انگلیسی: آموزش، زبانشناسی، ترجمه، ادبیات

Chapter 8

It was a month of exquisite mildness. The April sun had draped the
garden in tender green, light and delicate as lace. Twining around the
railing were the slender shoots of the lush clematis, while the
budding honeysuckle filled the air with its sweet, almost sugary
perfume. On both sides of the trim and close-shaven lawn red geraniums
and white stocks gave the flower beds a glow of color; and at the end
of the garden the clustering elms, hiding the adjacent houses, reared
the green drapery of their branches, whose little leaves trembled with
the least breath of air.

For more than three weeks the sky had remained blue and cloudless. It
was like a miraculous spring celebrating the new youth and blossoming
that had burst into life in Helene's heart. Every afternoon she went
down into the garden with Jeanne. A place was assigned her against the
first elm on the right. A chair was ready for her; and on the morrow
she would still find on the gravel walk the scattered clippings of
thread that had fallen from her work on the previous afternoon.

"You are quite at home," Madame Deberle repeated every evening,
displaying for Helene one of those affections of hers, which usually
lasted some six months. "You will come to-morrow, of course; and try
to come earlier, won't you?"

Helene, in truth, felt thoroughly at her ease there. By degrees she
became accustomed to this nook of greenery, and looked forward to her
afternoon visit with the longing of a child. What charmed her most in
this garden was the exquisite trimness of the lawn and flower beds.
Not a single weed interfered with the symmetry of the plants. Helene
spent her time there, calmly and restfully. The neatly laid out flower
beds, and the network of ivy, the withered leaves of which were
carefully removed by the gardener, could exercise no disturbing
influence on her spirit. Seated beneath the deep shadow of the
elm-trees, in this quiet spot which Madame Deberle's presence perfumed
with a faint odor of musk, she could have imagined herself in a
drawing-room; and only the sight of the blue sky, when she raised her
head, reminded her that she was out-of-doors, and prompted her to
breathe freely.

Often, without seeing a soul, the two women would thus pass the
afternoon. Jeanne and Lucien played at their feet. There would be long
intervals of silence, and then Madame Deberle, who disliked reverie,
would chatter for hours, quite satisfied with the silent acquiescence
of Helene, and rattling off again if the other even so much as nodded.
She would tell endless stories concerning the ladies of her
acquaintance, get up schemes for parties during the coming winter,
vent magpie opinions on the day's news and the society trifling which
filled her narrow brain, the whole intermingled with affectionate
outbursts over the children, and sentimental remarks on the delights
of friendship. Helene allowed her to squeeze her hands. She did not
always lend an attentive ear; but, in this atmosphere of unceasing
tenderness, she showed herself greatly touched by Juliette's caresses,
and pronounced her to be a perfect angel of kindness.

Sometimes, to Madame Deberle's intense delight, a visitor would drop
in. Since Easter she had ceased receiving on Saturdays, as was usual
at this time of the year. But she dreaded solitude, and a casual
unceremonious visit paid her in her garden gave her the greatest
pleasure. She was now busily engaged in settling on the watering-place
where she would spend her holiday in August. To every visitor she
retailed the same talk; discoursed on the fact that her husband would
not accompany her to the seaside; and then poured forth a flood of
questions, as she could not make up her mind where to go. She did not
ask for herself, however; no, it was all on Lucien's account. When the
foppish youth Malignon came he seated himself astride a rustic chair.
He, indeed, loathed the country; one must be mad, he would declare, to
exile oneself from Paris with the idea of catching influenza beside
the sea. However, he took part in the discussions on the merits of the
various watering-places, all of which were horrid, said he; apart from
Trouville there was not a place worthy of any consideration whatever.
Day after day Helene listened to the same talk, yet without feeling
wearied; indeed, she even derived pleasure from this monotony, which
lulled her into dreaming of one thing only. The last day of the month
came, and still Madame Deberle had not decided where to go.

As Helene was leaving one evening, her friend said to her: "I must go
out to-morrow; but that needn't prevent you from coming down here.
Wait for me; I shan't be back late."

