The Turn of the Tide. A novel

Chapter I. Josais Quenquer's

farm, "les Pom ** miers," lay about half-a-mile from Quim perlon, a small fishing-town situated on the bleak wdd coast of North Brittany. Inland the soil was very rich. The use of the rudest instruments of husbandry produced a fair harvest ; so Pere Josais employed no other labour than that of his own sons. Taking the good years with the bad, appaw rently he was a prosperous man. The whole family lived at home. It was a cheerful sight to see the healthy, rosy-cheeked i. young people gathered round the long table that occupied the middle of the large open kitchen. And the kitchen itself was very picturesque, furnished with great black oak presses, coarsely but handsomely carved ; in the far corners box-beds of the same black oak carving let into the wall. The floor was paved with stone, and a fire of huge logs blazed in the open fire-place.

Good fire wood abounded there. In the midst a great marmite swung on an iron chain, and emitted a savoury steam. At the table sat Josais with his five sons. Mere Mariette the mother, with her three daughters, waited on the men. There was another man among them who was not one of themselves, and who afforded a contrast to the rest. The young Quenquers were broad, strongly built lads of about the middle height. Yves and Ange, the two eldest, were the best looking, their faces being bright and full of intelligence. They were round-faced and rosy, somewhat clumsy in movement, their gait that of men used to plodding in deep soil. They ate voraciously, and drank large draughts of the good sour cider, and worked hard and well for their bread. The three younger were but copies of the elder ones, but more boorish — Jean, Devrand, and Battiste.

All wore their hair long on their shoulders, in the fashion of the Breton peasantry of the date. Josais and Mariette were very proud of their chddren. The lads had taken after their father — they were lusty, blue-eyed, with fair hair almost blanched at the ends by the sun. The girls took after their mother, and they were beautiful. Mariette came from the wild plains of Carnac, where dark hair and eyes are found among the peasantry. She was a tall, stately woman, and as she had been in her youth her daughters were now. Rose came first ; she was not yet twenty, a dark-eyed, slight girl, with hair as black as 1* jet, with coral colour in her lips and cheeks, and straight fine features. She was a fair picture in her snowy coif, a crimson hand kerchief pinned into the square bib of her blue apron.

Her arms were bare to the elbow. Rose was one of the bread-winners — one of the best washerwomen to be found in the country. Adolphine, the second daughter, was much like Rose, but not so handsome ; she also was a washerwoman. The youngest, Angdle, was the darling and beloved of all. Her business was a pretty and graceful one, and kept her little brown hands sine and soft ; she was an ironer. Angele was seventeen ; she was not so dark as her sisters, and her eyes were large and soft as a young fawn's. Her hair, as thick and fine as her sisters', did not lie with the smooth glossy straightness which gave Rose's low brow a classic beauty ; it rippled and curled softly, and there were golden lights in its dark shades. Her fresh little mouth broke easily into sunny smiles, and was pink like a bright rose-leaf.

Angele was lovely. All came of the same stock — the stately Rose, the winsome Angdle, the rough peasant brothers. Nature plays strange freaks sometimes, and different strains of blood assert their several characteristics in the same family, apparently without rhyme or reason. Some strain of the old Norman blood wandered into the wilds of Brittany must have left its iufluence on a few dark, slender famdies of Carnac and Locmariaker. The stranger who was seated among them, one, and yet not one of themselves, came of a wholly distinctive race. Gaston de St. Aubin was about twenty years of age ; the clothes he wTore were but little superior to those of his associates, but there was that in his' thin refined face, in the narrow brow, the haughty pose of the head on the throat, which marked him as unmistakably of noble blood.

His father was Marquis de Trouville de la Kergoac, of good Breton noblesse; his mother he had never known, but she was not Madame la Marquise ; and when she died, Gaston, then but a few months old, had been sent to les Pommiers to be brought up by Mere Mariette, and there had remained ever since. Monsieur de la Kergoac had not utterly neglected Gaston. There was a College some five miles from Quimperlon, whither he had gone every day for his education. What he learnt there was little enough, for his fellow students were but the sons of the petty bour geois, and their instructors were not deeply learned ; but one among them was a Jesuit priest, a man of good family, and from him Gaston learnt the most. Gaston shared alike with the others in the home life of the farm ; but there were storms in his breast, a deep-seated dislike to the father who had injured him, an intense rest lessness and longing to get away, rebellion against his life.

