After some time I became aware that Edmée was not asleep, and that she was talking to her attendant in a low voice. I fancied I noticed the latter glancing at me from time to time out of the corner of her eye in a somewhat stealthy manner. To escape the ordeal of such an examination, and also from an impulse of cunning, which was by no means foreign to my nature, I let my head fall on the book, and the book on the pier-table, and in this posture I remained as if buried in sleep or thought. Then, little by little, their voices grew louder, until I could hear what they were saying about me.
“It’s all the same; you have certainly have chosen a funny sort of page, mademoiselle.”
“A page, Leblanc! Why do you talk such nonsense? As if one had pages nowadays! You are always imagining we are still in my grandmother’s time. I tell you he is my father’s adopted son.”
“M. le Chevalier is undoubtedly quite right to adopt a son; but where on earth did he fish up such a creature as that?”
I gave a side glance at them and saw that Edmée was laughing behind her fan. She was enjoying the chatter of this old maid, who was supposed to be a wag and allowed perfect freedom of speech. I was very much hurt to see my cousin was making fun of me.
“He looks like a bear, a badger, a wolf, a kite, anything rather than a man,” continued Leblanc. “What hands! what legs! And now he has been cleaned up a little, he is nothing to what he was! You ought to have seen him the day he arrived with his smock and his leather gaiters; it was enough to take away one’s breath.”
“Do you think so?” answered Edmée. “For my part, I preferred him in his poacher’s garb. It suited his face and figure better.”
“He looked like a bandit. You could not have looked at him properly, mademoiselle.”
“Oh! yes, I did.”
The tone in which she pronounced these words, “Yes, I did,” made me shudder; and somehow I again felt upon my lips the impress of the kiss she had given me at Roche-Mauprat.
“It would not be so bad if his hair were dressed properly,” continued the duenna; “but, so far, no one had been able to persuade him to have it powdered. Saint-Jean told me that just as he was about to put the powder puff to his head he got up in a rage and said, ‘Anything you like except that confounded flour. I want to be able to move my head about without coughing and sneezing.’ Heavens, what a savage!”
“Yet, in reality, he is quite right. If fashion did not sanction the absurdity, everybody would perceive that it is both ugly and inconvenient. Look and see if it is not more becoming to have long black hair like his?”
“Long hair like that? What a mane. It is enough to frighten one.”
“Besides, boys do not have their hair powdered, and he is still a boy.”
“A boy? My stars! what a brat Boys? Why he would eat them for his breakfast; he’s a regular ogre. But where does the hulking dog spring from? I suppose M. le Chevalier brought him here from behind some plough. What is his name again? … You did tell me his name, didn’t you?”
“Yes, inquisitive; I told you he is called Bernard.”
“Bernard! And nothing else?”
“Nothing, for the present. What are you looking at?”
“He is sleeping like a dormouse. Look at the booby. I was wondering whether he resembled M. le Chevalier. Perhaps it was a momentary error—a fit of forgetfulness with some milkmaid.”
“Come, come, Leblanc; you are going too far …”
“Goodness gracious, mademoiselle, has not M. le Chevalier been young like any other man? And that does not prevent virtue coming on with years, does it?”
“Doubtless your own experience has shown you that this is possible. But listen: don’t take upon yourself to make fun of this young man. It is possible that you have guessed right; but my father requires him to be treated as one of the family.”
“Well, well; that must be pleasant for you, mademoiselle. As for myself, what does it matter to me? I have nothing to do with the gentleman.”
“Ah, if you were thirty years younger.”
“But did your father consult you, mademoiselle, before planting yon great brigand in your room?”
“Why ask such a question? Is there anywhere in the world a better father than mine?”
“But you are very good also. … There are many young ladies who would have been by no means pleased.”
“And why, I should like to know? There is nothing disagreeable about the fellow. When he has been polished a little …”
“He will always be perfectly ugly.”
“My dear Leblanc, he is far from ugly. You are too old; you are no longer a judge of young men.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the chevalier, who came in to look for a book.
“Mademoiselle Leblanc is here, is she?” he said in a very quiet tone. “I thought you were alone with my son. Well, Edmée, have you had a talk