Helene consented; and, alone in the garden, there spent a delicious
afternoon. Nothing stirred, save the sparrows fluttering in the trees
overhead. This little sunny nook entranced her, and, from that day,
her happiest afternoons were those on which her friend left her alone.

A closer intimacy was springing up between the Deberles and herself.
She dined with them like a friend who is pressed to stay when the
family sits down to table; when she lingered under the elm-trees and
Pierre came down to announce dinner, Juliette would implore her to
remain, and she sometimes yielded. They were family dinners, enlivened
by the noisy pranks of the children. Doctor Deberle and Helene seemed
good friends, whose sensible and somewhat reserved natures sympathized
well. Thus it was that Juliette frequently declared: "Oh, you two
would get on capitally! Your composure exasperates me!"

The doctor returned from his round of visits at about six o'clock
every evening. He found the ladies in the garden, and sat down beside
them. On the earlier occasions, Helene started up with the idea of
leaving her friends to themselves, but her sudden departure displeased
Juliette greatly, and she now perforce had to remain. She became
almost a member of this family, which appeared to be so closely
united. On the doctor's arrival his wife held up her cheek to him,
always with the same loving gesture, and he kissed her; then, as
Lucien began clambering up his legs, he kept him on his knees while
chatting away. The child would clap his tiny hands on his father's
mouth, pull his hair, and play so many pranks that in the upshot he
had to be put down, and told to go and play with Jeanne. The fun would
bring a smile to Helene's face, and she neglected her work for the
moment, to gaze at father, mother, and child. The kiss of the husband
and wife gave her no pain, and Lucien's tricks filled her with soft
emotion. It might have been said that she had found a haven of refuge
amidst this family's quiet content.

Meanwhile the sun would sink into the west, gilding the tree tops with
its rays. Serene peacefulness fell from the grey heavens. Juliette,
whose curiosity was insatiable, even in company with strangers,
plagued her husband with ceaseless questions, and often lacked the
patience to wait his replies. "Where have you been? What have you been
about?"

Thereupon he would describe his round of visits to them, repeat any
news of what was going on, or speak of some cloth or piece of
furniture he had caught a glimpse of in a shop window. While he was
speaking, his eyes often met those of Helene, but neither turned away
the head. They gazed into each other's face for a moment with grave
looks, as though heart were being revealed to heart; but after a
little they smiled and their eyes dropped. Juliette, fidgety and
sprightly, though she would often assume a studied languor, allowed
them no opportunity for lengthy conversation, but burst with her
interruptions into any talk whatever. Still they exchanged a few
words, quite commonplace, slowly articulated sentences which seemed to
assume a deep meaning, and to linger in the air after having been
spoken. They approvingly punctuated each word the other uttered, as
though they had thoughts in common. It was an intimate sympathy that
was growing up between them, springing from the depths of their
beings, and becoming closer even when they were silent. Sometimes
Juliette, rather ashamed of monopolizing all the talk, would cease her
magpie chatter.

"Dear me!" she would exclaim, "you are getting bored, aren't you? We
are talking of matters which can have no possible interest for you."

"Oh, never mind me," Helene answered blithely. "I never tire. It is a
pleasure to me to listen and say nothing."

She was uttering no untruth. It was during the lengthy periods of
silence that she experienced most delight in being there. With her
head bent over her work, only lifting her eyes at long intervals to
exchange with the doctor those interminable looks that riveted their
hearts the closer, she willingly surrendered herself to the egotism of
her emotion. Between herself and him, she now confessed it, there
existed a secret sentiment, a something very sweet--all the sweeter
because no one in the world shared it with them. But she kept her
secret with a tranquil mind, her sense of honor quite unruffled, for
no thought of evil ever disturbed her. How good he was to his wife and
child! She loved him the more when he made Lucien jump or kissed
Juliette on the cheek. Since she had seen him in his own home their
friendship had greatly increased. She was now as one of the family;
she never dreamt that the intimacy could be broken. And within her own
breast she called him Henri--naturally, too, from hearing Juliette
address him so. When her lips said "Sir," through all her being
"Henri" was re-echoed.

One day the doctor found Helene alone under the elms. Juliette now
went out nearly every afternoon.

