Chapter XIV: Love Hurts Friendship

The wish to see Isaure again had made both of the young men early risers; Robineau was still sleeping soundly when Edouard left his room and stole softly down the stairs leading to the courtyard. He made as little noise as possible, for he was afraid of waking Alfred; indeed, he was afraid of meeting him; he did not suspect that this time the young baron had stolen a march on him, and that he had left the château half an hour before.

On reaching the courtyard Edouard was stopped by François, who dared not wake his master and did not know what answer to make to the workmen who applied to him for orders concerning different repairs. Edouard spent a moment examining the work, gave some instructions, and succeeded at last in ridding himself of them all. But François had no sooner left him than the gardener came toward him, and begged him to take a look at the improvements which he had planned in the garden. There was no way to get rid of Monsieur Vincent without doing what he wished. Edouard went into the garden, declared everything charming, admirable, delightful; and while the gardener was still talking, left him there and hurried back from the garden to the courtyard. There the concierge was awaiting him; Monsieur Cunette was not tipsy, but he had already breakfasted, and he was in a loquacious mood; he absolutely insisted upon showing Edouard the cellars of the château; he had the keys in his hand and had already lighted the lantern.

"I don’t want to see your cellars," said Edouard, pushing him aside, "show them to your master all you please, but I care nothing about making their acquaintance."

"Then monsieur must have changed his mind," said the concierge, putting the keys into his pocket.

"What do you mean by changed my mind?"

"Why, this morning your friend, Monsieur de Marcey, told us that you were determined to see the cellars, the gardens, and the works that were going on. He told us that we must show you everything."

"What! you have seen Alfred already? Where is he, pray?"

"Oh! he must be a long way off by this time if he is still going. To be sure, he took the big horse that was in the carriage yesterday, you know. Bless my soul! how he made him go!"

Edouard saw that it was Alfred who had set everybody upon him, to detain him in the château; he divined his motive, and his heart beat faster. Alfred had determined to arrange for himself a tête-à-tête with Isaure, and he had feared that Edouard might find him there. What could he have to say in secret to that girl? Edouard guessed only too well, and he would have gladly given all that he possessed to be at the White House at that moment.

"Is there no way to find another horse?" he asked the concierge who was blowing out his lantern.

"A horse--to put in the carriage?"

"Why, no, to ride."

"Ah, I see what it is; monsieur wishes to join his friend. You will have hard work, for he has a long start, and then, you see, he rode so fast!"

"I ask you for a horse."

"Let me see; there is Nicolas, he has his little mare, that’s lame. But never mind; she still has three legs that she works very handily."

"Go, fetch her for me! Here, take this money; but I beg you to make him hurry."

"So you really don’t want to see the cellars to-day?"

"No, no! for heaven’s sake, bring me a horse!"

The concierge hurried away, and Edouard paced the courtyard excitedly. He realized how difficult it would be for him to prevent Alfred from going to see Isaure without him; he had no right, no reason to be offended with him; and yet his heart sank and his brain was in a whirl at the thought that another than himself was with the pretty goatherd and that that other might be making love to her.

Cunette returned at last, with Nicolas’s mare, and Edouard jumped upon her back. As he was about to leave the château, Monsieur Férulus entered it, carrying under one arm a small bundle containing his effects, and under the other a score of volumes, tied together with a cord, with which he proposed to start the library of the château.

"In the saddle already, my dear confrère!" said Monsieur Férulus, stopping beside Edouard. "Oho! we are starting out very early in search of rhymes."

"‘Oh! you who, burning with an ardor danger-fraught,
Follow the thorny path of literature,
Go not--’"

"Stand aside, Monsieur Férulus, stand aside, I beg you! I am in a great hurry."

"I simply wanted to show you a very valuable book which I have under my arm. I found it among some old trash; it is a precious pearl for a scholar. But you must know it: _Aurum ex stercore Ennii_."

Edouard was not listening to Monsieur Férulus; he urged his horse, and left the scholar untying his books in the middle of the courtyard. Spurred on vigorously by her rider, Nicolas’s mare made very good speed. The more heated she became, the less she limped, and Edouard did not allow her to slacken her pace. The road soon became difficult for a horse; but they drew nearer the valley, and soon he would see Isaure’s abode; that thought calmed Edouard’s excitement a little. He longed to know how the girl had received Alfred, and if she had manifested more liking for him than for himself. But how was he to learn what they had said to each other? Suddenly he heard a noise; it was made by the big carriage horse, which was tied near at hand. Edouard at once dismounted, fastened his steed near Alfred’s, and then walked down into the valley, with a weight at his heart, thinking bitterly how short a time the happiness had endured which he had enjoyed in that spot only the day before.

