A Love Episode | Page 9

had never been in Paris

before. It must be awful to be plunged into mourning, in a strange room,
the day after a long journey, and when one doesn't know a single place
to go to."
Helene assented with a slow nod. Yes, she had spent some very bitter
hours. The disease which carried off her husband had abruptly declared
itself on the day after their arrival, just as they were going out together.
She knew none of the streets, and was wholly unaware what district she
was in. For eight days she had remained at the bedside of the dying
man, hearing the rumble of Paris beneath her window, feeling she was
alone, deserted, lost, as though plunged in the depths of an abyss. When
she stepped out on the pavement for the first time, she was a widow.
The mere recalling of that bare room, with its rows of medicine bottles,
and with the travelling trunks standing about unpacked, still made her
shudder.
"Was your husband, as I've been told, nearly twice your age?" asked
Madame Deberle with an appearance of profound interest, while
Mademoiselle Aurelie cocked her ears so as not to lose a syllable of the
conversation.
"Oh, no!" replied Helene. "He was scarcely six years older."
Then she ventured to enter into the story of her marriage, telling in a
few brief sentences how her husband had fallen deeply in love with her
while she was living with her father, Monsieur Mouret, a hatter in the
Rue des Petites-Maries, at Marseilles; how the Grandjean family, who
were rich sugar-refiners, were bitterly opposed to the match, on account
of her poverty. She spoke, too, of the ill-omened and secret wedding
after the usual legal formalities, and of their hand-to-mouth existence,
till the day an uncle on dying left them some ten thousand francs a year.
It was then that Grandjean, within whom an intense hatred of
Marseilles was growing, had decided on coming to Paris, to live there
for good.
"And how old were you when you were married?" was Madame
Deberle's next question.

"Seventeen."
"You must have been very beautiful."
The conversation suddenly ceased, for Helene had not seemed to hear
the remark.
"Madame Manguelin!" announced the footman.
A young, retiring woman, evidently ill at ease, was ushered in.
Madame Deberle scarcely rose. It was one of her dependents, who had
called to thank her for some service performed. The visitor only
remained for a few minutes, and left the room with a courtesy.
Madame Deberle then resumed the conversation, and spoke of Abbe
Jouve, with whom both were acquainted. The Abbe was a meek
officiating priest at Notre-Dame-de-Grace, the parish church of Passy;
however, his charity was such that he was more beloved and more
respectfully hearkened to than any other priest in the district.
"Oh, he has such pious eloquence!" exclaimed Madame Deberle, with a
sanctimonious look.
"He has been very kind to us," said Helene. "My husband had formerly
known him at Marseilles. The moment he heard of my misfortune he
took charge of everything. To him we owe our settling in Passy."
"He has a brother, hasn't he?" questioned Juliette.
"Yes, a step-brother, for his mother married again. Monsieur Rambaud
was also acquainted with my husband. He has started a large business
in the Rue de Rambuteau, where he sells oils and other Southern
produce. I believe he makes a large amount of money by it." And she
added, with a laugh: "The Abbe and his brother make up my court."
Jeanne, sitting on the edge of her chair, and wearied to death, now cast
an impatient look at her mother. Her long, delicate, lamb-like face wore
a pained expression, as if she disliked all this conversation; and she

appeared at times to sniff the heavy, oppressive odors floating in the
room, while casting suspicious side-glances at the furniture, as though
her own exquisite sensibility warned her of some undefined dangers.
Finally, however, she turned a look of tyrannical worship on her
mother.
Madame Deberle noticed the child's uneasiness.
"Here's a little girl," she said, "who feels tired at being serious, like a
grown-up person. There are some picture-books on the table, dear; they
will amuse you."
Jeanne took up an album, but her eyes strayed from it to glance
imploringly at her mother. Helene, charmed by her hostess's excessive
kindness, did not move; there was nothing of the fidget in her, and she
would of her own accord remain seated for hours. However, as the
servant announced three ladies in succession--Madame Berthier,
Madame de Guiraud, and Madame Levasseur--she thought she ought to
rise.
"Oh! pray stop," exclaimed Madame Deberle; "I must show you my
son."
The semi-circle round the fireplace was increasing in size. The ladies
were all gossiping at the same time.