A Second Home | Page 8

hills, its church towers, its meadows and fields, whence
a murmur came up, to die on her ear like the swell of the ocean. The
three wanderers made their way by the bank of an artificial stream and
came to the Swiss valley, where stands a chalet that had more than once
given shelter to Hortense and Napoleon. When Caroline had seated
herself with pious reverence on the mossy wooden bench where kings
and princesses and the Emperor had rested, Madame Crochard
expressed a wish to have a nearer view of a bridge that hung across
between two rocks at some little distance, and bent her steps towards
that rural curiosity, leaving her daughter in Monsieur Roger's care,
though telling them that she would not go out of sight.
"What, poor child!" cried Roger, "have you never longed for wealth
and the pleasures of luxury? Have you never wished that you might
wear the beautiful dresses you embroider?"
"It would not be the truth, Monsieur Roger, if I were to tell you that I
never think how happy people must be who are rich. Oh yes! I often
fancy, especially when I am going to sleep, how glad I should be to see
my poor mother no longer compelled to go out, whatever the weather,
to buy our little provisions, at her age. I should like her to have a
servant who, every morning before she was up, would bring her up her
coffee, nicely sweetened with white sugar. And she loves reading
novels, poor dear soul! Well, and I would rather see her wearing out her

eyes over her favorite books than over twisting her bobbins from
morning till night. And again, she ought to have a little good wine. In
short, I should like to see her comfortable--she is so good."
"Then she has shown you great kindness?"
"Oh yes," said the girl, in a tone of conviction. Then, after a short pause,
during which the two young people stood watching Madame Crochard,
who had got to the middle of the rustic bridge, and was shaking her
finger at them, Caroline went on:
"Oh yes, she has been so good to me. What care she took of me when I
was little! She sold her last silver forks to apprentice me to the old maid
who taught me to embroider.--And my poor father! What did she not
go through to make him end his days in happiness!" The girl shivered
at the remembrance, and hid her face in her hands.--"Well! come! let us
forget past sorrows!" she added, trying to rally her high spirits. She
blushed as she saw that Roger too was moved, but she dared not look at
him.
"What was your father?" he asked.
"He was an opera-dancer before the Revolution," said she, with an air
of perfect simplicity, "and my mother sang in the chorus. My father,
who was leader of the figures on the stage, happened to be present at
the siege of the Bastille. He was recognized by some of the assailants,
who asked him whether he could not lead a real attack, since he was
used to leading such enterprises on the boards. My father was brave; he
accepted the post, led the insurgents, and was rewarded by the
nomination to the rank of captain in the army of Sambre-et-Meuse,
where he distinguished himself so far as to rise rapidly to be a colonel.
But at Lutzen he was so badly wounded that, after a year's sufferings,
he died in Paris.--The Bourbons returned; my mother could obtain no
pension, and we fell into such abject misery that we were compelled to
work for our living. For some time past she has been ailing, poor dear,
and I have never known her so little resigned; she complains a good
deal, and, indeed, I cannot wonder, for she has known the pleasures of
an easy life. For my part, I cannot pine for delights I have never known,

I have but one thing to wish for."
"And that is?" said Roger eagerly, as if roused from a dream.
"That women may continue to wear embroidered net dresses, so that I
may never lack work."
The frankness of this confession interested the young man, who looked
with less hostile eyes on Madame Crochard as she slowly made her
way back to them.
"Well, children, have you had a long talk?" said she, with a
half-laughing, half-indulgent air. "When I think, Monsieur Roger, that
the 'little Corporal' has sat where you are sitting," she went on after a
pause. "Poor man! how my husband worshiped him! Ah! Crochard did
well to die, for he could not have borne to think of him where they have
sent him!"
Roger put his finger to his lips, and the good