In an Orchard. A novel

Front matter

All rights reserved. A NOVEL By KATHARINE S. MACQUOID AUTHOR OP patty;" "at the red glove;" etc. IN TWO VOLUMES Volume I LONDON BLISS, SANDS AND FOSTER 15, CRAVEN STREET, STRAND, W.C. "An unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractised : Happy in this, she is not yet so old But she may learn." Merchant of Venice. To Dear Mrs. Charles Skirrow. CONTENTS. iioofe tbe JFiret. SPRING-TIME. CHAPTER PAGE I. A Kiss . . ... 9 II. Pierre Sarrazin . . ... 21 III. Sophie's Sister . . ... 28 IV. A Foreshadowing . . ... 38 V. Pierre's Friend . . ... 46 VI. Pierre's Ambassador . . ... 58 VII. Gabrielle Explains . . ... 72 3_ook _\>. 3?ccon_. SUMMER COMES TOO SOON. I. A Proposal . . . ... 85 II. A Last Appeal . . ... 102 III. Married . . . ... 120 IV. A Lecture . . . ... 129 V. A Wish Fulfilled . . ... 142 3Soofe t&c erfjirt. AN AWAKENING. I. Madame Crispin . .• . . . 157 II. An Optimist . . ... BOOK THE FIRST. Spring-time, IN AN ORCHARD.

Chapter I

A KISS IT was only May, but there was everywhere the warmth of July ; the elms not being in full leafage, afforded less shade along the road to temper this heat than there would be later in the year ; white and yellow butterflies seemed to enjoy it, and Chariot Marie stopped at the cemetery gate, and watched them hovering over the honeysuckle blossoms, while he wiped his forehead with a smart silk handkerchief. Chariot was a tall, burly, fair-haired fellow, who looked like a man, though he was only nine teen ; he had a plentiful crop of downy beard and moustache, and large, rather prominent blue eyes, half veiled by singularly drooping JJV AN ORCHARD. 10 eyelids ; he looked sweet-natured and placid, and yet there was a wistful expression in his dark blue eyes. Chariot had had a tiring walk up the steep hill on which stands the cemetery of Come, but he had not come to see the burial-ground of the little town ; he gave another glance at the butterflies, and then bending forward again, he went on climbing the hill till he was past the tall row of elms that bordered the cemetery, and divided it from an apple orchard.

He had only left Paris two days before, and this was his first sight of the orchard in its lovely spring array. At first his eyes were literally dazzled by the delicate wealth of pink and white blossoms, shadowed here and there by tenderest grey, showing now and again a bit of gnarled, rough barked branch, painted with green and gold and silver, as if it had tried to disguise its ancient aspect, because of the youthful loveli ness in which it found itself enveloped. The orchard was divided from the road by a green bank, and the thick grass below the trees looked invitingly fresh and cool to tired feet A KISS. 11 which had been plodding up the dusty road : above this tender green the old trees bore their rosy-cloud of blossom, which quivered in the sunshine like pink and white butterflies ; above, seen through the openings in the close growing elms, was the wide, deep-blue sea ; a few white houses and the church tower making the advanced guard to the little town of Come which lay hidden below in the valley.

Chariot sighed with intense enjoyment as he stood looking at the sea beyond the apple blossom ; it was worth while, he told himself, to be all those months away in Paris, where, ever since he left school, he had been studying medicine, because it made him appreciate the fresh beauty of Come when he came back to it. For a moment he wished he had been less ambitious ; perhaps if he had tried he could have found a position in his native place, though he had no taste for his father's business ; but it was too late now, he thought ; besides, he had made up his mind to be a doctor, and certainly there was no possibility of being a doctor in Come. The young fellow's white jean coat and trousers suited well with the scene, as he took off his straw hat, and stood leaning against one of the old grey apple trunks, with an expectant look in his eyes, turned towards the road.

