see,I am going to be very good. You need not be afraid to tell me all, andshe sat up, valiantly blinking away the tears that _would_, keepcoming.'
"The Countess was greatly relieved.
"`My good Marie,' she said--`Marie' was Madame Germain's first name--`itis very kind of her to have spoken so wisely to my little girl, and itwill make all easier for me. Yes, dear, it will be soon, very soon--theday after to-morrow we have to leave for Sarinet.'
"`The day after to-morrow!' exclaimed Edmee. `Ah, yes, that is _very_soon.'
"But no other words of complaint or distress escaped her.
"And two days later saw the Countess and her daughter in the great bigtravelling carriage, which had made but few journeys since the goodCount's death, on their way to the Chateau de Sarinet. They wereaccompanied by Nanette and her uncle Ludovic, who had long been a sortof steward in the house, and could not make up his mind to see his ladygo to Paris without him. Poor old Francoise would gladly have gone too,but at her age it was out of the question, so she remained, with manytears, at Valmont, where she kept all in the most perfect order, sothat, as she used to say, `if my lady comes back at any moment, therewill be nothing to do but light the fire.' And on the box, between therather fat coachman and Ludovic, Pierre Germain managed to squeezehimself in. He had begged hard to accompany them all the way toSarinet, but the Countess had judged it better not. Her regard for theboy and his parents was very sincere, and it would have pained her forhim to have been treated at her brother's house like a commonservant-boy, as, indeed, no servant-boy was ever treated at Valmont. SoPierre bade his dear ladies farewell at Machard, a little village wherethey stopped for the first night, whence he returned by himself to hishome, for twenty or thirty miles on foot were nothing to the sturdy boy.
"It was a sad farewell--sadder my mother has often told me, than theactual circumstances really warranted, and many times, on looking backto it, she has thought that some foreboding of the terrible events tocome must have been on their spirits.
"`Good-bye, my faithful little friend,' were the Countess's last wordsto poor Pierre, as he reverently kissed her hand; `you are the true sonof your good father and mother--I can wish no better thing for you, myboy, than that you may grow up to resemble them.'
"`My lady,' said Pierre, the tears coursing down his face, `I can never,never thank you for all your goodness to me, but my life--everything Ipossess--is yours and my little lady's. I would give my life for you ifit would do you good.'
"And the future showed that his words said no more than the truth. Asfor Edmee, she was sobbing too much to say farewell to her childhood'sfriend at all. But the last view he had of her face was drowned intears--the dear little face that had so seldom been aught but radiantand sunny.
"She brightened up a little when they started again. It was the firsttime in her remembrance that she had been so far from home, and noveltyhas always great charm for a child. Travelling was not in those days asit is now, when the public conveyances go to Paris at least twice aweek, and one does not require to be a great lord to be able to visitdistant places. And Edmee felt as if she had got quite to the otherside of the world when, on the evening of the second day, the heavytravelling carriage turned in the gates of Sarinet and drew up beforethe great door, where her uncle, the Marquise, a small delicate-lookinglady, with a peevish expression, and a boy, whom, though he had growntaller, she knew again in an instant to be her cousin Edmond, were allwaiting to receive them with proper ceremony.
"Edmee turned as quickly as she could, with politeness, from the smilesof her uncle, which she somehow always fancied to be half-mocking, andthe careless greeting of her aunt, to the boy cousin, of whom she hadoften thought with pity. She wondered if he had become better-temperedand less selfish. But the first glance was not reassuring. Except thathe had grown taller he was very much the same as the cross, haughtylittle boy of two or three years ago.
"`What do you look at me so for, my cousin?' he said; `I have growntall, have I not? You are taller too, though of course much smallerthan I. But you are very pretty. I find you even prettier than before,only your hair is arranged in a very old-fashioned way. However, I amdelighted you have come to live with us. I shall now have some one toamuse me, and for you too--you will find Paris, and even Sarinet muchlivelier than Valmont.'
"Edmee had grown redder and redder during this speech, but Edmond didnot seem to observe it.