An abiding sense of the injustice of ad things makes a dangerous man. " Angdle, Angdle, see ! Monsieur Gaston has no bread to his soup ! " So spoke Mariette, and Angdle swiftly obeyed the call. As she carried the bread she raised her eyes to Monsieur Gaston's wistfully, adoringly, looking for his nod of thanks. The pretty child had already found her master. " I grow old and forgetful," said the mother, suddenly. " Monsieur Gaston, my child, the mail brought a letter for you this morning." " A letter, mother, and you forgot so rare an occurrence ! " Mariette went to one of the oak presses and brought out the letter. Those of the party whose first hunger was appeased, held spoons in air in curiosity as Gaston took it from her. " From Monsieur my father ! " he said, at the sight of the coat-of-arms on the seal.

"It is long since Monsieur le Marquis wrote to you," said Mariette. " Long ! why he never wrote to me before, and it passes my imagination to guess why he should write to me now." " Some present perhaps," murmured Yves, filling his horn of cider. Gaston broke the seal, and began to read. At the first few lines his hand suddenly grasped the edge of the table with such sudden force that the knives rattled, and the Quenquers looked at him in astonishment. " Dame ! " exclaimed Mere Mariette. " But one would imagine that the letter contained news." But their curiosity was only excited to be bafHed. Gaston read the letter, thrust it into his pocket, and proceeded to finish his dinner, striving to look unconcerned before the curious glances of his companions. " It is a letter that requires consideration," he said at length.

" Ange, give me some cider. Thank you. Well, my friends, I will make no secrets. My father writes to inform me that there have been two deaths in the family." "May the souls of the faithful rest in peace," said Mere Mariette, crossing herself. " What deaths V " Madame la Marquise is dead, and Monsieur le Vicomte her son, within ten days of each other." " Ah, poor Monsieur your father ! " cried the women. " Does he write himself ? " asked Ange. " Aye, he writes himself ; his heart does not seem to be profoundly touched ; no indeed ! His one thought is how to secure himself an heir, and my estimable father has bethought himself of me ! " He spoke with bitterness, but the irony escaped the notice of his hearers, whose eyes were growing round with astonishment. " Of you, Monsieur Gaston ! and are you to be a grand Seigneur then ?

" " No, no ! it is not possible ! " said Pere Josais, shaking his head, for he knew better. " But it is possible ! " cried Gaston, rising to his feet. " I have been deceived from the very beginning. Hear this fine history," and he rapped the letter sharply on the table. "It seems that Monsieur my honourable father was married to a poor little ouvriere of Nantes, married in her own parish, by his name of Camille St. Aubin, dropping his titles for the nonce. He is frank, this father of mine ; he avows that he never meant to acknowledge the marriage, but this little ouvriere, this beautiful Jeanne Flesselles, would be neither more nor less than an honest woman. Well, well ! It appears that the marriage by Monsieur le Curd of Jeanne's parish is as good as that of Madame la Marquise, who was married to my father en secondes noces by a Cardinal in the church of Notre Dame."

" Go on ! go on ! " they cried, when he paused in his story. Turning to Mere Mariette, Gaston went on — " You, mother, doubtless remember my poor young mother well. She lived (so says my father) in the Chateau Gris yonder, all alone ; but she did not know his rank or his condition. How the secret was kept I cannot imagine." " No one knew him, Monsieur Gaston," said Josais. "He is not of the seigneurie here ; he came from Rennes, and we knew nothing of him or of his young wife, Madame St. Aubin. He bought the Chateau Gris for her, it is said." " My father says that she was very exacting, this poor little ouvriere, who should have been grateful for every crumb of notice he was good enough to bestow on her. At last I was born. He is frank, my good father. He says that wras the culminating point of his many annoy ances, and his one thought was how to dis embarrass himself of them.

By this time his friends were desirous that he should marry ; and they had found a bride for him in Mademoiselle de la Rocheguyon. Certainly the circumstances were embarrassing ! " " I remember your mother only too well, the poor little lady ! " said Mariette. " Day after day she would come down to the farm, and sit there by the fire with her baby in her arms. You were a weakly, pining baby, my child, and not to compare with Ange. She used to look at the two together, and sigh and say, 'Alas, my Mariette, will God, the good God, take all from me, all ? ' ' Fi done, my little lady,' I would say, ' you have your good husband ? ' Monsieur Gaston, she turned on me a look that I shall never forget. A thousand times rather would I see my daughter's face white and still in her coffin than with the look upon it that shone in that girl's piteous eyes.

