“We’ll see her to-day,” he said. “I don’t know whether you’ll think her pretty. You are difficult to please at Paris; but every one here and at Perpignan thinks her charming. The beauty of it is that she is very rich. Her aunt at Prades has left her property to her. Oh, I’ll be very happy.”
I was deeply disgusted to see a young man apparently more impressed by the dowry than by the charms of his future wife.
“You know something about jewels,” continued M. Alphonse, “what do you think of this? This is the ring which I’m to give her to-morrow.”
With these words he drew from the first joint of his little finger a big ring enriched with diamonds, in the form of two clasped hands; an allusion which struck me as infinitely poetical. The workmanship was ancient, but I thought that it had been remodelled to set the diamonds. Inside the ring, in Gothic letters, could be read the words, “Sempr’ ab ti,” that is to say, “Ever with thee.”
“It is a pretty ring,” I said; “but those diamonds that have been added have made it lose something of its character.”
“Oh, it is very much prettier like that,” he said with a smile. “There are twelve hundred francs worth of diamonds there. It was given to me by my mother. It was a very ancient family ring ... from the times of chivalry. My grandmother used it for her wedding-ring, and she got it from her grandmother. Goodness knows when it was made.”
“The custom at Paris,” I told him, “is to give quite a simple ring, usually composed of two different metals, such as gold and platinum. Wait! that other ring, the one on that finger, would be very suitable. This one, with its diamonds and its hands in relief, is so big that one could never put on a glove over it.”
“Oh, Madame Alphonse will manage as she likes. I expect she’ll be quite glad to have it in any case. Twelve thousand francs is a nice thing to have on one’s finger. That little ring there,” he added, with a complacent glance at the perfectly plain ring which he wore on his hand, “that ring there was given me by a girl at Paris one Shrove Tuesday. Ah, how I went the pace when I was at Paris two years ago! That’s the place to enjoy oneself!...” And he heaved a sigh of regret.
We were to dine that day at Puygarrig, with the bride’s parents; we got into a barouche and drove to the château, which was about a league and a half distant from Ille. I was presented and received as the friend of the family. I shall say nothing about the dinner or the conversation which ensued, and in which I took little part. M. Alphonse, placed beside his betrothed, said something in her ear every quarter of an hour. For her part, she did not often raise her eyes, and, when her intended spoke to her, she blushed modestly, but answered him without embarrassment.
Mademoiselle de Puygarrig was eighteen years of age; her supple and delicate figure was a contrast to the large-boned frame of her robust bridegroom. She was not merely beautiful, but entrancing. I admired the perfect naturalness of all her answers; and her air of kindness, which yet was not without a slight tinge of mischief, reminded me involuntarily of my host’s Venus. As I made this comparison mentally, I asked myself whether the superiority in point of beauty, which was undoubtedly to be awarded to the statue, was not due, in great part, to its tigress-like expression; for energy, even that of evil passions, always excites us to astonishment and a sort of involuntary admiration.