"`And how is that stable-boy you used to be so fond of?' continuedEdmond. The children were a little apart from the elders of the groupby this time, so, fortunately perhaps for future harmony, no oneoverheard when the girl flashed round upon her cousin.
"`Edmond de Sarinet,' she said with a dignity that was comical and yettouching, `I warn you now, once for all, that I will only be yourfriend--I will only play with you and be kind to you--on condition ofyour never daring to say one word against my dear home or my dearfriends. And this, sir, it is just as well you should understand fromthe beginning,' and then, overcome by all she had gone through in thelast few days, she flew to her mother, and hiding her face in her armsburst into tears.
"`What a little savage!' said the Marquise in a low voice to herhusband. But the boy Edmond looked sorry."
CHAPTER SEVEN.
"On a fine summer evening about two years after the sad day that hadseen the departure of Edmee and her mother from their beloved home,Madame Germain, with her husband and son, was sitting on the bench infront of their cottage--the cottage which is at present, at the time Iam writing, inhabited by Mathurine Le Blanc and her sons, standing, as Ithink I have already said, some short way out of the village--enjoying alittle rest after the labour of the day. Not that they were altogetheridle. The mother was of course knitting, the father smoking his pipe,if that can be considered an occupation, and the son was holding an openletter in his hand, from which he had just been reading aloud.
"`Yes,' he said, `in a few days from now we may certainly expect her.She was to leave the next week, my lady says, and that is a fortnightago.'
"`Old Ludovic was to bring her a part of the way, was he not?' saidGermain, taking his pipe out of his mouth; `I wish he had been comingall the way. I should have liked a talk about many things with the goodold man.'
"`Ah yes,' agreed his wife, `and so should I. But think of the longjourney, Germain, and he is getting very old.'
"`Besides, he would never have agreed to leave my lady and her daughterfor so long,' said Pierre. `Think--now that Nanette has left them, oldLudovic is the only one of their own people about them! Oh, how I wishmy lady would make up her mind to come home!'
"`Perhaps she cannot--she hints as much,' said Madame Germain. `Youknow the Marquis is the dear child's guardian bylaw, and he is anobstinate man once he takes a thing in his head. But we shall hear morefrom Nanette--more, perhaps, than the Countess likes to write; lettersare risky things, to my way of thinking.'
"`And these are ticklish times,' said father Germain. He was a man offew words, and therefore what he did say carried the more weight.
"`Yes, father, you are right,' said Pierre, and unconsciously he droppedhis voice and spoke in a lower key. `Our good cure was telling me somestrange things to-day. The bad feeling is spreading fast. There was achateau fired last week not very far from Sarinet. To be sure it wasput out and no lives lost; but there was a good deal of destructiondone, and it shows that it is coming nearer.'
"`But here at Valmont,' said his mother, always slow to believe ill, `Icould _never_ be afraid. Think how steady and industrious a set ourpeople are--how loyal and faithful they have always shown themselves;and with good reason, for have they not ever been treated mostgenerously and kindly by our masters?'
"`Ah yes,' said Germain, `but it is not always the majority that carriesthe day. Here, as everywhere, there are _some_ idle and discontentedand turbulent spirits--enough to give trouble if they united withothers. And I am assured that in no case is it the country peoplethemselves that _start_ the th
ing. Poor creatures! they are mostly tooground-down and wretched to start anything. But they are ready tofollow, though not to lead, and the fire of revolt once lighted by thesecret emissaries sent for the purpose from Paris, soon spreads. Alas,I see not what is before us all--here even in our quiet, happy Valmont!'
"Pierre, who had listened eagerly to his father's words, was on thepoint of replying when he suddenly started. They had been talking soearnestly that they had not heard footsteps coming up the few yards oflane which led from the village main street, till the new-comer wasclose to them, and Pierre, recovering from his first surprise, touchedhis mother on the shoulder.
"`Some one is here, mother,' he said, as Madame Germain looked up fromher knitting.
The Little Old Portrait Page 11