The Recruit | Page 5

of her reception room was not even waxed, the walls were
still hung with dingy tapestries; she used the country furniture, burned
tallow candles, and followed the customs of the town,--adopting
provincial life, and not shrinking from its pettiness or its many
disagreeable privations. Knowing, however, that her guests would
pardon luxuries if provided for their own comfort, she neglected
nothing which conduced to their personal enjoyment, and gave them,
more especially, excellent dinners.
Toward seven o'clock on this memorable evening, her guests were all
assembled in a wide circle around the fireplace. The mistress of the
house, sustained in her part by the sympathizing glances of the old
merchant, submitted with wonderful courage to the minute questioning
and stupid, or frivolous, comments of her visitors. At every rap upon
her door, every footfall echoing in the street, she hid her emotions by
starting topics relating to the interests of the town, and she raised such a
lively discussion on the quality of ciders, which was ably seconded by
the old merchant, that the company almost forgot to watch her, finding
her countenance quite natural, and her composure imperturbable. The
public prosecutor and one of the judges of the revolutionary tribunal

was taciturn, observing attentively every change in her face; every now
and then they addressed her some embarrassing question, to which,
however, the countess answered with admirable presence of mind.
Mothers have such courage!
After Madame de Dey had arranged the card parties, placing some
guests at the boston, and some at the whist tables, she stood talking to a
number of young people with extreme ease and liveliness of manner,
playing her part like a consummate actress. Presently she suggested a
game of loto, and offered to find the box, on the ground that she alone
knew where it was, and then she disappeared.
"I am suffocating, my poor Brigitte," she cried, wiping the tears that
gushed from her eyes, now brilliant with fever, anxiety, and impatience.
"He does not come," she moaned, looking round the room prepared for
her son. "Here alone I can breathe, I can live! A few minutes more and
he must be here; for I know he is living. I am certain of it, my heart
says so. Don't you hear something, Brigitte? I would give the rest of my
life to know at this moment whether he were still in prison, or out in the
free country. Oh! I wish I could stop thinking--"
She again examined the room to see if all were in order. A good fire
burned on the hearth, the shutters were carefully closed, the furniture
shone with rubbing; even the manner in which the bed was made
showed that the countess had assisted Brigitte in every detail; her hopes
were uttered in the delicate care given to that room where she expected
to fold her son in her arms. A mother alone could have thought of all
his wants; a choice repast, rare wine, fresh linen, slippers, in short,
everything the tired man would need,--all were there that nothing might
be lacking; the comforts of his home should reveal to him without
words the tenderness of his mother!
"Brigitte!" said the countess, in a heart-rending tone, placing a chair
before the table, as if to give a semblance of reality to her hopes, and so
increase the strength of her illusions.
"Ah! madame, he will come. He is not far off. I haven't a doubt he is
living, and on his way," replied Brigitte. "I put a key in the Bible, and I

held it on my fingers while Cottin read a chapter in the gospel of Saint
John; and, madame, the key never turned at all!"
"Is that a good sign?" asked the countess.
"Oh! madame, that's a well-known sign. I would wager my salvation,
he still lives. God would not so deceive us."
"Ah! if he would only come--no matter for his danger here."
"Poor Monsieur Auguste!" cried Brigitte, "he must be toiling along the
roads on foot."
"There's eight o'clock striking now," cried the countess, in terror.
She dared not stay away any longer from her guests; but before
re-entering the salon, she paused a moment under the peristyle of the
staircase, listening if any sound were breaking the silence of the street.
She smiled at Brigitte's husband, who was standing sentinel at the door,
and whose eyes seemed stupefied by the intensity of his attention to the
murmurs of the street and night.
Madame de Dey re-entered her salon, affecting gaiety, and began to
play loto with the young people; but after a while she complained of
feeling ill, and returned to her chimney-corner.
Such was the situation of affairs, and of people's minds in the house of
Madame de Dey, while along the road,