ABSENCE.
Madame Delong received intelligence from Germany which caused her the greatest affliction. Her husband had been dangerously wounded, and she immediately set off to attend on him, deeply grieved at the necessity of leaving her son to his own discretion, as it were, with a person who was incapable of maintaining any authority over him.
Being also perfectly well aware that whilst Madame Ballier had to command, and Marianne to obey, there would be little peace in the household, we may easily imagine what were her parting admonitions, and what the promises and good resolutions made to conform to them. But, scarcely was she out of sight, when Madame Ballier, eager to take possession of her authority, positively exacted of Marianne that the soup tureen, which from time immemorial had been placed on the sideboard, should for the future be put away in the closet, and that, contrary to the practice hitherto observed, the glasses should be rinsed before the decanters. From this moment all hope of agreement was at an end; and when Louis returned home to dinner, he found Marianne in a state of the greatest excitement. "Master Louis," she said, "this will never do; that woman will drive me out of my senses. I tell you, Master Louis, we can never go on in this way."
"Louis," said Madame Ballier, very composedly, to her nephew, when he came to take his place at the dining-table, "I beg you for the future to be more punctual to the time."
Louis looked at his watch, then at the time-piece, and was much surprised to find that they did not agree; he had set them together in the morning, and now perceived that, without any intimation to him, Madame Ballier had advanced the time-piece after his departure. He showed his watch, and said coolly, but not without some intention of annoying, "This is the time by Monsieur Lebeau's clock, which is the best in the town, and which everybody follows since the town clock has been out of order."
Madame Ballier replied, pettishly, that Monsieur Lebeau's clock went like his head, and that the house clock was the one to which he must conform.
"To render that possible," said Louis, "it ought not to be altered every moment without necessity."
Silence ensued till about the middle of dinner, when Madame Ballier said to her nephew, "I hope, Louis, that you do not intend to take advantage of your mother's absence to run about and idle away your time, instead of attending to your studies."
"Run about! Where, aunt?" inquired Louis, greatly astonished, for he was noted for his exactitude in the performance of his duties.
"Why, to Monsieur Lebeau's, for example."
"My mother has given me permission to go there," replied Louis, in a careless tone.
"Morning and evening?" demanded Madame Ballier, sharply.
"As often as I please," replied Louis, drily.
"As often as you please!" cried Madame Ballier. "Very fine, truly; if you have permission to do whatever you please, sir, it was not worth my while to take charge of you."
"You take charge of me, aunt!" exclaimed Louis, in his turn, with an indignation which completely exasperated Madame Ballier.
"And who, then, is to take charge of you, pray, sir?"
Louis was silent: he had raised a difficult question; for he could not possibly suppose that at his age he could avoid being responsible for his conduct to some one or other; nor could he tell Madame Ballier that it was not to her that he owed this responsibility, as this would neither have been respectful nor true; for, in fact, if he had been guilty of any impropriety, if he had neglected his studies, and spent his time away from home in the absence of his mother, it was undoubtedly the duty of his aunt to repress such misconduct by every means in her power. Louis' mistake consisted in not remembering, that it is not only a duty to yield, in matters of importance, to those who have a right to exact obedience; but that we ought likewise to yield to them in trifles also; because it is but reasonable that we should avoid giving them annoyance.
They again relapsed into silence; but on rising from table Madame Ballier said to her nephew, at the same time carefully emphasizing every word, "Notwithstanding all your permissions, you will be so good as to remember, Master Louis, that I am amenable for you in the absence of your mother, and that I shall not allow you to commit any follies; do you understand that?" She took care to close the door as she pronounced these last words, so as to avoid having to hear any reply to them. Louis had no thought of answering her; all his ideas were in confusion. Not having the slightest inclination to commit any follies, as Madame Ballier expressed it, he was surprised to find himself so extremely offended at her prohibition of them.
"Do but look at that woman, now," said Marianne, folding her arms, and fixing her eyes on the door by which Madame Ballier had made her exit.
"If this is the way she begins," resumed Louis, slowly setting down the glass which in his surprise he had held suspended near his lips. It seemed as if a thunderbolt had fallen at their feet, so little were they prepared for their proper course of action, which was simply to allow things and words of no importance to pass quietly by.
Louis went to M. Lebeau's to console himself for his vexations, by relating them to Charles and Eugenia. "Let her grumble as much as she pleases; you take your own way," said Charles.
Eugenia scolded Charles and then Louis. "Ask mamma," she said, "whether that is the proper manner of behaving to your aunt."
"In what respect, then, do you find I behave so much amiss?" returned Charles, hastily. "You would do just the same in my place."
