Chapter XII: A Visit to Isaure

Edouard rose with the dawn. He had no desire to pass another day roaming about the Château of La Roche-Noire, but he promised himself a much sweeter pleasure--he was determined to see the little goatherd again, to revisit the valley where Isaure lived; he had not forgotten the girl for an instant, and, although he had had less to say about her than his friend, he had certainly been more engrossed by thoughts of her. In love as in politics, those who talk little are more to be feared than chatterers.

Edouard went down into the courtyard, where he found the concierge and the gardener, entirely sober, awaiting their master’s waking to make their excuses to him. Paying no heed to those worthies’ assurances of repentance, Edouard left the château, crossed the green and inquired of the first person he met the shortest road to Chadrat. Then he started for that village, climbing the hills and mountains at a rapid pace. In an hour he covered the distance which had taken them twice as long on the preceding day. He soon recognized his surroundings; he saw the valley, the White House, and Isaure’s cottage. Not until then did he stop to take breath before going down into the valley at a more leisurely pace and looking all about.

He halted a few yards from the cottage, at which he gazed for some time, saying to himself:

"There, far from the world, she lives alone. She is as lovely as the angels are painted; she seems virtuous, and as artless as innocence itself! But it is impossible that she should not turn some mountaineer’s head ere long. They are afraid of her, the idiots! But the travellers, the people from the city who see her! It is unreasonable to leave that young girl thus exposed to innumerable perils.--But why should I worry about her? I have seen the child but once; I hardly spoke to her. Am I going to take fire at the first glance, like Alfred? Oh, no! I am more sensible. It would be shocking to try to seduce that sweet girl! But one may come to see her without instantly falling in love with her.--Let us see if she is at home."

Edouard walked to the cottage; but the door was closed, and only the yelping of Vaillant answered the young man, who was sorely disappointed not to find the girl at home. He remembered that she drove her goats to pasture on the neighboring mountain, and he walked in that direction. He soon discovered Isaure seated on a low mound, reading, while her goats cropped the grass nearby.

"These mountaineers are not altogether wrong," thought Edouard, as he watched from a distance the little goatherd, who had not seen him. "It is no common thing to see goatherds reading, and this girl expresses herself altogether too well to be confounded with the ordinary peasant. Someone must have taught her what the other young women in these mountains do not know; and that someone cannot have been either of the peasants who took care of her when she was a child. There is something very strange, mysterious, in everything connected with this girl--doubtless that is why she interests me. How pretty she is, leaning over her book, with her head resting on one of her hands! If I were a painter, how I should like to paint that picture!"

After contemplating her for several minutes more, Edouard approached Isaure. He walked softly in order not to disturb her; but he stumbled over a stone, and at the noise the girl turned quickly. She started in surprise when she discovered a young man near her; but he soon saw that she recognized him, and a faint smile came to her lips. She rose as Edouard drew nearer.

"Remain seated, pray; I do not mean to disturb you," said Edouard, walking to her side awkwardly enough; for we are often most awkward when we wish to appear least so. "I was taking a walk among the hills. I saw you, so I came this way.--But you were reading, were you not?"

"Yes, monsieur, I am very fond of reading!"

"That is a pleasure with which most of the people of these mountains are unacquainted, I fancy."

"True, monsieur; but I thank heaven that I know more than they do; for, as I am almost always alone, I rest myself with a book when I have been working hard."

"May I venture to ask what you are reading?"

"Why not, monsieur?"

Isaure handed Edouard her book, which proved to be a volume of Florian. He stared at the girl in surprise, then returned the book, saying:

"You certainly are not a village girl like the others."

"Because I can read?" rejoined Isaure, with a smile.

"Not that only; but your refined manners, your way of expressing yourself."

"I speak like other people, monsieur."

"Not like the people who live about you; the very choice of this book----"

"I did not choose it; it was given to me."

Edouard was on the point of asking: "By whom?" But he dared not; he checked the impulse because he felt that his acquaintance with Isaure was of too recent date to justify such a question. He was conscious of a certain dissatisfaction, and it occurred to him that if Robineau were there, he would say that the girl received a good many presents.

"Mon Dieu! perhaps you have not breakfasted, monsieur?" exclaimed the young goatherd suddenly. "Will you come to the house? I never thought of it!"

"No, no, I do not care for anything," said Edouard, detaining her; "I only wish to talk with you, if it doesn’t bore you."

"Bore me! far from it, monsieur! People talk with me so seldom! The shepherds drive their flocks as far as possible from mine, the shepherdesses avoid me, and yet I have never injured anybody; have I a wicked look, monsieur?"

"Oh, no! quite the opposite!" cried Edouard, on the point of taking her hand and squeezing it tenderly; but again he restrained himself.

"Since my dear mother’s death, I have noticed that people avoid me, that they hardly speak to me. At first that made me unhappy--it seemed very sad to be all alone in the world, at my age--but since I have had Vaillant, I am no longer alone. He loves me dearly, Vaillant does! He doesn’t turn away when I want to caress him!"

There was in Isaure’s tone and language a blending of innocence and charm, whose fascination it was hard to resist. It was the language of a well-educated girl with the ingenuous tone of a native of the mountains. As he listened to her Edouard felt that his suspicions faded away.

"You have no objection, then," he said, "to my coming sometimes to talk with you?"

"Whenever you please, monsieur. Do you live near?"

"Why--yes--at La Roche-Noire; within two short leagues."

"Two leagues! that seems a long way to me. I have never been beyond the tops of these hills."

