70
THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS.

to have said any-----"   "Eh!   mon Dieu!" cried La
Louve, " what you do is often as touching as what you
say! You are so malignant!"
" Do not be. angry, La Louve, explain yourself."
*' Yesterday, in the workshop, I saw you well. You
liad your eyes and head head down, fixed on your
work ; a large tear fell on your hand ; you looked at it
for a moment, and then you carried your hand to
your lips as if to kiss away this tear; is it not true?"
"It is true," said La Goualeuse, blushing.
"That has the appearance of nothing! But, at that
moment you looked so unhappy—so unhappy, that I
felt myself all heartache—every feeling stirred up.
Say now? do you think this is amusing? How ! I have
always been as hard as a rock about everything con-
cerning myself. No one can boast of ever having seen
me weep; and it must be that in looking at your little
ïace I should feel cowardice at my heart! Yes, for all
that is pure cowardice; and the proof is, that for three
days I have not dared to write to Martial, my con-
science accuses me so much. Yes, keeping company
with you has weakened my character; it must stop; I
have enough of it; I wish to remain as I am, and not
have them to laugh at me."
" And why should they laugh at you?" " Pardieu!
because they would see me acting a stupid, good-
natured part—I, who made them all tremble here ! No,
no; I am twenty; I am as handsome as you, in my
way; I am wicked; I am feared, and that's what I
want. I laugh at the rest. Perish! who says the con-
trary?"   "You are angry with me, La Louve?"   "Yes.
"Tellme LaLouve," continued FleurdeMarie, after husband has planted, and which shades the seat o(
a moment's silence, " do you not sometimes like to turf where he sleeps during the heat of the day, while
build castles in the air here in prison? It is so amus- , you go and come, and tell the children not to wake
jng "                                                                                    their father.   I do not know it you have remarked it,
"Respecting what—castles in the air?" "About but at noon, in the middle of summer, it is as silent in
Martial?" "Martial!" "Y'es." "Ma foi, I never have." the woods as during the night. Not a leaf stirs, nor is
" Let me build one for you and Martial."   " Bah! for   a bird heard to sing."
what good?" "To pass the time. " "Well, let us see "That is true," repeated La Louve mechanically
this castle." "Just imagine, for example, that by who, forgetting more and more the reality, believed
chance you should meet some one who should say to almost that she saw displayed before her eyes the
you, 'Abandoned bv your fattier and mother, your smiling pictures described by the poetic imagination of
childhood has been surrounded by bad examples; that Fleur de Marie—of Fleur de Mane, so instinctively a
you must be pitied as much ar. blamed for having be-   lover of the beauties of nature.   Delighted with the
come-----'"    "Having become what?"    "What you ' profound attention which her companion lent her, she
and I—have become," answered the Goualeuse, in a ! continued, allowing herself to be carried away by the
soft voice.   "Suppose this person were to say to you, \ charm of the thoughts she evoked: " There is one thing
*   that I like almost as well as the silence of the woods-
it is the noise of the large drops of rain in the summer,
falling on the leaves: do you like this also?" " Oh yes!
I like also, very much, the summer rain." " Is it not
so? when the trees, the moss, the grass—all is well
moistened, what a fine fresh odor? And then, now the
sun, peeping through the trees, make all these drops of
water sparkle which hang from the leaves after the
shower!   Have you remarked this also?"   "Yes, but I
You love Martial—he loves you; leave your present
mode of life, and become his wife.' " LaLouve shrug-
ged her shoulders.
" Do you think he would take me for his wife?"
" Except his poaching, has he ever committed any
other culpable action?" "No; he is a poacher on the
river, as he was in the woods; and lie is right. Hold;
are not the fish like the game, belonging to him who
can take them?     Where, then, is the mark of their
owner?" " Well, suppose, having renounced this, he ; don't remember it now, because you tell it to me. How
wishes to become an honest man; suppose that he in- : droll it is! you tell it so well, La Goualeuse, that one
spires, by the frankness of his good resolutions, enough | seems to see everything, everything as you speak; and
confidence in an unknown benefactor, so that he would : then, Dame! I do not know how to explain this to you;
give him a place—now, see, this is always a castle—give but, look here what you have said—smells good—it is
,, him a place as gamekeeper, for example. To him who refreshing—like the summer rain of which you spoke."
