“Oh! I don’t want to know it, for my part, my dear; let us agree that, if you marry me, I shall stay here. When you want to go to Paris, you shall go alone; and then, when you are tired of the city, you can come back to your little milkmaid.”
Auguste kissed her and they started for the cottage. When one is happy, everything seems delightful; in the eyes of the lovers the cottage had become a palace; but Bertrand, who was not in love and who always thought of the future, said to Auguste:
“This house isn’t big enough for you, lieutenant; besides, it belongs to Coco—it’s his property. You must buy a pretty house, not too expensive, which you can see from here, where you will have suitable accommodations and where you can entertain a few friends; because, you know, you mustn’t isolate yourself from society altogether; the sure way to have your love last only a short time is to shut yourself up with your wife for six months. Now that you know the world, you won’t be taken in again. You will take men at their true value; you can associate with the people whose company is agreeable, and you mustn’t play for such high stakes as you used to; for now, or never, is the time to be prudent.”
Auguste approved Bertrand’s suggestion. The house was hired, and a week later, Denise, beaming with love and happiness, embellishing by her charms and her grace the modest costume she had selected, was led to the altar by the man she loved.
All the people of the village assembled to see the little milkmaid married. The peasants said to one another:
“Now’s the time she’s going to play the fine lady! She’s marrying a swell! How high she’ll hold her head!”
But they were mistaken: Denise, after she became Madame Dalville, was as sweet and kindhearted as when she was a simple peasant girl herself.
As he escorted his young wife to their new home, Auguste cast a glance now and then at the comely women whom they happened to pass; but it was a matter of habit simply—Denise alone had his heart.
True to her promise, Denise did not desire to leave the village; and for a long while Auguste did not go away from his wife. Later, however, he went occasionally to Paris. On one of his visits to the capital he learned that the vivacious Athalie had separated from her husband, because Mère Thomas made a second trip to Paris; and that Monsieur de la Thomassinière, having made some unfortunate speculations and allowed himself to be ruined by Monsieur de Cligneval, had been compelled to turn over all his property to his creditors, and had become a cab-driver—a trade in which he seemed much more in his proper place than when he was in a salon.
The Marquis de Cligneval, having ventured to indulge in divers sharper’s tricks at écarté, which were not to the liking of his adversary, was forced to fight a duel with him, and was killed. As for Destival, when he tried to do business in England on the same plan as in Paris, one of his clients, whose money he had appropriated, struck him a blow from which he did not recover.