“Bring her to see us, doctor,” said Charlotte; “the two children would be so happy together.”
“Thank you, dear madame; but her grandmother would never consent. She never trusts the child to any one; and she herself never goes anywhere since our great sorrow.”
This sorrow, of which the old doctor often spoke, was the loss of his daughter and his son-in-law within a year after their marriage. Some mystery surrounded this double catastrophe. Even Mother Archambauld, who knew everything, contented herself with saying, “Yes, poor things! they have had a great deal of trouble.”
The only prescription given by the doctor was a verbal one, “Keep him amused, madame; keep him amused!”
How could poor Charlotte do this? They went off together in a little carriage; breakfast, books, and a butterfly-net accompanied them to the forest; but he was bored to death. They bought a boat, but a tête-à-tête in the middle of the Seine was worse than one on shore; and the little boat soon lay moored at the landing, half full of water and dead leaves.
Then the poet took to building; he planned a new staircase and an Italian terrace: but even this did not amuse him.
One day a man, who came to tune the pianoforte, extolled the merits of an AEolian harp. D’Argenton immediately ordered one made on a gigantic scale, and placed it on his roof. From that moment poor little Jack’s life was a burden to him. The melancholy wail of the instrument, like a soul in purgatory, pursued him in his dreams. To the child’s great relief, the poet was equally disturbed, and the harp was ordered to the end of the garden; but its shrieks and moans were still heard. D’Argenton fiercely commanded that the instrument should be buried, which was done, and the earth heaped upon it as over some mad animal. All these various occupations failing to amuse her poet, Charlotte reluctantly decided to invite some of his old friends, but was repaid for her sacrifice by witnessing D’Argenton’s joy on being told that Dr. Hirsch and Labassandre were soon to visit them.
When Jack entered the house, a few days later, he heard the voices of his old professors. The child felt an emotion of sick terror, for the sounds recalled the memory of so many wretched hours. He slipped quietly into the garden, there to await the dinner-bell.
“Come, gentlemen,” said Charlotte, smilingly, as she appeared on the terrace,—her large white apron indicating that as a good housekeeper she by no means disdained on occasion to lay aside her lace ruffles and take an active part.
The professors promptly obeyed this summons to dinner, and greeted Jack as he took his seat with every appearance of cordiality. Two large doors opened on the lawn, beyond which lay the forest.