"I! by no means; when I want to do anything I ask permission; there is surely no great trouble in that."
"But what permission have I to ask of her?"
"That you know best,—permission to look out at the window, if she requires it; it would be no great hardship after all."
"That, certainly, would be very pretty for a boy!" said Charles.
"It would seem, then, that it is more becoming in a boy to be unreasonable, than it is in a girl?"
"Pshaw! Eugenia," said Louis, ill-humouredly, as he took Charles by the arm to lead him away from his sister; "you know nothing about the matter; and besides, what you say is only an affectation."
"I am sure," replied Eugenia, offended in her turn, "that you give yourself airs; it costs you but little to make rude speeches."
They quarrelled, then became reconciled. Louis found in Eugenia's advice much that resembled the counsels of his mother; and he was only the more distressed by dimly perceiving that he was in the wrong, without exactly knowing how to set himself right. The fact was, that Louis was disposed to comply with the wishes of his aunt, provided she required nothing that was troublesome to him; and willing to treat her with complaisance, provided she never interfered with his inclinations; which certainly was setting himself no very difficult task.
A few days after this occurrence, Louis received a letter from his mother, written at the end of her first day's journey.
"Bear in mind, above all things, my dear son," she said in this letter, "never to swerve from the respect you owe your aunt. You may sometimes think she demands a greater degree of submission than she has a right to exact; yet you must submit to this, in order to please her; for it is your duty to make her satisfied with you.
"Should you sometimes think she opposes you unreasonably, or from ill-humour, the best way of showing yourself a man is by not allowing yourself to be irritated by this conduct; for it is little children only that people are anxious not to oppose unreasonably, for fear of spoiling their tempers; but when they become men, they must in their turn conform to the tempers of others.
"In a short time, my dear son, you will have to conduct yourself properly, not only towards those who behave well to you, but towards all with whom you have any intercourse. So long as you are unable to fulfil your duty, unless you have to deal with just and reasonable persons, so long will you be unfit to dispense with the guidance of your father and mother; for you will meet with no one else in the world who, for the sake of sparing you the commission of a fault, will be careful to treat you on all occasions with kindness and justice."
The day that Louis received this letter he was more assiduous in his attentions to his aunt; he took care not to leave the door open when she was in the draught, and he prevented Barogo from eating up the food prepared for Robinet—an occurrence which the evening before had occasioned great offence. Left to himself, Louis was naturally disposed to be obliging; but he wanted that self-control which can alone secure us against the caprices of others. He was consequently never so much at the mercy of his aunt's whims as when he allowed her to put him in a passion, in spite of his good resolutions. Now, as her caprices became every day more frequent, in proportion to the effect they produced on him, and as in proportion to their frequency his resolution became every day weaker, his desire of maintaining peace soon gave way to a complete abandonment of himself to all those emotions which naturally excite discord. The counsels of his mother now produced only a feeling of irritation, for he had persuaded himself that what she required of him was impossible. His home became insupportable, and he was always anxious to escape from it; nor could his mind rest with pleasure on anything but the idea of the enjoyment which he promised himself in going to spend the three holidays of Whitsuntide with Madame Lebeau in the country.
This excursion had been arranged before the departure of Madame Delong. Louis had often mentioned it, and considered it as a settled affair, but Madame Ballier took it into her head, as the best possible means of annoying him, to oblige him to ask specially for her permission.
It had been arranged that on the Saturday preceding Whitsunday Louis was to dine with M. Lebeau, in order to be ready to set out with the family for the country immediately afterwards.
On the day in question, the moment before he returned home to dress for dinner, and make up his little package of what was to be taken with him, Madame Ballier left the house, carrying with her the keys of the wardrobe. Louis, greatly annoyed at not finding the keys when he came in, asked Marianne for them, and then inquired for his aunt. Marianne had not seen her go out, and knew not where to find her. They separated in search of her. Louis ran out, boiling with impatience; and, perceiving her seated on one of the benches in the promenade, he could scarcely restrain himself sufficiently to avoid demanding his keys before he came up to her, or ask for them, when he did arrive, in terms of proper politeness. Madame Ballier quietly inquired what he wanted them for?
"I want to dress, aunt—I am in a great hurry—pray give them to me immediately;"—and he held out a hand tremulous with impatience.
"To dress! you never dress but on Sundays," replied Madame Ballier with the utmost coolness.
"But, aunt! you know I am going into the country."
"I know nothing about it: you have not told me."
"I have spoken of it a hundred times in your presence."
"I am not accustomed," said Madame Ballier, "to take to myself what is not directly addressed to me."
