He trained him, in the first place, to mechanical habits of life; and instilled into him fixed ideas as to the investment of his revenues: and he spared him the chief difficulties of the management of a fortune, by leaving his estates all in good order, and leased for long periods. Nevertheless, a fact which was destined to be of paramount importance in the life of the poor creature escaped the notice of the wily old doctor. Timidity is a good deal like dissimulation, and is equally secretive. Jean-Jacques was passionately in love with the Rabouilleuse. Nothing, of course, could be more natural. Flore was the only woman who lived in the bachelor's presence, the only one he could see at his ease; and at all hours he secretly contemplated her and watched her. To him, she was the light of his paternal home; she gave him, unknown to herself, the only pleasures that brightened his youth.
Far from being jealous of his father, he rejoiced in the education the old man was giving to Flore: would it not make her all he wanted, a woman easy to win, and to whom, therefore, he need pay no court? The passion, observe, which is able to reflect, gives even to ninnies, fools, and imbeciles a species of intelligence, especially in youth.
In the lowest human creature we find an animal instinct whose persistency resembles thought.
The next day, Flore, who had been reflecting on her master's silence, waited in expectation of some momentous communication; but although he kept near her, and looked at her on the sly with passionate glances, Jean-Jacques still found nothing to say. At last, when the dessert was on the table, he recommenced the scene of the night before.
"You like your life here?" he said to Flore.
"Yes, Monsieur Jean."
"Well, stay here then."
"Thank you, Monsieur Jean."
This strange situation lasted three weeks. One night, when no sound broke the stillness of the house, Flore, who chanced to wake up, heard the regular breathing of human lungs outside her door, and was frightened to discover Jean-Jacques, crouched like a dog on the landing.
"He loves me," she thought; "but he will get the rheumatism if he keeps up that sort of thing."
The next day Flore looked at her master with a certain expression.
This mute almost instinctive love had touched her; she no longer thought the poor ninny so ugly, though his forehead was crowned with pimples resembling ulcers, the signs of a vitiated blood.
"You don't want to go back and live in the fields, do you?" said Jean-
Jacques when they were alone.
"Why do you ask me that?" she said, looking at him.
"To know--" replied Rouget, turning the color of a boiled lobster.
"Do you wish to send me back?" she asked.
"No, mademoiselle."
"Well, what is it you want to know? You have some reason--"
"Yes, I want to know--"
"What?" said Flore.
"You won't tell me?" exclaimed Rouget.
"Yes I will, on my honor--"
"Ah! that's it," returned Rouget, with a frightened air. "Are you an honest girl?"
"I'll take my oath--"
"Are you, truly?"
"Don't you hear me tell you so?"
"Come; are you the same as you were when your uncle brought you here barefooted?"
"A fine question, faith!" cried Flore, blushing.
The heir lowered his head and did not raise it again. Flore, amazed at such an encouraging sign from a man who had been overcome by a fear of that nature, left the room.
Three days later, at the same hour (for both seemed to regard the dessert as a field of battle), Flore spoke first, and said to her master,--
"Have you anything against me?"
"No, mademoiselle," he answered, "No--" [a pause] "On the contrary."
"You seemed annoyed the other day to hear I was an honest girl."
"No, I only wished to know--" [a pause] "But you would not tell me--"
"On my word!" she said, "I will tell you the whole truth."
"The whole truth about--my father?" he asked in a strangled voice.
"Your father," she said, looking full into her master's eye, "was a worthy man--he liked a joke--What of that?--there was nothing in it.
But, poor dear man, it wasn't the will that was wanting. The truth is, he had some spite against you, I don't know what, and he meant--oh! he meant you harm. Sometimes he made me laugh; but there! what of that?"
"Well, Flore," said the heir, taking her hand, "as my father was nothing to you--"
"What did you suppose he was to me?" she cried, as if offended by some unworthy suspicion "Well, but just listen--"
"He was my benefactor, that was all. Ah! he would have liked to make me his wife, but--"
"But," said Rouget, taking the hand which Flore had snatched away from him, "if he was nothing to you you can stay here with me, can't you?"
"If you wish it," she said, dropping her eyes.
"No, no! if you wish it, you!" exclaimed Rouget. "Yes, you shall be-- mistress here. All that is here shall be yours; you shall take care of my property, it is almost yours now--for I love you; I have always loved you since the day you came and stood there--there!--with bare feet."
Flore made no answer. When the silence became embarrassing, Jean-
Jacques had recourse to a terrible argument.
"Come," he said, with visible warmth, "wouldn't it be better than returning to the fields?"
"As you will, Monsieur Jean," she answered.
Nevertheless, in spite of her "as you will," Jean-Jacques got no further. Men of his nature want certainty. The effort that they make in avowing their love is so great, and costs them so much, that they feel unable to go on with it. This accounts for their attachment to the first woman who accepts them. We can only guess at circumstances by results. Ten months after the death of his father, Jean-Jacques changed completely; his leaden face cleared, and his whole countenance breathed happiness. Flore exacted that he should take minute care of his person, and her own vanity was gratified in seeing him well- dressed; she always stood on the sill of the door, and watched him starting for a walk, until she could see him no longer. The whole town noticed these changes, which had made a new man of the bachelor.
"Have you heard the news?" people said to each other in Issoudun.
