The question appalled them both, but the one knew as little as the other how to answer it. They went on softly in the sudden gloom which this idea spread round them. To drop suddenly from the skies from one new place into another, might be amusing enough for a little while; but to remain—always, as Janey said! Helen’s imagination was scarcely less young than her little sister’s. To-day and always were the only alternatives. They held each other fast by the hand, and walked along the village street, feeling a sudden dreariness steal over the whole scene. It had relapsed into its usual quiet, though there were ranges of tables outside the Lion d’Or, and the rival auberge on the other side of the street, to accommodate the thirsty visitors when they should return from the woods. In the distance the young ladies from the château were disappearing round the corner. The woman who had been washing her vegetables had also disappeared, but another had come out to help her who was chopping the wood. And the old man still stood at his door, peering up and down the village. It was strange to go on disturbing the silence, interrupting the sunshine, in a place so quiet; their steps seemed to send echoes through all the tranquil place.
“Is it always so quiet?” Helen asked timidly when they reached the Lion d’Or. The mistress of the house stood at the door, shading her eyes with her hand, and looking out for the return of the expected purchasers. She was a buxom woman, in a white cap, with long, heavy ear-rings and bright eyes.
“Does mademoiselle think it so quiet?” she said. “Wait till they begin to come back. Ma foi! it is a crowd, a tumult. In half an hour we shall not know where to turn to find a seat that is unoccupied. Ah! the ‘vente des bois’ is a great day. There is nothing like it out of Paris. But in Paris it lasts continually, that is the difference. Mademoiselle has been in Paris?”
“Only for a day.”
“Aha! that is nothing at all. Paris cannot be seen in so little time. The English go too quickly, if you will pardon me for saying so. Paris! Figure to yourself that I was there, mademoiselle, effectively there, for all of a month. I know Paris at my fingers’ ends.”
“Are the young ladies very nice,” said Helen, hesitating—(she did not know how to say nice, that accommodating word. “Les jeunes dames, sont-elles très-agréables”—which, even to her English ear, did not sound right—was what she said)—“at the château?”
“Comment?—ah! you would say the demoiselles who passed just now. Yes, not amiss. We do not find fault with them,” said Madame Dupré, with a slight shrug of the shoulders; “but speaking of Paris, mademoiselle. Ah! if I could but have sent my Baptiste there, what a happiness! He might have been clerk in one of the best magasins on the Boulevard. But boys are obstinate beyond all things, beyond the very mules. He prefers his village, and the woods, and the chasse. He gives me a great deal of inquietude, my boy. Should he draw a bad number it will be an evil day for the Lion d’Or. There is always that hanging over us. When a poor woman has several sons, instead of being a help to her it is but opening the gates to evil. She who has only one may keep him safe. And what does it matter, when they are helpless children, how many sons you have, mademoiselle? Till the tirage is over, I shall never know a day’s ease. Sometimes I think it is better to have no children at all, as old M. Goudron says.”
“Is that old M. Goudron?” said Helen, pointing to the old man who still stood at his door and watched, with his red and yellow handkerchief tied round his head.
“He is what we call a richard, mademoiselle, the most rich person in the village. He has so much that he thinks it is a crime to be poor; he thinks it is your fault, not circumstances. His poor little granddaughter lives with him in that big house, and he leads her a life! Fancy, mademoiselle, the poor girl loves my Baptiste! they have always had a fancy for each other; and if the old man would give her a dot as he promised, and Baptiste drew a good number——”
“What is a good number?” said Helen, in her ignorance. She did not know what it meant. That the young man’s fate should depend on the very insignificant fact whether he drew five or fifty, was incomprehensible to Helen.