On arriving at Bastia, they had to pay the guide.
Julien fumbled in his pockets. Not finding what
he wanted, he said to Jeanne: “As you are
not using your mother’s two thousand francs,
give them to me to carry. They will be safer
in my belt, and it will avoid my having to make change.”
She handed him her purse.
They went to Leghorn, visited Florence, Genoa and
all the Cornici. They reached Marseilles on a
morning when the north wind was blowing. Two
months had elapsed since they left the “Poplars.”
It was now the 15th of October.
Jeanne, affected by the cold wind that seemed to come
from yonder, from far-off Normandy, felt sad.
Julien had, for some time, appeared changed, tired,
indifferent, and she feared she knew not what.
They delayed their return home four days longer, not
being able to make up their minds to leave this pleasant
land of the sun. It seemed to her that she had
come to an end of her happiness.
At length they left. They were to make all their
purchases in Paris, prior to settling down for good
at the “Poplars,” and Jeanne looked forward
to bringing back some treasures, thanks to her mother’s
present. But the first thing she thought of was
the pistol promised to the little Corsican woman of
Evisa.
The day after they arrived she said to Julien:
“Dear, will you give me that money of mamma’s?
I want to make my purchases.”
He turned toward her with a look of annoyance.
“How much do you want?”
“Why—whatever you please.”
“I will give you a hundred francs,” he
replied, “but do not squander it.”
She did not know what to say, amazed and confused.
At length she faltered: “But—I—handed
you the money to——”
He did not give her time to finish.
“Yes, of course. Whether it is in my pocket
or yours makes no difference from the moment that
we have the same purse. I do not refuse you,
do I, since I am giving you a hundred francs?”
She took the five gold pieces without saying a word,
but she did not venture to ask for any more, and she
bought nothing but the pistol.
Eight days later they set out for the “Poplars.”
* * * *
*
DISENCHANTMENT
The family and servants were awaiting them outside
the white gate with brick supports. The post-chaise
drew up and there were long and affectionate greetings.
Little mother wept; Jeanne, affected, wiped away some
tears; father nervously walked up and down.
Then, as the baggage was being unloaded, they told
of their travels beside the parlor fire. Jeanne’s
words flowed freely, and everything was told, everything,
in a half hour, except, perhaps, a few little details
forgotten in this rapid account.
The young wife then went to undo her parcels.
Rosalie, also greatly affected, assisted her.
When this was finished and everything had been put
away, the little maid left her mistress, and Jeanne,
somewhat fatigued, sat down.
