A MONTH AT A FRENCH WATERING-PLACE.
BY AN OLD BACHELOR.
I always had a great veneration for the disciples of Esculapius, but never so as when my considerate doctor decided that a sea voyage was absolutely necessary for my my health. Being unblessed by those sweet cares, a wife and children, I determined to show my obedience to his commands, and at the same time to ratify my long-cherished plan of visiting the old world. Be reassured, readers, I have no intention of harrowing your gentle spirits by a description of sea-sickness, nor of wearying you with my experiences at custom-house or railroad dépôt, but desire to transport you at once to the good little watering place of V——, which had been recommended to me as the very place for the exorcising of that tyrant devil, dyspepsia.
It was a lovely evening in July that I took a carriage from D——, for the said watering-place, for railroads have not as yet invaded the primitive simplicity of the village; hotels have, however, and much to my satisfaction I found myself, after a charming hour's drive, seated in a cozy room with an excellent dinner before me. My Hostess I soon discovered to be quite a character; a raw-boned, fast-talking Frenchwoman, with a suspicious darkness on her upper lip. When I had finished my repast, this worthy dame informed me that it was the custom of all good "Seigneurs" to repair to the beach after dinner; so giving me my hat and cane, she showed me the way, and I in all obedience departed.
The moon was then full, and cast a deliciously deceptive light on all around; even the wretched huts wherein the French peasantry contentedly huddle, mellowed by its light, looked picturesque and quaint. Looking around, I found that the village nestled between two hills, and that I was at the moment in the principal street, which cuts it in two, and from which smaller streets diverge in all directions. Tempted by the quiet of the evening I turned from the main road, and soon found myself in one of the prettiest winding lanes imaginable; at that quiet hour, with the moonlight streaming through the interlacing trees, I know of nothing more charming than a walk along the winding paths which form a network around the village; what in the day time might be simply pretty, borrowed from the lovely night a charm and mystery that was irresistible; and so I wandered on, a luxurious feeling, half melancholic, half pleasurable, soothing my spirit, until I was abruptly reminded that all things sweet in this life are short, by finding myself at the end of my pretty lane, and once more landed in the village street. Here my landlady's admonition was brought to my mind, by seeing several parties of red-hooded, red-cloaked personages all going one way; these were evidently some of the good bathers, and them I followed. In a few minutes I found myself in quite a small crowd of strangers, who made the beach look like a gaden of poppies. I, who had formed my ideas of watering-places from Newport and Long Branch, looked in amazement at this beach, which is nothing more or less than a break in the high white cliffs, which stretch on either side at far at the eye can [{406}] reach; however, though small, it seemed convenient, and I looked at the rippling water in eager anticipation of the morrow's bath. Seating myself on the stones, which form a poor substitute for the firm white sand of Newport, I proceed as is my custom, to observe my companions, and from their trifling actions to form an opinion of their different natures. A number of groups attracted my attention, but as I merely discovered that the ladies of the parties were industriously occupied in trying to out-babble—talk it hardly was—each other, and that the men carelessly reclined near them smoking, in utter despair of otherwise making use of their mouths, I was beginning to think that there was not much food for my observations, when my attention was suddenly arrested by the familiar sound of a few English words. Turning around, I saw at a few steps from me a party which I had not yet observed. The centre figure of this new picture at once arrested my attention; evidently this lady considered herself of great importance, for she was laying down the law to the various persons around her, with a volubility that a French woman only can attain. Her dress was an extraordinary caricature of rural finery; it was a pity, I thought, that the face under that peculiarly youthful, flower-ornamented hat, should be that of a plain woman of fifty. Her court was principally composed of various feeble imitations of herself, but my attention was soon entirely occupied by two figures at the extreme verge of the group, a young lady and a gentleman; the young lady seemed to be giving an English lesson to her listless companion, who appeared almost too indolent to turn around in admiration of the girl's sprightliness; a second glance convinced me that I was near one of my own countrywomen; the delicate profile, fragile form, and rather nervous manner could belong to none but an American. My interest was now excited to the highest pitch, for when an ocean rolls between a man and his country, all that reminds him of that country has an irresistible charm, especially when that something happens to be a pretty girl. But my observations were cut short, for the whole party arose a few minutes after, and left the beach. I soon followed, and learned from my voluble landlady that I had been observing fellow-boarders; that the strangely attired lady was the most important personage of V—— that she patronized sea-bathing every summer, and that she rejoiced in the name of Madame la Baronne d'Agri. The handsome young monsieur with the beard, proved to be her nephew, and the "Charmante Americaine" was with with her mother, an invalid for whom sea air had been ordered. Then followed a long description of the other members of the party, a Mr. and Mrs. Poirier and their daughter, by young artist and several other personages, to which description I fear I was but indifferently attentive.