"Well, then, aunt, I tell you now; I repeat it," replied Louis, with redoubled vehemence.
"I have an idea, sir," said Madame Ballier, very gravely, and rising at the same time, "that you will ask me for them in a different manner."
Louis half bent his knee, and in a tone which in his anger he endeavoured to render derisive, said, "Will my aunt have the kindness, the magnanimity, the clemency to give me my keys?"
Madame Ballier made a movement as if to go away. Louis threw himself before her: the clock was striking four, the hour appointed for the rendezvous at M. Lebeau's. "Aunt," he exclaimed, and without perceiving that the tone of his voice had become almost menacing: "Aunt, I entreat you ... where are my keys?"
"In a place," replied Madame Ballier, who on her part was beginning to lose her self-control; "in a place where you will not get them until it suits me."
"You will not give them to me, then?"
Madame Ballier walked on without condescending to reply. Louis darted off like an arrow, taking with him, in his way home, the locksmith usually employed in the house, who, knowing him, made no difficulty about opening the drawers; he then dressed himself, made up a small parcel, and, meeting Marianne, who had just come in, told her to carry to M. Lebeau, in the course of the day, the rest of his things, that they might not be locked up again.
Surprised at such an order, and disturbed at seeing all the drawers open, Marianne would fain have questioned him as to what had occurred, but he was already at a distance, and she stood at the door gazing after him in complete bewilderment.
Louis was eager to arrive; eager to shake off the agitation which tormented him. Since the departure of his mother he had never felt satisfied with himself, at the present moment he was less so than ever, and knew not what the future was likely to bring forth, for he had not the courage to scrutinize the state of his mind. He concealed his uneasiness as well as he could, not liking to mention to M. Lebeau his disagreement with his aunt, and the idea of being for three whole days quite free from his vexations made him speedily forget them. As soon as dinner was over, it was announced that the asses were at the door. Louis was appointed to lead Eugenia's, and Charles that intended for his mother, excepting when M. Lebeau was to take the place of one or the other, so as to let them, by turns, mount his horse. The weather was delightful, and the young people, already animated by the prospect of pleasure, were running down the steps, laughing and jumping, when Marianne appeared at the door, much excited, and carrying in her arms a large parcel, which she held out to Louis: "Here, Master Louis," she said, "here are your clothes; when your aunt saw that I was going to take them, she threw them in my face, saying that when they were once out of the house they had better remain so, and you too. Then, said I, 'And I too;' for now that you are gone, Master Louis, she may manage as she can. I will not set foot in the house till my mistress returns. Here is the account of every thing left under my care—it may easily be seen that all is right; besides, she has taken all the keys, and I will no longer be answerable for anything."
"But, Marianne," said Louis, who was excessively disturbed, "I am not going away—I am to be absent only two days."
"Oh! indeed! but she declared that you should remain where you are—that she was going to write to your mother—that she would no longer be answerable for you—and I don't know what besides."
"You will stay with us," said Charles, with great glee.
"What nonsense!" said Madame Lebeau, impatiently, "his aunt will never drive him away from the house."
"Oh! as for that, she said that if he came back, she should go away," replied Marianne, "not that she will do any such thing—but it is all the same to me. I remained there only for your sake, Master Louis, and now I have done with her. Didn't she say it was I that forced the lock, and that she would take me before the Justice of the Peace! Let her do so! I am not afraid of her; I am better known in the town than she is. The Justice of the Peace, indeed! I am at my sister's, in the next street, let her come for me there:—Good-by, Master Louis."—Then turning back—"Oh! stay! here is a letter from your mamma, which, with all this bother, I forgot to give you;" and she went away, repeating to herself, "The Justice of the Peace! Much I care for her and her Justice of the Peace!" Thus she went on, becoming more and more irritated every time this idea recurred to her mind.
Louis was thunderstruck; he turned his mother's letter mechanically in his hand—it seemed already to pain him, as if it contained a reproach.
"What is all this?" demanded M. Lebeau, who came up in the midst of Marianne's harangue; and Louis scarcely knew how to give him an explanation, so trifling was the subject in dispute.
"Come with us all the same," said Charles, in an under-tone, "you can settle all that on your return."
"Write her a very submissive letter from the country," said Eugenia. Louis heard not a word that was said, he had just opened his mother's letter.
"Good Heavens!" he exclaimed, in a tone of grief, whilst he hid his face in his hands.
"What has happened?—your father!" cried Madame Lebeau, alarmed.
"On the contrary," said Louis, blushing at the exclamation which had just escaped him, "my father is better;" and he added, in a subdued tone, "An hour ago this letter would have rendered me extremely happy."