vou are for me a bad acquaintance; if this is continued i was a poacher, it would be to his liking, I hope. It is Thus, like the beautiful, the good poetry is often con-
in fifteen days instead of being called La Louve (the : the same trade, only lawful."                                            tagious. La Louve, tins brutal and savage nature, had
wolf) they will call me the Brebis (sheep). Thank you, ." Ma foi, yes; it is always living in the woods."             to submit in everything, to the influence of Fleur de
it's not me they'll bapf ize so.   Martial would kill me. !     " Only this place would be given to him on the sole   Mane. She added, smiling,    We must not believe that
-   condition that he would marry you and take you with   we are alone in loving the summer ram."   "And the
him "                                                                                   birds there? how happy they are I how they shake their
" I go with Martial?" " Yes; you would be so happy, I wings in warbling joyously—not more joyously, how-
you saj, to live together in a forest. Would you not ! ever, than your children—your children, free, gay, and
'like better instead of a miserable poacher's hut, where lively as they are: see now, at the close of day, th?
you would hide, yourselves like criminals, to have a ! youngest running through the woods to meet their
In fine, I want none of your company; I am going to
ask to be put in another hall; if they refuse, I'll do
something so that they will put me in the dungeon until
-my time is up. That's what I have to say to you, La
Goualeuse."
" I assure you, La Louve," said Fleur de Marie, " that
you feel an interest in me, not because you are ' lache,'
but because you are generous—brave hearts alone feel
the misfortunes of others." " There is neither gener-
osity nor courage in this," said La Louve, brutally;
" it is cowardice. Besides, I do not wish you to tell me
that I am touched—softened ; it is not true." "I will
not say so any more, La Louve; but since you have
shown some interest for me, you will let me be grate-
ful to you for it, will you not?" "To-night I shall be
in another hall from you, or alone in the dungeon; and
soon I shall be away from here, Dieu Merci!" "And
where will you go then?" "I shall go to my own
home, Rue Pierre Lescot. I have my own furnished
rooms."
"And Martial!" said La Goualeuse, who hoped to
continue the conversation by speaking of an object in-
teresting to her; " and Martial you'll be very happy to
see him?" " Yes; oh, yes!" answered she: "whenlwas
arrested he was recovering from sickness—a fever
which he had, because he is always on the water. For
sixteen or seventeen nights I never left him for a mo-
ment.   I sold half that I possessed to pay for a physi-
nice little cottage, of which you should be the active
and industrious housekeeper?"
" You make fun of me.   Can this be possible?"
"Who knows? Chance? Besides, it is always a
castle." "Ah! true; very well." " I say, La Louve, it
seems to me I already see you established in your cot-
tage in the forest, with your husband, and two or three
children. What happiness! is it not?" "Children!
Martial!" cried LaLouve; "oh, yes, they would be
proudly loved!"
" How much company they would be for you in your
solitude! Then, when they began to grow up, they
could render you some assistance ; the smallest could
pick up the dead branches for your fire ; the largest
could lead the cow to pasture—the cow which has been
given to your husband for his activity; for, having
been a poacher himself, he would make all the better
gamekeeper."
"Just so; that's true. Ah, it is amusing, these
castles in the air.   Tell me some more, La Goualeuse."
"They will be very much pleased with your hus-
band. You will receive from his master some presents.
cian and medicines.   I can boast of it; and I do boast I A nice courtyard—a garden.    But, marry!  you will
of it. If my man lives, he owes it to me. I yesterday
burned a candle before the Virgin for him. It is foolish;
but never mind, some very good effects have proceeded
from this for a convalescent."
"And where is he now? what does he do?" "He
lives.near the bridge of Asnières, on the shore." " On
the shore?"   " Yes, he is established there with his
have to work, La Louve, and that from morning to
night." " Oh, if that was all, once along with Martial,
work wouldn't make me afraid. I have strong arms."
" And you would have enough to occupy them, I
answer for it. There is so much to do. There are the
meals to prepare, clothes to mend ; one day the washing,
another day baking, or the house to clean from top to
family, in a solitary house. He is always warring with j bottom; so that the other gamekeepers would say,
the ' gardes-peche,'and when once he is in his boat, | 'Oh, there is not a housekeeper like Martial's wife;
with his double-barrelled gun, it's no good to approach ! from the cellar to the garret, her house is as nice as
him, allez!" said La Louve, proudly.   "What is his ] wax; and the children always so neat and clean!   It is
trade!" " He fishes by stealth at night; his father had
some misunderstanding with justice. He has still a
mother, two sisters, and a brother. So much the bet-
ter it would be for him not to have such a brother, for
lie is a scoundrel, who will be guillotined one of these
days; his sisters also. However, never mind, their
necks belong to themselves." " And where did you
first know Martial?" " In Paris. He wished to learn
the trade of a locksmith; a fine trade, always red-hot
iron and fire around one, and danger, too! that-suited
him, but, like me, he had a bad head—couldn't agree
with the bourgeois; so he returned to his familv, and
began to maraud on the river. He came to Paris to
see me, and I went to see him at Asnières; it is very
near; but if it had been farther, I should have gone,
even if I had been obliged to go on my hands and
knees."