Next morning it rained—rain forming a part of nearly ever day's programme, as I afterward discovered. Not yet having become hardened to the fact, I was dolefully looking from the hotel door, vainly endeavoring to discover a patch of blue sky, when I was joined by Madame la Baronne's nephew. Remarks on the weather were followed by a polite offer of a cigar, whose genial fragrance soon induced a more interesting conversation. A few chance words brought out the fact that my young companion was quite an amateur chemist, and as, in my college days, chemistry had been a sort of passion with me, we were soon launched in an animated discussion. I was much interested to hear what rapid strides the French had recently taken in that and other positive sciences. From chemistry we passed to politics, philosophy, and finally religion. While listening to this young man's clear, strong exposition of his sentiments on these various subjects, I found myself wondering at this, to me, new, new phase of the French character, as unlike the light, [{407}] frivolous, gay-hearted Frenchman of the novel and stage, as possible. I must say it pleased me even less; the down-right scepticism, the well-turned sophisms, the extreme materialism, were easily traced to the teachings of Voltaire. I am well pleased to think that this young man is the representative of but a comparatively small class, but unfortunately that class is composed of much of the brain of the country, and consequently carries with it great influence. On all American questions M. Louis d'Agri (for so the young man was called) showed a curious interest; of our great war his opinion had been biassed by Southern influence—not unnaturally, since his only American associates had been from that portion of our country; these associates had also given him their ideas on the subject of slavery, but a few facts, put in the simple, plain way which seemed best to suit his turn of mind, convinced him, or seemed to convince him, that, in that particular at least, his judgment was in error. He asked many questions on the present state of affairs in our country, of the possible future of the South, of the treatment of Jefferson Davis, etc., etc., all of which I answered apparently to his satisfaction. Indeed, not only in his case, but in many others, I have noticed that there is a great curiosity felt about everything American; to tell the truth, I think that the war brought to their minds that a vast and important country really does exist on the other side of the broad ocean, a fact of which before they were but dimly conscious. Even now, the strange ignorance of our customs, people, and especially our geography, even among the educated classes, would bring forth the astonishment and indignation of any American fifth-form school-boy. The French are singularly devoid of our go-ahead qualities in everything; they travel but little, and being perfectly convinced that France is the only country of any real importance on the globe, trouble themselves but little about any other, especially should that other be separated from them by an ocean.
From American politics we turned to those of France, a subject which brought out the young man's most bitter anathemas; dissatisfied with the form of government, with the people, and especially with the emperor, he expressed himself with much more freedom than any other Frenchman I had yet conversed with. Most of them answer any objections with a shrug of the shoulders, and a furtive glance about them; they often praise the emperor for the good he has done their beloved Paris, but with an air which says: "I like not the man, but admire his sagacity." Very few Americans, however, could have expressed more republican, more anti-aristocratic sentiments than M. d'Agri, who, as I learned afterward, is the last direct representative of a decayed but noble house. On all religious topics he proved to be an utter sceptic, avowedly believing in nothing, and regarding as either knaves or dupes all those who did not stoop to his own degrading materialism: singular that a mind so clear should be so perverted. We had merely broached the last subject, when the ladies of the party, enticed by the sun which was beginning to brighten the sky, descended, and proposed going down to bathe. M. d'Agri, advancing toward the young lady I had observed the night before, said:
"Mees Fannee, I have just been having an interesting conversation with a countryman of yours."
The young lady's face brightened, and with a frankness that is certainly a charm peculiar to American girls, extended her hand, saying in English:
"Is it possible! Americans in a foreign land can scarcely be strangers!" and so, from that moment, I was considered as one of the party. Mrs. Hayne, the invalid mother, I found belonged to that rather extensive class of ladies who, from having some slight [{408}] nervous ailment, nurse and pet it till it grows to be a real malady, which makes them fretful, wrinkled and miserable. As we walked to the beach I was made the honored recipient of the good lady's woes, and being a tolerable listener was immediately taken into her favor.
