Guy de Maupassant: The Colonel's Nieces

“Yes, but Florentine is still a young woman of only twenty! I hate to leave her alone.”

“Well, what do you have your aunt for- Madame Briquart?”

“Oh, it would be nice if she would stay here during my absence. But she is convinced that the nearness of the forest gives her rheumatism, that the humid country air contributes to her asthma, and that mosquitoes will drive her crazy! What can I do?”

“We can arrange things! If the Colonel's wife does not have country aspirations, why don't you send the women to St. Gildas in Bretagne? There is a beautiful rest home there close to the beach. It is run by the nuns of a nearby nunnery. As a matter of fact, it was at the same place that Abelard met his Heloise, and you know what happened to him. They cut the tail off the old fox!”

“You mean that men are not allowed?”

“Positively not! Even the husbands have to stay in the village overnight. Oh, you can put your mind fully a ease.”

“Don't think that I am jealous, but…”

“I understand. You can send her there with confidence.”

That night, George painted such a beautiful picture of St. Gildas, that the ladies did nothing but daydream about a vacation in Bretagne. And within fourteen days they arrived at the gates of the nunnery, mildly nonplussed by the primitive simplicity of the place, and totally flabbergasted when they were shown their little bare cells.

Madame Briquart was positively furious at her nephew's stunt. But, Florentine was enchanted by the novelty of the whole thing. The next morning she went out to the beach barefoot in the sand, catching crabs and collecting clams for the evening dinner.

Her simple pleasures were soon to turn into pure elation. The Duchess of Herisey and her son Gordon arrived. The boy was a good-looking youth of about eighteen but the light fuzz on his chin, his large, blue eyes and his rosy complexion did not yet “announce his virility,” as the old nuns whispered to one another during mass.

He looked like the angel guarding the Lord's tomb, they whispered, even though he had passed the age limit beyond which the members of the stronger sex were no longer allowed in the community. But it is always possible to reach a compromise with Heaven, and the Duchess was a true pillar of society, not to mention her immense contributions to charity and to the Church. She firmly declared that Gordon had just reached the age of fifteen and no one dared to question her further.

The boy soon became Florentine's staid companion on her long walks along the beach. Madame Briquart and the Duchess became good friends, and they allowed 'the children'-as they were called in the nunnery-to wander around undisturbed.

Naturally, Cherub, as he was nicknamed, fell hopelessly in love with his companion, and in his overheated imagination he became the greatest scoundrel of all time. But, unfortunately, he was shy, and he did not know how to phrase the desires that made a turmoil out of his brain and put a constant strain on his loins. Only his eyes made no secret of his feelings toward the young woman.

Florentine was highly amused by the passionate admiration of the young chap and for a solid month she flirted with him. Madame Briquart was bored to death and finally came up with the brilliant idea that she simply had to return to Paris for a week to consult her physician.

“I will be back long before it is time for you to leave. Besides, I am leaving you in the good care of the Duchess, and I am sure that George will have no reason to worry, even if he finds out that I am in Paris…”

And really, there was no reason to object. Madame Briquart returned in haste to Paris and for four delicious days she breathed the air of the city she loved so much. Then, suddenly, a telegram from George was delivered to Florentine, “I want to spend the winter in Menton. Come home immediately. Love, George.”

“Madame, what am I supposed to do?” Florentine asked the Duchess.

“My dear child, you are too young to travel alone. You simply must have a companion, and I think that Gordon is the perfect one.”

“Cherub?”

“Why not? He is old enough to take on the responsibilities as your traveling companion, and still young enough not to compromise you. Will you accept my protection?”

“If it is all right with you, I would be delighted.”

“Then it is done! Cable your husband and pick up your aunt on your way through Paris. I am sure that she will be happy not to have to return to the beaches of St. Gildas. You can leave tomorrow.”

The climate of Bretagne has its charms, especially if you like gray skies. It also has a few inconveniences not the least of which is the total unpredictability of the weather. When George's telegram arrived the weather was beautiful and balmy but when Florentine took her leave from the nuns and the Duchess, a raging storm howled around the cliffs, completely drowning out the plaintive cries of the seagulls.

Gordon had received detailed instructions from his mother on how a young gentleman is supposed to behave himself when a young woman does him the honor of accepting his company. Needless to say, the young man did not entirely agree with his mother's views, but he was wise enough no to let her know this. Florentine liked being spoiled by his many attentions, and she treated him as if he were a child. It made it a lot easier for Gordon to be bold and daring, and many of the liberties he took would have been frowned upon had his real age been known. Neither he, nor Florentine, noticed the heavy snowfall till they had reached the outskirts of Nantes. They noticed that the train had slowed down to a crawl, and even a man on horseback could have easily overtaken the huffing and puffing engine. But this did not disturb our two happy voyagers. Gordon had covered up Florentine under a fur blanket, and he had snuggled up very close to her under it. It was nice and warm, and the weather did not look so terrible to them at all.

The short distance to Le Mans took two hours to cover and by the time the train had reached La Loupe, the station master announced that it was impossible for the train to go any further. The situation had become serious. Florentine had stopped laughing. Suddenly, her companion did not look so terribly young any longer, and the prospect of being coupled up with him all night in the train did not appeal to her.

But at Bretoncelles, the train stopped abruptly. A half-hour went by, and nothing happened. The train did not budge.

“My God! What are we going to do, little Gordon?”

She had, half-jokingly, adopted this manner of speech in St. Gildas. She called him little Gordon, though he was six feet tall, and he called her Madame.

It was bitterly cold.

Two things had to be done. Telegraph and reassure the family, and try to find a place to spend the night. When the first panic was over, they could laugh again.

There was over two feet of snow. It looked as if they might have to spend three or four days in the village. For the Parisian, who is spoiled by the luxuries of life, this is nothing short of a disaster, but for the two young people who had been hardened during the fall by their stay in the nunnery, it had become a joyous adventure.

“Madame, I shall be your horse,” Gordon said, blushing violently. “I cannot let you walk in this snow. Therefore, I will have to carry you on my shoulders.”

Now it was Florentine's turn to blush deeply.

“Blast!” she said to herself. “He's a little devil!” But she climbed obediently on his surprising strong and muscular shoulders.

It makes no difference how green and inexperienced one is. It is still very exciting to carry the woman you love on your back, and by the time Gordon had reached the nearest inn, he was terribly agitated.