Chapter VII
In Provence
"Autant d'amoureux, autant d'amours; chacun aime comme il est."
The chateau of La Pauline stands at the head of the valley of theNartubie in the department of Var, and looks down upon Draguignan, thecapital of that division of France. La Pauline, and its surroundinglands formed the _dot_ of the Vicomtesse de Clericy, and the productsof its rich terraces were of no small account in the family revenues.
It was to this spot that Lucille and her mother repaired in the monthof December. Not far away the Baron Giraud had his estate--the moderncastle of "Mon Plaisir," with its little white turret, its porcelainbas-reliefs in brilliant colours let into the walls, its artificialgardens ornamented with gold and silver balls, and summer-houses ofwhich the windows were glazed with playful fancy that outdid nature inclothing the prospect in the respective hues of spring, summer, autumnand winter.
Very different from this was the ancient chateau of La Pauline,perched half-way up the mountain on a table-land--its grey stone faceshowing grimly against a sombre background of cypress trees. The housewas built, as the antiquarians of Draguignan avow, of stone that washewn by the Romans for less peaceful purposes. That an ancientbuilding must have stood here would, indeed, be to some extentcredible, from the fact that in front of the house lies a lawn of thatweedless turf which is only found in this country in such places asthe Arena at Frejus. In the center of the lawn stands a sundial--grey, green and ancient--a relic of those days when men lived byhours, and not by minutes, as we do to-day. It is all of the oldworld--of that old, old world of France beside which our Britishantiquities are, with a few exceptions, youthful. This was thebirthplace of Madame de Clericy and of Lucille herself. Hither theladies always returned with a quiet joy. There is no more peacefulspot on earth than La Pauline, chiefly, perhaps, because there isnothing in nature so still and lifeless as an olive grove. Why, by theway, do the birds of the air never build their nests in thesetrees--why do they rarely rest and never ring there? Behind LaPauline--so close, indeed, that the little chapel stands in the greyhush of the trees, guarded, of course, by a sentinel circle ofcypresses--rise the olive terraces and stretch up, tier above tier,till the pines are reached. Below the grey house the valley opens outlike a fan, and far away to the south the rugged crags of Roquebrunestand out against a faint blue haze, which is the Mediterranean.
No better example of Peace on Earth is to be found than La Paulineafter sunset, at which time the olive groves are a silverfairyland--when the chapel bell tinkles in vain for the faithful tocome to vespers--when the stout old placid cure sits downphilosophically in the porch to read the office to himself, knowingwell that a hot day in the vineyards turns all footsteps homewards.
When the ladies are in residence at the chateau, it is a differentmatter. Then, indeed, the cure lays aside his old soutane and donsthat fine new clerical habit presented to him by Mademoiselle Lucilleat the time of her first communion, when the Bishop of Frejus came toDraguignan, and the whole valley assembled to do him honour there.
The ladies came, as we have said, in December, and at the gate thecure met them as usual--making there, as was his custom, a greathesitation as to kissing Lucille, now that she was a demoiselle of thegreat world, having--the rogue!--shaved with extraordinary care forthat very purpose, a few hours earlier. Indeed, it is to be fearedthat the good cure did not always present so cleanly an appearance ashe did on the arrival of the ladies. Here the family lived a quietlife among the peasants, who loved them, and Lucille visited them intheir cottages, taking what simple hospitality they could offer herwith a charm and appetite unrivalled, as the parishioners themselveshave often told the writer. In these humble homes she found childrenwith skins as white, with hair as fair and bright, as her own, and ifthe traveller wander so far from the beaten track, he can verify mystatement. For in Var, by some racial freak--which, like all suchmatters, is in point of fact inexplicable--a large proportion of thepeople are of fair or ruddy complexions.
Had the Vicomtesse desired it, the neighbourhood offered society of aloftier, and, as some consider, more interesting, nature, but thatlady did not hold much by social gatherings, and it was only from asense of duty that she invited a few friends, about the time ofLucille's birthday--her twenty-first birthday, indeed--to pass somedays at La Pauline.
These friends were bidden for the 26th December, and among them werethe Baron Giraud and his son Alphonse.
Alphonse arrived on horseback in a costume which would have donecredit to the head-groom of a racing stable. The right-hand twist ofhis mustache was eminently successful, but the left-hand extremitydrooped with a lamentable effect, which he was not able to verifyuntil after he had greeted the ladies, whom he met in the garden, ashe rode toward the chateau.
"My father," he cried, as he descended from the saddle, "that dear oldman, arrives on the instant. He is in a carriage--a close carriage,and he smokes. Picture it to yourselves--when there is this air tobreathe--when there are horses to ride. Madame la Vicomtesse"--he tookthat lady's hand--"what a pleasure! Mademoiselle Lucille--as beautifulas ever."
"Even more so," replied Lucille with her gay laugh. "What exquisiteriding-boots! But are they not a little tight, Alphonse?"
For Lucille could not perceive why playmates should suddenly begin tomonsieur and mademoiselle each other after years of intimacy. This wasthe rock in that path which Alphonse, like the rest of us, foundanything but smooth. Lucille was so gay. It is difficult to makeserious love to a person who is not even impressed by Englishriding-boots.
"WHAT EXQUISITE RIDING-BOOTS! BUT ARE THEY NOT A LITTLETIGHT, ALPHONSE?"]
