“Yes,” he answered; “his conversion would, I thought, give me all Montegnac—and I was not mistaken.”
Veronique pressed Monsieur Bonnet’s hand and said, with tears in her voice, “I am your penitent from this day forth, monsieur; I shall go to-morrow to the confessional.”
Her last words showed a great internal effort, a terrible victory won over herself. The rector brought her back to the house without saying another word. After that he remained till dinner-time, talking about the proposed improvements at Montegnac.
“Agriculture is a question of time,” he said; “the little that I know of it makes me understand what a gain it would be to get some good out of the winter. The rains are now beginning, and the mountains will soon be covered with snow; your operations cannot then be begun. Had you not better hasten Monsieur Grossetete?”
Insensibly, Monsieur Bonnet, who at first did all the talking, led Madame Graslin to join in the conversation and so distract her thoughts; in fact, he left her almost recovered from the emotions of the day. Madame Sauviat, however, thought her daughter too violently agitated to be left alone, and she spent the night in her room.
XVI. CONCERNS ONE OF THE BLUNDERS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY
The following day an express, sent from Limoges by Monsieur Grossetete to Madame Graslin, brought her the following letter:—
To Madame Graslin:
My dear Child,—It was difficult to find horses, but I hope you
are satisfied with those I sent you. If you want work or draft
horses, you must look elsewhere. In any case, however, I advise
you to do your tilling and transportation with oxen. All the
countries where agriculture is carried on with horses lose capital
when the horse is past work; whereas cattle always return a profit
to those who use them.
I approve in every way of your enterprise, my child; you will thus
employ the passionate activity of your soul, which was turning
against yourself and thus injuring you.
Your second request, namely, for a man capable of understanding
and seconding your projects, requires me to find you a rara avis such as we seldom raise in the provinces, where, if we do raise
them, we never keep them. The education of that high product is
too slow and too risky a speculation for country folks.
Besides, men of intellect alarm us; we call them “originals.” The
men belonging to the scientific category from which you will have
to obtain your co-operator do not flourish here, and I was on the
point of writing to you that I despaired of fulfilling your
commission. You want a poet, a man of ideas,—in short, what we
should here call a fool, and all our fools go to Paris. I have
spoken of your plans to the young men employed in land surveying,
to contractors on the canals, and makers of the embankments, and
none of them see any “advantage” in what you propose.
But suddenly, as good luck would have it, chance has thrown in my
way the very man you want; a young man to whom I believe I render
a service in naming him to you. You will see by his letter,
herewith enclosed, that deeds of beneficence ought not to be done
hap-hazard. Nothing needs more reflection than a good action. We
never know whether that which seems best at one moment may not
prove an evil later. The exercise of beneficence, as I have lived
to discover, is to usurp the role of Destiny.
As she read that sentence Madame Graslin let fall the letter and was thoughtful for several minutes.