Modeste Mignon | Page 6

which was bordered and set with flower-beds and formed the terrace of
his villa, by a low wall along which he planted a concealing hedge.
Behind the cottage (called, in spite of all his efforts to prevent it, the
Chalet) were the orchards and kitchen gardens of the villa. The Chalet,
without cows or dairy, is separated from the roadway by a wooden
fence whose palings are hidden under a luxuriant hedge. On the other
side of the road the opposite house, subject to a legal privilege, has a
similar hedge and paling, so as to leave an unobstructed view of Havre
to the Chalet.
This little dwelling was the torment of the present proprietor of the villa,
Monsieur Vilquin; and here is the why and the wherefore. The original
creator of the villa, whose sumptuous details cry aloud, "Behold our
millions!" extended his park far into the country for the purpose, as he
averred, of getting his gardeners out of his pockets; and so, when the
Chalet was finished, none but a friend could be allowed to inhabit it.

Monsieur Mignon, the next owner of the property, was very much
attached to his cashier, Dumay, and the following history will prove
that the attachment was mutual; to him therefore he offered the little
dwelling. Dumay, a stickler for legal methods, insisted on signing a
lease for three hundred francs for twelve years, and Monsieur Mignon
willingly agreed, remarking,--
"My dear Dumay, remember, you have now bound yourself to live with
me for twelve years."
In consequence of certain events which will presently be related, the
estates of Monsieur Mignon, formerly the richest merchant in Havre,
were sold to Vilquin, one of his business competitors. In his joy at
getting possession of the celebrated villa Mignon, the latter forgot to
demand the cancelling of the lease. Dumay, anxious not to hinder the
sale, would have signed anything Vilquin required, but the sale once
made, he held to his lease like a vengeance. And there he remained, in
Vilquin's pocket as it were; at the heart of Vilquin's family life,
observing Vilquin, irritating Vilquin,--in short, the gadfly of all the
Vilquins. Every morning, when he looked out of his window, Vilquin
felt a violent shock of annoyance as his eye lighted on the little gem of
a building, the Chalet, which had cost sixty thousand francs and
sparkled like a ruby in the sun. That comparison is very nearly exact.
The architect has constructed the cottage of brilliant red brick pointed
with white. The window-frames are painted of a lively green, the
woodwork is brown verging on yellow. The roof overhangs by several
feet. A pretty gallery, with open-worked balustrade, surmounts the
lower floor and projects at the centre of the facade into a veranda with
glass sides. The ground-floor has a charming salon and a dining-room,
separated from each other by the landing of a staircase built of wood,
designed and decorated with elegant simplicity. The kitchen is behind
the dining-room, and the corresponding room back of the salon,
formerly a study, is now the bedroom of Monsieur and Madame
Dumay. On the upper floor the architect has managed to get two large
bedrooms, each with a dressing-room, to which the veranda serves as a
salon; and above this floor, under the eaves, which are tipped together
like a couple of cards, are two servants' rooms with mansard roofs, each

lighted by a circular window and tolerably spacious.
Vilquin has been petty enough to build a high wall on the side toward
the orchard and kitchen garden; and in consequence of this piece of
spite, the few square feet which the lease secured to the Chalet
resembled a Parisian garden. The out-buildings, painted in keeping
with the cottage, stood with their backs to the wall of the adjoining
property.
The interior of this charming dwelling harmonized with its exterior.
The salon, floored entirely with iron-wood, was painted in a style that
suggested the beauties of Chinese lacquer. On black panels edged with
gold, birds of every color, foliage of impossible greens, and fantastic
oriental designs glowed and shimmered. The dining-room was entirely
sheathed in Northern woods carved and cut in open-work like the
beautiful Russian chalets. The little antechamber formed by the landing
and the well of the staircase was painted in old oak to represent Gothic
ornament. The bedrooms, hung with chintz, were charming in their
costly simplicity. The study, where the cashier and his wife now slept,
was panelled from top to bottom, on the walls and ceiling, like the
cabin of a steamboat. These luxuries of his predecessor excited
Vilquin's wrath. He would fain have lodged his daughter and her
husband in the cottage. This desire, well known to Dumay, will
presently serve to illustrate the Breton obstinacy of