When the young man was in the valley, he looked restlessly about in every direction; he had not yet discovered those whom he wished, and at the same time feared, to see. He went up on the hill where he had sat beside Isaure on the previous day; he found the spot that they had occupied; but the hill was deserted, the goatherd had not brought her flock thither. Therefore they must be in her cottage. Edouard, more agitated than ever, walked hastily toward the house, which on the day before he had not dared to enter, because it had seemed to him more proper not to enter her abode the first time he was with her. But Alfred evidently had not been so considerate. He was in the girl’s house, and perhaps had been there a long while.

Edouard soon reached the cottage; he ran to the door, which yielded to his touch, and entered abruptly. Isaure was seated and working, with Vaillant at her feet. A short distance away was Alfred, seated by a table on which was fruit which he had not touched, and his eyes were amorously fastened on the girl, who kept her own lowered.

At the noise which Edouard made on entering the room, she raised her head, and a pleased smile added to the beauty of her face. Vaillant walked around the young man without growling. But Alfred’s features contracted, and an angry expression gleamed in his eyes.

"I beg pardon!" said Edouard, stopping in the doorway; "I entered rather suddenly, but I came--I was looking----"

"Why all this beating about the bush?" said Alfred; "you came here in search of the mistress of this house, and you came in a great hurry because you suspected that I was with her."

Edouard made no reply, but Isaure rose and offered him a chair, saying with a charming grace:

"You will breakfast with me too, will you not?"

"With pleasure," said Edouard, "you invite me so graciously, that I cannot decline."

As he spoke he seated himself opposite Alfred, who thereupon decided to eat. Isaure, after bringing them the best that her garden afforded, returned to her work. She seemed less cheerful, less at her ease than usual. Edouard noticed it, but he dared not question her. Alfred looked at them both, and several moments passed in this mutual constraint, the two young men seeming eagerly intent upon watching each other. At last Alfred said to Edouard:

"Tell me why you did not confess the truth yesterday, when I asked you where you had been? Were you not at perfect liberty to come here if you chose? Why make a mystery of it with me? Had you promised anyone to keep it secret? At all events she has been more discreet than you."

"Since when have I been obliged to account to you for all my actions?" inquired Edouard angrily; "What difference does it make to you whether I came or did not come to this valley? A friend may receive our confidences, but he should not try to pry into what we choose to keep secret from him."

"A friend!" exclaimed Alfred sarcastically; "that name is as common as it is rarely deserved!"

"True enough! A man is no longer our friend when he seeks to open our eyes to the consequences of our passions, or to prevent us from doing some new foolish thing!"

"It is very fine to give advice to others, when one needs similar advice oneself!"

Again the young men were silent. Isaure looked from one to the other with amazement mingled with anxiety, but she dared not speak to them.

After a little time, Alfred burst out laughing as he looked at Edouard, and then exclaimed:

"Upon my word, my dear Edouard, we are like two great children! The idea of having a row, of being sulky with each other, just for a pretty face, for a pair of lovely eyes; in short, for this lovely child, who perhaps will not listen to either of us."

"Alfred," cried Edouard, "is it decent to speak thus before her?"

"Bah! why not? For I do not conceal what I think! Ask Isaure; I have already told her that I adore her, that I am mad over her, that I wish to make her happy, that I can’t get her pretty little face out of my head.--Is it not true, Isaure, that I have told you all that?"

The girl blushed, and without raising her eyes, said:

"I don’t remember what you said to me."

"The deuce! In that case it would seem that my declaration did not produce a very deep impression upon your heart."

"Alfred, how can you talk so frivolously to this girl? You think that you are dealing with one of your Parisian ladies. But the solitude in which Isaure lives should make us consider it a duty to treat her with the greater respect. Remember that we are under her roof, that she receives us here trustfully, and that it would be shocking to abuse her trust."