Oh dame! how I wept. But then I thought she was not wedded before the priest after all." " Perhaps you can tell more than I can now, mother," said Gaston, quickly. "Very little more, my child. She came to me one day, and placed you in my arms. ' I am come to place him with you at nurse,' she said ; then, with a little haughty air she assumed sometimes, she added, ' You need not fear, my good Mariette, Monsieur my husband is very rich, he will pay you well, and he will pay you always.' I told her that it was not for that that I hesitated, but for her sake. What would she do without the child ? * I do not care to take him where I am going,' she answered. ' It is far, and I am tired, and he is not thriving with me ; he is withering away. Take him and nourish him, Mariette, and I will thank you in heaven.' I was frightened by her words and her looks, and I tried to keep her, but she wTould not be stayed.

I held her arm, and said, weeping, ' Oh, Madame, look at your baby ; he wants you ! ' You were asleep, Monsieur Gaston, so I did what I have often repented of since — I pinched your little arm. You woke with a startled cry. ' Listen ! listen ! my poor little lady,' I cried ; * baby wants you.' But at the sound she covered her ears wdth her hands, and ran swiftly away without turning again. Alas ! alas ! so she was Madame la Marquise after all ! " " And where did she go ? " asked Gaston, hoarsely. " She went down to Briec. And they say that she must have got into Pierrot's boat. It was a calm, still night, but the waves at best are wild, and the currents are very strong round the ' White Rock.' " " Where, do you think, did she wish to go? What was her object?" again asked Gaston. "Ah darnel Monsieur Gaston, the good God only, who knows all secrets, can tell us that.

For myself, I believe that she was tired of pain and trouble, and that she thought, poor soul, that if she sailed out to sea she would land in heaven. The young do not suffer patiently." " And then ? " " In the grey morning the boat drifted in, bottom upwards, and in the evening she was washed to shore. I saw her, and made them carry her in here. I cut off a long lock of her golden hair for her husband ; I shrouded her in the shroud I had woven for myself, and she was laid in the cimetiere. We paid for masses for her soul, Josais and I. It was more than a year before Monsieur your father came near the place, and then I gave him the hair." " Did he come alone ? " " Yes, yes. He left Madame la Marquise in Paris; he had married her just one month after my poor little lady died — one short month.

People said that if she had not died it would have been all the same ; he would not have waited. When he came at last I went up to the chateau, and took you with me, Monsieur Gaston." " And what did he say ? " asked Gaston with a short laugh. " He said, ' What ! does that brat live yet ? ' I answered that you were likelier to live now than ever you had been before ; and he laughed and said, ' So much the better for us.' Things were to remain unchanged. I asked him then point-blank, 'Was madame, that young saint, your wife or no ? ' He turned on his heel, and said, ' Chut! chut I la bonne. These are too indiscreet questions for a pretty young woman to ask.' I was indignant ; and Josais called me a fool, and said I knew nothing of the world, or I should know how to hold my tongue." Gaston took up the letter that he had laid on the table again.

" Well, mother, you see Fate has decreed for once that justice shall be done. My father is strangely frank ; he writes without any shadow of reserve. He says he saw no occasion for reviving au old scandal, such as his low marriage would have been ; that the family of Madame la Marquise was a very proud one, and, in short, the thing was impossible ; Madame presented him with a son — a more fit heir to his possessions than the child of an ouvriere could have been. He had provided for me in such a manner as to leave nothing to be desired. When crac ! The small-pox carries off Madame la Marquise and the young vicomte within ten days of each other, and Monseigneur finds himself without an heir. Now is the moment to acknowledge the bourgeois marriage. Monsieur de la Kergoac TTDE. must have an heir !

There is fatality in all this." " There is the Hand of God," said Mariette. " So Monsieur Gaston is Vicomte de St. Aubin," said Ange. "Will Monsieur le Vicomte receive our felicitations ? " "With all my heart," said Gaston. "But mark this, my friends, this father of mine has sought to gratify his selfish pride through me. He sacrificed my unhappy mother to his cowardly dread of a scandal, and now I pre sume that he expects gratitude from me for the sudden rise in life which he contemplates for me. He is mistaken ; he will get none." "Gently, gently, my friend," said Pere Josais. " You have yet to learn the advan tages of which you speak so lightly." " The lesson comes too late. I am a child of the people, and the people are beginning to learn their own value." The young men looked wonderingly at the speaker.

"You are learning new doctrines, the strange I. new language that people in the towns are beginning to talk," said Pere Josais. " But we will have none of that here, mon ami, if you please." "You will soon hear nothing else," said Gaston, exultingly. "Angdle, whither away so fast ? " " I go to my work," answered Angele, speaking over her shoulder at the door. " There is much to be done, and it is late," and she tripped away. Gaston drank off the rest of his cider, and strolled after her, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets. There was an affectation about his movements; he who generally moved and spoke in so refined a manner for les Pommiers, it was as if it were his wish to adopt the roughness of his companions. He spat upon the ground, and rubbed it out with the heel of his boot. " Mon homme" said Mariette, layinoher hand on Pere Josais' shoulder, " I am afraid."