" You will be very happy to go to the country, you,
LaLouve!" said the Goualeuse, sighing; "above all, if
you love, as I do, to walk in the fields." " I prefer to
walk in the woods—in the large forests, with Martial."
"In forests? are you not afraid?" "Afraid! ah, yes-
afraid! Isa wolf afraid? The thicker and darker the
forest, the more I like it. A lonely hut, where I should
live with Martial, who should be a a poacher; to go
with him at night, make traps for the game ; and then,
if the guards come to arrest us, to fire on them, hiding
ourselves in the bushes—ah! dame, that's what I
would like!" "You have, then, lived in a forest, La
Louve?" "Never." "Who gav« you SJCh ideas?"
"Martial."   "How?"   "Hew:1:         oachci in the for-
est of Rambouillet. Abo-" ,-ciar ago he was looked
upon as having fired upon a guard who had fired upon
him; villain of a guard! it was not proved in court, but
Martial was obliged to leave. So he then came to Paris
to learn a trade; as I said, he left and went to maraud
on the river; it is less slavish. But he always regrets
the woods, and will return there some day or other."
"And your parents, La Louve, where are they?"
" Do you think I know ?" " Is it a long time since you
have seen them?"
" I do not know if they are dead or alive."
Fleur de Marie, although plunged very young into an
atmosphere of corruption, had since respired an air so
pure, that she experienced a painful oppression at the
horrid story of La Louve.
Chapter XL—Castles in the Air.
La Goualeuse, suppressing the emotion which the
sad confession of her companion bad caused her, said
to her timidly :
"Listen to me without being angry."   "Come, say
«n ; I hope I have talked enough ; but, in truth, all the
same'since it is the last time we shall converse to-
gether."    "Are  you  happy.  La Louve?"    "How?"
" With the life you lead?"   "Here at Saint Legare?"
" No; at your home, when you are free."
"Yes, I am happy."   "Always?"   "Always."
"You would not change your lot for any other?"
" For what other?   There's no other lot for me."
because she  is  so  industrious, Madame   Martial
"Tell me, La Goualeuse, is it true I shall be called
Madame Martial?"   " It is a great deal better than to
be called LaLouve, is it not?"   "Certainly; I prefer
the name of any man to the name of a beast.   But,
bah!, bah!  louve I am born, and louve I shall die."
"Who knows? who knows? do not recoil from a hard \
life, but an honest one, that brings happiness.    Thus, !
work would not alarm you."    "Oh, as to that, no." j
"And then, besides, it  is not all labor;  there  are
moments of repose. In the winter evenings, while your
children are asleep, and your husbandl_moking his
pipe, and cleaning his gun, or caressing his dogs, listen,
now-, you can have a nice little quiet time."
"Bah! bah! a quiet time; sit with my arms folded.
Ma foi, no ; I would prefer to mend the linen of the
family, in the evening^.at the corner of the fire; that is
not so tiresome. The days are so shortin winter." At
the words of Fleur de Marie, La Louve forgot more and
more, the present for these dreams of the future, as
vividly interested as Goualeuse had been before when
Rodolphe had spoken to her of the rustic enjoyments
at the farm of De Bouqueval, La Louve did not conceal
the wild tastes with which her lover had inspired her.
Remembering the profound and salutary impression
that she had received from the smiling description of
a country life by Rodolphe, Fleur de Marie wished to
try the same mode of action on La Louve, thinking,
with reason, that if her companion would suffer her-
self to be sufficiently moved at this picture of a rough,
poor, and solitary life, to ardently desire to live such
a one. this woman would deserve interest and pity.
Enchanted at seeing, her companion listen with
curiosity, La Goualeuse continued, smiling, "And then,
do you see, Madame Martial—let me call you so; what
do you care?" "On the contrary, that flatters me,"
saitl La Louve, shrugging her shoulders, and smiling
also. " What folly—-to ptay Madame ! What children
we are!   Never mind, go on Xt is amusing.   You said,
then-----"   " I say, Madame Martial, that in speaking
of your mode of living in winter, in the woods, we only
think of the worst part of the season." "Mafoi.no;
that is not the worst. To hear the wind whistle at
night in the forest, and from time to time the wolves
howl, far off—far off; I do not find this tiresome, not I,
if I am alongside of a good fire, with my man and my
brats; or even all alone with my children, while he has
gone to make his rounds. Oh! a gun doesn't frighten
me.. -If I had my children to defend I'd be good then.
Allez La Louve would take good care of her whelps!"
