Rambaud a look of intelligence, and led the young woman into the bedroom.[*] The door being left open behind them, they could almost immediately afterwards be heard conversing together, though the words which they slowly exchanged were indistinguishable.
[*] Helene's frequent use of her bedroom may seem strange to the
English reader who has never been in France. But in the
bourgeoisie the bedchamber is often the cosiest of the whole
suite of rooms, and whilst indoors, when not superintending her
servant, it is in the bedroom that madame will spend most of her
time. Here, too, she will receive friends of either sex, and, the
French being far less prudish than ourselves, nobody considers
that there is anything wrong or indelicate in the practice.
'Oh, do make haste!' said Jeanne to Monsieur Rambaud, who seemed incapable of finishing a biscuit. 'I want to show you my work.'
However, he evinced no haste, though when Rosalie began to clear the table it became necessary for him to leave his chair.
'Wait a little! wait a little!' he murmured, as the child strove to drag him towards the bedroom, And, overcome with embarrassment and timidity, he retreated from the doorway. Then, as the Abbe raised his voice, such sudden weakness came over him that he had to sit down again at the table. From his pocket he drew a newspaper.
'Now,' said he, 'I'm going to make you a little coach.'
Jeanne at once abandoned her intention of entering the adjoining room. Monsieur Rambaud always amazed her by his skill in turning a sheet of paper into all sorts of playthings. Chickens, boats, bishops' mitres, carts, and cages, were all evolved under his fingers. That day, however, so tremulous were his hands that he was unable to perfect anything. He lowered his head whenever the faintest sound came from the adjacent room. Nevertheless, Jeanne took interest in watching him, and leaned on the table at his side.
'Now,' said she, 'you must make a chicken to harness to the carriage.'
Meantime, within the bedroom, Abbe Jouve remained standing in the shadow thrown by the lamp-shade upon the floor. Helene had sat down in her usual place in front of the round table; and, as on Tuesdays she refrained from ceremony with her friends, she had taken up her needlework, and, in the circular glare of light, only her white hands could be seen sewing a child's cap.
'Jeanne gives you no further worry, does she?' asked the Abbe.
Helene shook her head before making a reply.
'Doctor Deberle seems quite satisfied,' said she. 'But the poor darling is still very nervous. Yesterday I found her in her chair in a fainting fit.'
'She needs exercise,' resumed the priest. 'You stay indoors far too much; you should follow the example of other folks and go about more than you do.'
He ceased speaking, and silence followed. He now, without doubt, had what he had been seeking,-a suitable inlet for his discourse; but the moment for speaking came, and he was still communing with himself. Taking a chair, he sat down at Helene's side.
'Hearken to me, my dear child,' he began. 'For some time past I have wished to talk with you seriously. The life you are leading here can entail no good results. A convent existence such as yours is not consistent with your years; and this abandonment of worldly pleasures is as injurious to your child as it is to yourself. You are risking many dangers-dangers to health, ay, and other dangers, too.'
Helene raised her head with an expression of astonishment. 'What do you mean, my friend?' she asked.
'Dear me! I know the world but little,' continued the priest, with some slight embarrassment, 'yet I know very well that a woman incurs great risk when she remains without a protecting arm. To speak frankly, you keep to your own company too much, and this seclusion in which you hide yourself is not healthful, believe me. A day must come when you will suffer from it.'
'But I make no complaint; I am very happy as I am,' she exclaimed with spirit.
The old priest gently shook his large head.
'Yes, yes, that is all very well. You feel completely happy. I know all that. Only, on the downhill path of a lonely, dreamy life, you never know where you are going. Oh! I understand you perfectly; you are incapable of doing any wrong. But sooner or later you might lose your peace of mind. Some morning, when it is too late, you will find that blank which you now leave in your life filled by some painful feeling not to be confessed.'
As she sat there in the shadow, a blush crimsoned Helene's face. Had the Abbe, then, read her heart? Was he aware of this restlessness which was fast possessing her-this heart-trouble which thrilled her every-day life, and the existence of which she had till now been unwilling to admit? Her needlework fell on her lap. A sensation of weakness pervaded her, and she awaited from the priest something like a pious complicity which would allow her to confess and particularize the vague feelings which she buried in her innermost being. As all was known to him, it was for him to question her, and she would strive to answer.
'I leave myself in your hands, my friend,' she murmured. 'You are well aware that I have always listened to you.'
The priest remained for a moment silent, and then slowly and solemnly said:
'My child, you must marry again.'
She remained speechless, with arms dangling, in a stupor this counsel brought upon her. She awaited other words, failing, as it were, to understand him. And the Abbe continued putting before her the arguments which should incline her towards marriage.
'Remember, you are still young. You must not remain longer in this out-of-the-way corner of Paris, scarcely daring to go out, and wholly ignorant of the world. You must return to the every-day life of humanity, lest in the future you should bitterly regret your loneliness. You yourself have no idea how the effects of your isolation are beginning to tell on you, but your friends remark your pallor, and feel uneasy.'
With each sentence he paused, in the hope that she might break in and discuss his proposition. But no; she sat there as if lifeless, seemingly benumbed with astonishment.
'No doubt you have a child,' he resumed. 'That is always a delicate matter to surmount. Still, you must admit that even in Jeanne's interest a husband's arm would be of great advantage. Of course, we must find some one good and honorable, who would be a true father-'
However, she did not let him finish. With violent revolt and repulsion she suddenly spoke out: 'No, no; I will not! Oh, my friend, how can you advise me thus? Never, do you hear, never!'
Her whole heart was rising; she herself was frightened by the violence of her refusal. The priest's proposal had stirred up that dim nook in her being whose secret she avoided reading, and, by the pain she experienced, she at last understood all the gravity of her ailment. With the open, smiling glance of the priest still bent on her, she plunged into contention.
'No, no; I do not wish it! I love nobody!'
And, as he still gazed at her, she imagined he could read her lie on her face. She blushed and stammered:
'Remember, too, I only left off my mourning a fortnight ago. No, it could not be!'
'My child!' quietly said the priest, 'I thought over this a great deal before speaking. I am sure your happiness is wrapped up in it. Calm yourself; you need never act against your own wishes.'
The conversation came to a sudden stop. Helene strove to keep pent within her bosom the angry protests that were rushing to her lips. She resumed her work, and, with head lowered, contrived to put in a few stitches. And amid the silence, Jeanne's shrill voice could be heard in the dining-room.
'People don't put a chicken to a carriage; it ought to be a horse! You don't know how to make a horse, do you?'
'No, my dear; horses are too difficult,' said Monsieur Rambaud. 'But if you like I'll show you how to make carriages.'
This was always the fashion in which their game came to an end. Jeanne, all ears and eyes, watched her kindly playfellow folding the paper into a multitude of little squares, and afterwards she followed his example; but she would make mistakes and then stamp her feet in vexation. However, she already knew how to manufacture boats and bishops' mitres.
'You see,' resumed Monsieur Rambaud patiently, 'you make four corners like that; then you turn them back-'
