Chapter XVII: The Maiden and the Stranger

While everybody at the Château of La Roche-Noire was engrossed by the great festivity which was to take place on the morrow, the most profound tranquillity reigned about Isaure’s dwelling. When the young men had left her, the little goatherd had taken her flock onto the mountain. On the way, she often turned her eyes toward the White House; she seemed to gaze inquiringly at it; then she went on, and from time to time a faint sigh escaped from her breast. Isaure had unconsciously become pensive since she began to receive the visits of Alfred and Edouard; she frequently thought of the two young men. Alone in her cottage, or among the mountains, Isaure had abundance of time to think; and when love makes her heart beat fast, the busiest woman finds leisure to think of the man she loves, or rather she thinks of him all the time. Even in the midst of society and of the restraints to which it subjects us, the image of the person we love follows us everywhere. It is our veritable sylph, or guardian angel.

Alfred and Edouard were both made to be loved, and they both did their utmost to please Isaure. A heart that has never known love is certain to surrender more easily and to receive more quickly the impressions of that passion. The girl whom the mountaineers and the shepherds had avoided, experienced a novel pleasure with those persons who seemed so happy in her presence; but that pleasure was inevitably attended with risk; and already fits of musing announced the birth of a new sentiment in Isaure’s heart.

Reading was no longer a sufficient distraction for the little goatherd. Still, she had carried a book upon the mountain with her, to occupy her time; but although she opened it and looked at it, she did not read; her distraught eyes sought the road by which the two young men always came to the valley.

"I shall see them to-morrow," she said to herself; "they are not afraid of me! they do not run away at sight of me; they do not think me wicked. Ah! I begin to feel that it is very melancholy to live alone, not to have a single friend with one. And yet, a little while ago I never thought of that; I was perfectly happy. What can it be that I lack now?"

Isaure let her head sink upon her breast; the book was thrown aside. Her mind abandoned itself to a delicious reverie; it is so sweet to dream, when the image of one we love is mingled with all our thoughts! And yet how many people live and die without knowing the most blissful sensations of love!

Suddenly the girl raised her head, put aside with her hand the long fair curls which fell over her great eyes, and turning her head anxiously, looked once more at the White House, with her head bent forward, as if she were listening, waiting, hoping.

But nothing disturbed the absolute calm that reigned all about; and that house, an object of terror to the credulous mountaineers, seemed to be as usual entirely deserted.

At last Isaure ceased to look in that direction; but, having glanced about, as if to make sure that no one could see her, she took from her breast a little locket, put it to her lips, and kissed it fervently; and a tear or two, which glistened in her eyes, fell upon that object upon which she lavished so many manifestations of affection.

After a few minutes she carefully replaced the locket in her breast, wiped her eyes, rose, assembled her goats and walked slowly back to her cottage.

Vaillant came rushing out to jump and fawn upon his mistress.

"My poor Vaillant," said Isaure, passing her hand over the head of her faithful companion, "you are not pleased with me; I am sure of it; I do not play with you as often as I used; I fondle you less; and yet I still love you, you are my faithful companion; but I don’t know what is the matter with me, Vaillant; and sometimes it really seems to me as if I were angry with myself for not being so merry as I used to be."

The dog pricked up his ears and looked in the girl’s face; one would have thought that he was seeking some means of raising her spirits. Several moments passed, and Vaillant, overjoyed to be caressed by his young mistress, did not stir from her side. But suddenly he lowered his head, walked away from Isaure, and took his stand close to the house door, uttering a low, prolonged growl.

"What is it, Vaillant? What’s the matter with you?" said the girl, calling him back to her. But he remained near the door, and would not leave it; he continued to growl, while his eyes expressed his ill humor and an uneasy curiosity.

"Is there anyone there?" continued Isaure. "Can it be that they have come back to see me? or perhaps only one of them?"

At the thought, a deep blush overspread the girl’s cheeks. She ran to the door and hastily threw it open; but instead of her young friends, she saw the man who had been wandering about the mountains standing a few yards from her house.