" Afraid of what, la Mariette ? " But Mere Mariette only shrugged her shoulders and turned to the useful occupation of making galettes of buckwheat — the Breton bie noir for supper. 2 *

Chapter II

"AH, Jaquot, is it you ? Come in, come in, it is many a day since we last saw you. And how have you fared ? " " I have fared well, Angdle. I am in a good position, and my master has given me a month's holiday to spend with my friends. And how goes all with you ? " "We are all well ; but come in, Jaquot, my mother will rejoice to see you. Come in." " Not to-day ; I must not step into any bouse before I have seen my mother. Ha ! Monsieur Gaston, is that you ? Are you well ? " Gaston answered shortly, and Jaquot, re moving his cap from his curly hair, nodded and passed on down the road. " So he has come back again," scowled Gaston. His face was not good to look upon when he looked thus. " I am glad he has come," cried Angdle, " His old mother will rejoice ; she is lonely without her only child, and he is very good to her."

Gaston caught hold of her two hands and drew her roughly towards him ; giving her a steady, suspicious look. " Do not — do not look at me like that ! I cannot bear it ! " she cried impatiently, turning away her face, which had flushed crimson. " But I must look at you ! I want to read in your eyes," said Gaston. " Why do you speak so warmly of that fellow ? " " Because I like him, because I respect him, because he is so good to his mother." " So." He let go her hands with a sneer. " Well, I have nothing more to say. A bientbt." And waving his hand carelessly to ber, he left the house. Angdle turned round to the wash-house in which Rose was standing, arranging some of her washing-gear. " Rose," she said sadly, " Jaquot has come back, aud Gaston is angry again, and jealous." "Never mind, ma mie," said Rose, consol ingly.

" After all, it is all at an end now ; Monsieur Gaston will go away, and — " " Go away ! " cried Angdle. " Yes, of course, Angele. He is a grand seigneur now ; his life with us is all over." " All over ! " repeated Angele in a faint voice, like a far-away echo. " And you will be a good child, and marry this good Jaquot ? " said Rose, kissing her. " For truly he loves you very well, and he is doing well in his trade." " It is all very well arranged," said Angdle, rather bitterly. " And the day that you are married to Pierrot, I will wed Jaquot." " Angdle, that is hot kind," cried Rose, and her dark eyes filled with tears. Angdle flew to her, clasping her in her arms, and kissing away the tears. "I did not mean it, dear, dear Rose; pardon your little Angdle. I would not hurt you for all the world."

" Well, well, cherie, we will think no more about it. Help me with this basket ; I must go back to my work." Rose and Angele took each a handle of the heavy linen-basket, and they went together Their path lay along a narrow lane, between two of the great orchards that cover the country far and wide. The old apple-trees almost met overhead, and the hedges on each side were brilliant with golden gorse. It was summer, and the trees were laden with fruit, a very bright and pleasant sight. After awhile the lane ended in a green meadow, and the green meadow sloped precipitately down into a little grassy valley, at the bottom of which ran a clear spring of bright water. The bed of the stream had been arrested here and there, and formed large clear pools ; and here all day long was to be heard tbe thud, thud of the washerwomen beating the linen each with her heavy mat.

Rose was soon at work; she had replaced her snowy coif with a scarlet handkerchief like the one that was crossed on her breast, her dark stuff gown was pinned up behind her, her beautifully - shaped arms were bare to the elbow. She knelt by the stream, beating ber linen and working with all the willingness that the strength and suppleness of her strong young figure made so easy to her. Angdle left her at work, and went slowly home w7ith a weight on her heart. The laveuses were chattering among them selves. Generally Rose did not heed their talk, or care for the petty details of their home-life that they were fond of giving each other. She had her own subject for thought, and that was a sad one. Rose had a young lover, and his suit was unwelcome to her parents, and in consequence the source of great grief to herself.

Pierrot was a sailor, and when not away on long merchant-voyages he eked out his living as a fisherman. There were doubtful stories whispered about him in the place — stories of strange periods of great prosperity from time to time in Briec, his native village, of treasure concealed in caves. A mixture of romance and terrorism was attached to him and to the dozen or so of fishermen who lived alto gether wdth their families in Briec. Briec was but a tiny hamlet lying close to the shore, and whatever stories might be rife as to prosperous times, its outward aspect was poor and penurious enough. Pierrot was very handsome ; as a child he used to be chosen out of all the neighbourhood to represent a little angel or a holy innocent in the parish processions ; and for a while, when he grew older, he served the good Cure at the mass.

