"In all things, sure that you can wish only what is good."
"I wish to marry you," she answered; "if you consent you will accomplish the wish of a dying woman, which is certain to secure your happiness."
"I am too ugly," said the engineer.
"The person to whom I refer is pretty; she is young, and wishes to live at Montegnac. If you will marry her you will help to soften my last hours. I will not dwell upon her virtues now; I only say her nature is a rare one; in the matter of grace and youth and beauty, one look will suffice; you are now about to see her at the hermitage. As we return home you must give me a serious yes or no."
Hearing this confidence, Gerard unconsciously quickened his oars, which made Madame Graslin smile. Denise, who was living alone, away from all eyes, at the hermitage, recognized Madame Graslin and immediately opened the door. Veronique and Gerard entered. The poor girl could not help a blush as she met the eyes of the young man, who was greatly surprised at her beauty.
"I hope Madame Farrabesche has not let you want for anything?" said Veronique.
"Oh no! madame, see!" and she pointed to her breakfast.
"This is Monsieur Gerard, of whom I spoke to you," went on Veronique.
"He is to be my son's guardian, and after my death you shall live together at the chateau until his majority."
"Oh! madame, do not talk in that way!"
"My dear child, look at me!" replied Veronique, addressing Denise, in whose eyes the tears rose instantly. "She has just arrived from New York," she added, by way of introduction to Gerard.
The engineer put several questions about the new world to the young woman, while Veronique, leaving them alone, went to look at the third and more distant lake of the Gabou. It was six o'clock as Veronique and Gerard returned in the boat toward the chalet.
"Well?" she said, looking at him.
"You have my promise."
"Though you are, I know, without prejudices," she went on, "I must not leave you ignorant of the reason why that poor girl, brought back here by homesickness, left the place originally."
"A false step?"
"Oh, no!" said Veronique. "Should I offer her to you if that were so?
She is the sister of a workman who died on the scaffold--"
"Ah! Tascheron," he said, "the murderer of old Pingret."
"Yes, she is the sister of a murderer," said Madame Graslin, in a bitter tone; "you are at liberty to take back your promise and--"
She did not finish, and Gerard was obliged to carry her to the bench before the chalet, where she remained unconscious for some little time. When she opened her eyes Gerard was on his knees before her and he said instantly:--"I will marry Denise."
Madame Graslin took his head in both hands and kissed him on the forehead; then, seeing his surprise at so much gratitude, she pressed his hand and said:
"Before long you will know the secret of all this. Let us go back to the terrace, for it is late; I am very tired, but I must look my last on that dear plain."
Though the day had been insupportably hot, the storms which during this year devastated parts of Europe and of France but respected the Limousin, had run their course in the basin of the Loire, and the atmosphere was singularly clear. The sky was so pure that the eye could seize the slightest details on the horizon. What language can render the delightful concert of busy sounds produced in the village by the return of the workers from the fields? Such a scene, to be rightly given, needs a great landscape artist and also a great painter of the human face. Is there not, by the bye, in the lassitude of Nature and that of man a curious affinity which is difficult to grasp?
The depressing heat of a dog-day and the rarification of the air give to the least sound made by human beings all its signification. The women seated on their doorsteps and waiting for their husbands (who often bring back the children) gossip with each other while still at work. The roofs are casting up the lines of smoke which tell of the evening meal, the gayest among the peasantry; after which, they sleep.
All actions express the tranquil cheerful thoughts of those whose day's work is over. Songs are heard very different in character from those of the morning; in this the peasants imitate the birds, whose warbling at night is totally unlike their notes at dawn. All nature sings a hymn to rest, as it sang a hymn of joy to the coming sun. The slightest movements of living beings seem tinted then with the soft, harmonious colors of the sunset cast upon the landscape and lending even to the dusty roadways a placid air. If any dared deny the influence of this hour, the loveliest of the day, the flowers would protest and intoxicate his senses with their penetrating perfumes, which then exhale and mingle with the tender hum of insects and the amorous note of birds.
The brooks which threaded the plain beyond the village were veiled in fleecy vapor. In the great meadows through which the high-road ran,-- bordered with poplars, acacias, and ailanthus, wisely intermingled and already giving shade,--enormous and justly celebrated herds of cattle were scattered here and there, some still grazing, others ruminating.
Men, women, and children were ending their day's work in the hay- field, the most picturesque of all the country toils. The night air, freshened by distant storms, brought on its wings the satisfying odors of the newly cut grass or the finished hay. Every feature of this beautiful panorama could be seen perfectly; those who feared a coming storm were finishing in haste the hay-stacks, while others followed with their pitchforks to fill the carts as they were driven along the rows. Others in the distance were still mowing, or turning the long lines of fallen grass to dry it, or hastening to pile it into cocks.
