“One of them wants—to marry M. Baptiste, who is not what I approve, who is not rangé nor serious, but a young good-for-nothing,” said M. Goudron. “Fortunately, mademoiselle, that is put out of the question by this morning’s luck.”
“Fortunately!” (“Janey,” said Helen in English, “I cannot bear him much longer. He is horrible; he is disgusting; he is like the ogre in your fairy tale.”) “Fortunately, M. Goudron! when they love one another! when they will break their hearts! when——”
“Ah, bah! Excuse me, mademoiselle; you are young and romantic, like all the English ladies; but I am prudent. I think of Blanchette’s real welfare; and mademoiselle, who is Protestant, a religion of good sense, does not desire me, I hope, to bury Ursule alive in a convent. Pah!” said M. Goudron, spitting on the floor in sign of his disgust, a proceeding which elicited a restrained shriek from his young hostess.
“Janey, call Margot, call Margot! I cannot put up with him any longer. No one ever does that in England,” she said, turning away with a face of horror.
“Shut a girl up in a convent?” said M. Goudron. “No, you are prudent people; you have too much good sense. A girl who can do all that is necessary in a little ménage—who can make the kitchen very well, and mend my clothes, and do all that is needed, and is cheaper than a servant;—to shut her up in a convent, where she will no longer be of use to any one—and with a dot, if you please! Were they to take her with nothing, we might think of it. That is what mademoiselle would wish me to do—to give one, with her dot to the nuns and priests, whom I abhor, and to give another to Baptiste Dupré; and for myself to hire a servant, who would gad about from morning to night, and cost me as much as both put together! Is that what mademoiselle would have me do?”
Helen made no reply, for just then a hurried step had come in at the door, and a new tumult of anxiety, of emotion, seemed to pervade the house. There was a little pause and whispering outside, and then the door was thrown hurriedly open, and Blanchette came in, a fountain of tears.
“Oh, pardon, pardon, chère mademoiselle! It is because I am so unhappy. I think I shall die of grief. Grandpapa! I am come to ask you upon my knees to have a little pity upon us. Oh, ma bonne, douce, gentille demoiselle, help me! perhaps he will hear you. He is so rich, it would be so easy for him to do it. Grandpapa, if you will help us, I will be your slave, I will never complain any more; I will do anything; I will never ask to go out, nor for any toilet, nor for pleasure. Mon Dieu! he turns away his head! he will not even listen. Oh, mes chères demoiselles, help me! He is so rich—what would it do to him? He would never feel it. We should all be happy and pray to God for him—and he, he would never feel it at all!”
“How dare you say I am rich! Do not believe her, mademoiselle; she is talking of things she knows nothing about. Petite sotte! you had better get up and go home, and think of your duty a little.”
“Here is my duty, grandpère,” said poor Blanchette, on her knees. “Oh, help me, mes bonnes demoiselles! He does not care for God, nor for his children; but he cares for his locataires. If Baptiste goes away, his mother will be ruined, and he will be lost to me, and I shall die. Oh, my poor Baptiste! he never was wicked, only foolish a little, like all the young men; and he knows better, a great deal better now. Grandpapa, if you will only be kind, if you will do what we ask you, we will pray God for you on our knees every day, as Ursule does. Oh, mademoiselle, Ursule is a saint! she prays for him just the same as if he were the kindest; and so will I. And when you die, which cannot be long, for you are old, you will find the advantage—God will listen to you because you have listened to us. He will not remember the wicked things you have done, nor how hard you have been, nor——”
“This is something which is admirable,” said the old man, grinning more horribly than ever. “Mademoiselle, my granddaughter is of opinion that I am wicked, that I am hard, that I am old and will shortly die. Bien, très-bien! It is to please me she says all these pretty things. Va, petite imbécile!” He put out his foot furiously to push the kneeling girl away.