguerite, I think it is a surprise."

"A surprise, madame?"

"Come, my good Marguerite, tell me all about it, I beg you; then I shall be happier sooner, and so I shall be happier a longer time."

"Madame," said Marguerite, heroically, "that would be treason."

At that moment old Andre opened the door half-way, put his head in, looking very radiant and mysterious, and said to the servant:

"Marguerite, they want to know where is the thing that--that--"

"Ah, my God! he is going to say some foolishness; he never does anything else!" cried Marguerite, running to the door, where she conversed some moments with Andre in a low tone, after which she came back to her mistress, who said to her, smiling:

"Come, Marguerite, since you are relentless, I am going to see for myself."

"Madame, you think so? You are not able yet to walk after such an illness."

"Do not scold me, I submit; I will not spoil the surprise, but how impatient I am to know!"

The door of the library opened again.

It was David, Frederick, and Doctor Dufour.

Marguerite went away, after having whispered to Frederick:

"M. Frederick, when you hear me cough behind the door, all will be ready."

And the old servant went out.

At the sight of the doctor, Madame Bastien said, cheerfully:

"Oh, now that you are here, my good doctor, I do not doubt any longer that there is a conspiracy."

"A conspiracy?" answered Doctor Dufour, affecting astonishment, while David and Frederick exchanged a smile.

"Yes, yes," replied Marie. "A surprise they are preparing for me. But I warn you that surprises are very dangerous to poor invalids like me, and you had a great deal better tell me beforehand."

"All that I can tell you, my dear impatient and beautiful invalid, is that we have agreed that to-day is the day when you must make an attempt to walk alone for the first time, and that it is my duty, yes, madame, my duty to assist this exertion of your powers."

Scarcely had the doctor uttered these words, when they heard Marguerite cough with great affectation behind the door.

"Come, mother," said Frederick to his mother, tenderly, "have courage now, we are going to take a long walk in the house."

"Oh, I feel so strong that you will be astonished," replied Marie, smiling and trying to rise from her sick-chair, and succeeding with great difficulty, for she was very weak.

It was a beautiful and pathetic picture.

Marie, having risen, advanced with an uncertain step, David at her right, the doctor at her left, ready to sustain her if she fainted, while Frederick, in front of her, was slowly walking backward, holding out his arms, as one does to a child that is attempting his first steps.

"You see how strong I am!" said the young woman, stepping slowly toward her son, who smiled upon her with tenderness. "Where are you going to take me?"

"You are going to see, mother."

Frederick had scarcely uttered these words, when a fearful, terrible shriek sounded from behind the door.

It was Marguerite. Then the door opened suddenly, and a bantering, ringing voice said at the same time:

"Make a note of it! The big old fellow is living yet!"

Marie, who was opposite the door, uttered a terror-stricken cry and fell backward.

She saw her husband Jacques Bastien.