The Lily of the Valley

the ground to avoid seeing in mine the exaggeration of her suffering, her own feelings guessed by me, her soul cherished in mine, and, above all, the sympathy, crimsoned by young love, that was ready, like a faithful dog, to fly at anyone who should offend his mistress without measuring the force or the dignity of the foe. At such a moment the airs of superiority assumed by the Count were a thing to see; he fancied he had triumphed over his wife, and battered her with a hailstorm of words, reiterating the same idea again and again, like the blows of an axe repeating the same sound.

“So he is the same as ever?” I said when the Count left us, called away by the stableman who came to fetch him.

“Always!” replied Jacques.

“Always most kind, my boy,” said she to Jacques, trying to screen Monsieur de Mortsauf from the criticism of his children. “You see the present, you know nothing of the past; you cannot judge of your father without some injustice; and even if you were so unhappy as to see your father in the wrong, the honor of the family would require you to bury such secrets in the deepest silence.”

“How are the improvements going on at la Cassine and la Rhétorière?” I asked, to turn her mind from these bitter reflections.

“Beyond my hopes,” she replied. “The buildings being finished, we found two capital farmers, who took one at a rent of four thousand five hundred francs, we paying the taxes, and the other at five thousand; the leases for fifteen years. We have already planted three thousand young trees on the two new farms. Manette’s cousin is delighted with la Rabelaye; Martineau has la Baude. The return on the four farms is chiefly in hay and wood, and they do not fatten the soil, as some dishonest farmers do, with the manure intended for the arable land. So our efforts are crowned with complete success. Clochegourde, apart from what we call the home farm, from our woods and the vineyards, brings in nineteen thousand francs, and the plantations will in time yield us an annuity. I am struggling now to get the home farm placed in the hands of our keeper, Martineau, whose place could be filled by his son. He offers a rental of three thousand francs if Monsieur de Mortsauf will only build him a house at la Commanderie. We could then clear the approach to Clochegourde, finish the proposed avenue to the Chinon road, and have nothing in our own hands but the wood and the vineyards. If the King returns, we shall have our pension again, and we shall accept it after a few days’ contest with our wife’s common sense! Thus Jacques’ fortune will be perfectly secure. When we have achieved this result, I shall leave it to Monsieur to save for Madeleine, and the King will endow her too, as is customary. My conscience is at peace, my task is nearly done.⁠—And you?” she asked.

I explained my mission, and showed her how wise and fruitful her advice had been. Had she been gifted with second-sight to foresee events so accurately?

“Did I not say so in my letter?” replied she. “But it is only for you that I can exercise that strange faculty, of which I have spoken to no one but Monsieur de la Berge, my director; he explains it by divine intervention. Often, after any deep meditation to which my fears for the children have given rise, my eyes used to close to the things of this world and awake to another realm. When I saw Jacques and Madeleine as luminous figures, they were well for some little time; when I saw them wrapped in mist, they soon after fell ill. As for you, not only do I always see you radiant, but I hear a soft voice telling me what you ought to do⁠—without words, by spiritual communication. By what law is it that I can use this marvelous faculty only for my children’s behoof and yours?” she went on, becoming thoughtful. “Is it that God means to be a father to them?” she added, after a pause.

“Allow me to believe that I obey you alone,” said I.

She gave me one of those wholehearted, gracious smiles which so intoxicated my soul that I should not in such a moment have felt a deathblow.

“As soon as the King reaches Paris, go there, leave Clochegourde,” she said. “Degrading as it is to sue for place and favor, it is, on the other hand, ridiculous not to be at hand to accept them. There will be great changes. The King will need capable and trustworthy men; do not fail him. You will find yourself in office while still young, and you will benefit by it; for statesmen, as for actors, there is a certain routine of business which no genius can divine; it must be taught. My father learned that from the Duc de Choiseul.⁠—Think of me,” she added, after a pause; “let me enjoy the pleasures of superiority in a soul that is all my own. Are you not my son?”

“Your son?” I said sullenly.

“Nothing but my son,” said she, mimicking me. “And is not that a good enough place to hold in my heart?”

The bell rang for dinner, she took my arm, leaning on it with evident pleasure.

“You have grown,” she said, as we went up the steps. When we reached the top she shook my arm as if my fixed gaze held her too eagerly; though her eyes were downcast, she knew full well that I looked at her alone, and she said in her tone of affected impatience, so gracious and so insinuating:

“Come, let us look at our favorite valley!”

She turned, holding her white silk parasol over our heads, and clasping Jacques closely to her side; the movement of her head by which she directed my attention to the Indre, to the punt, and the fields, showed me