He was standing perfectly still, leaning upon his stout stick; he seemed to be scrutinizing the cottage in every part, and at the same time to be deep in thought; when the door opened and the dog went to him, he did not move; but his piercing black eyes rested upon the girl, who had remained in the doorway.

The stranger’s appearance and the expression of his face had at that moment a tinge of gloom, which, combined with the shabbiness of his clothes, inspired a sort of distrust. Isaure had never been so near that man; she had only seen him passing at a distance; but now he was only a few yards away from her, and his glances, spanning that distance, seemed by the smouldering fire that gleamed in them to seek to read the very bottom of the girl’s soul.

The vivid blush which tinged the little goatherd’s cheeks gave place to a sudden pallor; Isaure felt her heart sink, and she began to tremble. Never before had she had such a feeling of oppression as that which seized her at the sight of the stranger. However, ashamed of having given way to a feeling of alarm, she tried to recover herself, and said to him in a voice which she did her utmost to make steady:

"Monsieur--do you wish for anything?"

The vagabond gazed at her a long while, then replied:

"Faith, no, I do not want anything. However, as I happen to be in front of your house, I would be glad to eat a bit if it were possible."

"Oh, yes! that is very easy, monsieur. Come in."

From that moment Isaure saw in the stranger only an unfortunate, and the pleasure that she felt in doing good speedily dissipated her terror. Still, while the stranger entered and seated himself in the living room, Isaure, as she went to and fro to fetch what she had to offer him, kept Vaillant constantly by her side; and her voice, as she spoke a few affectionate words to her faithful guardian from time to time, seemed to urge him to watch over her more heedfully than ever.

The stranger threw himself upon a chair, put aside his hat and his stick, and examined with interest the interior of the cottage. When the girl returned to the living room, he scrutinized her again, and the more he looked at her the more amazement his eyes seemed to express.

Isaure, having placed the food upon a table which she moved to her guest’s side, said to him pleasantly:

"There, monsieur, is all that I have to offer you, but I do it gladly."

"There is much more than I need, and it is a most sumptuous repast, compared with those which I have had for some time past," said the stranger, seating himself at the table. "But I warn you, my child, that I shall not be able to pay you for what I consume in your house."

"Pay me, monsieur! Oh! I am not in the habit of asking pay for such trifling services as I can render. Is not one too fortunate to be able to be of use sometimes to one’s fellow creatures?"

"That is a most beautiful reflection, my child!" said the stranger ironically; "but I doubt whether your fellow creatures would do so much for you, if the opportunity should offer! You are still young; it will be well for you to learn thus early never to rely upon the gratitude of those whom you have obliged."

"I do not need their gratitude to take pleasure in doing good; my reward is in my heart." As she said this, Isaure raised her blue eyes with a touching expression of sincerity, and her whole face seemed lovelier than ever. The stranger gazed at her constantly while he ate.

"Young woman," said he, "it was not among your goats and your dull-witted mountaineers that you learned to express yourself thus."

Isaure blushed and faltered:

"What! do you think, monsieur, that the people in our mountains are not so hospitable as I am?"

"Hospitable! yes, indeed! But there are so many ways of being hospitable; and I see by your manner, by your speech--yes, yes, I know what I am talking about, and hereafter I think it would be difficult to deceive me.--Come, sit down here, and keep me company. I don’t frighten you, I trust?"

"No, monsieur," replied the girl timidly, as she seated herself a few steps from the table, taking care to keep Vaillant beside her.

After eating and drinking for some time, the stranger rested his elbows on the table, placed his head on his hands, and, gazing steadfastly at Isaure, said to her:

"People talk much about you in the neighborhood."

"About me, monsieur?"

"Yes, about you. The mountaineers declare that you are a witch."

"A witch?"