Everything was still, for the white and rosy petals fell from the apple-trees without sound on the grass ; once or twice there came from some taller grass within the cemetery, through the thick hedge at the foot of the elm-trees, the metallic chirp of a grasshopper, but it was too far off to disturb the deep silence of the place. Presently there came up the hill a far-off sweet sound of singing, singing in a high treble voice that might belong either to a boy or to a woman. As the sounds came nearer, all trace of sadness vanished from Chariot's blue eyes. He looked both glad and eager; then he gave a hasty glance round him in search of an apple tree large enough for a hiding-place. The singer was now so near that the words of the refrain sounded distinctly — " Miraton-ton-ton, Mirataine-e. Chariot climbed quickly up the trunk of a A KISS. 13 large apple-tree near him, to the disfigurement of his white jean apparel, causing a plenteous shower of rose-tinted petals to flutter slowly on the yellow grass below, for its fresh green was thickly pied with dandelion flowers.

The song ceased, and Chariot guessed that the singer had reached the cemetery gate ; she was perhaps saying a prayer for her father and mother who lay there ; he knew that the singer was Gabrielle Laorive. She soon came in sight ; a tall slip of a girl with a flapping straw hat pulled over her eyes. She wore a pale blue frock covered with tiny white spots ; this was trimmed with a narrow frill round the skirt, only reaching to her ankles. She was not yet sixteen, and her arms and legs seemed too long for her slender body, while her sunburned face was more remarkable for expression than for beauty. It was difficult to read its expression now, as she put her hand over her eyes and gazed at the sea. Perhaps it was weariness that made the girl so unusually serious ; she yawned as she walked, thereby showing a wide mouth and plenty of very white teeth ; then with a hop, skip, and a jump she was up and down the green bank, between the orchard and the road, and plunging forward into the cool grass, she flung herself down full length near the tree in which Chariot was hidden.

He had a good view of her face as she lay, for profiting by the shade above her, she pushed back her flapping hat, and clasped her hands under her head. Chariot felt at first a shock of disappoint ment ; he had not seen Gabrielle for two years ; on his last visit home she had gone away to Dol with her grand-aunt ; her face had been rounder and prettier then, he thought ; her nose seemed longer now, and her face wider than he remembered it ; but her eyes had not changed, and the young fellow told himself that no one ever had eyes like the eyes of Gabrielle Lagrive. His warm boyish love so overpowered him, that he could hardly keep from sliding down the apple-tree to join her. But he reflected in time that this would never do, it would betray that he knew of her A KISS. 15 coming, and that he had been waiting for her ; and he had promised Gabrielle's cousin, Mademoiselle Leonie, he would not tell anyone that she had sent Gabrielle up here, as if for a walk, just that he might see her alone.

Chariot was to have spent the first few days of his holiday in Bayeux, but impatience to see his mother and Gabrielle had conquered, and as he walked into Come late on the previous evening, he had met Mademoiselle Leonie, who was his father's book-keeper and shopwoman. When she and her mother lived next door to the Maries, in lodgings, before they took charge of Gabrielle and had a cottage of their own, Chariot had been often with them ; he had been Mademoiselle Leonie's darling from the time she first saw him, and when he told her he wanted to give Gabrielle a surprise, the kind woman promised to send her cousin to the orchard next morning. "What does it matter?" he thought, as he noticed the change in her looks ; " she is always the same Gabrielle, I can see it in the saucy flash of her dear eyes, as she lies there ; aha, she is laughing, she has got a mischievous thought, the saucy one!"

Gabrielle was laughing softly to herself, as she wondered what her cousin would say to see her lying there in the thick grass, and as the thought of Mademoiselle's amiable, puckered face presented itself, a humorous sparkle showed the latent gold that lurked in the girl's eyes, a gold which in some lights turned them green. "Well, she should not have sent me such a hot walk at this time of day," the girl's thoughts went on ; " I have only got a week's holiday, and I mean to get all the amusement I can out of it." Gabrielle had not stopped to look at the view of the sea beyond the cloud of apple blossom ; she did not admire Nature with Chariot's enthusiasm, but she thought it was delicious to lie in the deep soft grass, with the golden light filtering down upon her throuo-h the blossom-laden boughs overhead, and lazily to watch the rosy petals veering hither and A KISS. 17 thither in the light air, as if they enjoyed their flight, before they, now and then, fell on her bosom, and on the folds of her blue skirt.