"Hello! is my wife not with you?" he exclaimed.

"No, she has left me to myself," she answered laughingly. "It is true
you have come home earlier than usual."

The children were playing at the other end of the garden. He sat down
beside her. Their _tete-a-tete_ produced no agitation in either of
them. For nearly an hour they spoke of all sorts of matters, without
for a moment feeling any desire to allude to the tenderness which
filled their hearts. What was the good of referring to that? Did they
not well know what might have been said? They had no confession to
make. Theirs was the joy of being together, of talking of many things,
of surrendering themselves to the pleasure of their isolation without
a shadow of regret, in the very spot where every evening he embraced
his wife in her presence.

That day he indulged in some jokes respecting her devotion to work.
"Do you know," said he, "I do not even know the color of your eyes?
They are always bent on your needle."

She raised her head and looked straight into his face, as was her
custom. "Do you wish to tease me?" she asked gently.

But he went on. "Ah! they are grey--grey, tinged with blue, are they
not?"

This was the utmost limit to which they dared go; but these words, the
first that had sprung to his lips, were fraught with infinite
tenderness. From that day onwards he frequently found her alone in the
twilight. Despite themselves, and without their having any knowledge
of it, their intimacy grew apace. They spoke in an altered voice, with
caressing inflections, which were not apparent when others were
present. And yet, when Juliette came in, full of gossip about her day
in town, they could keep up the talk they had already begun without
even troubling themselves to draw their chairs apart. It seemed as
though this lovely springtide and this garden, with its blossoming
lilac, were prolonging within their hearts the first rapture of love.

Towards the end of the month, Madame Deberle grew excited over a grand
idea. The thought of giving a children's ball had suddenly struck her.
The season was already far advanced, but the scheme took such hold on
her foolish brain that she hurried on the preparations with reckless
haste. She desired that the affair should be quite perfect; it was to
be a fancy-dress ball. And, in her own home, and in other people's
houses, everywhere, in short, she now spoke of nothing but her ball.
The conversations on the subject which took place in the garden were
endless. The foppish Malignon thought the project rather stupid, still
he condescended to take some interest in it, and promised to bring a
comic singer with whom he was acquainted.

One afternoon, while they were all sitting under the trees, Juliette
introduced the grave question of the costumes which Lucien and Jeanne
should wear.

"It is so difficult to make up one's mind," said she. "I have been
thinking of a clown's dress in white satin."

"Oh, that's too common!" declared Malignon. "There will be a round
dozen of clowns at your ball. Wait, you must have something novel."
Thereupon he began gravely pondering, sucking the head of his cane all
the while.

Pauline came up at the moment, and proclaimed her desire to appear as
a soubrette.

"You!" screamed Madame Deberle, in astonishment. "You won't appear in
costume at all! Do you think yourself a child, you great stupid? You
will oblige me by coming in a white dress."

"Oh, but it would have pleased me so!" exclaimed Pauline, who, despite
her eighteen years and plump girlish figure, liked nothing better than
to romp with a band of little ones.

Meanwhile Helene sat at the foot of her tree working away, and raising
her head at times to smile at the doctor and Monsieur Rambaud, who
stood in front of her conversing. Monsieur Rambaud had now become
quite intimate with the Deberle family.

"Well," said the doctor, "and how are you going to dress, Jeanne?"

He got no further, for Malignon burst out: "I've got it! I've got it!
Lucien must be a marquis of the time of Louis XV."

He waved his cane with a triumphant air; but, as no one of the company
hailed his idea with enthusiasm, he appeared astonished. "What, don't
you see it? Won't it be for Lucien to receive his little guests? So
you place him, dressed as a marquis, at the drawing-room door, with a
large bouquet of roses on his coat, and he bows to the ladies."

"But there will be dozens of marquises at the ball!" objected
Juliette.

"What does that matter?" replied Malignon coolly. "The more marquises
the greater the fun. I tell you it is the best thing you can hit upon.
The master of the house must be dressed as a marquis, or the ball will
be a complete failure."

Such was his conviction of his scheme's success that at last it was
adopted by Juliette with enthusiasm. As a matter of fact, a dress in
the Pompadour style, white satin embroidered with posies, would be
altogether charming.

