Happy to hear her spoken of, but jealous of that intimate
happiness which Guilleroy praised as a matter of duty,
the painter finally murmured, with sincere conviction:
“Yes, indeed, you were the lucky one!”
The Deputy, flattered, assented to this; then he resumed:
“I should like very much to see her return;
indeed, I am a little anxious about her just now.
Wait—since you are bored in Paris, you
might go to Roncieres and bring her back. She
will listen to you, for you are her best friend; while
a husband—you know——”
Delighted, Olivier replied: “I ask nothing
better. But do you think it would not annoy her
to see me arriving in that abrupt way?”
“No, not at all. Go, by all means, my dear
fellow.”
“Well, then, I will. I will leave to-morrow
by the one o’clock train. Shall I send
her a telegram?”
“No, I will attend to that. I will telegraph,
so that you will find a carriage at the station.”
As they had finished dinner, they strolled again up
the Boulevard, but in half an hour the Count suddenly
left the painter, under the pretext of an urgent affair
that he had quite forgotten.
SPRINGTIME AND AUTUMN
The Countess and her daughter, dressed in black crape,
had just seated themselves opposite each other, for
breakfast, in the large dining-room at Roncieres.
The portraits of many ancestors, crudely painted, one
in a cuirass, another in a tight-fitting coat, this
a powdered officer of the French Guards, that a colonel
of the Restoration, hung in line on the walls, a collection
of deceased Guilleroys, in old frames from which the
gilding was peeling. Two servants, stepping softly,
began to serve the two silent women, and the flies
made a little cloud of black specks, dancing and buzzing
around the crystal chandelier that hung over the center
of the table.
“Open the windows,” said the Countess,
“It is a little cool here.”
The three long windows, reaching from the floor to
the ceiling, and large as bay-windows, were opened
wide. A breath of soft air, bearing the odor
of warm grass and the distant sounds of the country,
swept in immediately through these openings, mingling
with the slightly damp air of the room, inclosed by
the thick walls of the castle.
“Ah, that is good!” said Annette, taking
a full breath.
The eyes of the two women had turned toward the outside
and now gazed, beneath the blue sky, lightly veiled
by the midday haze which was reflected on the meadows
impregnated with sunshine, at the long and verdant
lawns of the park, with its groups of trees here and
there, and its perspective opening to the yellow fields,
illuminated as far as the eye could see by the golden
gleam of ripe grain.
“We will take a long walk after breakfast,”
said the Countess. “We might walk as far
as Berville, following the river, for it will be too
warm on the plain.”