Then his father took him to sea, and they went a far voyage in wild weather, and with a wild, rough crew ; and out in mid ocean, on one stormy night, Pierrot's father was washed overboard. Among the members of that rough crew Pierrot learnt nothing more that was good, and a great deal that was evil. The Curd sought him out when he was at home, and asked him why he shunned the presbytere and came no longer to confession. Pierrot only hung his head and gave no answer. The Curd thought that he was angry, but perhaps God, who alone reads secret thoughts, knew that he was ashamed ; but he did not change his ways. Pierrot and Rose had known each other all their lives. One clay he told her that he loved her, and poor Rose knew then that she loved him far too much for her own happiness, for Pere Josais would never allow the marriage.

So Rose had her own thoughts to occupy her mind while the laveuses cackled and chattered like so many hens. " Have you heard the news, la Dandel ? " asked one old woman of another. " That depends on what the news is," answered la Dandel, wringing and twisting and beating a blue apron as she spoke. "The news from Mont Marin; it seems that Madame la Comtesse is coming home." " Think of that ! coming home ! Dame ! that is news indeed ! " was the chorus that greeted Jeannette's ears. " AVho told thee, Jeannette ? Is it true ? " " It is quite true ; the gouvernante of the house has arrived already, Mademoiselle Julie, and she is looking for two bonnes — one for cook and one to do the gros ouvrages." " Via ! then the fine Paris servants do not come ? " " Madame has sent them all away ; she wishes to make economies, it appears.

They bring no visitors, but Madame la Comtesse and Mademoiselle Blanche come alone." " I wonder whether my daughter would do for the cook," said old Benoite, thoughtfully, poising a crimson petticoat in mid-air. " It is well to be early in the field ; I will go over to Mont Marin this afternoon and speak to Mademoiselle the housekeeper. She has good papers, and one from Monsieur le Maire, all in good order, and her cooking is considered very good." " But she is not a cordon-bleu, your daughter, Va ! " cried Jeannette, scornfully. "At least she was not sent from her last place because her soup was uneatable," re torted Benoite, and souse went the red petti coat into the water again, and bang, bang went the wooden mats, and the clear pools grew more soapy every moment. When her task was done Rose rose up wearily and began to hang up the wet linen on the long lines.

While she was doing so, her slender figure bent backwards, her arms stretched up to arrange her work, she was startled by a man's voice. " How are you, Mademoiselle Rose ? are you well ? " " Ah, Jaquot," she cried ; " I am glad to see you." " I have been home," he said ; " I have seen my mother, and I have come back to the farm, Rose ; but before I w*ent in I came down here, for I wanted to see you first, and to hear whether I shall be welcome." Jaquot w7as a stout, short man of about five-and-thirty ; he had no pretension to good looks, except perhaps in a crop of fair curly hair; his features were homely, strongly marked, and the whole man was on a some what clumsy scale. His trade w*as that of a house-painter ; he was now in the receipt of high wages, and was well thought of by his patron, the master for whom he worked.

Rose had a very kindly feeling for him ; most willingly would she have seen him the husband of her young sister, whom she loved passionately. She had many misgivings as to Angdle's future, and dreaded for her the sorrow and disappointment that darkened her own young life ; and from this she believed that Jaquot could save her. " Have you seen Angdle ? " she said, hesi tatingly. " Yes, I have seen her ; but she was not alone," he answered gloomily. " Listen, Rose : I love her better than ever, but I am a clumsy, rude fellow, and she is delicate as a little saint in a shrine ; tell me how to win her." ' "At this moment," began Rose, slowly, "I almost fear that my best advice would be that you should conceal your wishes. Monsieur Gaston — " " Ha ! it is then as I feared," said Jaquot, despondingly.

" It might have been so," said Rose. " But of course that is all at an end now. Monsieur Gaston has been acknowledged by his father, and will go away to Paris and become a grand seigneur, and Angdle will soon forget him. But still, Jaquot, give her time. You will not lose her by patience." " I have patience ; yes ! yes ! I am not wanting in patience. But to be patient one must have hope." " Must one ? " said Rose, very sadly. " Alas ! the good God often asks from us patience without hope." He stamped his foot somewhat impatiently. " That is all very well for women," he said, "but not for a man. Nevertheless, your advice is good ; I will not press her now." They w*alked together towards the farm. As they crossed the road a pretty sight met their eyes — Adolphine returning from Quimperlon with purchases.