"And what about Jeanne?" again asked the doctor.

The little girl had just buried her head against her mother's shoulder
in the caressing manner so characteristic of her; and as an answer was
about to cross Helene's lips, she murmured:

"Oh! mamma, you know what you promised me, don't you?"

"What was it?" asked those around her.

Then, as her daughter gave her an imploring look, Helene laughingly
replied: "Jeanne does not wish her dress to be known."

"Yes, that's so," said the child; "you don't create any effect when
you tell your dress beforehand."

Every one was tickled with this display of coquetry, and Monsieur
Rambaud thought he might tease the child about it. For some time past
Jeanne had been ill-tempered with him, and the poor man, at his wits'
end to hit upon a mode of again gaining her favor, thought teasing her
the best method of conciliation. Keeping his eyes on her face, he
several times repeated: "I know; I shall tell, I shall tell!"

Jeanne, however, became quite livid. Her gentle, sickly face assumed
an expression of ferocious anger; her brow was furrowed by two deep
wrinkles, and her chin drooped with nervous agitation.

"You!" she screamed excitedly; "you will say nothing!" And, as he
still feigned a resolve to speak, she rushed at him madly, and shouted
out: "Hold your tongue! I will have you hold your tongue! I will! I
will!"

Helene had been unable to prevent this fit of blind anger, such as
sometimes took possession of the child, and with some harshness
exclaimed: "Jeanne, take care; I shall whip you!"

But Jeanne paid no heed, never once heard her. Trembling from head to
foot, stamping on the ground, and choking with rage, she again and
again repeated, "I will! I will!" in a voice that grew more and more
hoarse and broken; and her hands convulsively gripped hold of Monsieur
Rambaud's arm, which she twisted with extraordinary strength. In vain
did Helene threaten her. At last, perceiving her inability to quell
her by severity, and grieved to the heart by such a display before so
many people, she contented herself by saying gently: "Jeanne, you are
grieving me very much."

The child immediately quitted her hold and turned her head. And when
she caught sight of her mother, with disconsolate face and eyes
swimming with repressed tears, she on her side burst into loud sobs,
and threw herself on Helene's neck, exclaiming in her grief: "No,
mamma! no, mamma!"

She passed her hands over her mother's face, as though to prevent her
weeping. Helene, however, slowly put her from her, and then the little
one, broken-hearted and distracted, threw herself on a seat a short
distance off, where her sobs broke out louder than ever. Lucien, to
whom she was always held up as an example to follow, gazed at her
surprised and somewhat pleased. And then, as Helene folded up her
work, apologizing for so regrettable an incident, Juliette remarked to
her:

"Dear me! we have to pardon children everything. Besides, the little
one has the best of hearts, and is grieved so much, poor darling, that
she has been already punished too severely."

So saying she called Jeanne to come and kiss her; but the child
remained on her seat, rejecting the offer of forgiveness, and still
choking with tears.

Monsieur Rambaud and the doctor, however, walked to her side, and the
former, bending over her, asked, in tones husky with emotion: "Tell
me, my pet, what has vexed you? What have I done to you?"

"Oh!" she replied, drawing away her hands and displaying a face full
of anguish, "you wanted to take my mamma from me!"

The doctor, who was listening, burst into laughter. Monsieur Rambaud
at first failed to grasp her meaning.

"What is this you're talking of?"

"Yes, indeed, the other Tuesday! Oh! you know very well; you were on
your knees, and asked me what I should say if you were to stay with
us!"

The smile vanished from the doctor's face; his lips became ashy pale,
and quivered. A flush, on the other hand, mounted to Monsieur
Rambaud's cheek, and he whispered to Jeanne: "But you said yourself
that we should always play together?"

"No, no; I did not know at the time," the child resumed excitedly. "I
tell you I don't want it. Don't ever speak to me of it again, and then
we shall be friends."

Helene was on her feet now, with her needlework in its basket, and the
last words fell on her ear. "Come, let us go up, Jeanne," she said;
"your tears are not pleasant company."