" Come is dull," she murmured, " absolutely dull, still it is better than being at school at Bayeux ; I wish I had Pierre or Chariot to talk to, Pierre has such beautiful dark eyes ; it is tiresome of cousin not to ask him to come and see us, when she knows he is my friend." Chariot closely watched her face, he noted the vexed look that clouded it, and wondered what was troubling Gabrielle ; but the look was as transient as the flight of the pink and white blossoms that had now steadied again, and lay quietly sunning themselves on the old grey twigs. Gabrielle's eyelids drooped with sudden weight, her head rested more heavily on her hands, her lips parted softly into a pleasant smile — in a few minutes the girl's deep, regular breathing told the young fellow that she was asleep. This was the chance of escape he had been B longing for ; now that he had seen her, he wanted to speak to her, and above all to listen to her sprightly talk.

Chariot thought no one could ever be so clever as Gabrielle, but then he did not know many girls ; as a rule he greatly preferred talking to men ; his mother and Gabrielle were the only two females he liked to be with. He crept to the farther side of the tree, and began gently to lower himself; his plan was to gain the road nearer Come, and to come up hill again singing, or making some noise to give warning of his approach ; Gabrielle would awaken, would look round and see him — and they should have a delicious talk together under the trees. He reached the ground without noise, and then turned to look again at the sleeping girl ; it was an unlucky look, as dangerous as Psyche's, for as he gave it Chariot's feet seemed to be drawn nearer the sleeper ; he bent lower and lower yet to look at Gabrielle's face ; the lips still slightly parted, the long brown eyelashes curving up from the rosy cheeks, she was once A KISS. 19 more the child that Chariot had been dreaming about in these two long years of separation.

Bending one knee he knelt down in the thick grass, and stooped nearer and nearer, till her sweet breathing seemed to mingle with his own. ... He could never explain to himself how it happened, but all at once he had kissed the warm, flushed cheek that lay so near his lips. Gabrielle stirred uneasily, and Chariot stood up alarmed at his own daring ; he was shocked too at what seemed to him a cowardly action. For an instant he stood stupefied ; then he saw the brown eyelashes quiver, and he fled away by the back of the orchard : forgetting his carefully-arranged plan, he sped across the adjoining meadow, and from it into a wood, where he felt safely sheltered. Here he paused to think. Had Gabrielle seen him ? and if she had, how could he excuse himself to her ? She would be very angry ; even two years ago, he remembered that though she was inclined to flirt, she would never permit the slightest freedom ; he recollected that she frowned when he kissed her hand before he went back to school.

It has been said that Chariot had a supreme ignorance of girls, the ignorance that seems to belong to boys without sisters ; in his first feelings of alarm he thought he had better consult his mother as to the conduct he should adopt, supposing that Gabrielle had really opened her eyes and seen his flight ; but he soon gave up this idea, it would betray his feelings for the girl, and he was sure that his mother did not suspect them, for when on his arrival he asked after Gabrielle, Madame Marie had drily answered, " She is quite well, thank you," and had then gone on talking of other things. No, it was better to keep his own secret ; his first meeting with Gabrielle would show him whether she had been conscious of his kiss.

Chapter II. Pierre Sarrazin

GABRIELLE sat up and rubbed her eyes, she looked both puzzled and angry. She had dreamed of pleasant things, among other things about Chariot, who was to come home to-morrow ; it had seemed in her dream that she was at home, sitting beside her grand-aunt with her crochet work, the most elaborate piece she had ever attempted, and she meant it for a birthday gift for Madame Marie, when suddenly the dark face of a gipsy appeared at the open window, stretched itself in some strange way into the room, and kissed her. She struggled, fought violently — for what seemed to her sleeping fancy a long time — and awoke. As she sat up she looked round, and could not in any way sit her sensations with her surroundings. She again rubbed her eyes rather angrily. How could she dream such a thing ? or have such a horrid fancy even in sleep ?