We found the beach already lively with the indefatigable bathers, who seize on all tolerably sunshiny days to search for health in the luxurious water. Several groups of people, who either had bathed or were going to bathe later, were seated on the stones, watching with interest the extraordinary looking figures that emerged from the long row of cabins. Notwithstanding my eagerness for a good swim, I stood for nearly half an hour watching also; many of the ladies who went into their cabins majestic in width of skirt and flowing drapery, emerged from them reduced to a mere ghost of their former grandeur. To all whom it may concern, I give it as my decided opinion, that oil-silk caps and scant bathing dresses are generally not becoming, and that a young man must be of a peculiarly susceptible disposition to become enamored of these sea-nymphs.
One thing let me observe, there is a regard for personal safety here of which we are too devoid. I noticed in the water two black-clothed individuals, whose only business seemed to be to exercise those ladies and children who did not swim, so that they might not catch cold; to give lessons to beginners in the noble art of swimming, and to have an eye to the safety of the bathers generally. When the bath is over, the well-cared-for person is well wrapped up and hurried to the cabin, where a hot foot-bath is in readiness; to this latter arrangement I give my most cordial approval.
As I turned around, after these various observations, intending in my turn to appropriate one of the cabins, I was met by Madame d'Agri, who, in an eccentric bathing-dress, was tripping down to the water. Stopping me, she overwhelmed me with voluble patronage, assuring me that her nephew had spoken of me in the highest terms, and that all his friends were hers; and finally pointing to the largest cabin on the batch, over which the family arms floated ostentatiously, informed me that in that cabin they often retired from the vulgar herd, and invited me, whenever I felt annoyed by the plebeians around me, to join them, that a chair would always be at my disposal. Bowing my thanks, I beat a hasty retreat, out of breath for very sympathy.
After my bath, which I enjoyed as only veteran swimmers can enjoy it, I sallied forth to verify or destroy the impressions my moonlight stroll of the night before had given me. To some extent, at least, they were destroyed; in the moonlight the low, thatched huts —cottages they could scarcely be called—looked picturesque; in the broad daylight they looked simply squalid; dirt and discomfort reigned supreme. In many of these huts there seemed to be but one, unfloored, wretched-looking room, serving as kitchen, bedroom, and parlor, to a swarming family of dirty children, with their dirtier parents. Yet I an told that many of these peasants, who are content to live in these hovels year after year, and subsist on crabs, periwinkles, and such trash, are often comparatively well off, some of them being in actual receipt of rents amounting to ten and fifteen thousand francs a year; but as their fathers live so do they live, and the natural consequence is that they are an ill-favored, withered-looking set. I looked in vain for a fresh, blooming girl, there seemed to be no age between twelve and fifty; even the children looked withered, and the old people were fairly bent double; yet they lived on, contented enough, because dreaming of no other possible life, and enjoying the bustle of an occasional fête with a zest which our more phlegmatic people would disdain. While making these [{409}] reflections, I again found myself in one of those charming lanes which had so pleased me the night before. These, at least, were unspoiled by the misery around; what a blessing that man cannot degrade nature, however he may degrade himself! By my side murmured and gurgled the prettiest little brook, dignified here by the name of "petite rivière," which I ever saw; clear as crystal, swift and cold, it lends beauty and freshness to the whole country around. An American farmer would laugh at the tiny stream scarcely more than a mile in length, but an artist would revel in its beauty.
