Shall we ask the reason? There is a great artist who can paint, with colors of unparalleled brilliancy, whatever he chooses to place before our eyes. He is called happiness; and God wishes him to walk beside us, both in this world and the other.
The two dear children began to run as soon as they entered the court-yard of Muiceron. Jeannette was the first to spring across the threshold, and fell speechless into her mother's arms. Jean-Louis quickly followed her, and stood in the door-way, holding out his hands to his parents. Then there were cries, and tears, and confusion of kisses, and questions without end and without reason. Their hearts overflowed. The little one, as they always called the tall, handsome boy, was covered with caresses, stifled with embraces quite overpowering; for country-people drink in joy by the bucketful and don't put on gloves when they wish to show their love. But you can imagine Jean-Louis did not complain. M. le Curé alone kept aside, with clasped hands, from time to time putting his handkerchief to his eyes, and thanking God, while he waited his turn.
Gradually their happiness toned down a little; but the excitement was so great, each one showed his joy in some particular manner. Old Ragaud whirled around the room, [pg 314] took off his cap to smooth his hair, and replaced it, all the while laughing as though he did not know precisely what he was about; and Pierrette forgot to ask the children what they wished to eat, which was a sure sign her head was completely turned. As for Jeannette, I must tell you that, like all innocent, warm-hearted young girls, she dared act, in presence of her parents and M. le Curé, as she would not have done alone with her brother; she threw her arms around his neck every half-second, and clung to him so closely he could not stir an inch. Jeannet did not show greater timidity; seeing her act with such naïveté, he neither frowned nor looked sour, but accepted willingly what was so sweetly offered him.
Fortunately, Marion, whom no one thought of, and who bellowed with joy in chorus with the others, came to her senses sooner than any of them, and thought of the supper. Jeannet smelt the butter frying on the stove, and acknowledged he was very hungry. This covered Pierrette with confusion. She felt very guilty that she had so neglected her duties, and asked a thousand pardons; but Jeannet laughed, as he kissed her, and told her not to be excited, as he could easily wait until the next day, being only really hungry to see and kiss her.
Ragaud would not let the dear curé go home. It was right that he should wait until the end of the feast; and as the good pastor, who always thought of everything, expressed a fear that old Germaine might be anxious about him, they despatched a stable-boy, with the wagon and quickest mare at Muiceron, to fetch her.
What a fine supper that was! All these good people recovered their appetites, and ate and drank as they had not done for a long while. I leave you to imagine the stories that were told of the revolution. But Jeannet, not wishing to cloud their present joy, was careful to relate events as though all had been a kind of child's play. Jeannette, however, paused more than once as she was about to take a mouthful. She felt that Jean-Louis stretched a point now and then for love of her, and she showed her gratitude by looking tenderly at him, while she pressed his hand under the table.
At the dessert, they formed plans. They talked of re-establishing the old order of things, of living together again in peace and harmony, and that there should be no more separations. Ragaud, especially, dwelt at length, and very particularly, upon the happy future in store for all of them; threw meaning glances right and left, in which could be remarked much hidden meaning and not a little white wine. Jeannette smiled, blushed, looked down; and, I fancy, Jean-Louis' heart beat high with hope and expectation of what was to follow.
The good man ended by being much affected, though he endeavored to pass it all off as a joke; for it was his wish always to appear deaf to any kind of sentiment.
“After all,” said he, tapping Jean-Louis on the shoulder, “here is a boy upon whom we cannot depend. He is here now at this very moment; but who knows if to-morrow he will not be out of sight as quickly as the stars fall from the sky on an August night? Isn't it so, M. le Curé?”
“It is just as you say, Ragaud,” replied the curé. “ ‘He who has drunk will drink again,’ says the [pg 315] proverb; and as this little one went off once without giving warning, how can we know but he will do it again?”