She rose up wondering how she could have fallen asleep in so public a place, for she fancied she could be seen from the high road, unless the green bank hid her. She smoothed her hair, placed her hat on her head in a far more orderly fashion than it had been when she reached the orchard, and decided that it was time to go to Madame Marie. That dream had shaken her nerves and set her thinking. She gave another look round and she started ; close beside her was a large sprig of exquisite apple-blossom, and she felt sure it had not been there when she lay down among the dandelions ; some one had come while she slept. Gabrielle's colour deepened, a flood of shame swept over her, and left her throat and ears, and even her fair temples, a deep rose-colour ; she was quite as much vexed at her own folly, as by the affront she felt she had received.

It was not a dream, some one had been there and PIERRE SARRAZIN. 23 had kissed her; she could not tell her grand aunt or cousin Leonie, they would never trust her out of their sight again, and they might think it their duty to tell her schoolmistress when she went back to Bayeux. Suppose one of those gipsies had come into the orchard ; she had seen them when they passed through Bayeux on their way to the races. Gabrielle shivered with disgust ; she caught up her skirt and rubbed it violently against her flushed cheek. No ; in another minute she decided it could not have been a gipsy, he would have stolen the string of coral beads she wore round her throat ; it was perhaps the idiot boy who was often on this road, and who always knelt down and said a prayer when he reached the cemetery gate.

This idea was as revolting as the other, for the idiot boy was both hideous and dirty. Gabrielle shivered again, and turned to leave the flower-decked orchard. She was on her way to the green bank, when a slight noise made her start ; it came from the hedge which bordered the cemetery at the foot of the tall elms ; through this hedge, which was as yet only scantily fledged with leafage, she saw some one peering at her ; she knew the handsome face, or she might have thought it was the daring gipsy of her dream, it was so dark, and the eyes were so black and glowing. There were, indeed, people in Come who said that Pierre Sarrazin had gipsy blood and probably a gipsy mother. His father, Yves, the fierce old fisherman, was a widower when he settled in the place with his imp of a boy, who, according to old Madame Lagrive, was in league with the Evil One, so terrible were the pranks he played.

But Pierre was now twenty-one ; he had a share in his father's boat, and was said to be, for his years, the best fisherman in Come. When Gabrielle recognised him, the warm blood flew over her face again. "What are you doing there, Pierre?" she called out. " Why don't you come out of the hedge, and beg my pardon like a man, instead of hiding like a coward ?" PIERRE SARRAZIN. 25 She was so vehemently angry that she longed to strike him. Pierre pushed through the hedge, and came up so close to her that she shrank away from him. " Eh, mon Dieu, what is the matter ? Why should I beg your pardon, little one?" He was grinning from ear to ear. " What has put you on the high stilts all on a sudden ? Is it because now Chariot is at home you think you can do without me ? Take care, Mademoiselle Coquette, Chariot will soon go back to Paris, and forget all about you, whereas I am as constant as the compass ; you will want a friend, you know, when you leave school.

Come, shake hands, little girl, and make it up. Gabrielle was trembling with anger ; she shook her fist at Pierre, and frowned till her straight, brown eyebrows met. " I know what you did," she said ; " you ought to be ashamed of yourself. I did not think you were a coward. Go away at once, do not try to talk to me ; I will not even speak to you again till you beg my pardon, you bad, rude fellow." She drew herself up, and looked very haughty. Pierre growled, and showed his white teeth. " What do you mean ? You are talking a heap of folly," he said roughly. " Why do you not say what it is all about ? You are a spoiled chit, that is what you are. Go along with you ; you need not fear I shall want to trouble you." Gabrielle had turned away while he was speaking, but he was determined she should hear ; he sprang on the bank and shouted the last words after her as she went down the hilly road.

