A Second Home | Page 7

perhaps made up his mind to be the girl's escort for the day till this
revelation of the delight she felt on seeing him. He at once hired a
vehicle with a fairly good horse, to drive to Saint-Leu-Taverny, and he
offered Madame Crochard and her daughter seats by his side. The
mother accepted without ado; but presently, when they were already on
the way to Saint-Denis, she was by way of having scruples, and made a
few civil speeches as to the possible inconvenience two women might
cause their companion.
"Perhaps, monsieur, you wished to drive alone to Saint-Leu-Taverny,"
said she, with affected simplicity.
Before long she complained of the heat, and especially of her cough,
which, she said, had hindered her from closing her eyes all night; and
by the time the carriage had reached Saint-Denis, Madame Crochard
seemed to be fast asleep. Her snores, indeed, seemed, to the Gentleman
in Black, rather doubtfully genuine, and he frowned as he looked at the
old woman with a very suspicious eye.
"Oh, she is fast asleep," said Caroline quilelessly; "she never ceased
coughing all night. She must be very tired."
Her companion made no reply, but he looked at the girl with a smile
that seemed to say:
"Poor child, you little know your mother!"
However, in spite of his distrust, as the chaise made its way down the
long avenue of poplars leading to Eaubonne, the Stranger thought that
Madame Crochard was really asleep; perhaps he did not care to inquire
how far her slumbers were genuine or feigned. Whether it were that the
brilliant sky, the pure country air, and the heady fragrance of the first
green shoots of the poplars, the catkins of willow, and the flowers of
the blackthorn had inclined his heart to open like all the nature around

him; or that any long restraint was too oppressive while Caroline's
sparkling eyes responded to his own, the Gentleman in Black entered
on a conversation with his young companion, as aimless as the swaying
of the branches in the wind, as devious as the flitting of the butterflies
in the azure air, as illogical as the melodious murmur of the fields, and,
like it, full of mysterious love. At that season is not the rural country as
tremulous as a bride that has donned her marriage robe; does it not
invite the coldest soul to be happy? What heart could remain unthawed,
and what lips could keep its secret, on leaving the gloomy streets of the
Marais for the first time since the previous autumn, and entering the
smiling and picturesque valley of Montmorency; on seeing it in the
morning light, its endless horizons receding from view; and then lifting
a charmed gaze to eyes which expressed no less infinitude mingled
with love?
The Stranger discovered that Caroline was sprightly rather than witty,
affectionate, but ill educated; but while her laugh was giddy, her words
promised genuine feeling. When, in response to her companion's
shrewd questioning, the girl spoke with the heartfelt effusiveness of
which the lower classes are lavish, not guarding it with reticence like
people of the world, the Black Gentleman's face brightened, and
seemed to renew its youth. His countenance by degrees lost the sadness
that lent sternness to his features, and little by little they gained a look
of handsome youthfulness which made Caroline proud and happy. The
pretty needlewoman guessed that her new friend had been long weaned
from tenderness and love, and no longer believed in the devotion of
woman. Finally, some unexpected sally in Caroline's light prattle lifted
the last veil that concealed the real youth and genuine character of the
Stranger's physiognomy; he seemed to bid farewell to the ideas that
haunted him, and showed the natural liveliness that lay beneath the
solemnity of his expression.
Their conversation had insensibly become so intimate, that by the time
when the carriage stopped at the first houses of the straggling village of
Saint-Leu, Caroline was calling the gentleman Monsieur Roger. Then
for the first time the old mother awoke.

"Caroline, she has heard everything!" said Roger suspiciously in the
girl's ear.
Caroline's reply was an exquisite smile of disbelief, which dissipated
the dark cloud that his fear of some plot on the old woman's part had
brought to this suspicious mortal's brow. Madame Crochard was
amazed at nothing, approved of everything, followed her daughter and
Monsieur Roger into the park, where the two young people had agreed
to wander through the smiling meadows and fragrant copses made
famous by the taste of Queen Hortense.
"Good heavens! how lovely!" exclaimed Caroline when standing on the
green ridge where the forest of Montmorency begins, she saw lying at
her feet the wide valley with its combes sheltering scattered villages, its
horizon of blue