Mademoiselle

Front matter

MADEMOISELLE. Now ready SHREDS AND PATCHES, by G. N. Leigh Fry. Illustrated. Cloth, 5s. LITTLE PRINCESS ANGEL, by Stella Austin. Cloth, 5s. LEAL SOUVENIR. By Alice Weber. Crown Svo, 5s. TRUTH with HONOUR. By C. R. Coleridge and Bramston. Crown 8vo, cloth, 5s. THREE LITTLE MAIDS ; or, The Chronicles of Acacia Garden. By Mary Bathurst Deane. With Illustration. Crown Svo, cloth, 6s. MADEMOISELLE. BY FRANCES MARY PEARD AUTHOR OF 'the rose garden,' 'mother molly,' etc. ' We needs must love the highest when we see it. Idylls of the King. LONDON WALTER SMITH & INNES Bedford Street. Strand. W C. 1890. All rights reserved. Printed at himbouen (Holland) by 11. c. a. tiiieme of nimeguen (Holland* und 14 E1LL1TER SQUARE RUILDINGB, LONDON, E. C.

Chapter I

' But when the spring opens, we then take the hoe, And make the ground ready to plant or to sow.' — Anon. 1630. Hoav I am to set down everything, I can't think ! I know nothing in the world about writing a story, and yet mother says that it ought to be quite easy. I tell it very often to the little ones, that is true, and she assures me that there is nothing more difficult in letting the words slip out of the ends of one's fingers than out of one's mouth. Just the same words, she says. Mother knows most things, but I can't agree that she knows about this. She has never tried, and so she has never learnt the difference from just talking on, and catching oneself up when B MADEMOISELLE. 2 one has gone too far, and recollecting something at another time and going back for it ; and the dreadful responsibility of writing down words which stay there, and stare at one, and do not look in the least what one intended them to look.

Besides — the children, they know. I can see what is coming in their eyes, and if I go wrong you may be sure they will pull me up pretty quickly, and insist upon matters being put right ; whereas, now that I am writing this, I can see no helpful eyes — and I feel as if I should make a hundred mistakes, and never get out of my troubles. My own name first, mother says. Well, luckily that is easy. I am called Jacqueline when people stand upon ceremony, and Jacquette when it is any one who loves me, and I was Jacquette Meunier. As to the dear place where I live, it is in France, in the north of France. I am afraid, from what I hear, that this part of our counts is not thought very beautiful ; it has no high mountains or rushing streams. Perhaps one must MADEMOISELLE. 3 live there and give it one's heart before one begins to find out all that there is to admire.

The land is flat, and the poplars which border our roads have funny little branches of leaves growing at the top of their tall stems, instead of thick shady boughs. But that is not their own fault, poor things, only those who have the management of our roads think that is how they should be cut; and if there are few hills, we get a wonderful display of clouds over a great breadth of sky. One can breathe there under such a sky! And I do not see how one can miss mountains wdien the great clouds are there, with their white lights and their ever-changing forms. But, then, it is true I have never seen mountains. We are not all fiat, though. The church stands on an abrupt hill, which falls steeply away from its northern side ; and on the same height is our chateau, the Chateau of Gallandterre. At the time of which I am writing, which is not quite twenty years ago, when I was a girl of fifteen, MADEMOISELLE. our chateau was quite new, and very magnificent.

When people complained of our poor mossy little village and the black soil, we could always point with pride to our chateau, which had a very steep roof and minarets at the corners, and which looked as gay as brick and slate, and plaster and paint, could make it. Mademoiselle Hildegarde has told me since, that she, for one, never admired it ; that it seemed to her all eyes, and the eyes to be staring all over the country ; but, certainly, windows are cheerful, and I do not see that one can have too many of them. But then Mademoiselle is so quiet and gentle — gentle as a saint — that she never could like anything which seemed staring. Now the poor chateau is changed, sadly changed. It has lost all its beautiful fresh look, and, though to me it must always seem young, I hear the children calling it the old chateau.

Age very quickly comes in these days. Well, I must get on. MADEMOISELLE. 5 There are so many of us to tell about, that is the difficulty. Now the children, of course, know them all, one has no need to say to them, one sister is called Jeanne, and another Angele, they know about that as well as I do. But in writing there is so much to explain ! And unless you put it all down quite clear and precise, why, no one can understand anything at all. So, even since writing the little that I have already set down, I have been obliged to go and ask mother what she advised. And she said at once, — ' Say how many of you there were, but do not give the names of any except those who are mentioned in thy story. So thou wilt weary no one.' Well, there were eight of us, brothers and sisters. My eldest sister was Angele, she was seventeen, and my eldest brother, Pierre, was a year older.

