La Grenadiere | Page 6

a broad hem, the two ends passed
carelessly through her waistband. The instinct of dress showed itself in
that she was daintily shod, and gray silk stockings carried out the
suggestion of mourning in this unvarying costume. Lastly, she always
wore a bonnet after the English fashion, always of the same shape and
the same gray material, and a black veil. Her health apparently was
extremely weak; she looked very ill. On fine evenings she would take
her only walk, down to the bridge of Tours, bringing the two children
with her to breathe the fresh, cool air along the Loire, and to watch the
sunset effects on a landscape as wide as the Bay of Naples or the Lake
of Geneva.
During the whole time of her stay at La Grenadiere she went but twice
into Tours; once to call on the headmaster of the school, to ask him to
give her the names of the best masters of Latin, drawing, and
mathematics; and a second time to make arrangements for the
children's lessons. But her appearance on the bridge of an evening,
once or twice a week, was quite enough to excite the interest of almost
all the inhabitants of Tours, who make a regular promenade of the
bridge. Still, in spite of a kind of spy system, by which no harm is
meant, a provincial habit bred of want of occupation and the restless
inquisitiveness of the principal society, nothing was known for certain
of the newcomer's rank, fortune, or real condition. Only, the owner of
La Grenadiere told one or two of his friends that the name under which
the stranger had signed the lease (her real name, therefore, in all
probability) was Augusta Willemsens, Countess of Brandon. This, of
course, must be her husband's name. Events, which will be narrated in
their place, confirmed this revelation; but it went no further than the
little world of men of business known to the landlord.
So Madame Willemsens was a continual mystery to people of condition.
Hers was no ordinary nature; her manners were simple and delightfully
natural, the tones of her voice were divinely sweet,--this was all that
she suffered others to discover. In her complete seclusion, her sadness,
her beauty so passionately obscured, nay, almost blighted, there was so
much to charm, that several young gentlemen fell in love; but the more

sincere the lover, the more timid he became; and besides, the lady
inspired awe, and it was a difficult matter to find enough courage to
speak to her. Finally, if a few of the bolder sort wrote to her, their
letters must have been burned unread. It was Mme. Willemsens'
practice to throw all the letters which she received into the fire, as if she
meant that the time spent in Touraine should be untroubled by any
outside cares even of the slightest. She might have come to the
enchanting retreat to give herself up wholly to the joy of living.
The three masters whose presence was allowed at La Grenadiere spoke
with something like admiring reverence of the touching picture that
they saw there of the close, unclouded intimacy of the life led by this
woman and the children.
The two little boys also aroused no small interest. Mothers could not
see them without a feeling of envy. Both children were like Mme.
Willemsens, who was, in fact, their mother. They had the transparent
complexion and bright color, the clear, liquid eyes, the long lashes, the
fresh outlines, the dazzling characteristics of childish beauty.
The elder, Louis-Gaston, had dark hair and fearless eyes. Everything
about him spoke as plainly of robust, physical health as his broad, high
brow, with its gracious curves, spoke of energy of character. He was
quick and alert in his movements, and strong of limb, without a trace of
awkwardness. Nothing took him unawares, and he seemed to think
about everything that he saw.
Marie-Gaston, the other child, had hair that was almost golden, though
a lock here and there had deepened to the mother's chestnut tint.
Marie-Gaston was slender; he had the delicate features and the subtle
grace so charming in Mme. Willemsens. He did not look strong. There
was a gentle look in his gray eyes; his face was pale, there was
something feminine about the child. He still wore his hair in long, wavy
curls, and his mother would not have him give up embroidered collars,
and little jackets fastened with frogs and spindle-shaped buttons;
evidently she took a thoroughly feminine pleasure in the costume, a
source of as much interest to the mother as to the child. The elder boy's
plain white collar, turned down over a closely fitting jacket, made a
contrast with his brother's clothing, but the color and material were the
same;