Guy de Maupassant: The Colonel's Nieces

With this weapon she was free from his love-making, and she graciously allowed him to return to the field of honor, back to his whoring greensleeves and his orderlies. She performed the duties of a perfect housewife in all departments but the bedroom, and people whispered behind her back that she was a true virago.

But, when her husband died on the battlefield, she properly mourned him, and cashed his pension, converting it into a modest life insurance.

Madame Briquart huddled into a ball, overcome by the sensations of her vivid memories. Cousin George had finished his reading and he closed the book.

Julia raised her head and murmured. “What horrible weather!”

Her sister, Florentine, lowered her head, bending closer to her needle point, and whispered agreement. Both lovely girls were visibly impressed by the sad story of a young love which had been read to them by their elderly cousin. Madame Briquart, who had been hypnotized into her own dream world by George's monotonous vice, managed to say, “That was lovely, George, dear.”

With a satisfied little smile playing around his lips, George said, “Dearest Aunt, it's always better to be in your parlor than to be out in the streets of Paris. Especially on a night like this.”

“Yes.” The old woman was now entirely back into her role as the charming elderly hostess. “I am afraid that there won't be many visitors tonight.”

“Anyone would have to be either in love or a lunatic to go out on a night like this, especially when the streets are so slick,” George declared rather pompously. He was fond of repeating himself.

“Lovers!” Julia said with a little leer. “They wouldn't come here in the first place.”

“Oh, really,” replied George Vaudrez, a slight tinge of sarcasm creeping into his voice, “what makes you so sure of that?”

“Come on, dear George, it seems to me that you are under the influence of that story you just read to us, about a woman who was suffering from the madness of sacrifice.”

Julia was just teasing, but George had his hackles up and was about to give a sharp retort when the sound of a carriage drawn by two horses came nearer.

“I wonder who that might be,” Madame Briquart said, when the carriage stopped before their door. The maid announced the arrival of Count Saski, and the mention of this name brought a blush of pleasure upon Julia's cheeks and a frown upon the already wrinkled forehead of Cousin George.

“How charming of you to brave this awful weather and pay us a visit,” said Madame Briquart, offering her white, wrinkled hand upon which the young man respectfully pressed a kiss.

“Walking to Siberia, dearest Madame Briquart, would be a pleasure, if there were people as charming as you,” the young man's lips spoke to the aunt, but his eyes met those of her charming niece Julia and said more of what was on his mind and in his heart than words could ever do.

Madame Briquart returned the compliment with an equally well-turned phrase, and motioned the maid to serve tea. The young Count moved more and more toward Julia with whom he began a quiet conversation. The way they looked at each other made it clear to everyone that they might need a lot of chaperoning in the future. Cousin George began to feel uncomfortable; he was fidgeting around, trying to distract Florentine from her needle work. Madame Briquart rasped her throat-delicately, of course-and Florentine put down her needlework, dutifully moved over toward Cousin George who began to point out certain phrases in the magazine which he had previously underlined with a blue pencil.

Madame Briquart looked at the two couples and there was a hint of sadness, mixed with malice, in her eyes. The young and dashing Russian count had eyes only for the beautiful dark-haired Julia, and the blonde Florentine was now completely cornered by Cousin George who did his best to be charming and match the dashing attitude of her sister's admirer.

It was past eleven o'clock when the maid brought in a glass of hot spiced wine for the gentlemen and another cup of tea for the two girls. Both men thereupon took their leave, and by midnight the house of Madame Briquart was quiet.

Several weeks passed, and nothing worth telling happened in the little household. The old lady, her two nieces, and the maid lived an uneventful life. One day rolled by, looking exactly like any other, and it seemed for all the world that this would go on and on.

Julia and Florentine were the daughters of Madame Briquart's brother Hector. Hector had been her friend since early youth, and there had been a bond between those two which was more than friendship, and not yet love. The bond was very strong, and nothing was able to break it. Nothing? Oh, yes… only death.

And death had come to Hector quite suddenly, two years after his wife had left this vale of tears. The poor man barely had a chance to scribble a hasty note to his widowed sister in France. “My dear little daughters are orphans now; please, take care of them.”

And she had taken them in, brought them up to the best of her ability and she felt as if she had carried them under her own heart. Quite frequently she would ask herself what would happen to the two young children if any disaster would befall her. What would their future be? “Young, beautiful and… poor,” she would say to herself. “Oh, Lord, the dangers, disappointments and sufferings that await these young innocent creatures.”

A crisis was in the air. A crisis which would decide the future lives of the women in Madame Briquart's home. One morning-the Colonel's wife had barely touched her pork chops, and the half-bottle of wine which she used to drink for her health with each meal was unopened- Madame Briquart told the maid to clear the table and bring in the coffee.

This done she turned suddenly toward the blonde Florentine, and asked brusquely, “Tell me, my little niece do you have any objections against getting married?”

The young girl blushed furiously, a smile trembled around her lips, her violet eyes sparkled and she said, “But of course not, dear Aunt, though it might depend upon with whom I am expected to share the remainder of my life.”

“With whom? Why, of course, with a man who adores you.”

“Adores her? And such a man does exist? What novelty!” Julia, the eternal teaser, laughed out loud.

A stern warning glance from her aunt quieted the girl down quickly, and she turned toward her blushing sister. “Uh, dear, you'd better be prepared for something terrible.”

“Please, tell us what this is all about. We're positively dying of curiosity.”

“Dear children, what I am about to say is not easy for me. I have regarded you as my own flesh and blood, and the most difficult thing a mother can do is to deliver her daughters into the hands of a man. Certain things have to be taken into consideration of which you two, at your tender age, are out of necessity as yet unaware. It is the infinite wisdom of our society that the elders are influential in a choice of partners for their daughters, and-though human failings-mistakes are sometimes made. I will therefore, since I am your mother only in sentiment, make myself abundantly clear. The ultimate choice, however, must be up to yourselves. Yesterday, Cousin George had a long talk with me. He took me fully into his confidence, and told me that he harbors the most passionate feelings toward Florentine. In short, he asked me for her hand in marriage, a request which I-naturally-could only answer with the promise that I would faithfully tell you about his feelings toward you. It is up to you, my dear child, to make a decision. However, this may help you in your decision. You never knew your uncle, the Colonel, and let it suffice to tell you that he was not, at certain times, the perfect gentleman people thought him to be. George, the Colonel's nephew, does not-to the very best of my knowledge-take after his late uncle. And even if he does, my dearest, be assured that his constitution-as it is now-does not permit him to follow-ah-as it were… in his uncle's footsteps. George is rich, he is not a bad person, he is intelligent enough to get along with reasonably well and- in all the twenty-five years I have known him- he is a perfect gentleman.