And so, what with bathing, walking, driving, and chatting, time passed quietly but pleasantly at the little village of V——. Meanwhile I grew more and more interested in watching my companions, especially two of them; I often found myself, while seeming to listen to the Baronne's endless tales of her house's past grandeur, or to poor Mrs. Mayne's recital of her troubles, closely observing my young countrywoman and M. Louis d'Agri. Knowing as I did his ideas on serious subjects, and feeling, too, the influence which a mind like his, strong, cool, and calculating, could scarcely fail to exercise over a sensitive and impulsive nature like hers, I found myself growing more and more uneasy. Evidently accustomed to that sort of flirting and freedom which is entirely prohibited to French girls, Miss Hayne delighted in taking her lazy cavalier unawares, and obliging him, with the most innocent air possible, to give up his dear comfort—now to fetch a chair, again to hold her worsteds while she wallowed them; a sort of treatment to which the gentleman was evidently unaccustomed, and which, perhaps for the very novelty of the thing, seemed to create not an unpleasant sensation. But, on the other hand, he was fond of bringing out all her girlish and unsophisticated ideas, and quietly leveling at them his battery of cold-hearted sophisms, in order to destroy them one by one; at first she would battle bravely, but an impulsive girl, untrained to analyze her own convictions, has but a poor chance against a clear-headed, determined man, and I noticed, with pain, that after every such discussion she would seem uneasy and depressed. Then her opponent would lazily settle himself in his chair, and allow his rival, the young artist, whom I have strangely slighted heretofore, to bring his gallantries into play. This young man was a sort of protégé of Madame d'Agri's, and an entirely different type of man from Madame's nephew; all the arts and graces, compliments and "petits soins" which the latter despised, M. Dubois employed with true French art. He had from the first been struck by Miss Hayne's pretty face, which he sedulously introduced into all his sketches, paying her, whenever he was permitted, most unremitting attentions; but I noticed that, though the native coquetry which seemed to be this girl's principal fault, induced her to encourage him, a word, or even a look from M. Louis d'Agri, would draw her away from him to the piano, or oftener to the chess-board, where she invariably received severe lectures on her neglect of the rules of that noble game. You may, in the mean time, wonder what became of the other young girls of the party, for there were several; they looked at Mees Fannee, and her freedom of speech and action, in ill-concealed horror, and remained near their mothers, chattering fast enough among themselves, but scarcely venturing to answer "yes" or "no," when addressed by their elders, especially if those elders happened to be of the other sex. Indeed, M. Louis informed me in confidence that his young countrywomen, "s'ennuyent bien, et ma foi! elles ennuyent joliment les autres" before marriage, but after—bah! and an expressive wave of the hand finished the sentence.
One morning as I was lounging about, thinking with a certain degree of ennui that doing nothing was, after all, the hardest sort of work, I was met [{410}] by Madame d'Agri, who accosted me with one of her sweetest smiles.
"O Monsieur! I was just wondering where I should find you—so delighted, really so charmed—you must go with us, indeed you must! now, no excuse; positively I will accept none; this time you must allow my will to be law."
"Madame, I am your most obedient; but in what particular am I required to show my duty?"
"Mon Dieu! and have I not told you? what a giddy thing I am; indeed my poor husband" (whom I am sure she talked to death) "always said I was giddy! We are going to C——, where there is to be a fête, and on the way we can see see a chateau or two, not much, you know, but pretty well for these degenerate times. Yes, we are all going—that is, no, not all, for poor Madame Hayne has the migraine: dear! dear! how that poor woman suffers! So the charming Mees Fannee has accepted me as her chaperone—interesting girl, is she not? Well, as I was saying, Madame Hayne has the migraine, and Madame Poirier has the toothache and will not that her daughter go without her; so the party will be reduced to Madame Duchemin and her daughter, Mees Fannee, my nephew, M. Dubois—has he not a charming talent—and myself; and you really must join us—plenty of room I assure you, plenty of room. We shall go in one of those vehicles they call an 'Americaine'—I fancy it got its name from the hospitality with which it holds so many people—so like your delightful country!"
After some little delay occasioned by the ladies, who, as might be expected, all forgot something at the last woman's, we started. It was a fresh, breezy morning, just such a one as to excite high spirits, and make one appreciate every trifling incident. The road was excellent, indeed it made me blush for some of our own ill-made, ill-kept roads; but of this I said nothing, for every American feels bound, when abroad, to represent all concerning his country "couleur de rose." The scenery was charming; nothing perhaps striking and grand and vast, like the scenery we are most accustomed to, but a pleasing alternation of hill and dale, with well-cultivated fields, villages nestling in groves of fine trees, and above all occasional glimpses of the blue ocean, to delight the eye and to give one a genial and pleasing sense of the beautiful, without calling forth rapturous, and let me add, fatiguing expressions of admiration. When we reached the first chateau we all agreed that we were tired of the "Americaine," and that it was absolutely necessary for our happiness to wander about for half so hour or so.
"M. d'Agri!" exclaimed Miss Hayne "you once promised me a sketch; here is my album, and yonder chateau is the very subject for a drawing; so, sir, please, to sit down and obey my command."