Madame Delong had written to inform her son that her husband was out of danger, and in a fit state to bear the journey; she was to set out with him in a few days on his return home, where it would be necessary for him to remain, to complete his recovery, and to pass the time of his convalescence, which was expected to be long.
"I shall soon, therefore, my dear son," added Madame Delong, "present you to your father, who has not seen you these four years. He is continually speaking of you, and I scarcely dare to reply: I fear to trust my own affection; I fear to speak of you more favourably than the event may justify. Nevertheless, dear Louis, I trust he will be pleased with us. One thing alone disturbs me," she continued, "I am not satisfied with the tone of your last letter when speaking of your aunt. My dear child, I must warn you that your father, who is much weakened by long-continued exertion and severe suffering, is unable to bear the slightest agitation; it is necessary for him that the whole house should be as tranquil as the apartment of an invalid. Be on the watch, therefore, that on his arrival every thing may wear the aspect of harmony, and nothing arise to disturb him. Examine carefully, my dear son, whether you have prepared for us the reception I require, and whether you feel yourself thoroughly disposed to fulfil your duty."
Louis was overwhelmed. "Well!" said M. Lebeau, who was waiting, and who was not fond of waiting, "Are you coming or not?"
"What will my mother say?" said Louis, who hardly heard the words addressed to him.
"What will she say? Why, you are not in fault, are you?"
"I really don't know anything at all about it."
"Oh; if you don't know, that is another matter. Come, my boy, you should always know what you mean or what you don't mean; whether you are right or whether you are wrong, and then act accordingly."
Louis now presented his mother's letter, not, however, that M. Lebeau might decide for him, for his resolution was already taken.
"Yes," said M. Lebeau, after having read the letter, "you will do well to arrange matters if you can;" and Louis, without speaking another word, took the parcel which Marianne had brought, fastened to it the one which he had made up to take into the country, and passing his stick through them, put it on his shoulder, pressed the hand of Charles, nodded to Eugenia, with a sigh, and walked to the door.
"Is he going away?" asked Charles and Eugenia, in consternation.
"You will come back to us," said M. Lebeau, who liked to make the best of every thing. Louis again nodded, and departed. He soon heard the noise of the donkeys as they were mounting, and of M. Lebeau's horse pawing the ground, impatient to set out; he turned his head, and saw them all preparing for their departure, but in silence; and he watched them to the very end of the street, without hearing a single burst of laughter.
He walked on, without very well knowing what was to be done; he thought, however, that he must in the first place seek Marianne, and prevent her from sleeping out of the house; and, afterwards, go and inform his aunt that it was he who had caused the locks to be forced, and thus prevent her from going to the Justice of the Peace. He found Marianne extremely excited, relating what had passed to her sister, who was vainly endeavouring to pacify her.
"Stop!" she said, when she saw Louis enter; "there is Master Louis himself, who will tell you that it is quite impossible to live with that woman."
"But what are you doing here, Master Louis? and your parcel?—you should not have made me carry it to Monsieur Lebeau's; I would have brought it straight here myself. My sister will lock it safe up in her chest, I promise you, Master Louis; you may be quite easy about it."
"But Marianne," repeated Louis several times impatiently, in vain attempting to interrupt her; "but Marianne, it is not that; I come to tell you that you must return home."
"Return home! and for what, pray, Master Louis? It was all very well, whilst you were there; but as for your aunt, she can do well enough without me, and I can do without her. Go, then, Master Louis, and take your pleasure in the country; you need not be afraid, we shall not bite one another in your absence."
"But, Marianne," replied Louis, more and more out of patience, yet still hesitating to engage himself, "I tell you it is not certain—it is indeed very possible that I may not go into the country at all."
"How!—not go into the country! Oh! that is quite another affair! It was well worth while to open the drawers in such a hurry! Well, if that is the case, I will go and make your bed to-morrow, Master Louis; you may be very sure I shall not leave your room in disorder; you may depend upon that beforehand; your bed shall be ready."
"And dinner also, Marianne?"
"Dinner for your aunt? oh! she can dine well enough without me, the dear creature! If she had nobody to cook her dinner but me, I warrant you it would not make her ill;" and Marianne's passion beginning to revive, she talked to herself and to every one around, without their being able to stop her tongue.
"But listen to me, do, pray, Marianne," cried Louis, almost losing temper himself; "I tell you that my father and mother are coming."
"What! the colonel!—my mistress!" exclaimed Marianne. "Gracious me! when?—where are they?" and she seemed ready to run and meet them.