"Have you never been to the next town? to Saint-Amand?"

"Oh! no, monsieur! I am strictly forbidden ever to leave my mountains."

"Who forbids you, pray, as you are all alone in the world, and have no relations?"

Isaure made no reply for some seconds; at last she said:

"It was my dear mother who forbade me."

"But now that she is no more--are you not at liberty to follow your own inclinations?"

"To be sure, monsieur; but I have no desire to go to the town. Why should I go there?--Oh, no! I shall never leave dear, kind André’s house, where my childhood was passed."

Edouard was silent for a moment. Isaure ran after one of her goats, which had strayed away; he watched her run lightly up the cliff, then seated himself near where she had been sitting and awaited her return. The beauty of the spot, the perfect peace that reigned among the mountains, which the sun was just beginning to bathe with light, the solitude which surrounded himself and the pretty shepherdess--everything coincided to suggest numberless thoughts to Edouard’s mind. He realized that his heart beat more violently than usual, that his breath came faster, that his imagination was perturbed by a longing for love, or rather for pleasure.

But Isaure returned; she ran up and seated herself beside him, saying with a smile: "Here I am at last!" And there was such perfect innocence, and trust in her action and in her glance, that Edouard blushed inwardly at the thoughts that had come to him; his brain became calm, his heart less agitated; and not until then did he dare to look at Isaure.

"My goats sometimes make me run quite a long way," continued the girl; "I know that I might take Vaillant with me, and that he would watch them; but someone must watch the house."

"Do none of your neighbors in the mountains ever come to chat with you, Isaure?"

"No, monsieur, never."

"And among all the travellers who pass through the valley, has there never been one who, like myself, has returned to the mountains to see you?"

"No, monsieur; but it very rarely happens that strangers come here, for the valley is not on any well-travelled route, and the mountaineers who act as guides to travellers always avoid passing the White House."

For a moment there was silence between the two young people. Edouard scrutinized the girl more closely; she watched her goats wandering about the hillside, and when from time to time she looked at Edouard, she smiled artlessly. It was not the smile of a coquette seeking to beguile, it was the smile of innocence which sees no peril in the pleasure to which it gives birth.

"I was told at Chadrat that reading is not your sole talent," said Edouard; "you sing also."

"Yes, monsieur, I often sing; I have nothing better to do! But I sing very badly, I imagine."

"Who can have taught you songs that are unknown in these mountains?"

A faint flush rose to Isaure’s cheeks as she replied, lowering her eyes:

"It was a traveller who stayed some time with us."

"When your mother was alive?"

"Oh! yes, monsieur!"

Edouard said no more; in spite of himself vague suspicions assailed his mind. To dissipate them he glanced at the girl, whose every feature was so instinct with innocence. After several minutes passed thus, he realized that he ought to return to the château, for he wished that his absence should not be noticed, or, at all events, to conceal the fact that he had been to Chadrat. So he rose and said to Isaure:

"I must leave you now."

"Already, monsieur?" said the girl ingenuously.

"What!" cried Edouard; "may I hope that my presence has given you some pleasure?"

"As I have told you, monsieur, I very seldom have an opportunity to talk with anyone here in the mountains."

"Oh! to be sure," said Edouard more coldly; "and that is the only reason?"

He interrupted himself, thinking:

"Well! one would suppose that I expected this girl to be in love with me already?--I preach at Alfred, and I am no better than he is."

"I will go down the mountain with you," said Isaure; "it is time for me to go home--my poor Vaillant must be tired."

She ran at once to collect her herd, and drove it toward the valley, skipping about and laughing heartily at every antic of her goats. Edouard followed her, saying to himself:

"Her heart is calm and undisturbed; this frank gayety, this sweet unrestraint show that her mind is not burdened with thoughts of love. Poor child! for her own good, I pray that she may never know that passion, which causes more sorrow than pleasure!"

Edouard sighed; something whispered to him that he would be very glad to make that sorrow and that pleasure known to Isaure.

They reached the cottage, Isaure opened her door, and her dog ran out and leaped upon her; then he looked at Edouard and walked around him, but showed no temper.

"I believe that he recognizes you already," said the girl.

Edouard walked up to Vaillant and patted him a moment; the dog made no objection, but kept his eyes fixed on his mistress, as if to ask her whether the young man was a friend of hers.

"Good!" said Edouard, "I see that we shall be very good friends before long.--Adieu, charming Isaure! until to-morrow morning."

"Until to-morrow, Monsieur--Pardon me, but I do not know your name."

"My name is Edouard."

"Very well; until to-morrow, Monsieur Edouard, as you will not rest a moment under my roof to-day."

As she spoke, the girl curtsied gracefully to Edouard, then entered the house singing. The young man retraced his steps to La Roche-Noire, dreaming of the little goatherd.

"She is charming!" he said to himself again and again; "her manners, her voice, her artlessness--all are fascinating!--Oh! I am not going to fall in love with her--that would be foolish; but she is so interesting that I wish it were to-morrow morning already.--I won’t tell Alfred that I have been to see her; he would be quite capable of doing the same thing. Alfred is a reckless fellow; he would begin making love to the child at once. That would be an outrage, and I certainly would not permit it."

Poor Edouard! he did not propose to fall in love, and he was jealous already!--Ah! what is the sense of trying to resist a passion so natural at his age? Only when the age of reason comes must we be on our guard against love, which, like the smallpox, is the more virulent the later in life it attacks you.