"Obedience was never my principal virtue, Mees Fannee, and I feel particularly lazy this morning."
But a little imperious gesture, accompanied by a half smile, had their effect, and the young man, perhaps too indolent to make further objections, took the proffered album, and seeking the softest grass-plot, sat down. I noticed that the artist, of whose arm the Baronne had taken possession, looked around angrily, as though this time M. d'Agri were in reality trespassing on his ground; but that gentleman, himself quite a clever draughtsman, proceeded with most imperturbable sang froid. The view he chose was really pretty. The chateau, a large, irregular edifice, stood at the end of a noble avenue of horse-chestnuts, whose broad leaves made a dense shade; the country immediately around was charming; a little stream somewhat resembling that of V——, only larger, was seen in the distance, wandering through shrubbery and trees, until lost behind a hill which rose more abruptly than most of the hills in this part of Normandy. On the other hand, fields of wheat and oats extended for some [{411}] distance, ended by a dark belting of woods; not far from us stood one of those large wayside crosses so often seen in Catholic countries, near which a shepherd was tending a flock of sheet.
When the sketch was finished Madame d'Agri came up, and admiring it loudly, thanked Mees Fannee, with many caresses, for having made that lazy nephew of hers exert himself, and during the rest of the ride showered even more than her ordinary share of condescensions on the young girl. This brought to my mind various other trifling circumstances, and I said within myself: "French titles are often accompanied by French poverty; this girl is rich, and Madame la Baronne knows it. I will watch."
It was late in the afternoon when we reached the village; leaving our tired horses at the inn, we walked to the market place. Here, a number of booths, gay with flags and ribbons, stood temptingly displaying their wares; most of them were filled with second-rate, but highly colored china, for which unlucky wretches were induced to try their chance, through the agency of a particularly dirty pack of cards. Gambling on a small scale, for pieces of dusty gingerbread, seemed to be another favorite mode of parting with sous. On the other side, the beating of drums and clanging of cymbals announced that in a certain tent the unsophisticated mind could be rejoiced by extra-ordinary theatrical representations for the moderate sum of three sous; dust, noise, and bustle reigned supreme, and the peasant's in their holiday clothes seemed to be at the very height of enjoyment. Altogether it was a gay and picturesque scene, but I was content to view it at a respectful distance. Not so Madame d'Agri; she patronized the peasants, who looked at her eccentric costume in bewildered admiration; chucked the children under the chin, scolded the parents, and in short acted out the "grande dame" of the fête to her heart's content. As night approached, a large building in the centre of the place, used, I believe, as a sort of flour dépôt on market days, was lighted by Chinese lanterns and flaring tallow candles; here the youth of both sexes enjoyed a rollicking, laugh-abounding dance, to the sound of a cracked fiddle. Madame was just insisting on forming a quadrille of her own, to encourage the peasantry, who, by the way, seemed but little in need of encouragement, when her nephew represented to her that we should not get home till late as it was, and that the moon would not serve after a certain hour. Reluctantly she yielded, and we settled ourselves once more in our "Americaine," tired but pleased. The conversation was soon monopolized by M. d'Agri and Miss Fanny, who, whatever might be their fatigue, always seemed to have some point of dispute.
After this excursion my vigilance increased, and my observations were not pleasing; two or three little circumstances brought out in M. d'Agri's character an insensibility to the pains and sufferings of others, and a certain cruelty of thought and action, which, notwithstanding the interest his fine intellect excited in me, brought a feeling of distrust, and at times of dislike.
One rather misty day, on which but few bathers ventured into the water, I, feeling a need of exercise, determined to enjoy my customary swim. The cabin I happened to take stood next to the large one of Madame d'Agri. When I returned, dripping and glowing from my bath, I noticed that the lady was seated in it sewing, and that her nephew was lounging by her, reading the paper. As I was luxuriating in the delicious feeling which I believe sea-bathing alone can give, I was startled by a few words which came distinctly to my ears; so far the conversation had not risen above an occasional, monotonous hum, but suddenly I found myself in the awkward position of a forced listener, as the thin wooden partition proved but a slight [{412}] obstruction to the heightened voices of the speakers.
"My good aunt, let us not broach that subject again."
