George Sand - George Sand - The Collected Works (The Greatest Novelists of All Time – Book 11)

Germain said nothing. He was wounded because the girl did not ask him to escort her to Ormeaux, and he did not realize that he had made the offer in a tone that seemed to challenge a refusal.

A wood-cutter, whom they met within two hundred paces, pointed out the path they must take, and told them that after crossing the great meadow they had only to go, in the one case straight ahead, in the other to the left, to reach their respective destinations, which, by the way, were so near together that the houses at Fourche could be distinctly seen from the farm of Ormeaux, and vice versa .

When they had thanked the wood-cutter and passed on, he called them back to ask if they had not lost a horse.

"I found a fine gray mare in my yard," he said, "where she may have gone to escape the wolf. My dogs barked all night long, and at daybreak I saw the beast under my shed; she's there still. Go and look at her, and if you know her, take her."

Germain, having described Grise and being convinced that it was really she, started back to get his saddle. Little Marie thereupon offered to take the child to Ormeaux, where he could come and get him after he had paid his respects at Fourche.

"He isn't very clean after the night we have passed," she said. "I will brush his clothes, wash his pretty little face, and comb his hair, and when he's all spick and span, you can present him to your new family."

"How do you know that I am going to Fourche?" rejoined Germain testily. "Perhaps I shan't go there."

"Oh! yes, Germain, you ought to go, and you will," said the girl.

"You are in a great hurry to have me married to somebody else, so that you can be sure I won't make myself a nuisance to you."

"Come, come, Germain, don't think any more about that; that's an idea that came to you in the night, because our unpleasant adventure disturbed your wits a little. But now you must be reasonable again; I promise to forget what you said to me and never to mention it to any one."

"Oh! mention it, if you choose. I am not in the habit of taking back what I say. What I said to you was true and honest, and I shan't blush for it before any one."

"Very good; but if your wife knew that you had thought of another woman just at the moment you called on her, it might turn her against you. So be careful what you say now; don't look at me like that, with such a strange expression, before other people. Think of Père Maurice, who relies on your obedience, and who would be very angry with me if I turned you from doing as he wants you to. Good-by, Germain; I'll take Petit-Pierre with me so as to force you to go to Fourche. I keep him as a pledge."

"Do you want to go with her?" said the ploughman to his son, seeing that he was clinging to little Marie's hands and following her resolutely.

"Yes, father," replied the child, who had been listening and understood in his own way what they had been saying unsuspectingly before him. "I am going with my darling Marie: you can come and get me when you're done getting married; but I want Marie to be my little mother, just the same."

"You see that he wants it to be so," Germain said to the young girl. "Listen, Petit-Pierre," he added, "I want her to be your mother and stay with you always: she's the one that isn't willing. Try to make her do what I want her to."

"Don't you be afraid, papa, I'll make her say yes: little Marie always does what I want her to."

He walked away with the girl. Germain was left alone, more depressed and irresolute than ever.

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However, when he had repaired the disorder of travel in his clothes and his horse's accoutrements, when he was mounted upon Grise and had ascertained the road to Fourche, he reflected that there was no drawing back and that he must forget that night of excitement as a dangerous dream.

He found Père Léonard in the doorway of his white house, sitting on a pretty wooden bench painted spinach green. There were six stone steps leading to the frontdoor, showing that the house had a cellar. The wall between the garden and hemp-field was roughcast with lime and pebbles. It was an attractive place; one might almost have taken it for the abode of a substantial bourgeois.

Germain's prospective father-in-law came to meet him, and, after five minutes spent in questioning him concerning his whole family, he added this phrase, invariably used to question courteously those whom one meets as to the object of their journey: "So you have come out this way for a little ride, eh?"

"I came to see you," replied the ploughman, "and to offer you this little gift of game from my father-in-law, and to say, also from him, that you would know my purpose in coming."

"Ha! ha!" laughed Père Léonard, patting his round paunch, "I see, I hear, I understood!" And he added, with a wink: "You'll not be alone in paying your respects, my young friend. There are three in the house already, dancing attendance like you. I don't turn anybody away, and I should be hard put to it to decide against any one of them, for they're all good matches. However, on account of Pere Maurice and the quality of your lands, I should prefer you. But my daughter's of age and mistress of her own property; so she will do as she pleases. Go in and introduce yourself; I hope you may draw the lucky number!"

"Pardon, excuse me," replied Germain, greatly surprised to find himself one of several, where he had expected to be alone. "I didn't know that your daughter was already provided with suitors, and I didn't come to dispute for her with others."

"If you thought that because you were slow in coming," retorted Père Léonard, with undiminished good-humor, "you would catch my daughter napping, you made a very great mistake, my boy. Catherine has something to attract husbands with, and she'll have only too many to choose from. But go into the house, I tell you, and don't lose courage. She's a woman worth disputing for."

And, pushing Germain by the shoulders with rough good-humor, "Here, Catherine," he cried, entering the house, "here's one more!"

This jovial but vulgar manner of being introduced to the widow, in the presence of her other suitors, put the finishing touch to the ploughman's confusion and annoyance. He felt ill at ease, and stood for some moments without venturing to turn his eyes on the fair one and her court.

The Widow Guérin was well made, and did not lack freshness. But the expression of her face and her costume repelled Germain at the first glance. She had a forward, self-satisfied air, and her mob-cap trimmed with a triple row of lace, her silk apron, and her black lace fichu were decidedly not in harmony with the idea he had conceived of a sedate, serious-minded widow.

This elegance in dress and her free and easy manners made her appear old and ugly to him, although she was neither. He thought that such coquettish attire and such playful manners would be well suited to the age and keen wit of little Marie, but that such pleasantry on the widow's part was heavy and stale, and that there was no distinction in the way she wore her fine clothes.

The three suitors were sitting at a table laden with food and wine, which were kept there for them through the whole of Sunday morning; for Père Léonard loved to exhibit his opulence, nor was the widow sorry to display her fine plate and to keep open house like a woman of means. Germain, simple and trustful as he was, did not lack penetration in his observation of things, and for the first time in his life he stood on the defensive while drinking. Père Léonard had compelled him to take a seat with his rivals, and, seating himself opposite him, he treated him as handsomely as possible, and devoted himself to him with evident partiality. The gift of game, despite the breach Germain had made in it on his own account, was still considerable enough to produce an effect. The widow seemed to appreciate it, and the suitors eyed it disdainfully.