Antonia

by George Sand

Thinking that it was the one that had brought her, and that the driver had misunderstood her orders, or that Marcel had sent it back for her by way of precaution, she called the driver, who was sound asleep on his box. It was impossible to wake him except by pulling the skirt of his coat. They who remember what cab-drivers were forty years ago, can judge what they were forty years earlier than that. This one was so dirty that Julie hesitated to touch him with her gloved hand. She carefully gathered up her ample silk skirt to avoid brushing the dirty wheels. Never before had she been in such an embarrassing plight; she was afraid, too, to be alone in the street near midnight. The occasional passers-by stopped to stare at her, and she trembled lest, from good nature or malice, they should attempt to interfere in her affairs.

The driver woke at last and answered that he did not know her, that he had brought two priests of the parish to attend the dying man, and that his orders were to wait for them. He would not stir at any price. Julie glanced anxiously about her. Her carriage did not appear. She raised the heavy knocker on the gate, intending to return to the courtyard of the hôtel. The gate did not open, whether because special orders had been given with respect to her, or because the general orders were inflexible.

Extreme terror took possession of her; the idea of returning alone, on foot, could not be entertained; nor was it possible to remain standing in front of that gate. There was not a single shop on the street, and she must wait for her carriage somewhere, no matter where, provided it was not in the street. The outbuildings of the hôtel D'Ormonde were some distance away, at the right and left. In one direction was an abbey, in the other the Convent of the Visitation, where she might seek shelter; but it was at least ten minutes' walk, and there again she would have to parley before obtaining admission. She noticed on the opposite side of the street a high gate at the end of a passage between the hôtel De Puisieux and the hôtel D'Estrées. She thought that if she gave a louis to the gate-keeper, he would allow her to wait in his lodge. She crossed the street, but, when she attempted to ring, she found that there was neither keeper nor bell. It was simply a servants' gate for both houses. Julie was rapidly losing heart, when she suddenly saw close beside her, as if he had risen from the ground, a man who terrified her so that she almost fainted; but he instantly named himself, and she uttered a joyful exclamation: it was Julien. She explained her misadventure in a few somewhat incoherent words. Julien understood because he was already half informed, and he was not there by chance.

"It is useless for you to wait here for your carriage," he said; "it probably will not arrive for some time."

"How do you know?"

"I was at the Comédie-Française this evening."

"Did you see me there?"

"Were you there, madame? I did not know it."

"In that case——"

"In that case I can understand my meeting with Monsieur Antoine Thierry and his words. He must have known that you were to be there. He was on the watch; he made an ironical remark which I did not understand, but which gave me something to think about. As I returned to the pavilion, I stopped, being somewhat uneasy, in front of your hôtel. Your servants were in great commotion. It seems that your coachman could not be found. I accosted the concierge, who knows my face, and, seeing that he was greatly disturbed, I asked him if any accident had happened to you. He told me of the Marquis d'Estrelle's death, and that you had driven here with my cousin Marcel. Your coachman appeared at last, dead drunk and unable to understand any of the orders you had left for him. The concierge left me, saying that when Bastien was once on his box, he would go all right. That did not seem very reassuring to me. I am not so phlegmatic as your concierge, and I came here as fast as I could. I hoped to find Marcel still here and to tell him not to trust you unattended to the care of a drunken coachman; but I arrived a few moments too late. You are alone and you have been frightened."