A DECLARATION OF LOVE,--SET TO MUSIC
At this moment Modeste, happy as she was in the return of her father, was, nevertheless, pacing her room disconsolate as Perrette on seeing her eggs broken. She had hoped her father would bring back a much larger fortune than Dumay had mentioned. Nothing could satisfy her new-found ambition on behalf of her poet less than at least half the six millions she had talked of in her second letter. Trebly agitated by her two joys and the grief caused by her comparative poverty, she seated herself at the piano, that confidant of so many young girls, who tell out their wishes and provocations on the keys, expressing them by the notes and tones of their music. Dumay was talking with his wife in the garden under the windows, telling her the secret of their own wealth, and questioning her as to her desires and her intentions.
Madame Dumay had, like her husband, no other family than the Mignons.
Husband and wife agreed, therefore, to go and live in Provence, if the Comte de La Bastie really meant to live in Provence, and to leave their money to whichever of Modeste's children might need it most.
"Listen to Modeste," said Madame Mignon, addressing them. "None but a girl in love can compose such airs without having studied music."
Houses may burn, fortunes be engulfed, fathers return from distant lands, empires may crumble away, the cholera may ravage cities, but a maiden's love wings its way as nature pursues hers, or that alarming acid which chemistry has lately discovered, and which will presently eat through the globe, if nothing stops it.
Modeste, under the inspiration of her present situation, was putting to music certain stanzas which we are compelled to quote here--albeit they are printed in the second volume of the edition Dauriat had mentioned--because, in order to adapt them to her music, which had the inexpressible charm of sentiment so admired in great singers, Modeste had taken liberties with the lines in a manner that may astonish the admirers of a poet so famous for the correctness, sometimes too precise, of his measures.
THE MAIDEN'S SONG
Hear, arise! the lark is shaking Sunlit wings that heavenward rise;
Sleep no more; the violet, waking, Wafts her incense to the skies.
Flowers revived, their eyes unclosing, See themselves in drops of dew In each calyx-cup reposing,--
Pearls of a day their mirror true.
Breeze divine, the god of roses, Passed by night to bless their bloom;
See! for him each bud uncloses, Glows, and yields its rich perfume.
Then arise! the lark is shaking Sunlit wings that heavenward rise;
Nought is sleeping--Heart, awaking, Lift thine incense to the skies.
"It is very pretty," said Madame Dumay. "Modeste is a musician, and that's the whole of it."
"The devil is in her!" cried the cashier, into whose heart the suspicion of the mother forced its way and made him shiver.
"She loves," persisted Madame Mignon.
By succeeding, through the undeniable testimony of the song, in making the cashier a sharer in her belief as to the state of Modeste's heart, Madame Mignon destroyed the happiness the return and the prosperity of his master had brought him. The poor Breton went down the hill to Havre and to his desk in Gobenheim's counting-room with a heavy heart;
then, before returning to dinner, he went to see Latournelle, to tell his fears, and beg once more for the notary's advice and assistance.
"Yes, my dear friend," said Dumay, when they parted on the steps of the notary's door, "I now agree with madame; she loves,--yes, I am sure of it; and the devil knows the rest. I am dishonored."
"Don't make yourself unhappy, Dumay," answered the little notary.
"Among us all we can surely get the better of the little puss; sooner or later, every girl in love betrays herself,--you may be sure of that. But we will talk about it this evening."
Thus it happened that all those devoted to the Mignon family were fully as disquieted and uncertain as they were before the old soldier tried the experiment which he expected would be so decisive. The ill-
success of his past efforts so stimulated Dumay's sense of duty, that he determined not to go to Paris to see after his own fortune as announced by his patron, until he had guessed the riddle of Modeste's heart. These friends, to whom feelings were more precious than interests, well knew that unless the daughter were pure and innocent, the father would die of grief when he came to know the death of Bettina and the blindness of his wife. The distress of poor Dumay made such an impression on the Latournelles that they even forgot their parting with Exupere, whom they had sent off that morning to Paris.
During dinner, while the three were alone, Monsieur and Madame Latournelle and Butscha turned the problem over and over in their minds, and discussed every aspect of it.
"If Modeste loved any one in Havre she would have shown some fear yesterday," said Madame Latournelle; "her lover, therefore, lives somewhere else."
"She swore to her mother this morning," said the notary, "in presence of Dumay, that she had not exchanged a look or a word with any living soul."
"Then she loves after my fashion!" exclaimed Butscha.
"And how is that, my poor lad?" asked Madame Latournelle.
"Madame," said the little cripple, "I love alone and afar--oh! as far as from here to the stars."
"How do you manage it, you silly fellow?" said Madame Latournelle, laughing.
"Ah, madame!" said Butscha, "what you call my hump is the socket of my wings."
"So that is the explanation of your seal, is it?" cried the notary.
Butscha's seal was a star, and under it the words "Fulgens, sequar,"--
"Shining One, I follow thee,"--the motto of the house of Chastillonest.
"A beautiful woman may feel as distrustful as the ugliest," said Butscha, as if speaking to himself; "Modeste is clever enough to fear she may be loved only for her beauty."
Hunchbacks are extraordinary creations, due entirely to society for, according to Nature's plan, feeble or aborted beings ought to perish.