"Yes. That makes you smile and you are right; these idiots deserve nothing but pity; and yet in the old days such a reputation might have been most disastrous to you. In the days when people did not take the trouble to reason, they burned those who were accused of witchcraft; that was the quickest way. The goodwomen of those times did not doubt that witches rode to their revels on broomsticks; and there were people interested in having three-fourths of the human race become as foolish as the goodwomen. We have got beyond all that, and you will not be burned. But I begin to think that the peasants may well have been surprised at the difference between you and themselves, although I do not imagine that it is due to any but a perfectly natural cause. You will say that this is none of my business, I suppose; and that if you express yourself in better language than the mountaineers, it is, presumably, because your education was looked after. That is all very well; but you must agree, my child, that it was absurd to fit you for something better than tending goats, and then leave you in these mountains to follow that trade."

Isaure made no reply; she lowered her eyes, feeling intimidated by the tone of the stranger, whose glance, fixed constantly upon her, caused her an embarrassment which she could not overcome.

"You are pretty, my child!" continued the vagabond; "very pretty, on my word, and much more so than I thought before I had such a good look at you. But this beauty will lead you into adventures. Men adore pretty women, or at least, if they do not really adore them, they pay assiduous court to them. For my part, that seems to me no more than right; it is more natural to offer incense to a lovely woman than to adore oxen, stags, crocodiles, monkeys, cats, and even onions, as used to be done by the Egyptians, the most ancient of nations, and yet, as you see, not the most sensible for that reason. So you will be adored.--But what am I saying! it has begun already, no doubt. You blush! deuce take it! there’s nothing out of the common course in that."

"I do not know what you mean, monsieur," rejoined Isaure with a sincerity which would have convinced any other than the man who sat opposite her.

"You do not know!" muttered the stranger, shrugging his shoulders. "That is the way they all talk! they never do know! they are always innocent and pure! And when we have proofs of their treachery, when we place those proofs under their eyes, they still answer with an air of the utmost good faith, that they do not know how it happened!"

A bitter smile played about the stranger’s lips; his eyebrows contracted, and he seemed engrossed by painful memories. Isaure, trembling violently, moved her chair away; her eyes expressed the terror which had taken possession of her. Soon the stranger glanced at her, and divined her fear; whereupon he resumed his customary careless air and said to her:

"Why do you move away from me like that?"

"Why,--monsieur,--I thought that you were angry."

"Angry? not at all! With whom do you suppose that I am angry, for heaven’s sake?--Let us come back to you, my child; come, move your chair nearer and do not tremble so."

Isaure complied, as if against her will, with her guest’s request; the familiar tone in which he addressed her would have offended her if he had not seemed so destitute; but she believed him to be unfortunate, and she attributed to compassion the submission which she displayed.

"I told you that you were pretty; it certainly was not that which made you move your chair away. Others must have told you so before; and among others, the two young men who have called upon you every morning for some time past."

Isaure blushed hotly as she stammered:

"The two young men? Ah! you know--do you know them, monsieur?"

"Yes, I know them very well now. But do you know them? do you know who they are?"

"I know that their names are Edouard and Alfred, that they are staying at the Château of La Roche-Noire, and that they are pleasant and very courteous to me."

"And is that all that you know?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"You lie, girl; you know very well that both of them are in love with you."

Isaure tried to raise her eyes, but the stranger’s expression forced her to lower them again at once, and she replied in a trembling voice:

"Those gentlemen may have told me that in jest; I should have done wrong to believe them."

"Morbleu! in jest or otherwise, as if there were not a thousand ways of making themselves understood! The silliest woman sees when she makes an impression; all the more she who, like you, is neither a fool nor affected. Oh! my dear, believe that I know women better than you know your goats and your hens! I have had my day; it was short, it is true, but I made the most of it! They found me as agreeable, as fascinating, as you find Alfred and Edouard, but I rushed my intrigues more rapidly than these young men do. How many beauties seduced, and then abandoned that I might seduce others! How well I could assume all tones, affect all the varying shades of sentiment, to ensnare my victims! I would feign love, grief, despair; I would shed tears; but in reality my heart was dry, and I laughed in my sleeve at the sighs which moved those women to compassion. Ah! yes, I may say that I have had a very brilliant flight--it’s a pity that it ended so badly!"

