第42章 LA MARQUISE BEATRIX(8)

"Oh! my child!" she said, taking him in her arms, and kissing the beautiful hair that was still hers, "marry whom you will, and when you will, but be happy! My part in life is not to hamper you."Mariotte came to lay the table. Gasselin was out exercising Calyste's horse, which the youth had not mounted for two months. The three women, mother, aunt, and Mariotte, shared in the tender feminine wiliness, which taught them to make much of Calyste when he dined at home. Breton plainness fought against Parisian luxury, now brought to the very doors of Guerande. Mariotte endeavored to wean her young master from the accomplished service of Camille Maupin's kitchen, just as his mother and aunt strove to hold him in the net of their tenderness and render all comparison impossible.

"There's a salmon-trout for dinner, Monsieur Calyste, and snipe, and pancakes such as I know you can't get anywhere but here," said Mariotte, with a sly, triumphant look as she smoothed the cloth, a cascade of snow.

After dinner, when the old aunt had taken up her knitting, and the rector and Monsieur du Halga had arrived, allured by their precious /mouche/, Calyste went back to Les Touches on the pretext of returning the letter.

Claude Vignon and Felicite were still at table. The great critic was something of a gourmand, and Felicite pampered the vice, knowing how indispensable a woman makes herself by such compliance. The dinner-table presented that rich and brilliant aspect which modern luxury, aided by the perfecting of handicrafts, now gives to its service. The poor and noble house of Guenic little knew with what an adversary it was attempting to compete, or what amount of fortune was necessary to enter the lists against the silverware, the delicate porcelain, the beautiful linen, the silver-gilt service brought from Paris by Mademoiselle des Touches, and the science of her cook. Calyste declined the liqueurs contained in one of those superb cases of precious woods, which are something like tabernacles.

"Here's the letter," he said, with innocent ostentation, looking at Claude, who was slowly sipping a glass of /liqueur-des-iles/.

"Well, what did you think of it?" asked Mademoiselle des Touches, throwing the letter across the table to Vignon, who began to read it, taking up and putting down at intervals his little glass.

"I thought--well, that Parisian women were very fortunate to have men of genius to adore who adore them.""Ah! you are still in your village," said Felicite, laughing. "What!

did you not see that she loves him less, and--""That is evident," said Claude Vignon, who had only read the first page. "Do people reason on their situation when they really love; are they as shrewd as the marquise, as observing, as discriminating? Your dear Beatrix is held to Conti now by pride only; she is condemned to love him /quand meme/.""Poor woman!" said Camille.

Calyste's eyes were fixed on the table; he saw nothing about him. The beautiful woman in the fanciful dress described that morning by Felicite appeared to him crowned with light; she smiled to him, she waved her fan; the other hand, issuing from its ruffle of lace, fell white and pure on the heavy folds of her crimson velvet robe.

"She is just the thing for you," said Claude Vignon, smiling sardonically at Calyste.

The young man was deeply wounded by the words, and by the manner in which they were said.

"Don't put such ideas into Calyste's mind; you don't know how dangerous such jokes may prove to be," said Mademoiselle des Touches, hastily. "I know Beatrix, and there is something too grandiose in her nature to allow her to change. Besides, Conti will be here.""Ha!" said Claude Vignon, satirically, "a slight touch of jealousy, eh?""Can you really think so?" said Camille, haughtily.

"You are more perspicacious than a mother," replied Claude Vignon, still sarcastically.

"But it would be impossible," said Camille, looking at Calyste.

"They are very well matched," remarked Vignon. "She is ten years older than he; and it is he who appears to be the girl--""A girl, monsieur," said Calyste, waking from his reverie, "who has been twice under fire in La Vendee! If the Cause had had twenty thousand more such girls--""I was giving you some well-deserved praise, and that is easier than to give you a beard," remarked Vignon.

"I have a sword for those who wear their beards too long," cried Calyste.

"And I am very good at an epigram," said the other, smiling. "We are Frenchmen; the affair can easily be arranged."Mademoiselle des Touches cast a supplicating look on Calyste, which calmed him instantly.