The Mysteries of Paris. Эжен Сю
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could not have been desired by Greuze or Watteau, had her cheeks possessed a little more rondeur or been visited by a brighter tinge; but, spite of their delicate paleness, the expression of her features, the tout ensemble of her figure, and the gracefulness of her attitude would have rendered her worthy of exercising the crayons of even the celebrated artists we have alluded to.
The small round cap of Fleur-de-Marie displayed her fair forehead and light, braided hair, in common with all the young girls in the environs of Paris; above this cap, but still exposing the crown and ears, she wore a large red cotton handkerchief, folded smoothly, and pinned behind her head; while the long ends waving gracefully over her shoulders formed a costume which, for graceful effect, might be envied by the tasteful coiffeurs of Italy or Switzerland. A handkerchief of snow-white linen, crossed over her bosom, was half concealed by the high and spreading front of her coarse cloth apron. A jacket of blue woollen cloth with tight sleeves displayed her slender figure, and descended half way down her thick skirt of dark-striped fustian; white cotton stockings and tied shoes, partly covered by sabots, furnished with a leather strap for the instep, completed this costume of rustic simplicity, to which the natural grace of Fleur-de-Marie lent an inexpressible charm.
Holding in one hand the two corners of her apron, with the other she distributed handfuls of grain among the winged crowd by which she was surrounded. One beautiful pigeon of a silvery whiteness, with beak and feet of a rich purple colour, more presuming or more indulged than the rest, after having flown several times around Fleur-de-Marie, at length alighted on her shoulder; the young girl, as though well used to these familiarities, continued, wholly undisturbed, to throw out continued supplies of grain; but, half turning her head till its perfect outline alone was visible, she gently raised her head, and smilingly offered her small rosy lips to meet those of her fond, caressing friend. The last rays of the setting sun shed a pale golden light over this innocent picture.
While the Goualeuse was thus occupied with her rural cares, Madame Georges and the Abbé Laporte, curé of Bouqueval, sitting by the fireside in the neat little parlour of the farm, were conversing on the one constant theme—Fleur-de-Marie. The old curé, with a pensive, thoughtful air, his head bent downwards, and his elbows leaning on his knees, mechanically stretched his two trembling hands before the fire. Madame Georges, laying aside the needlework on which she had been occupied, kept an anxious eye on the abbé, as though eagerly waiting for some observation from him. After a moment's silence:
"Yes," said he, "you are right, Madame Georges; it will be better for M. Rodolph to question Marie, for she is so filled with deep gratitude and devotion to him, that she will probably reveal to him what she persists in concealing from us."
"Then, since you agree with me, M. le Curé, I will write, this very evening, to the address he left with me—the Allée des Veuves."
"Poor child," sighed the kind old man, "she ought to have been so happy here! What secret grief can thus be preying on her mind?"
"At Length Alighted on Her Shoulder" Original Etching by L. Poiteau
"Her unhappiness is too deeply fixed to be removed even by her earnest and passionate application to study."
"And yet she has made a most rapid and extraordinary progress since she has been under our care, has she not?"
"She has, indeed; already she can read and write with the utmost fluency, and is already sufficiently advanced in arithmetic to assist me in keeping my farm accounts; and then the dear child is so active and industrious, and really affords me so much assistance as both surprises me and moves me to tears. You know that, spite of my repeated remonstrances, she persisted in working so hard, that I became quite alarmed lest such toil should seriously affect her health."
"I am thankful to hear from you," resumed the worthy curé, "that your negro doctor has fully quieted your apprehensions respecting the cough your young friend suffered from; he says it is merely temporary, and gives no reason for uneasiness."
"Oh, that kind, excellent M. David! He really appeared to feel the same interest in the poor girl that we did who know her sad story. She is universally beloved and respected by all on the farm; though that is not surprising, as, thanks to the generous and elevated views of M. Rodolph, all the persons employed on it are selected for their good sense and excellent conduct, from all parts of the kingdom; but were it not so—were they of the common herd of vulgar-minded labourers, they could not help feeling the influence of Marie's angelic sweetness, and timid, graceful manner, as though she were always deprecating anger, or beseeching pardon for some involuntary fault. Unfortunate being! as though she alone were to blame."
After remaining for several minutes buried in reflection, the abbé resumed:
"Did you not tell me that this deep dejection of Marie's might be dated from the time when Madame Dubreuil, who rents under the Duke de Lucenay, paid her a visit during the feast of the Holy Ghost?"
"Yes, M. le Curé, I did. And yet Madame Dubreuil and her daughter Clara (a perfect model of candour and goodness) were as much taken with our dear child as every one else who approaches her; and both of them lavished on her every mark of the most affectionate regard. You know that we pass the Sunday alternately at each other's house; but it invariably happens that, when we return from our Sunday excursion to Arnouville, where Madame Dubreuil and her daughter reside, the melancholy of my dear Marie seems augmented, and her spirits more depressed than ever. I cannot comprehend why this should be, when Madame Dubreuil treats her like a second daughter, and the sweet Clara loves her with the tender affection of a sister."
"In truth, Madame Georges, it is a fearful mystery; what can occasion all this hidden sorrow, when here she need not have a single care? The difference between her present and past life must be as great as that which exists between heaven and the abode of the damned. Surely, hers is not an ungrateful disposition?"
"She ungrateful! Oh, no, M. le Curé! her sensitive and affectionate nature magnifies the slightest service rendered her, and she appears as though her gratitude could never be sufficiently evinced. There is, too, in her every thought an instinctive delicacy and fineness of feeling wholly incompatible with ingratitude, which could never be harboured in so noble a nature as that of my charge. Dear Marie, how anxious does she seem to earn the bread she eats, and how eagerly she strives to compensate the hospitality shown her, by every exertion she can make, or service she can render! And, then, except on Sunday, when I make it a point she should dress herself with more regard to appearance to accompany me to church, she will only wear the coarse, humble garments worn by our young peasant girls; and yet there is in her such an air of native superiority, so natural a grace, that one would not desire to see her otherwise attired, would they, M. le Curé?"
"Ah, mother's pride! Beware!" said the old priest, smiling.
At these words, tears filled the eyes of Madame Georges; she thought of her long-lost child, and of his possible destiny.
"Come, come, dear friend, cheer up! Look upon our dear Marie as sent by a gracious Providence to occupy your maternal affections until the blessed moment when he shall restore you your son; and, besides, you have a sacred duty to perform towards this child of your adoption. Are you not her baptismal godmother? And, believe me, when that office is worthily discharged, it almost equals that of a mother. As for M. Rodolph, he has discharged his obligation of godfather by anticipation, for, in snatching her from the abyss of crime into which her misfortunes and her helplessness had cast her, he may be said to have caused her immortal existence to begin."
"Doubtless the poor thing has never received the sacrament of our holy church. Do you think, M. le Curé, she is now sufficiently acquainted with its sanctified purposes to be admitted to a participation of it?"
"I will take an opportunity of learning her sentiments on the subject as we walk back to the rectory. I shall then apprise her that the holy ceremony will take place probably in about a fortnight from hence."
"How gratefully she will receive such an information; her religious feelings are the strongest I have ever