Isaure listened to the stranger with amazement, not daring to interrupt him; he sat for some moments as if absorbed by the memories which had awakened in his mind; then he let his head droop upon his breast, and continued:

"Yes! all that has vanished! Love, friendship, wealth! I shall never know any of them more; I am alone, destitute, and I have not a single friend!"

The stranger’s tone became slow and melancholy as he uttered these words. Isaure felt deeply moved; she rose, walked toward the stranger, who no longer terrified her, and said to him with touching concern:

"Have you been very unfortunate?"

The stranger raised his head, gazed earnestly at her, and exclaimed:

"Why, this is most extraordinary! I had not noticed it before so strongly as I do now!"

"Noticed what, monsieur?" said Isaure.

"Nothing; oh! nothing. It is the effect of my recollections, no doubt. What in the deuce set me to thinking about all that? No, henceforth there is but a single sentiment that can revive my heart; but I feel that that sentiment may still afford me most delicious enjoyment."

Once more the stranger’s eyes gleamed; they seemed alight with savage joy. Isaure moved away from him, and quickly resumed her former seat, while her hand rested on Vaillant’s neck.

"My child," continued the vagabond, after drinking a glass of wine, "I was saying that the two young men who come to see you so often are in love with you. There is no harm in that, but you must realize that it is not to see this valley or to gaze into the lovely eyes of your goats, that these two young men from Paris rise so early in the morning! But I have reasons of my own for being curious to know which of the two you prefer--unless indeed you love them both, for such things have been seen! But no, no; I think that you are not sufficiently advanced for that. Come, speak, answer."

Isaure rose with dignity; she no longer trembled, for she felt offended; and looking fixedly at the man whom she had received as her guest, she answered:

"Your questions surprise me, monsieur! Who, pray, has employed you to ask them?"

"Who? Morbleu! I myself, who ask them; I, who question you! Is there any need of making so much fuss about saying: ‘I love this one better than that one?’"

"No one ever spoke to me so, monsieur, and when my dear mother was alive----"

"I am not talking about your mother. If she were here you probably would not receive visits from young men every morning. I see that you make the most of your liberty; don’t take so much pains to play the prude! Grimaces do not succeed with me. Come, sacrebleu! answer me!"

The stranger rose abruptly and walked toward Isaure. She, yielding to a thrill of fear caused by his approach, stepped back with a cry of alarm. Instantly Vaillant, thinking that his mistress was menaced, sprang to his feet, and with the rapidity of a lightning flash leaped upon the stranger and seized his leg with his teeth.

"Well, well! call off your dog! Heavens and earth! Don’t you see that he is biting me?"

Isaure called Vaillant, who made up his mind only with great reluctance to release the leg that he had seized, and returned to his mistress, growling, and keeping his flashing eyes fixed on the stranger.

"I beg pardon, monsieur," said Isaure, "but this faithful animal evidently thought you were threatening me."

"Morbleu! why do you shriek because I approach you? Do you think that I am going to eat you? What fools these girls are! You have a guardian there who does not understand joking; the rascal--his teeth went into my flesh. If he should receive your young men in the same way, I fancy that they would not come so often. But you don’t shriek when they come near, do you?--Adieu, my pretty discreet one! Oh! I shall soon find out what you refuse to tell me to-day! Yes, I shall find out all about you. I do not believe that you are a witch; but I do not think it natural that you should talk like the ladies from the city, that you should live alone with your flocks, and that you should be rich enough to entertain for nothing all those who stop at your house. There is something underneath it, and I shall find out what it is; for as I have told you, it is not easy to deceive me, and I believe neither in the innocence which runs about fields, nor in Platonic love, nor in innate knowledge. Adieu."

The stranger took his hat and stick and walked slowly from the house, with a contemptuous glance at the girl. Isaure felt that she breathed more freely when she saw that man take his departure, and Vaillant, who had not ceased to growl since his brief struggle with the stranger, went to the door to look after him, and did not reenter the house until he was entirely out of sight.