At this moment the Baron's carriage appeared on the zig-zag road belowthe chateau, and Madame de Clericy's face assumed an expression ofplacid resignation. In due time the vehicle, with its gorgeousyellow wheels, reached the level space upon which the party stood. TheBaron Giraud emerged from the satin-lined recesses of the daintycarriage like a stout caterpillar from a rose, a stumpy little manwith no neck and a red face. A straggling dyed mustache failed to hidean unpleasant mouth, with lips too red and loose. Cunning little darkeyes relieved the countenance of the Baron Giraud from mere animalism.They were intelligent little eyes, that looked to no high things andmade no mistake in low places. But the Baron Giraud did not make oneproud of the human race. This was a man who handled millions withconsummate skill and daring, and by a certain class of persons he wasalmost worshipped. Personally, a 'longshore loafer who can handle aboat with the same intrepidity is to me a pleasanter object, thoughskill of any description must command a certain respect.
There were other guests to whom the Baron was presently introduced,and towards these he carried himself with the pomposity and hauteurwhich are only permissible to the very highest rank of new wealth.Lucille, as I learnt from Monsieur Alphonse later--indeed, ourfriendship was based on the patience with which I listened to his talkof that young lady--was dressed on this particular afternoon in white,but such matters as these bungled between two men will interest noone. Her hair she wore half in curls, according to the hideous customof that day. Is it not always safe to abuse the old fashion? And at notime safer than the present, when the whole world gapes with itsgreat, foolish mouth after every novelty. I remember that Lucillelooked pretty enough; but you, mesdames, who laugh at me, are no doubtquite right, and a thousand times more beautiful in your mannishattire.
The guests presently dispersed in the shady garden, and the Baronaccepted Madame's offer of refreshment on the terrace, whither aservant brought a tray of liqueurs. The pleasant habit of afternoontea had not yet been introduced across the channel, and French ladieshad still something to learn.
"Ah, Madame!" said the Baron Giraud in a voice that may be describedas metallic, inasmuch as it was tinny, "these young people!"
With a wave of his thick white hand he indicated Alphonse and Lucille,who had wandered down an alley entirely composed of orange trees,where, indeed, a yellow glow seemed to hover,
so thickly hung thefruit on the branches. Madame followed the direction of his glancewith a non-committing bow of the head.
"I shall have to ask Monsieur le Vicomte what he proposes doing in theway of a 'dot,'" pursued the financier with a cackling laugh, whichwas not silvery, though it savoured of bullion. The Vicomtesse smiledgravely, and offered the Baron one of those little square biscuitspeculiar to Frejus.
"Madame knows nothing of such matters?"
"Nothing," answered she, meeting the twinkling eyes.
"Ah!" murmured the Baron, addressing, it would seem, the distantmountains. "Such details are not, of course, for the ladies. It is theother side of the question"--he laid his hand upon his waistcoat--"theside of the affections--the heart, my dear Vicomtesse, the heart."
"Yes," answered Madame, looking at him with that disquieting straightglance of hers--"the heart."
In the mean time--in the orange alley--Alphonse was attempting to geta serious hearing from Lucille, and curiously enough was making use ofthe same word as that passing between their elders on the terraceabove them.
"Have you no heart?" he cried, stamping his foot on the mossy turf,"that you always laugh when I am serious--have you no heart, Lucille?"
"I do not know what you mean by heart," answered the girl with alittle frown, as if the subject did not please her. And wiser men thanAlphonse Giraud could not have enlightened her.
"Then you are incapable of feeling," he cried, spreading out his handsas if in invocation to the trees to hear him.
"That may be, but I do not see that it is proved by the fact that I amnot always grave. You, yourself, are gay enough when others are by,and it is then that I like you best. It is only when we are alone thatyou are--tragic. Is that--heart, Alphonse? And are those who laughheartless? I doubt it."
"You know I love you," he muttered gloomily, and the expression on hisround face did not seem at home there.
"Well," she answered, with a severity gathered heaven knows whence--Icannot think they taught it to her in the convent--"you have told meso twice since you became aware of my continued existence at the balllast month. But you are hopelessly serious to-day. Let us go back tothe terrace."
She stooped and picked up an orange that had fallen, throwing itsubsequently along the smooth turf for her dog to chase.
"See," she said gaily, "Talleyrand will scarcely trouble to run now.He is so stout and dignified. He is afraid that the country dogsshould see him. It is Paris. Paris spoils--so much."
"You know my father's plans concerning us," said Alphonse, after apause, which served to set aside Talleyrand and the orange.
"The Baron's plans are, I am told, wonderful, but"--she paused andgave a little laugh--"I do not understand finance."
They walked up the steps together, between the trim borders, wherespring flowers were already breaking into bud. On the terrace theyfound the Vicomtesse and the Baron Giraud. A servant was going towardsthe house carrying carelessly a small silver salver. The Baron wasstanding with an unopened envelope in his hand.
"You will permit me, Madame," they heard him say with his stridentlittle self-satisfied laugh. "A man of affairs is the slave of themoment. And the affairs of state are never still. A great countrymoves even in its sleep."
Having the permission of Madame, he tore open the envelope, enjoyingthe importance of the moment. But his face changed as soon as hisglance fell on the paper.
"The government has fallen," he gasped, with white lips and a facewherefrom the colour faded in blotches. He seemed to forget theladies, and looked only at his son. "It may mean--much. I must go toParis at once. The place is in an uproar. Mon Dieu--where will itend!"
He excused himself hurriedly, and in a few minutes his carriagerattled through the grey stone gateway.
"An uproar in Paris," repeated Lucille, anxiously, when she was alonewith her mother. "What does he mean? Is there any danger? Will papa besafe?"
"Yes," answered the Vicomtesse quietly; "he will be safe, I think."
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