IX

A FIRST MEETING

What young man full of abounding but restrained life and emotion would not have had the glorious idea of going to Croisic to see Madame de Rochefide land, and examine her incognito?  Calyste greatly surprised his father and mother by going off in the morning without waiting for the mid-day breakfast.  Heaven knows with what agility the young Breton’s feet sped along.  Some unknown vigor seemed lent to him; he walked on air, gliding along by the walls of Les Touches that he might not be seen from the house.  The adorable boy was ashamed of his ardor, and afraid of being laughed at; Felicite and Vignon were so perspicacious! besides, in such cases young fellows fancy that their foreheads are transparent.

He reached the shore, strengthened by a stone embankment, at the foot of which is a house where travellers can take shelter in storms of wind or rain.  It is not always possible to cross the little arm of the sea which separates the landing-place of Guerande from Croisic; the weather may be bad, or the boats not ready; and during this time of waiting, it is necessary to put not only the passengers but their horses, donkeys, baggages, and merchandise under cover.

Calyste presently saw two boats coming over from Croisic, laden with baggage,—­trunks, packages, bags, and chests,—­the shape and appearance of which proved to a native of these parts that such extraordinary articles must belong to travellers of distinction.  In one of the boats was a young woman in a straw bonnet with a green veil, accompanied by a man.  This boat was the first to arrive.  Calyste trembled until on closer view he saw they were a maid and a man-servant.

“Are you going over to Croisic, Monsieur Calyste?” said one of the boatmen; to whom he replied with a shake of the head, annoyed at being called by his name.

He was captivated by the sight of a chest covered with tarred cloth on which were painted the words, MME. LA MARQUISE DE ROCHEFIDE.  The name shone before him like a talisman; he fancied there was something fateful in it.  He knew in some mysterious way, which he could not doubt, that he should love that woman.  Why?  In the burning desert of his new and infinite desires, still vague and without an object, his fancy fastened with all its strength on the first woman that presented herself.  Beatrix necessarily inherited the love which Camille had rejected.

Calyste watched the landing of the luggage, casting from time to time a glance at Croisic, from which he hoped to see another boat put out to cross to the little promontory, and show him Beatrix, already to his eyes what Beatrice was to Dante, a marble statue on which to hang his garlands and his flowers.  He stood with arms folded, lost in meditation.  Here is a fact worthy of remark, which, nevertheless, has never been remarked:  we often subject ourselves to sentiments by our own volition,—­deliberately bind ourselves, and create our own fate; chance has not as much to do with it as we believe.