"Oh, not yet, Marianne," said Louis; "but they are on the road; here is the letter which gives me the intelligence, and you must see that if they find all the house out of sorts in this manner——"
"Ah yes! you are quite right, Master Louis, that is very true. The poor colonel!—and my mistress! How happy she must be!—how is he, now? What! they are really coming!" and the exclamations of Marianne, mingled and succeeded each other with as much rapidity in her delight as in her anger. The whole course of her ideas was completely changed, and perhaps on a closer consideration of the arrival of her master and mistress, she might feel some uneasiness as to the consequences of her late conduct, which in the heat of the moment she had not very attentively examined. There was no difficulty in inducing her to return. "Must we not be preparing the house for their arrival?" she said. "Come, Master Louis; duty before all things;—duty before all things!"
They departed, Marianne carrying the parcels, which she insisted on taking under her charge. "We are going back," she said, "like traders who have been unlucky at the fair; we are as heavily laden as when we set out."
They found the door of the house locked; for, as Marianne was no longer there to attend to it, Madame Ballier had carried away the key with her when she went out. This incident, which Louis might have expected, vexed him exceedingly; he had not yet entirely given up all hopes of going to join his friends in the country, after having reinstalled Marianne at home; but this now became, at least, doubtful, and every moment of delay increased the chance of its being impossible. However, nothing was to be done but to wait; so Louis seated himself on the bench at the door, and did wait, but with a degree of bitterness which every minute of impatience rendered worse. Madame Ballier did not return till ten o'clock at night. Louis sprang up hastily, and his aunt uttered a cry of alarm, for she had not seen either him or Marianne in the dark corner in which they had seated themselves. However, the servant of one of Madame Ballier's friends, who had accompanied her home with a lantern, and to whom she had given the key, began to unlock the door: Louis did not feel sure of being admitted without a contest; fortunately, however, Barogo, who poked his nose in at the door the moment it was a little opened, immediately got scent of Robinet, and pushing it back still farther with his head, bounded into the house, barking with all his might, as he pursued the cat. Madame Ballier rushed in after him, Louis followed his aunt, and Marianne followed him; the door was closed, and every thing fell naturally into its place.
Madame Ballier's Return, p. 200.
Nevertheless, it was necessary for Louis to come to some explanation with his aunt. He prepared himself for it, and endeavoured to summon all the moderation of which he was capable, when he met her at the door of his room, carrying Robinet in her arms. She asked him sharply why he had not brought the locksmith to open the street door as well as that of the wardrobe?
"Since you knew that it was I who had the drawers opened," cried Louis, his anger already excited, as his principal motive for returning had been to explain this matter, "why, aunt, did you threaten to take Marianne before the Justice of the Peace? I came back purposely to prevent you from making such a scandal."
"You are much needed, truly, young gentleman, to prevent scandals," replied Madame Ballier, more and more irritated; "if you came here only to tell me that, you had better return into the country."
"That is what I purpose doing to-morrow morning," said Louis.
"But not, I beg," replied Madame Ballier, "until I have written a letter to Monsieur Lebeau, which you will be so good as to deliver to him, requesting him to take charge of you, as I will have nothing more to do with you."
"I will carry no such letter!" exclaimed Louis, who again began to think of the arrival of his father and mother.
"If you do not carry it, I shall send it."
"That will be of no use, for I shall not stay with Monsieur Lebeau."
"If you go there to-morrow you will stay there."
"And what is to compel me to do so?"
"I will compel you; for I will leave this house, and send word to your mother for what reason I do so."
Louis returned to his room, slamming the door violently. "No," he said, pacing the room, and stamping till the floor shook; "it is useless trying: if one wishes to behave properly, she will not let one."
"It is useless trying, that's certain," said Marianne, as she put the room in order.
The Curé having laid down his manuscript, "Well, tell us," demanded the children, "did he not go into the country?"
"What would you have done in his place?" inquired the Curé.
Amadeus shook his head, as he replied, "I really do not know; it was certainly a very puzzling situation."
"Not at all," replied Juliana, in a very decided tone; "I should the next day have said to my aunt, 'If you still choose to hinder me from going into the country, I shall remain here, and tell every one that it is because I am more reasonable than you are.'"
The Curé smiled. "That would have been very agreeable to her, indeed!" said Amadeus.
"Neither should I have wished it to be agreeable to her," replied Juliana.
"For my part," said Paul, "I would have written immediately to mamma, in Germany, to ask her permission to go next day to Monsieur Lebeau's."
Every one laughed at Paul's expedient, and the Curé continued his narrative.