The Complete Works: Short Stories, Novels, Plays, Poetry, Memoirs and more. Guy de MaupassantЧитать онлайн книгу.
herself, in a somewhat disturbed frame of mind: “Can they have been talking this over all together?” As soon as the meal was over, she went up again to her room, put on her hat, seized her parasol, threw a light cloak over her arm, and she went off in the direction of the hotel, for they were to start at half past one.
Christiane expressed her astonishment at finding that Louise had not come.
Charlotte felt herself flushing as she replied: “She is a little fatigued; I believe she has a headache.”
And they stepped into the landau, the big landau with six seats, which they always used. The Marquis and his daughter remained at the lower end, while the Oriol girl found herself seated at the opposite side between the two young men.
They passed in front of Tournoel; they proceeded along the foot of the mountain, by a beautiful winding road, under the walnut and chestnut-trees. Charlotte several times felt conscious that Gontran was pressing close up to her, but was too prudent to take offense at it. As he sat at her right-hand side, he spoke with his face close to her cheek; and she did not venture to turn round to answer him, through fear of touching his mouth, which she felt already on her lips, and also through fear of his eyes, whose glance would have unnerved her.
He whispered in her ear gallant absurdities, laughable fooleries, agreeable and well-turned compliments.
Christiane scarcely uttered a word, heavy and sick from her pregnancy. And Paul appeared sad, preoccupied. The Marquis alone chatted without unrest or anxiety, in the sprightly, graceful style of a selfish old nobleman.
They got down at the park of Royat to listen to the music, and Gontran, offering Charlotte his arm, set forth with her in front. The army of bathers, on the chairs, around the kiosk, where the leader of the orchestra was keeping time with the brass instruments and the violins, watched the promenaders filing past. The women exhibited their dresses by stretching out their legs as far as the bars of the chairs in front of them, and their dainty summer headgear made them look more fascinating.
Charlotte and Gontran sauntered through the midst of the people who occupied the seats, looking out for faces of a comic type to find materials for their pleasantries.
Every moment he heard some one saying behind them: “Look there! what a pretty girl!” He felt flattered, and asked himself whether they took her for his sister, his wife, or his mistress.
Christiane, seated between her father and Paul, saw them passing several times, and thinking they exhibited too much youthful frivolity, she called them over to her to soberize them. But they paid no attention to her, and went on vagabondizing through the crowd, enjoying themselves with their whole hearts.
She said in a whisper to Paul Bretigny: “He will finish by compromising her. It will be necessary that we should speak to him this evening when he comes back.”
Paul replied: “I had already thought about it. You are quite right.”
They went to dine in one of the restaurants of Clermont-Ferrand, those of Royat being no good, according to the Marquis, who was a gourmand, and they returned at nightfall.
Charlotte had become serious, Gontran having strongly pressed her hand, while presenting her gloves to her, before she quitted the table. Her young girl’s conscience was suddenly troubled. This was an avowal! an advance! an impropriety! What ought she to do? Speak to him? but about what? To be offended would be ridiculous. There was need of so much tact in these circumstances. But by doing nothing, by saying nothing, she produced the impression of accepting his advances, of becoming his accomplice, of answering “yes” to this pressure of the hand.
And she weighed the situation, accusing herself of having been too gay and too familiar at Royat, thinking just now that her sister was right, that she was compromised, lost! The carriage rolled along the road. Paul and Gontran smoked in silence; the Marquis slept; Christiane gazed at the stars; and Charlotte found it hard to keep back her tears — for she had swallowed three glasses of champagne.
When they had got back, Christiane said to her father: “As it is dark, you have to see this young girl home.”
The Marquis, without delay, offered her his arm, and went off with her.
Paul laid his hands on Gontran’s shoulders, and whispered in his ear: “Come and have five minutes’ talk with your sister and myself.”
And they went up to the little drawingroom communicating with the apartments of Andermatt and his wife.
When they were seated, Christiane said: “Listen! M. Paul and I want to give you a good lecture.”
“A good lecture! But about what? I’m as wise as an image for want of opportunities.”
“Don’t trifle! You are doing a very imprudent and very dangerous thing without thinking on it. You are compromising this young girl.”
He appeared much astonished. “Who is that? Charlotte?”
“Yes, Charlotte!”
“I’m compromising Charlotte? — I?”
“Yes, you are compromising her. Everyone here is talking about it, and this evening again in the park at Royat you have been very — very light. Isn’t that so, Bretigny?”
Paul answered: “Yes, Madame, I entirely share your sentiments.”
Gontran turned his chair around, bestrode it like a horse, took a fresh cigar, lighted it, then burst out laughing.
“Ha! so then I am compromising Charlotte Oriol?” He waited a few seconds to see the effect of his words, then added: “And who told you I did not intend to marry her?”
Christiane gave a start of amazement.
“Marry her? You? Why, you’re mad!”
“Why so?”
“That — that little peasant girl!”
“Tra! la! la! Prejudices! Is it from your husband you learned them?”
As she made no response to this direct argument, he went on, putting both questions and answers himself:
“Is she pretty? — Yes! Is she well educated? — Yes! And more ingenuous, more simple, and more honest than girls in good society. She knows as much as another, for she can speak both English and the language of Auvergne — that makes two foreign languages. She will be as rich as any heiress of the Faubourg Saint-Germain — as it was formerly called (they are now going to christen it Faubourg Sainte-Deche) — and finally, if she is a peasant’s daughter, she’ll be only all the more healthy to present me with fine children. Enough!”
As he had always the appearance of laughing and jesting, Christiane asked hesitatingly: “Come! are you speaking seriously?”
“Faith, I am! She is charming, this little girl! She has a good heart and a pretty face, a genial character and a good temper, rosy cheeks, bright eyes, white teeth, ruby lips, and flowing tresses, glossy, thick, and full of soft folds. And then her vinedressing father will be as rich as Croesus, thanks to your husband, my dear sister. What more do you want? The daughter of a peasant! Well, is not the daughter of a peasant as good as any of those moneylenders’ daughters who pay such high prices for dukes with doubtful titles, or any of the daughters born of aristocratic prostitution whom the Empire has given us, or any of the daughters with double sires whom we meet in society? Why, if I did marry this girl I should be doing the first wise and rational act of my life!”
Christiane reflected, then, all of a sudden, convinced, overcome, delighted, she exclaimed:
“Why, all you have said is true! It is quite true, quite right! So then you are going to marry her, my little Gontran?”
It was he who now sought to moderate her ardor. “Not so quick — not so quick — let me reflect in my turn. I only declare that, if I did marry her, I would be doing the first wise and rational act of my life. That does not go so far as saying that I will marry her;