The Confession of a Child of the Century

by Alfred de Musset

CHAPTER III

ONE evening, as I was walking under a row of linden-trees on the outskirts of the village, I saw a young woman come from a house some distance from the road. She was dressed simply and veiled so that I could not see her face; but her form and her carriage seemed so charming that I followed her with my eyes for some time. As she was crossing a field, a white goat, running at liberty through the grass, ran to her side; she caressed it softly, and looked about as though searching for some favorite herb to feed it. I saw near me some wild mulberry; I plucked a branch and stepped up to her holding it in my hand. The goat watched my approach with apprehension; he was afraid to take the branch from my hand. His mistress made a sign as though to encourage him, but he looked at her with an air of anxiety; she then took the branch from my hand and the goat promptly accepted it from hers. I bowed, and she passed on her way.

On my return home, I asked Larive if he knew who lived in the house I described to him; it was a small house, modest in appearance, with a garden. He recognized it; there were but two people in the house, an old woman who was very religious, and a young woman whose name was Madame Pierson. It was she I had seen. I asked him who she was and if she ever came to see my father. He replied that she was a widow, that she led a retired life, and that she had visited my father, but rarely. When I had learned all he knew, I returned to the lindens and sat down on a bench.

I do not know what feeling of sadness came over me as I saw the goat approaching me. I arose from my seat, and, for distraction, I followed the path I had seen Madame Pierson take, a path that led to the mountains.

It was nearly eleven in the evening before I thought of returning; as I had walked some distance, I directed my steps toward a farmhouse, intending to ask for some milk and bread. Drops of rain began to splash at my feet, announcing a thunder-shower which I was anxious to escape. Although there was a light in the house and I could hear the sound of feet going and coming through the house, no one responded to my knock, and I walked around to one of the windows to ascertain if there was any one within.

I saw a bright fire burning in the lower hall; the farmer, whom I knew, was sitting near his bed; I knocked on the window-pane and called to him. Just then the door opened and I was surprised to see Madame Pierson, who inquired who was there.

I waited a moment, in order to conceal my astonishment. I then entered the house and asked permission to remain until the storm should pass. I could not imagine what she was doing at such an hour in this deserted spot; suddenly, I heard a plaintive voice from the bed, and turning my head, I saw the farmer's wife lying there with the mark of death on her face.

Madame Pierson, who had followed me, sat down before the old man who was bowed down with sorrow; she made me a sign to make no noise as the sick woman was sleeping. I took a chair and sat in a corner until the storm passed.

While I sat there, I saw her rise from time to time and whisper something to the farmer. One of the children, whom I took upon my knee, said that she came every night since the mother's illness. She performed the duties of a sister of charity—there was no one else in the country who could do it; there was but one physician, and he was very inferior.

"That is Brigitte la Rose," said the child; "do you not know her?"