The Broken Cup | Page 5

the tip of his nose.
During this quarter of a year Marietta had other affairs to attend to. The
cup gave her much vexation and trouble, and something else besides.
For a fortnight nothing else was talked of in Napoule, and every one
said it is a present from the justice, and the marriage is already agreed
upon. Marietta solemnly declared to all her companions that she would
rather plunge to the bottom of the sea than marry the justice, but the
maidens continued to banter her all the more, saying: "Oh, how blissful
it must be to repose in the shadow of his nose!" This was her first
vexation.
Then Mother Manon had the cruelty to force Marietta to rinse out the
cup every morning at the spring under the rock and to fill it with fresh
flowers. She hoped by this to accustom Marietta to the cup and heart of
the giver. But Marietta continued to hate both the gift and giver, and
her work at the spring became an actual punishment.
Second vexation.
Then, when in the morning, she came to the spring, twice every week
she found on the rock, immediately over it, some most beautiful
flowers, handsomely arranged, all ready for the decoration of the cup.
And on the flower-stalks a strip of paper was always tied, on which was
written, "Dear Marietta." Now no one need expect to impose upon little
Marietta as if magicians and fairies were still in the world.
Consequently she knew that both the flowers and papers must have
come from Monsieur Hautmartin. Marietta, indeed, would not smell
them because the living breath from out of the justice's nose had
perfumed them. Nevertheless she took the flowers, because they were

finer than wild flowers, and tore the slip of paper into a thousand pieces,
which she strewed upon the spot where the flowers usually lay. But this
did not vex Justice Hautmartin, whose love was unparalleled in its kind
as his nose was in its kind. Third vexation.
At length it came out in conversation with Monsieur Hautmartin that he
was not the giver of the beautiful flowers. Then who could it be?
Marietta was utterly astounded at the unexpected discovery.
Thenceforth she took the flowers from the rock more kindly; but,
further, Marietta was--what maidens are not wont to be--very
inquisitive. She conjectured first this and then that young man in
Napoule. Yet her conjectures were in vain. She looked and listened far
into the night; she rose earlier than usual But she looked and listened in
vain. And still twice a week in the morning the miraculous flowers lay
upon the rock, and upon the strip of paper wound round them she
always read the silent sigh, "Dear Marietta!" Such an incident would
have made even the most indifferent inquisitive. But curiosity at length
became a burning pain. Fourth vexation.
Now Father Jerome, on Sunday, had again preached from the text:
"Mysterious are the dispensations of Providence." And little Marietta
thought, if Providence would only dispense that I might at length find
out who is the flower dispenser. Father Jerome was never wrong.
On a summer night, when it was far too warm to rest, Marietta awoke
very early, and could not resume her sleep. Therefore she sprang
joyously from her couch as the first streaks of dawn flashed against the
window of her little chamber, over the waves of the sea and the
Lerinian Isles, dressed herself, and went out to wash her forehead,
breast, and arms in the cool spring. She took her hat with her, intending
to take a walk by the sea-shore, as she knew of a retired place for
bathing.
In order to reach this retired spot, it was necessary to pass over the
rocks behind the house, and thence down through the orange and palm
trees. On this occasion Marietta could not pass through them; for, under
the youngest and most slender of the palms lay a tall young man in
profound sleep--near him a nosegay of most splendid flowers. A white

paper lay thereon, from which probably a sigh was again breathing.
How could Marietta get by there?
She stood still, trembling with fright. She would go home again. Hardly
had she retreated a couple of steps, ere she looked again at the sleeper
and remained motionless. Yet the distance prevented her from
recognizing his face. Now the mystery was to be solved, or never. She
tripped lightly nearer to the palms; but he seemed to stir--then she ran
again toward the cottage. His movements were but the fearful
imaginings of Marietta. Now she returned again on her way toward the
palms; but his sleep might perhaps be only dissembled--swiftly she ran
toward the cottage--but who would flee for a mere probability? She