"My good nephew, I must and will; the welfare of our noble house—"
"Fiddlesticks!" (this is a mild translation.) "Listen rather to this account of the transactions at Vienna.
"Louis, you are mad. If you will not be moved by higher considerations, think at least of your own comfort—that comfort that you love so well. You are poor, too high born to work, what then is left you but a wealthy marriage?"
"There you have touched my only vulnerable point, my comfort; but then, my dear aunt, what becomes of your aristocratic scruples? would you have the noble blood of the d'Agris contaminated?—"
"But, Louis, Americans are not like others; it is true they do say her father made his money in commerce, but then, I read somewhere or other that Americans consider themselves all as sovereigns; besides, we want money, and if it is said that you married a foreigner, people will not trouble themselves about the origin of her money-sacks, as they would if she were the daughter of a French roturier. Come, my boy, be reasonable; remember that you are the last representative—"
"I remember, rather, that champagne is dear, and so are cigars: what do you want of me?"
"I want you to marry this rich girl; no hard task—you seem to like her well enough—"
"My good aunt, everything in life bores me. When I was a child, my playthings bored me; later, school and college proved almost intolerable bores; my rank bores me; Paris bores me, the country still more so; society is an insufferable bore, but above all, French girls bore me. Now, this Mees Fannee is original or seems to me so; she stirs me a little with her quickness, her coquetry, and her outré ideas. But remember that has not yet lasted long; a few weeks more, and she too probably, will bore me—and then for a whole lifetime . . . good aunt, that is a consideration to make a man tremble!"
"Nonsense, Louis; yon will have to marry some time or other."
"Yes, I suppose so; but French girls are brought up with a becoming sense of the submission due from wives to husbands; now, this girl would prove rebellious I know, and, however democratic I may be in my theory of the government of nations, my theory of the government of the 'menage' is that of despotism. Besides, I have a remnant of humanity left in me, and would not condemn that bright young creature to the misery of being my wife; no, no, let her marry some Quixotical American, who will place her on a high pedestal and pass his life in admiring her and letting her henpeck him."
I could not help smiling at this resume of an American husband's chivalric devotion.
"Very well, you will pass your life as you have commenced it; you will deny yourself all sorts of luxuries because they are expensive; that Rembrandt you covet so, will remain unpurchased; you want to travel, but you will stay at home, because travelling costs money; and finally you will marry some girl as poor as yourself, or with a dôt, which she will spend, together with more than half your pittance, in buying silks and satins to outshine Madame this or Madame that—"
"Hold!"
"On the other hand, you might, by marrying this charming Mees, decorate your house with pictures and statutes, go everywhere, see everything, and take your place among the enlightened patrons of art and science; all this you reject because you are afraid this little Mees will prove stronger of will—"
"Stronger of will than I!" and M. Louis sprang from his chair; the Baronne was no fool after all. "Diable! there are few women I could not bend to my will. My aunt, I will try my luck with this little Mees; win her, wed her, and conquer her, too?"
"There spoke a d'Agri; but, my dear boy, you should pay her court more assiduously, compliment her—"
"Pshaw! I understand your charming sex better than you do yourself; if flattery could have won her, I should long ago have been beaten by that soft-headed, smooth-tongued artist. No, the surest way to win a woman is to make her feel that you can master her, and that if you bow before her, it is only because you choose to do so."
"So you are not afraid of ultimate success; you think she loves you?"
"No, but I think she is fascinated, mesmerized, what you will, by me, which answers the same purpose; what I have to do is to hasten matters, and that is what I mean to do. I think she has gone to the 'Source' for one of her eccentric, solitary rambles. An revoir, ma bonne Tante!" and the young man sprang from the cabin with an energy which I had never before noticed in him. Soon after, Madame gathered up her work apparently, and I heard no more. My toilet finished I also took my departure, and thoughtfully turned my steps toward the hotel.
On my way I met Miss Fanny just returning from her walk; evidently M. Louis had missed her. Ascertaining that she was not tired, I begged her to accompany me to a particularly pretty spot on the hill, from which the village was seen to advantage; on the way the conversation was desultory, though I tried gradually to lead it to the subject I meant soon to attack. Once seated under the trees, I changed my tone, and looking at her earnestly, said:
"Miss Fanny, will you pardon me if the interest I feel in you, as a countrywoman, and as a guileless girl, leads me to speak plainly to you? Remember that I am more than twice your age; come, have I permission to make myself disagreeable?"
