It seemed to Jeanne that her mind was expanding, was
beginning to understand the psychic meaning of things;
and these little scattered gleams in the landscape
gave her, all at once, a keen sense of the isolation
of all human lives, a feeling that everything detaches,
separates, draws one far away from the things they
love.
She said, in a resigned tone: “Life is
not always cheerful.”
The baron sighed: “How can it be helped,
daughter? We can do nothing.”
The following day the baron and his wife went away,
and Jeanne and Julien were left alone.
* * * *
*
JEANNE’S DISCOVERY
Cards now became a distraction in the life of the
young people. Every morning after breakfast,
Julien would play several games of bezique with his
wife, smoking and sipping brandy as he played.
She would then go up to her room and sit down beside
the window, and as the rain beat against the panes,
or the wind shook the windows, she would embroider
away steadily. Occasionally she would raise her
eyes and look out at the gray sea which had white-caps
on it. Then, after gazing listlessly for some
time, she would resume her work.
She had nothing else to do, Julien having taken the
entire management of the house, to satisfy his craving
for authority and his craze for economy. He was
parsimonious in the extreme, never gave any tips, cut
down the food to the merest necessaries; and as Jeanne
since her return had ordered the baker to make her
a little Norman “galette” for breakfast,
he had cut down this extra expense, and condemned her
to eat toast.
She said nothing in order to avoid recriminations,
arguments and quarrels; but she suffered keenly at
each fresh manifestation of avarice on the part of
her husband. It appeared to her low and odious,
brought up as she had been in a family where money
was never considered. How often had she not heard
her mother say: “Why, money is made to
be spent.” Julien would now say: “Will
you never become accustomed to not throwing money
away?” And each time he deducted a few sous
from some one’s salary or on a note, he would
say with a smile, as he slipped the change into his
pocket: “Little streams make big rivers.”
On certain days Jeanne would sit and dream. She
would gradually cease sewing and, with her hands idle,
and forgetting her surroundings, she would weave one
of those romances of her girlhood and be lost in some
enchanting adventure. But suddenly Julien’s
voice giving some orders to old Simon would snatch
her abruptly from her dreams, and she would take up
her work again, saying: “That is all over,”
and a tear would fall on her hands as she plied the
needle.
Rosalie, formerly so cheerful and always singing,
had changed. Her rounded cheeks had lost their
color, and were now almost hollow, and sometimes had
an earthy hue. Jeanne would frequently ask her:
“Are you ill, my girl?” The little maid
would reply: “No, madame,” while her
cheeks would redden slightly and she would retire hastily.
