The Purchase Price; Or, The Cause of Compromise

by Emerson Hough

  CHAPTER XXII

  THE WAY OF A MAID

  It is the blessing of the humble that they have simplicity ofmental processes. Not that Hector himself perhaps would thus havedescribed himself. The curve of the black crow's wing on hissomewhat retreating forehead, the tilt of his little hat, the swingof his body above the hips as he walked, all bespoke Hector'sopinion of himself to be a good one. Valiant among men,irresistible among the women of St. Genevieve, he was not the oneto mitigate his confidence in himself now that he found himselffree from competition and in the presence of a fair one whom insudden resolve he established in his affections as quite withoutcompare. In short, Hector had not tarried a second week atTallwoods before offering his hand and his cooper shop to Jeanne.

  To the eyes of Jeanne herself, confined as they had been to theofferings of a somewhat hopeless class of serving persons here orthere, this swaggering young man, with his broad shoulders, hisbulky body, his air of bravado, his easy speech, his ready arm,offered a personality with which she was not too familiar, andwhich did not lack its appeal. With Gallic caution she madedelicate inquiry of Hector's father as to the yearly returns andprobable future of the cooperage business at St. Genevieve, as tothe desirability of the surrounding country upon which thecooperage business must base its own fortunes. All these mattersmet her approval. Wherefore, the air of Jeanne became tinged witha certain lofty condescension. In her own heart she trembled now,not so much as to her own wisdom or her own future, but as to themeeting which must be had between herself and her mistress.

  This meeting at last did take place, not by the original motion ofJeanne herself. The eye of her mistress had not been wholly blindall these days.

  "Jeanne," she demanded one day, "why are you away so much when Idesire you? I have often seen you and that young man yonder invery close conversation. Since I stand with you as your guardianand protector, I feel it my duty to inquire, although it is not inthe least my pleasure. You must have a care."

  "Madame," expostulated Jeanne, "it is nothing, I assure you. _Riendu tout--jamais de la vie_, Madame."

  "Perhaps, but it is of such nothings that troubles sometimes come.Tell, me, what has this young man said to you?"

  "But, Madame!--"

  "Tell me. It is quite my right to demand it."

  "But he has said many things, Madame."

  "As, for instance, that you please him, that you are beautiful,that you have a voice and hand, a turn of the arm--that you havethe manner Parisienne--Jeanne, is it not so?"

  "But, yes, Madame, and indeed more. I find that young man ofexcellent judgment, of most discriminating taste."

  "And also of sufficient boldness to express the same to you, is itnot so, Jeanne?"

  "Madame, the strong are brave. I do not deny. Also he is of anexcellent cooperage business in St. Genevieve yonder. Moreover, Ifind the produce of the grape in this country to increase yearly,so that the business seems to be of a certain future, Madame. Hiscommunity is well founded, the oldest in this portion of thevalley. He is young, he has no entanglements--at least, so far asI discover. He has an excellent home with his old mother. Ah,well! Madame, one might do worse."

  "So, then, a cooperage business so promising as that, Jeanne, seemsmore desirable than my own poor employment? You have no regard foryour duty to one who has cared for you, I suppose? You desert meprecisely at the time my own affairs require my presence inWashington."

  "But, Madame, why Washington? Is that our home? What actual homehas madame on the face of the earth? Ah, Heaven!--were only itpossible that this man were to be considered. This place so large,so beautiful, so in need of a mistress to control it. Madame saysshe was carried away against her will. _Mon Dieu_! All my lifehave I dreamed--have I hoped--that some time a man should steal me,to carry me away to some place such as this! And to make love ofsuch a warmness! Ah, _Mon Dieu_!

  "Behold, Madame," she went on, "France itself is not more beautifulthan this country. There is richness here, large lands. Thatyoung man Hector, he says that none in the country is so rich asMr. Dunwodee--he does not know how rich he is himself. And suchromance!"

  "Jeanne, I forbid you to continue!" The eyes of her mistress had adangerous sparkle.

  "I obey, Madame, I am silent. But listen! I have followed thefortunes of madame quite across the sea. As madame knows, I do notlack intelligence. I have read--many romances, my heart notlacking interest. Always I have read, I have dreamed, of some manwho should carry me away, who should oblige me--Ah, Madame! whatgirl has not in her soul some hero? Almost I was about to say itwas the sight, the words, of the boldness, the audacity of thisassassin, this brute, who has brought us here by force--the wordsof his love so passionate to madame, which stirred in my own heartthe passion! That I might be stolen! It was the dream of myyouth! And now comes this Hector, far more bold and determinedthan this Mr. Dunwodee. That assassin, that brute _began_, buthesitated. Ah, Hector has not hesitated! Seeing that he would inany case possess myself, would carry me away, I yielded, but withhonor and grace, Madame. As between Monsieur Dunwodee andHector--_il y a une difference_, Madame!"

  "_Je crois qu' oui_, Jeanne--_Je le crois_! But it comes to thesame thing, eh? You forsake me?"

  "Madame, I confess sometimes in my heart there comes a desire for ahome, for a place where one may abide, where one may cease towander."

