“Well, at any rate, I like him better thus than when he is sad,” said old Zéphirine.
“Where are you off to, Chevalier?” asked his father.
“To Saint-Nazaire.”
“The deuce you are! And when is the wedding to be?” said the Baron, who thought he was in a hurry to see Charlotte de Kergarouët. “I should like to be a grandfather; it is high time.”
When Gasselin showed his evident intention of riding out with Calyste, it occurred to the young man that he might return in Camille’s carriage with Béatrix, leaving his horse in Gasselin’s care, and he clapped the man on the shoulder, saying:
“That was well thought of.”
“So I should think,” replied Gasselin.
“Spare the horses, my boy,” said his father, coming out on the steps with Fanny; “they have twelve leagues before them.”
Calyste exchanged looks full of meaning with his mother, and was gone.
“Dearest treasure!” said she, seeing him bend his head under the top of the gate.
“God preserve him!” replied the Baron, “for we shall never make another.”
This little speech, in the rather coarse taste of a country gentleman, made the Baroness shiver.
“My nephew is not so much in love with Charlotte as to rush to meet her,” said old Mademoiselle to Mariotte, who was clearing the table.
“Oh, a fine lady has come to les Touches, a Marquise, and he is running after her. Well, well, he is young!” said Mariotte.
“Those women will be the death of him,” said Mademoiselle du Guénic.
“That won’t kill him, mademoiselle, quite the contrary,” replied Mariotte, who seemed quite happy in Calyste’s happiness.
Calyste was riding at a pace that might have killed his horse, when Gasselin very happily asked his master whether he wished to arrive before the departure of the boat; this was by no means his purpose; he had no wish to be seen by either Conti or Vignon. The young man reined in his horse and looked complacently at the double furrow traced by the wheels of the carriage on the sandy parts of the road. He was wildly gay merely at the thought: “She passed this way; she will come back this way; her eyes rested on those woods, on these trees!”
“What a pretty road!” said he to Gasselin.
“Yes, sir, Brittany is the finest country in the world,” replied the servant. “Are there such flowers in the hedges, or green lanes that wind like this one, anywhere else to be found?”
“Nowhere, Gasselin.”
“Here comes Bernus’ carriage,” said Gasselin.
“Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoël will be in it with her niece; let us hide,” said Calyste.
“Hide here, sir! are you crazy? We are in the midst of the sands.”
The carriage, which was in fact crawling up a sandy hill above Saint-Nazaire, presently appeared, in all the artless simplicity of rude Breton construction. To Calyste’s great astonishment the conveyance was full.
“We have left Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoël and her sister and her niece in a great pother,” said the driver to Gasselin; “all the places had been taken by the customhouse.”
“I am done for!” cried Calyste. The vehicle was in fact full of customhouse men on their way, no doubt, to relieve those in charge at the salt-marshes.
When Calyste reached the little esplanade surrounding the Church of Saint-Nazaire, whence there is a view of Paimboeuf and of the majestic estuary of the Loire where it struggles with the tide, he found Camille and the Marquise waiving their handkerchiefs to bid a last farewell to the two passengers borne away by the steam packet. Béatrix was quite bewitching, her face tenderly shaded by the reflection from a rice-straw hat on which poppies were lightly piled, tied by a scarlet ribbon; in a flowered muslin dress, one little, slender foot put forward in a green gaitered shoe, leaning on her slight parasol-stick, and waving her well-gloved hand. Nothing is more strikingly effective than a woman on a rock, like a statue on its pedestal.
Conti could see Calyste go up to Camille.
“I thought,” said the youth to Mademoiselle des Touches, “that you two ladies would be returning alone.”
“That was very nice of you, Calyste,” she replied, taking his hand. Béatrix looked round, glanced at her young adorer, and gave him the most imperious flash at her command. A smile that the Marquise caught on Camille’s eloquent lips made her feel the vulgarity of this impulse, worthy of a mere bourgeoise. Madame de Rochefide then said with a smile to Calyste:
“And was it not rather impertinent to suppose that I could bore Camille on the way?”
“My dear, one man for two widows is not much in the way,” said Mademoiselle des Touches, taking Calyste’s arm, and leaving Béatrix to gaze after the boat.
At this instant Calyste heard in the street of what must be called the port of Saint-Nazaire the voices of Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoël, Charlotte, and Gasselin, all three chattering like magpies. The old maid was catechising Gasselin, and wanted to know what had brought him and his master to Saint-Nazaire; Mademoiselle des Touches’ carriage had made a commotion.
Before the lad could escape, Charlotte had caught sight of him.
“There is Calyste!” cried the girl.
“Go and offer them my carriage; their woman can sit by my coachman,” said Camille, who knew that Madame de Kergarouët, with her daughter and Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoël, had failed to get places.
Calyste, who could not avoid obeying Camille, went to deliver this message. As soon as she knew that she would have to ride with the Marquise de Rochefide and the famous Camille Maupin, Madame de Kergarouët ignored her elder sister’s objections; Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoël refused to avail herself of what she called the devil’s chariot. At Nantes, people lived in rather more civilized latitudes than at