She bowed, and pushed the child before her. The doctor, with livid
face, gazed at her fixedly. Monsieur Rambaud was in dismay. As for
Madame Deberle and Pauline, they had taken hold of Lucien, and were
making him turn between them, while excitedly discussing the question
of his Pompadour dress.

On the morrow Helene was left alone under the elms. Madame Deberle was
running about in the interests of her ball, and had taken Lucien and
Jeanne with her. On the doctor's return home, at an earlier hour than
usual, he hurried down the garden steps. However, he did not seat
himself, but wandered aimlessly round the young woman, at times
tearing strips of bark from the trees with his finger-nails. She
lifted her eyes for a moment, feeling anxious at sight of his
agitation; and then again began plying her needle with a somewhat
trembling hand.

"The weather is going to break up," said she, feeling uncomfortable as
the silence continued. "The afternoon seems quite cold."

"We are only in April, remember," he replied, with a brave effort to
control his voice.

Then he appeared to be on the point of leaving her, but turned round,
and suddenly asked: "So you are going to get married?"

This abrupt question took her wholly by surprise, and her work fell
from her hands. Her face blanched, but by a supreme effort of will
remained unimpassioned, as though she were a marble statue, fixing
dilated eyes upon him. She made no reply, and he continued in
imploring tones:

"Oh! I pray you, answer me. One word, one only. Are you going to get
married?"

"Yes, perhaps. What concern is it of yours?" she retorted, in a tone
of icy indifference.

He made a passionate gesture, and exclaimed:

"It is impossible!"

"Why should it be?" she asked, still keeping her eyes fixed on his
face.

Her glance stayed the words upon his lips, and he was forced to
silence. For a moment longer he remained near her, pressing his hands
to his brow, and then fled away, with a feeling of suffocation in his
throat, dreading lest he might give expression to his despair; while
she, with assumed tranquillity, once more turned to her work.

But the spell of those delicious afternoons was gone. Next day shone
fair and sunny, and Helene seemed ill at ease from the moment she
found herself alone with him. The pleasant intimacy, the happy
trustfulness, which sanctioned their sitting side by side in blissful
security, and revelling in the unalloyed joy of being together, no
longer existed. Despite his intense carefulness to give her no cause
for alarm, he would sometimes gaze at her and tremble with sudden
excitement, while his face crimsoned with a rush of blood. From her
own heart had fled its wonted happy calm; quivers ran through her
frame; she felt languid; her hands grew weary, and forsook their work.

She now no longer allowed Jeanne to wander from her side. Between
himself and her the doctor found this constant onlooker, watching him
with large, clear eyes. But what pained Helene most was that she now
felt ill at ease in Madame Deberle's company. When the latter returned
of an afternoon, with her hair swept about by the wind, and called her
"my dear" while relating the incidents of some shopping expedition,
she no longer listened with her former quiet smile. A storm arose from
the depths of her soul, stirring up feelings to which she dared not
give a name. Shame and spite seemed mingled in them. However, her
honorable nature gained the mastery, and she gave her hand to
Juliette, but without being able to repress the shudder which ran
through her as she pressed her friend's warm fingers.

The weather had now broken up. Frequent rain forced the ladies to take
refuge in the Japanese pavilion. The garden, with its whilom exquisite
order, became transformed into a lake, and no one dared venture on the
walks, on account of the mud. However, whenever the sun peeped out
from behind the clouds, the dripping greenery soon dried; pearls hung
from each little blossom of the lilac trees; and under the elms big
drops fell splashing on the ground.

"At last I've arranged it; it will be on Saturday," said Madame
Deberle one day. "My dear, I'm quite tired out with the whole affair.
Now, you'll be here at two o'clock, won't you? Jeanne will open the
ball with Lucien."

And thereupon, surrendering to a flow of tenderness, in ecstasy over
the preparations for her ball, she embraced both children, and,
laughingly catching hold of Helene, pressed two resounding kisses on
her cheeks.

"That's my reward!" she exclaimed merrily. "You know I deserve it; I
have run about enough. You'll see what a success it will be!"

But Helene remained chilled to the heart, while the doctor, with
Lucien clinging to his neck, gazed at them over the child's fair head.