" Devil take it ! what is up with her ? " he said, as he stood looking after the girl. " Gabrielle never was fanciful or silly, but just now she seemed crazy. Well, I suppose if she does not come round, I must beg her pardon sooner than not be friends ; there is no one like her in Come, that is sure and certain ; she looked like a little queen — a PIERRE SARRAZIN. 27 little queen in a fury ; she is like the rest of the girls after all — she will want plenty of smoothing down." He stood watching her till a turn in the road hid her slight, willowy figure, then rubbing his strong black beard, he thoughtfully asked himself — "What can have put her out? I never saw Gabrielle cross about nothing before."

Chapter III. Sophie's Sister

AT the soot of the hill, the road which Gabrielle followed was crossed, before it went on to the church, by the high road which led from the cliffs far away on the right, to the open country on the left ; at the crossing there was a broad opening : on one side of this a massive chestnut-tree shaded the high gates of a chateau ; on the opposite side, in a transverse direction, was a pair of big open gates, with a board on the wall in which they were set, announcing that here " carriages and horses might be hired d volontt, from Matthieu Loiseleur." The yard within the gates was full of life ; cocks and hens with red-combed, restless heads, were busy clucking and pecking on the big straw heap that occupied part of the yard, while just in front of the entrance door, where the washings of the yard made a muddy gutter, a group of black ducks with bronze coloured beaks merrily quacked and splashed.

A tabby cat with a large furry tail lay on the doorstep of the house within, and while she basked in the sunshine kept one eye on the sudden flights across the yard of a group of pigeons, white and black and plum-coloured, dwellers in the two large pigeon-houses fastened on the plaster house-front ; near them in front of a window was a low wooden balcony filled with scarlet flowers ; a big mongrel-looking dog was chained up near the entrance-gates, and a pair of horses munched hay in the farthest corner of the yard. Among all these living creatures a little child, with a close-fitting white cap, was playing ; near her, two women stood in earnest talk. Gabrielle saw that one of these women was Madame Loiseleur ; the other was a stranger, and as the girl stared at the handsome well-cut features and glowing eyes, she wondered who the strange woman was.

One thing was very evident, the stranger's face was much too young to be in harmony with her abundant iron-grey hair. " Good-day, Gabrielle," said Madame Loise leur ; " have you seen Monsieur Chariot ? We must all call him ' Monsieur ' now, your cousin says ; he has grown into a man — he will be a grand gentleman-doctor soon, who knows ? " Little Lili had run to Gabrielle, who was kissing and hugging the child. " Lili walk," the little creature said, and nestling her fat hand into Gabrielle's, she tried to drag her up-hill again. For once Gabrielle was unwilling to humour her. " Not to-day, pet," she said. " Are you sure Chariot has come, Madame Loiseleur ? I heard he was expected to-morrow." " It was your cousin who told me just now as she went home to dress your grand-aunt. Ah, what a pattern daughter she is !

" She turned from Gabrielle to the stranger. " I speak of Mademoiselle Lagrive, who goes back every day from Monsieur Marie's curiosityshop to give her mother her second dejeuner, and to dress her for the day. But you," she said to Gabrielle, " where then have you breakfasted, ma'm'zelle ? " " I " — the stranger was staring so hard at her that Gabrielle felt reserved — " I am Sfoingf to breakfast with Madame Marie." She nodded and passed down the hilly street beside the stable-yard wall, which, indeed, occupied one entire corner of the cross roads. "Who is that?" the dark-eyed woman asked. " She will make a fine woman one of these days." " She is Gabrielle Lagrive, the great-niece of the old lady I spoke of. She was not born at Come ; but her father was, and when he and his wife died at Evreux her father's aunt brought her here to live, actually set up house keeping again for the sake of this child ; for both Madame Lagrive and her daughter used to lodge in the Grande Rue."

