第7章

So happy couples coming to Saint-Cyr,then the Petite Courtille of Tours,and knots of folk out for their evening walk along the "dike,"saw a pale,thin figure dressed in black,a woman with a worn yet bright face,gliding like a shadow along the terraces.Great suffering cannot be concealed.The vinedresser's household had grown quiet also.

Sometimes the laborer and his wife and children were gathered about the door of their cottage,while Annette was washing linen at the well-head,and Mme.Willemsens and the children sat in the summer-house,and there was not the faintest sound in those gardens gay with flowers.Unknown to Mme.Willemsens,all eyes grew pitiful at the sight of her,she was so good,so thoughtful,so dignified with those with whom she came in contact.

And as for her.--When the autumn days came on,days so sunny and bright in Touraine,bringing with them grapes and ripe fruits and healthful influences which must surely prolong life in spite of the ravages of mysterious disease--she saw no one but her children,taking the utmost that the hour could give her,as if each hour had been her last.

Louis had worked at night,unknown to his mother,and made immense progress between June and September.In algebra he had come as far as equations with two unknown quantities;he had studied deive geometry,and drew admirably well;in fact,he was prepared to pass the entrance examination of the Ecole polytechnique.

Sometimes of an evening he went down to the bridge of Tours.There was a lieutenant there on half-pay,an Imperial naval officer,whose manly face,medal,and gait had made an impression on the boy's imagination,and the officer on his side had taken a liking to the lad,whose eyes sparkled with energy.Louis,hungering for tales of adventure,and eager for information,used to follow in the lieutenant's wake for the chance of a chat with him.It so happened that the sailor had a friend and comrade in the colonel of a regiment of infantry,struck off the rolls like himself;and young Louis-Gaston had a chance of learning what life was like in camp or on board a man-of-war.Of course,he plied the veterans with questions;and when he had made up his mind to the hardships of their rough callings,he asked his mother's leave to take country walks by way of amusement.Mme.Willemsens was beyond measure glad that he should ask;the boy's astonished masters had told her that he was overworking himself.So Louis went for long walks.He tried to inure himself to fatigue,climbed the tallest trees with incredible quickness,learned to swim,watched through the night.He was not like the same boy;he was a young man already,with a sunburned face,and a something in his expression that told of deep purpose.

When October came,Mme.Willemsens could only rise at noon.The sunshine,reflected by the surface of the Loire,and stored up by the rocks,raised the temperature of the air till it was almost as warm and soft as the atmosphere of the Bay of Naples,for which reason the faculty recommend the place of abode.At mid-day she came out to sit under the shade of green leaves with the two boys,who never wandered from her now.Lessons had come to an end.Mother and children wished to live the life of heart and heart together,with no disturbing element,no outside cares.No tears now,no joyous outcries.The elder boy,lying in the grass at his mother's side,basked in her eyes like a lover and kissed her feet.Marie,the restless one,gathered flowers for her,and brought them with a subdued look,standing on tiptoe to put a girlish kiss on her lips.And the pale woman,with the great tired eyes and languid movements,never uttered a word of complaint,and smiled upon her children,so full of life and health--it was a sublime picture,lacking no melancholy autumn pomp of yellow leaves and half-despoiled branches,nor the softened sunlight and pale clouds of the skies of Touraine.

At last the doctor forbade Mme.Willemsens to leave her room.Every day it was brightened by the flowers that she loved,and her children were always with her.One day,early in November,she sat at the piano for the last time.A picture--a Swiss landscape--hung above the instrument;and at the window she could see her children standing with their heads close together.Again and again she looked from the children to the landscape,and then again at the children.Her face flushed,her fingers flew with passionate feeling over the ivory keys.

This was her last great day,an unmarked day of festival,held in her own soul by the spirit of her memories.When the doctor came,he ordered her to stay in bed.The alarming dictum was received with bewildered silence.

When the doctor had gone,she turned to the older boy.

"Louis,"she said,"take me out on the terrace,so that I may see my country once more."The boy gave his arm at those simply uttered words,and brought his mother out upon the terrace;but her eyes turned,perhaps unconsciously,to heaven rather than to the earth,and indeed,it would have been hard to say whether heaven or earth was the fairer--for the clouds traced shadowy outlines,like the grandest Alpine glaciers,against the sky.Mme.Willemsens'brows contracted vehemently;there was a look of anguish and remorse in her eyes.She caught the children's hands,and clutched them to a heavily-throbbing heart.

"'Parentage unknown!'"she cried,with a look that went to their hearts."Poor angels,what will become of you?And when you are twenty years old,what strict account may you not require of my life and your own?"She put the children from her,and leaning her arms upon the balustrade,stood for a while hiding her face,alone with herself,fearful of all eyes.When she recovered from the paroxysm,she saw Louis and Marie kneeling on either side of her,like two angels;they watched the expression of her face,and smiled lovingly at her.

"If only I could take that smile with me!"she said,drying her eyes.