Now, Solange, in spite of her reputation for piety and shyness, was very lively and bright. The first day she came to the farm Jeannette was quite subdued; without saying it, she was afraid her companion would be very serious and frown at the least joke. But it was just the contrary; Solange amused her so much with her stories, and gossip—which was never ill-natured—and songs, that Jeannette never let her go until she promised to return next day. This pleasant arrangement suited everybody. Ragaud and Jean-Louis gradually resumed their outdoor work, and Pierrette was less tied down. We all know that weariness of mind is the worst of ills, as it renders one sad, and sadness makes both body and soul sick: so this little spoiled Jeannette, who laughed and chatted from morning till night, recovered four times as rapidly, thanks to Solange's agreeable company, and was soon able to sit up an hour or two about noon.
Who had caused all this happiness? Even he who never gave it a second thought, and to whom it was so perfectly natural to serve others that it seemed a part of his everyday life; for the excellent Jeannet spoke so seldom of himself, neither Jeanne nor the Ragauds ever dreamt of thanking him for having brought Solange, seeing that they knew nothing, and simply thought the Luguet girl came of her own free will, which certainly she never would have done, if even the idea had ever entered her head.
As soon as mademoiselle received permission, she hastened to Jeannette's side. Every other day her beautiful carriage was seen coming down the road, and, a minute after, she alighted, accompanied by Dame Berthe, who always brought a little basket filled with dainties and delicacies fitted to tempt an invalid's stomach.
Poor mademoiselle found the days very long since Jeanne had left, and was very impatient for her complete recovery, that she might carry her back to the château. She did not hesitate to express her desire at each visit before the Ragauds, never remarking that neither ever replied to her proposition. The reason was that Ragaud had received such a severe shock by the narrow escape of his daughter, he had promised and sworn never again to expose the child to such a fearful risk, which had so nearly proved fatal. He saw in this terrible sickness a warning from the good God; and, as he felt it in the bottom of his heart, he acknowledged in the end that if Jeanne had not led a life above her position, nothing like it would have happened.
Between ourselves, mademoiselle, who was much better informed than Ragaud, should have even more clearly understood it. Still further, as M. le Curé, who you can well imagine came constantly to Muiceron since the accident, had been confidentially told by Ragaud of his good resolutions, which he highly approved, and cautiously approached the subject whenever an opportunity offered of conversing with mademoiselle. But "none are so deaf as those who will not hear," said this good pastor; "and even without a scene mischief will come of taking Jeannette from the château. Her acquaintance there is too long formed."
It did not happen precisely so. Jeanne, without scenes or difficulty with any one, had been forced to seek refuge under the paternal roof, and should have remained there until the present time from her own free will and accord; but when one has strayed ever so little from the right path, it is not easy to return to it, even when it has not gone as far as mortal sin; and you will see this time again that I have strong proofs to support what I have advanced, as Jeanne Ragaud had to undergo severe and bitter trials before she could entirely give up the half-noble position she had involuntarily filled, and resume fully the simple peasant life.
XIV.
One day, when mademoiselle was making her accustomed visit, after she had talked and laughed, and played dinner-party with the fruits and delicacies she had brought to Jeannette, she suddenly exclaimed:
"You are looking admirably, my child—as pretty as a picture; your color is more brilliant than even before you were sick, and your short hair, which made me feel so sad the first time I saw it, is more becoming than the way in which you formerly wore it; but you are very badly dressed. What have you done with all the dresses I gave you?"
"They are still at the château, godmother," replied Jeannet. "I have not needed them for a long time. If you will send me some of them, I will try and look better at your next visit."