“Those are the only moments of happiness which she seems still to enjoy,” said Monsieur Gerval; “let us not deprive her of them! and let us not rob the child of her mother’s caresses!”
Catherine undertook with pleasure to take care of the invalid and her daughter. It was she who accompanied the young woman in her walks about the neighborhood, when the weather was fine; and Lucas was ordered to decorate Adeline’s room with fresh flowers every morning. It was by dint of unremitting care and attention that Monsieur Gerval hoped to restore peace to the hapless woman’s soul.
They knew little Ermance’s name, because her mother had called her by it several times in her delirium; but they did not know the mother’s name, and Monsieur Gerval had decided that she should be called Constance. That melodious name was approved by Catherine, who declared that the stranger’s misfortunes must be due to love. So that was the name by which Adeline was called by the people at the house in the woods; but sometimes Lucas, and the peasants of the neighborhood, called her simply “the mad woman.”
The peace that reigned in the house in the Vosges, the tranquil life that they led there, and the affectionate attentions lavished upon Adeline, seemed to bring a little repose to her mind; she caressed her daughter and often embraced her; she smiled at her benefactor and at all those about her; but only incoherent words came from her lips; and she would relapse almost immediately into a state of sombre melancholy from which nothing could arouse her. She passed part of the day in the garden, which was large and well cared for. Sometimes she plucked flowers and seemed to feel a moment’s cheerfulness; but soon the smile disappeared from her pale features, and she would seat herself upon a bench of turf and remain whole hours there without a sign of life.
“What a misfortune!” said honest Gerval, as he contemplated her, while playing with little Ermance, who already returned his caresses; “I am inclined to think that there is no hope of her recovery.”
“Why do you say that?” said Catherine; “we must never despair of anything. Patience, patience; perhaps a salutary crisis may come. Oh! if we only knew the cause of her trouble!”
“Parbleu! to be sure, that is what the doctor from Paris says; but that is just what we shall never know.”
“Pshaw! how can we tell? She talks sometimes. Look, she seems to be smiling now; she is watching her daughter play; she is much better to-day than usual, and I am going to question her.”
“Take care, Catherine, and don’t distress her.”
“Don’t be afraid, monsieur.”