" Will she have any money ? " the stranger asked. "Mon Dieu! I do not know." Madame Loiseleur stared. " I fancy that will make no difference to Gabrielle ; the Maries are fond of the girl, and their son, Monsieur Chariot, is just a suitable age for her. One of these days they will make a fine couple." " Do not make too sure of that " — the woman gave a strange, cynical smile — "there's many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip. Where, madame, do you say Sophie Duchemin lives ? " Madame Loiseleur came outside the gates, and pointed up the road that led to the cliffs above the sea. " Go straight on till you see a path across the grass on the left, take that, and it will bring you into the Rue de la Brie, that is, the upper end of our High Street. About half way down it is Sophie Duchemin's cottage ; and for certain her husband will be smoking his pipe at the door, or killing caterpillars on his cabbages."

The stranger shrugged her shoulders ; then she smiled and began to climb the hill towards the sea ; then, following her instructions, she took the little downward path, and soon found herself in the Rue de la Brie. A short way on she saw on the left a one-storied cottage, built a little above the road, so that one reached it, and the untidy cabbage garden that sur rounded it, by two stone blocks set as steps. A few yards from these steps, in front of the cottage, a grizzled, weather-beaten man sat smoking. The woman looked keenly at him, and then she contemptuously shrugged her square shoulders, stopped, and stared across at the lovely sapphire - coloured sea on her right, showing above the rigging of the fishing boats on the shingle, and the garden of sunflowers that filled a broad space between two houses, one of which faced Leon Duchemin's cottage.

The woman frowned angrily as she stood looking seawards; she was battling too strongly with her own feelings to notice the beauty of her surroundings. She turned abruptly after a minute, and mounted the rough steps with a gracious smile on her handsome face. The grizzled fisherman, Leon Duchemin, c took his short blackened pipe from his lips, looked in at the door behind him, and called out — "Sophie, eh, mon Dieu! come, come quickly, Sophie ; it is Leocadie — Leocadie Leroux." He jumped up, put his pipe on the wooden chair-seat, and opened his arms to welcome his visitor. " Eh then ! You are welcome, Leocadie," he exclaimed. "How young you keep! I should have known you anywhere." She had smiled while he looked at her, but as the little man raised himself on tiptoe, and proceeded to kiss her on both cheeks, she made a grimace.

" How is Sophie ? " she asked. A pale, flat-faced, untidy woman, looking much older than Leocadie, yet with black hair in hard contrast to her pale face, hurried out of the cottage, and vehemently hugged her sister. " To think that she has really come, our Leocadie"— Sophie looked triumphantly at her husband — " and Leon would not believe you were coming, even when I showed him the letter." Leocadie kissed her sister, but she was evidently unresponsive to Sophie's affection. " I came because I am left alone in the world, and it is years since we met," she said ; " also from what you wrote, and I heard, it seemed to me that Come might be a desirable place to live in." The little fisherman looked grave, and began to finger the silver rings he wore in his ears ; but Sophie patted her tall sister's shoulder.

" We have only two rooms," she said, in a cordial tone of welcome, " but if you can do with our ways we can lodge you, sister ; you were always so neat," she ended, with a sigh. Meantime Leocadie had handed Leon his pipe, and had placed herself in his chair. " You will excuse me," she said politely, " but your roads are hilly, and at first I find them tiring ; thank you, Sophie, but in a day or two I hope to have a place of my own. I am come to find work, for I have lost my little hoard, it went to pay expenses." Sophie looked sad, Leocadie had lost first her husband, and then one after another her three daughters, all by the same lingering disease, consumption. " You must stay with us, and take a little rest to begin with," she said. Leocadie shook her head and frowned as she stared at the sunflowers across the road ; it was so wickedly unfair, she thought, that her ugly, awkward, untidy sister should have a home and a husband, and seem so happy, while she, who had been a beauty, who felt that she was very clever and capable, should be obliged at forty to begin life again among strangers.