XLVI.
THE LETTER.
"Let them take but one step within your door. They will soon have taken four."
LA FONTAINE (Fables).
She was red and out of breath, and her large breasts rose and fell like the bellows of a forge, while her air of triumph said clearly to Marcel: "Ah, ah, I have caught you here."
—Come, Monsieur le Curé, it is quite a quarter-of-an-hour that I have been looking for you. I ought to have thought before where to find you. Somebody is waiting for you.
—Who!
But the servant avoided making any reply, as she took the lead towards home. The Curé followed her hanging his head.
He reached the parsonage directly after her.
—Who is waiting for me then? he said again.
—It's the postman, she replied with an air of frankness; he could not wait till to-morrow. He had a letter for you … for you only, she added, lingering over these words with a scornful smile.
Marcel blushed.
—Another mystery, Veronica went on. Ah, Jesus! My God! What a lot of mysteries there are here. Really it's worse than the Catechism. Your letters for you only! Isn't that enough to humiliate me? You have reason then to complain of my discretion that you tell the postman to hand your letters to yourself only. Holy Virgin! it's a pretty thing. What can they think of me then at the Post-office? They will surely say that I read your letters before you do. Upon my word. Your letters don't matter to me. Would they not say…? Ah, Lord Jesus. To make a poor servant suffer martyrdom in this way?
—There you are with your recrimination again!
-Oh, Monsieur le Curé, I make no recriminations, I complain that is all: I certainly have the right to complain; my other masters never acted in that way with me.
—Your masters acted as they thought proper, and I also do as I wish.
—I see very well, that you don't ask advice from anyone…. And with the insolence of a servant who has got on a footing with her master, she added: You have gone again to the part where Durand lives? After what has happened, are you not afraid of compromising yourself?
—Mind your own business, you silly woman, and leave me alone for once. I consider you are very impudent in trying to scrutinize my actions.
—My business! Well, Monsieur le Curé, yours is mine just a bit, since I am your confidante. As to being impudent, I shall never be so much as others I know.
—Insolent woman.
—Ah, you can insult me, Monsieur le Curé. I let you do as you like with me.
—Veronica, said Marcel, this life is unendurable. I hate to be surrounded with incessant spying; what do you want to arrive at? tell me, what do you want to arrive at?
And the Curé approached her, his fists clenched, and with glaring eyes.
—Take care of yourself, woman, for I am beginning to get tired.
—I am so too: I am tired, cried Veronica.
Marcel's wrath passed all bounds.
—Yes. I understand, you ought indeed to be so. Tired of odious spying; tired of your unwholesome curiosity; tired of your useless narrow-mindedness. Do not drive me too far for your own sake, I warn you. Twice already you have made me beside myself, beware, you miserable woman, beware of doing it a third time.
—Be quiet, Monsieur le Curé, said Veronica softly, be quiet.
—Oh, you are driving me mad, cried Marcel, throwing himself into an arm-chair, and covering his face with his hands.
The servant came near him:
—It is you who are making me ill with your fits of anger, she said with solicitude: shall I make you a little tea?
—I don't want anything.
—Come, Monsieur Marcel, be yourself. I am not what you think, no, I am not.
—It is my wish that you leave me, Veronica.
—Everything I do is for your interest, Monsieur le Curé, you will understand it one day.
—Leave me, I say.
The servant withdrew.
—It cannot last thus, he thought. What a scandalous scene! And what a horrible fatality thrusts me into this ridiculous and miserable situation! Ah, the apostle is right: "As soon as we leave the straight path, we fall into the abyss." And I am in the abyss, for I am the laughing-stock of this servant. What will become of me with this creature? How can I get rid of her? Can I turn her out? She would proclaim everywhere what she has discovered…. Ah, if it were only a question of myself alone! What a dilemma I am involved in! But that letter, that letter! Suzanne!… dear Suzanne … no doubt it is she who has written to me, my heart tells me so loudly.
He waited with feverish impatience for the postman's return.
Expecting news from Suzanne, and fearing with good reason his servant's inquisitiveness, he had indeed asked him for the future to deliver his letters to himself only.
He sought for various pretexts to send Veronica away, but the woman too discovered excellent reasons for not going out.
She was present therefore, in spite of her master, at the delivery of the mysterious letter.
Marcel's countenance at first displayed deep disappointment, but as he read on, it was lighted up by a ray of joy.