The Village Rector | Page 8

of his rounds, which he nailed
himself on Veronique's floor. For her he saved from the sale of an old
chateau the gorgeous bed of a fine lady, upholstered in red silk damask,
with curtains and chairs of the same rich stuff. He furnished her two
rooms with antique articles, of the true value of which he was wholly
ignorant. He bought mignonette and put the pots on the ledge outside
her window; and he returned from many of his trips with rose trees, or
pansies, or any kind of flower which gardeners or tavern-keepers would
give him.
If Veronique could have made comparisons and known the character,
past habits, and ignorance of her parents she would have seen how
much there was of affection in these little things; but as it was, she
simply loved them from her own sweet nature and without reflection.
The girl wore the finest linen her mother could find in the shops.
Madame Sauviat left her daughter at liberty to buy what materials she
liked for her gowns and other garments; and the father and mother were
proud of her choice, which was never extravagant. Veronique was
satisfied with a blue silk gown for Sundays and fete-days, and on
working-days she wore merino in winter and striped cotton dresses in
summer. On Sundays she went to church with her father and mother,
and took a walk after vespers along the banks of the Vienne or about
the environs. On other days she stayed at home, busy in filling worsted-
work patterns, the payment for which she gave to the poor,--a life of
simple, chaste, and exemplary principles and habits. She did some
reading together with her tapestry, but never in any books except those
lent to her by the vicar of Saint-Etienne, a priest whom Soeur Marthe
had first made known to her parents.
All the rules of the Sauviat's domestic economy were suspended in
favor of Veronique. Her mother delighted in giving her dainty things to
eat, and cooked her food separately. The father and mother still ate
their nuts and dry bread, their herrings and parched peas fricasseed in
salt butter, while for Veronique nothing was thought too choice and
good.
"Veronique must cost you a pretty penny," said a hatmaker who lived
opposite to the Sauviats and had designs on their daughter for his son,
estimating the fortune of the old-iron dealer at a hundred thousand
francs.

"Yes, neighbor, yes," Pere Sauviat would say; "if she asked me for ten
crowns I'd let her have them. She has all she wants; but she never asks
for anything; she is as gentle as a lamb."
Veronique was, as a matter of fact, absolutely ignorant of the value of
things. She had never wanted for anything; she never saw a piece of
gold till the day of her marriage; she had no money of her own; her
mother bought and gave her everything she needed and wished for; so
that even when she wanted to give alms to a beggar, the girl felt in her
mother's pocket for the coin.
"If that's so," remarked the hatmaker, "she can't cost you much."
"So you think, do you?" replied Sauviat. "You wouldn't get off under
forty crowns a year, I can tell you that. Why, her room, she has at least
a hundred crowns' worth of furniture in it! But when a man has but one
child, he doesn't mind. The little we own will all go to her."
"The little! Why, you must be rich, pere Sauviat! It is pretty nigh forty
years that you have been doing a business in which there are no losses."
"Ha! I sha'n't go to the poorhouse for want of a thousand francs or so!"
replied the old-iron dealer.
From the day when Veronique lost the soft beauty which made her
girlish face the admiration of all who saw it, Pere Sauviat redoubled in
activity. His business became so prosperous that he now went to Paris
several times a year. Every one felt that he wanted to compensate his
daughter by force of money for what he called her "loss of profit."
When Veronique was fifteen years old a change was made in the
internal manners and customs of the household. The father and mother
went upstairs in the evenings to their daughter's apartment, where
Veronique would read to them, by the light of a lamp placed behind a
glass globe full of water, the "Vie des Saints," the "Lettres Edifiantes,"
and other books lent by the vicar. Madame Sauviat knitted stockings,
feeling that she thus recouped herself for the cost of oil. The neighbors
could see through the window the old couple seated motionless in their
armchairs, like Chinese images, listening to their daughter, and
admiring her with