" Oh ! I believe you—you are very brave; but I, coward,
I pro;fer spring to winter. Oh! the spring, Madame
Martial, the spring! when the leaves burst forth; when
the pretty wood-flowers blossom, which smell so good—
so good, that the air is perfumed. Then it is that your
children will tumble gayly on tbe new grass, and the
forest will become so thick and bushy, that your house
can hardly be seen for the foliage ; I think I can see it
from here.   There is a bower before the door that your
brother, who brings the two heifers from the pasture;
they soon heard the tinkling of their bells, allez!"
"Say, no*, La Goualeuse, it seems to me that I can
see the smallest and the boldest,'who has caused him-
self to be placed by his brother, who sustains him,
astraddle the baek of one of-the cows."
" And one would say that the poor beast knew what
burden she was bearing, she walks with so much pre-
caution.". "But now it is the hour for supper; your
eldest, while the cattle were grazing, has amused him-
self in'filling a basket for you with wild strawberries,
which he has brought covered with violets."
"Strawberries and violets—oh; that must be a balm 1
But mon Dieu ! mon Dieu ! where the devil do y ou go,
.then, to get such ideas. La Goualeuse?" "In the
woods, where the strawberries ripen, where" the violets
bloom ; it is only to look and collect, Madame Martial.
But let us speak of the housekeeping; now it is night, '
you must milk your cows, prepare the supper under
the arbor, for you hear now your husband's dogs bark,
and soon the voice of their master, who, tired as he
is, comes home singing. And why should he not sing
when, on a fine summer evening, with a contented
mind, he regains his house, where a good wife and tine
children await him? is it not so, Madame Martial!"
" True, one. could not do otherwise than to sing," said
La Louve, becoming more and more thoughtful. " At
least, if onedoes not weep from joy," continued Fleur
do Marie, herself affected. "And such tears areas
sweet as songs. And then, when night has closed in,
what happiness to remain under the arbor, to enjoy .
the serenity of a fine evening; to breathe the perfume
of the forest; to hear the children prattle; to look at
the stars ! Then the heart is so full—so full, that it must
be relieved by prayer. How! not to thank Him to
whom one owes the freshness of the night, the per- $
fume of the woods, the sweet light of i he starry heav-
ens? After these thanks, or this prayer, you go to
sleep peacefully until the morning, and then again you
thank the Creator; for this poor, industrious, but calm
and honest life, is that of every day." "Of every
day!" repeated La Louve, her head on her bosom, her
eves fixed, her breathing oppressed; " for it is true,
the bon Dieu is good to give us the power to live
happy on so little." "Well, now say," continued
Fleurde Marie, gently, "say, ought he not be blessed
and thanked like the bon Dieu, who would give you
this peaceful and industrious life, instead of the mis-
erable one you lead in the mud in the streets of Paris?"
This word Paris called La Louve to the reality.
A strange phenomenon had just been occurring in the
mind, the soul of this creature. A natural picture of
an humble and rtfde condition, this simple recital, now
lighted up by the soft glimmerings of a domestic fire-
side, gilded by some joyous rays of the- sun, refreshed
by the gentle winds of the forest, or perfumed by the
odor of wild flowers—this recital had made on La
Louve an impression more profound, more striking,
than all the exhortations of a transcendent morality
could have effected. Yes, as Fleur cle Marie spoke, La
Louve had desired to be an indefatigable housekeeper,
an honest wife, a pious and devoted mother. To in-
spire, even for a moment, a violent, immoral, degraded
woman, with a love of family, the respect of duty, the
desire to labor, gratitude towards the. Creator, and that
only by promising her that which God gives to all, the
suri of'the heavens, and the shade of the forests, that
which man owes to the sweat of his brow, bread and
shelter, was it not a triumph for Fleur de Marie? The
moralist the most severe, the preacher the most fulmi-
nating, would they have obtained more by their
menacing threats of every vengeance, human and
Divine?
The angry feelings showed by La Louve when she
awoke from her dream to the reality, showed the ef-
fects or influence of the words of her companion. The
more her regrets werebitteron awakening to the sense
of her horrible position, the more the triumph ofthe
Goualeuse was manifest.
After a moment of silence and reflection, La Louve
suddenly raised her head, passed her hand over her
face, arid arose from her seat threatening and angry.
"Do you see, do you see that I had reason to avoid
you, arid not listen to you, because it only does me
harm? Why have you talked in this way to me? to
laugh at me? to torment me? And this because I was
fool enough to tell vou that I would like to live in »
forest with Martial ! But who are you, then? Why ao
you turn my head in this way? You do not know what
you have done, unlucky girl! Now, in spite of myseit,
I shall always be thinking of this wood, this house,
these children, all this happiness, which I never snail
have—never—never !   And if I cannot forget what you