Louis was sixteen. And there, I suppose, I ought to stop, for these were the only three who had much to do with what I MADEMOISELLE. am going to write about ; but really, I must ask any one who reads to excuse me — if they had only seen our little angel, Jeanne, they would understand that it would be quite impossible not to speak of her. She was our youngest, a brown eyed creature, with curly rings of hair breaking out from her cap, and as playful as a kitten. The cure, who was a little severe with most of us — or so we used to think — could never resist Jeanne, when she laughed up bravely in his face. Our father, Francois Meunier, as you may think, with such a big family was forced to work hard at his market garden. There, again ! It is easy enough to write — his market garden, but such a market garden as ours is not so easy to picture, for it is quite possible that none of you have ever seen another like it.

There is a great deal of water about Arnoye, and our garden was made of little islands in the midst of quite a network of small canals. We had two flat-bottomed punts in which to push about from MADEMOISELLE. 7 point to point, and, as you may guess, the boys had plenty of ways of getting across at the narrower parts, by leaping poles, or little rough rafts. So that you had the black earth and all the green things growing , cabbages , onions , beans, salsify, lettuces, and then the water, in which, in spite of the black soil, you could often see the white clouds reflected brightly. Here we each had plenty of work — we elder ones, that is, for the little ones went to school, and Jeanne, who was not old enough to tramp along the road and climb the hill, used to stay in the house with mother when she was washing or mending, or picking over the fruit ; or else come and offer to help us to gather it, when a great deal was popped into her little bud of a mouth, and father used to pretend that he was very angry; but she never minded, she knew that she could do almost anything with father.

Most of us — all of us, I think — liked our work. Our Louis, it was true, used to weary of it some- MADEMOISELLE. times, because Louis loved books, and if he could have had his own way would have sat over them from morning till night. And some times, in the midst of his work, he would fall into one of his dreaming moods and go on so mechanically with what he was doing that he would do the strangest things ! If he were digging a border, he would come to the end and never notice, but go straight on, so that more than once he has found himself in the water, to his own great amazement, but we all knew well enough how he got there. And if he were filling a basket with peas or apples, or whatever it might be, there were times when he forgot all about it and would go on gathering, gathering, when the basket wras quite full and running over, and all the peas would be falling out on the ground.

It vexed father when he had these fits of what he called wool-gathering. He would say that the man who could not keep his senses fixed on what he had to do would MADEMOISELLE. 9 never be good for anything, and then our poor Louis would get red made no attempt to could bear to hear nearest my own age. with shame, though he excuse himself. I never Louis blamed. He was and we seemed particularly to belong to each other, so I used to do what I could. Generally, I could tell by the look in his eyes — a dreamy, far-away look, as if he saw things which none of us were thinking about — when this was coming on him ; or if the little ones were at home, I would coax one of them to run and bring me word what Louis was doing, and by this means I could slip away, and shake him, and help to pick up what was lying round.

I was always the most uneasy when it was raspberry time, because it hurt the raspberries so much to fall on the hard ground. However, when the fits were not upon Louis, even he enjoyed the garden, and we others all loved it. It was so pleasant in the spring to see the seeds coming up, and the bushes springing MADEMOISELLE. 10 into life, and all the green bursting out with a rush of gladness. It always seemed a little hard upon the poor weeds, who were for rejoicing too, and spreading themselves, that they had to be pulled up instead; but this was a busy time, digging, hoeing, raking, planting, and watching against the slugs and snails, and when the little ones were not at school there were many ways in which even they could help. Then came the summer, when you could hardly see the ground for the spread of things, and there was a great deal of picking and carrying round, and packing the great baskets in which father sent fruit and vegetables to Paris; and the autumn, with much the same work, except that now all had grown a little wild and wanted tying up, and the huge gourds began to ripen, and our water-ways grew sluggish and weedy.

Winter was, of course, our worst time. Plenty of snow came down and covered everything, and, except the Brussels sprouts, there was little enough to gather in the MADEMOISELLE. 11 garden, nor were we girls needed to work there. So Angele and I helped mother, and worked and knitted as much as we could ; and our Louis had more time for his dear books ; and the little ones slid about over our poor little frozen canals, and snow-balled each other, and trapped birds, and except for their chilblains were very happy. I suppose our country does look bleak in winter with its fields all lying under snow, but there is the mistletoe to give a little green to the trees, and, after all, if it were not for winter we could not have our beautiful spring, so that one must set one thing against another, and not grumble like poor Auguste.

