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Page 58
"Monsieur de Lucan," she cries, gayly, "my mother wishes me to be amiable
with you, my husband wishes it, Heaven wills it, too, I suppose; that's
why I am willing also, and I assure you that I can be very amiable when I
try. You'll see!"
"Is it possible?" said Lucan.
"You'll see, sir!" she replied, dropping him with all possible grace, a
regular stage curtsey.
"And where are we going, pray, madam?"
"Wherever you like--through the woods, at random, if you please."
The wooded hills came so close to the chateau, that they bordered with a
fringe of shade one side of the yard. Monsieur de Lucan and Julia took the
first path that came in their way; but it was not long before Julia left
the beaten road-way, to walk at hazard from tree to tree, wandering at
random, beating the thickets with her cane, picking flowers or leaves,
stopping in ecstasy before the luminous bands that striped here and there
the mossy carpets, frankly intoxicated with movement, open air, sunshine,
and youth. While walking, she cast to her companion words of pleasant
fellowship, playful interpellation, childish jests, and caused the woods
to ring again with the melody of her laughter.
In her admiration for the wild flowers, she had gradually collected a
regular bundle, of which Monsieur de Lucan accepted the burden with
cheerful resignation. Noticing that he was almost bending under the
weight, she sat down upon the gnarled roots of an old oak, in order, she
said, to make a selection among all this pell-mell. She then took upon her
lap the bundles of grass and flowers, and began throwing out everything
that appeared to her of inferior quality. She handed over to Lucan, seated
a step or two from her, whatever she thought fit to retain for the final
bouquet, justifying gravely her decision upon each plant that she
examined:
"You, my dear, you are too thin! you're pretty, but too short! you, you
smell bad! you, you look stupid."
Then, turning abruptly into another train of thought, which was not at
first without causing some uneasiness to Monsieur de Lucan:
"It was you, wasn't it, who advised Pierre to speak to me with firmness?"
"I?" said Lucan, "what an idea!"
"It must have been you. You," she went on again, speaking to her flowers,
"you look sickly, good-night! Yes, it must have been you. One might think
you quite meek, to look at you, whereas, on the contrary, you are very
harsh, very tyrannical."
"Ferocious!" said Lucan.
"At any rate, I have no fault to find with you for that. You were right;
poor Pierre is too weak with me. I like a man to be a man. And yet he is
very brave, is he not?"
"Extremely so," said Lucan; "he is capable of the most energetic actions."
"He looks like it, and yet with me--he is an angel."
"It is because he loves you."
"Quite probable!--some of those flowers are so curious. Look at this one;
it looks like a little lady!"
"I hope that you love him too, my good Pierre?"
"Quite probable, too!"
After a pause, she shook her head:
"And why should I love him?"
"What a question!" said Lucan. "Why, because he is perfectly worthy of
being loved; because he has every quality; intelligence, heart, and even
beauty--finally, because you have married him."
"Monsieur de Lucan, will you allow me to tell you something
confidentially?"
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