  Josephine sat silent for a moment. In what direction might sheherself now turn for even the humblest friendship? And where wasany home now for her? The recreant maid saw something of this uponher face.

  "Madame," she exclaimed, falling upon her knees in consternation."To think I would desert you! In my heart resides nothing butloyalty for you. How could you doubt?"

  But Josephine was wise in her own way. That night Jeanne kissedher hand dutifully, yet the very next morning she had changed hermind. With sobs, tears, she admitted that she had decided to leaveservice, no longer to be Jeanne, but Madame Hector Fournier. Thus,at the very time when she most would have needed aid andattendance, Josephine saw herself about to be left alone.

  "But, Madame," said Jeanne, still tearful, returning after briefabsence from the room, "although I leave now for St. Genevieve tostand before the priest, I shall not see madame left withoutattendance. See, I have asked of this Lily person,--_la voici_,Madame--if she could take service with madame. Madame plans soonto return to the East. Perhaps this Lily, then--"

  "Ma'am, I want to work for you!" broke out Lily suddenly,stretching out her hands. "I don't want to go back home. I wantto go with you. I cain't go back home--I'd only run away--again.They'd have to kill me."

  Some swift arithmetic was passing through Josephine's mind at thetime. Here, then, was concrete opportunity to set in practice someof her theories.

  "Lily, would you like to come with me as my maid?" she demanded."Could you learn, do you think, in case I should need you?"

  "Of co'se I could learn, Ma'am. I'd do my very best."

  It was thus that it was agreed, with small preliminary, that on thenext morning Tallwoods should lose three of its late tenants.Josephine ventured to inquire of Dunwody regarding Lily. "Take herif you like," said he bruskly. "I will arrange the papers for itwith Clayton himself. There will be no expense to you. If hewants to sell the girl I'll pay him. No, not a cent from you. Goon, Lily, if you want to. This time you'll get shut of us, Ireckon, and we'll get shut of you. I hope you'll never come back,this time. You've made trouble enough already."

  Thus, then, on the day of departure, Josephine St. Auban foundherself standing before her mirror. It was not an unlovely imagewhich she saw there. In some woman's fashion, assisted by Jeanne'slast tearful services and the clumsy art of Lily, she had managed agarbing different from that of her first arrival at this place.The lines of her excellent figure now were wholly shown in thiscostume of golden brown which she had reserved to the last. Herhair was even glossier than when she first came here to Tallwoods,her chee
k of better color. She was almost disconcerted that thetrials of the winter had wrought no greater ravages; but after all,a smile was not absent from her lips. Not abolitionist here in themirror, but a beautiful young woman. Certainly, whichever orwhoever she was, she made a picture fit wholly to fill the eyes ofthe master of Tallwoods when he came to tell her the coach wasready for the journey to St. Genevieve. But he made no comment,not daring.

  "See," she said, almost gaily, "I can put on both my gloves." Sheheld out to him her hands.

  "They are very small," he replied studiously. He was calm now.She saw he had himself well in hand. His face was pale and grave.

  "Well," said she finally, as the great coach drove around to thedoor, "I suppose I am to say good-by."

  "I'll just walk with you down the road," he answered. "We walkedup it, once, together."

  They followed on, after the coach had passed down the driveway,Dunwody now moody and silent, his head dropped, his hands behindhim, until the carriage pulled up and waited at the end of theshut-in at the lower end of the valley. Josephine herself remainedsilent as well, but as the turn of the road approached which wouldcut off the view of Tallwoods, she turned impulsively and waved ahand in farewell at the great mansion house which lay back, silentand strong, among the hills.

  She waved a hand in farewell.]

  He caught the gesture and looked at her quickly. "That's nice ofyou," said he, "mighty nice."

  In some new sort of half-abashment she found no immediate reply.He left her then, and walked steadily back up the driveway, sayingnothing in farewell, and not once looking back. For a time shefollowed him with her gaze, a strange sinking at her heart of whichshe was ashamed, which gave her alike surprise and sudden fear.

  It was a much abashed and still tearful though not a repentantJeanne who embraced her mistress, after the simple little weddingof Jeanne and Hector, when they had repaired to the wedding feastat the _maison_ Fournier.

  "But come, Madame," said Jeanne. "Behold my new home. Is it notdelightful? This is the mother of Hector, Madame, and this--ah,this is the home of Hector and myself. To-night also it is yours.I am rejoiced. Madame," she added, in an aside, while Lily, stupidand awkward, was for the time out of the way, "I can not bear tothink of your going away with but that impossible niggaire there tocare for you. Almost--were it not for Hector and for thishome--could you take Hector also--I should forget all and go withyou even yet. To-morrow I shall go with you to the boat."

  But alas! in the morning Jeanne had again forgotten.

  When at last the busy little steamer swung inshore, presently tochurn her way out again into the current, Josephine went aboardwith only the colored girl for her company. Her heart sankstrangely, and she felt more lonely than ever in her life before.She leaned against the rail for a time, looking at the banks slipback across the turbid stream. The truth was coming into her heartthat it was not with exultation she now was turning back to theEast to take up her life again. Something was different now--wasit the loss of Jeanne? Again surprise, terror, shame, withalwonder.