"Oh! you assume to preach, and yet you heave sighs and cast languishing glances! My dear Edouard, every man has his own way of making love, and with an innocent girl, yours is the more dangerous, I believe. For my part, I don’t beat about the bush, I say instantly whatever I feel. What harm is there, pray, in thinking Isaure lovely, in loving her? Is she not her own mistress? Is she not free to dispose of her heart? Why should I not try to make it my own? However, Isaure is safer than you think. I tried to kiss her--just a little kiss, that isn’t much to ask. But deuce take it! that attempt came near costing me dear; mademoiselle defended herself--and her dog--he saw it all, and for a moment I thought that he was going to swallow me whole! Parbleu! if I ever marry, I’ll have such a dog to leave with my wife!"

Isaure hung her head over her work and said nothing. Edouard rose angrily and paced the floor for several minutes; but on looking at the girl he saw that tears were rolling down her cheeks, although she lowered her eyes to conceal them.

"See, see, Alfred! This is your work!" cried Edouard; "here you hardly know her, and already you make her weep!"

"What do you say? She is weeping! Is it possible? And I am the cause of it! Isaure, dear Isaure, tell me that you forgive me."

As he spoke, Alfred ran and threw himself at the girl’s feet and seized one of her hands, although Vaillant raised his head and uttered a low growl of evil omen.

"How distressed I am to have made you unhappy!" continued Alfred; "I swear to be more considerate in the future! Edouard is right; I am a thoughtless fellow; I don’t know what I do. But you are so pretty! you fairly turn my head; really it isn’t my fault."

"Now you are beginning again, Alfred," said Edouard, who was not in the least amused by this scene.

"No, no, let me alone! I must excuse myself, I must try to obtain forgiveness."

"Rise, monsieur," said Isaure in a sad, soft tone; "I bear you no ill will, it was not you who made me weep; but I was thinking of my situation, I was thinking that I have no parents, that I have lost my adopted mother. When she was with me, no one tried to kiss me."

"There! you see that it was I who caused you to make these melancholy reflections!" said Alfred, rising. "Well, I realize that I was wrong, but I will not distress you again. Look you--in order to be more certain of behaving myself, which is not always easy for me, I will not come again alone to see you. Edouard shall always be with me. That I trust is a praiseworthy resolution."

"Oh, yes! that is very satisfactory," said Edouard.

"Very satisfactory--yes! But it is coupled with one little condition, and that is, my dear friend, that you will not come without me to see this charming child."

Edouard was no longer so well pleased at Alfred’s project; but Isaure looked at him as if she feared that he would refuse, and he answered with a sigh:

"Well, yes, I agree; we will come together."

"Good!" said Alfred; "that is a resolution worthy of our chivalrous ancestors. But I am inclined to think that it’s time for us to say adieu to the lady of our thoughts for to-day.--Come, Edouard, let us return to the château.--Au revoir, my sweet child; we shall see you again to-morrow, but I trust that those lovely eyes will shed no more tears."

Isaure bestowed a gentle smile on the two young men as they left her abode and returned to their horses.

"Ha! ha!" said Alfred; "you followed my example, and took a horse. Faith, we are equally well mounted. It is agreed that everything is common between us, until the little one has made her choice, and that cannot be long. It would be a deuced strange thing, agreeable and comely as we both are, if one of us should not succeed in pleasing a peasant girl, after making so many conquests at Paris!"

Edouard did not share Alfred’s merriment; he did not treat so lightly as his friend the sentiment that he felt for Isaure.

"My friend," said he, "I am really sorry that you are thinking of that girl."

"What’s that? Why so? You are thinking of her yourself."

"But I am thinking of her in rather a different way."

"Oh! my dear Edouard, you can’t make me believe that you have formed a plan of marrying this little goatherd! You would like perhaps to have me suppose so, so that then,--respecting so pure and spotless a love, I would not go again to talk nonsense to the girl. That would be very clever!"

"Alfred, you judge your friend very ill!"

"I know that friends cease to be friends as soon as love comes in between them. However, because you pretend to love this girl seriously, why should you not believe that I may love her too?"

"Look you, Alfred, a very bright woman said to me not long ago, at Paris: ‘There’s a vast difference between _desire_ and love’; you desire to possess Isaure, but you do not really love her."

"My dear Edouard, your lady friend told you nothing new; I learned long ago that to desire and to love are not synonymous; but because one loves, that is no reason for not desiring; and the fact that one desires does not prove that one does not love. You may say that to the lady from me, when you see her.--However, how do you know that Isaure won’t prefer me to you?"

"Oh! I don’t know it, of course!" Edouard replied, forcing back a sigh.

After that they were both silent, and returned, deep in thought, to the château.