"I do not understand you"—and she looked up startled; then, perhaps reading a part of my thoughts in my face, she said with a blush, "Yes, you may speak."
I then, as gently as possible, told her what I had observed, and dwelt on the young man's unsound religions principles, on his want of sympathy for others, etc., and finally related the conversation I had just heard, softening some parts, but giving a detailed account of others. She bent her head, and seemed considerably moved.
"And now, my child," I continued, "give me the satisfaction of feeling that I have done right, that you are glad to know this, that your heart is not as yet so engaged in this affair as to bring you any real unhappiness; if I thought I had unwittingly wounded any deep and honest sentiment of yours, if I thought you felt for this young man that sort of love which hallows its object, and often purifies it from evil, I could not easily forgive myself."
"You need not fear, my good friend; I thank you for your interest in me," and she extended her hand, smiling faintly through her tears. "I have done wrong I know, but this is how it happened: at first, ennuyed by the quietness of this place, which seemed so dull after Newport, I commenced a sort of flirtation with this M. Louis d'Agri, merely because I craved excitement."
"Precisely; in other words you are an example of our as yet imperfect system of education. In France young girls are kept in severe restraint, from which they rebound after marriage, often causing much misery; ours is the other extreme—there is an almost unlimited degree of liberty among our young people, which is so far good that it creates a feeling of chivalric honor among the men, and of self-sustaining strength among the women; but at the same time this freedom creates also a longing for excitement, a [{414}] fear of ennui, which finds vent in an immense amount of flirting, generally innocent enough, but which becomes a part of the character of almost every young person, especially every young girl—is it not so?"
"Perhaps it is; at all events the peculiar character of this young man soon interested me; I felt piqued at his indolent, indifferent manner, and continued the flirtation; gradually, as I came to know him better, he acquired over me, I scarcely know how, a sort of influence from which I could not rid myself; but never once did I mistake the feeling which prompted me to crave his society, for love."
"Then you do not think he could have succeeded in—"
"I do not know; had I not been made aware of his base, mercenary motives, he might have strengthened that influence so far as to blind me to its nature, and make me think it love; but—"
"But now you are warned."
"But now I defy M. Louis d'Agri and his fascinations," and her eyes flashed.
"Still, do you not think that you would feel more comfortable away from his society?"
"I feel no fear, but shall be glad to leave this place. Fortunately, mother was complaining this very morning of the cold sea-winds, and I can easily persuade her that it is necessary to go further south. Is your mind easy now? I see you have but little faith in my resolution."
"Pardon me. I have, but I think that the Baronne would find means to make a longer residence here disagreeable, did she perceive the change which your manner must necessarily undergo."
Our conversation lasted some little time longer, and ended by most kindly expressed thanks, and hopes for some future meeting, which hopes I most cordially reciprocated, for the girl's frank and simple manner during the past conversation had much heightened my esteem of her.
That evening there arose a perfect storm of regrets, and expressions of surprise at Mrs. Haynes suddenly expressed determination. "It was not possible! Madame's health had improved so perceptibly," which assertion the worthy lady repudiated with as much energy as though it had been an insult. "We shall feel so deserted after she and Mees Fannee have gone," etc., etc. Mees Fannee said nothing, but a heightened color, and a quiet, determined manner new to her, seemed to strike M. Louis forcibly; he darted a quick look at me, but whether he really ever suspected my agency in the transaction or not, I never knew. If he did, I believe that after the first feeling of anger had passed, he felt grateful rather than not, for his better nature, I am glad to think, really revolted at the idea of the contemplated meanness.
At eleven the next morning the old-fashioned diligence carried Mees Fannee and her mother away, leaving the hotel triste indeed. A little while after I saw Madame la Baronne and her nephew walking up and down the little garden, the lady gesticulating violently, and the young man quietly smoking a cigar, and answering his excited relative with an occasional shrug of the shoulders.
Soon after I also took my departure, for I found the interest of the place strangely diminished, and the evenings at the "plage" stale, flat, and unprofitable; so leaving the good French ladies and their daughters discussing the coming winter's fashions with voluble interest, the indefatigable Baronne eagerly looking out for another heiress, and the nephew lazily indifferent to her success, I made my adieux. Thus ended my month at a French watering-place.