And now you will say — or 1 hope you will say, because it is always more easy to answer questions than to go straight on without a break — who is Auguste ? Well, Auguste was almost one of us at that time. He was by trade a carpenter, but from one excuse or another he passed all the time he MADEMOISELLE. could spare at our house, and on fete days was always there ; and we all knew that he was to marry Angele — in time. Father, who did not much like losing his eldest girl, would say she was too young, and they must wait ; but Auguste never let the grass grow under his feet, and I did not think he would allow the waiting to be very long. We used to wonder that Angele should be content to leave the old home and go away with him, but she seemed quite satisfied. There was not a word to be said against his character ; he had succeeded his father in his business, he was sober, industrious, but whatever he talked about there was always something wrong.

And one would think he felt himself equal to taking charge of the universe ! Church, government, battles, weather, the state of the roads, the teaching in the schools, the affairs of the Commune — he, Auguste Vert, knew all about everything, knew how they might all be improved, and was ready with his criticisms. MADEMOISELLE. 13 I remember once, when an artist had been painting outside our house one summer, and had made a most beautiful picture out of no more than a stretch of dusty road, and an old weather beaten shepherd, with his sheep all round him, kneeling before the figure of our Lord upon His Cross, Auguste had as much to say about the picture, and what should and should not have been in it, as if he had been bred and born a painter. And it was this which made me think that, perhaps, we should not be better off if he arranged all the other things for us.

As I said, we used to wonder howit was that Angele was so content. I think it may have been because she seemed to be the only perfect thing in his eyes, and that it gave her a sort of pride to be the one to satisfy his fastidiousness. No one ever thought me perfect, so I have never tried it for myself, but I imagine that had a great deal to do with it. At any rate, so it was. Up in the chateau, which they had built, MADEMOISELLE. 14 lived Monsieur and Madame Galland, and Made moiselle Hildegarde, and Monsieur Leon. They were very rich and very particular. The best of everything must go to the chateau, and not a damaged carrot would be taken in, or so much as looked at. As Monsieur Galland had made all his money for himself, instead of inheriting it like others of our great families round about, one would have supposed that Auguste would have had little to say against him.

But he had a great deal, and I really think there was no one he was so violent against. He was proud, he was arrogant, he was unbearable, and M. Leon was worse. My word! I used to wonder how M. Galland would feel if he could hear a few of Auguste's hard words ! Now I don't think that he would have paid them much attention ; but then I was young, and words seemed to me more important than they do now. As for Made moiselle Hildegarde, nobody, not even Auguste, could find a word to say against her, and if he MADEMOISELLE. 15 had we would not have listened, so he contented himself with remarking that she had a figure of wood. ' One which thou couldst not have cut out,' said my father, dryly, once. How7 well I remember that day ! Somehow the big things which happened afterwards seemed to have their beginnings then, so far, at any rate, as we were concerned.

It was an afternoon in early summer; the morning had been fine, but now menacing thunder-clouds were coming up against the wind, the freshness had gone out of the air, and the leaves were drooping. We had had a hard day's work, and we were all tired. Auguste had come over, and as he had nothing pressing on hand he stayed to help Angele, whose arms ached with gathering peas. She said at last that, by way of a change, she would take the basket in the punt to the house, where mother and the two boys were packing them — and I see her now, in her dark MADEMOISELLE. blue dress, with her white cap, standing up in the punt and just pushing off from the bank with the one oar. It was at that moment that we heard a voice, shrill and loud, hailing my father. ' Francois, Francois Meunier, I say ! ' ' He, Monsieur, in one moment ! ' he cried, and there was no need to tell us that it was M. Thomas, the cook at the chateau, who was calling. 'Wait, Angele,' he added, under his breath.

Father hurried as fast as he could, but there was never any little man so impatient as M. Thomas. When he wanted anything — ouf, he expected the very skies to open and drop it into his mouth ! We could hear him pouring out a torrent of words in his shrill voice, ordering and explaining, and explaining over again, as if the whole garden were to be laid under contribution. I began to think that he was, perhaps, angry because we had sent away so many peas, and so I whispered to Auguste, but he answered by rapidly shaking MADEMOISELLE. 17 his head and making a gesture to show that he thought it signified nothing. After awhile the voice died away, and father came back. It seemed to me that he was going to speak, but checked himself as he looked at Auguste. 'Well?' asked Auguste. ' It is nothing,' replied my father quietly. ' They require lettuces at the chateau.' Angele made a tired gesture. 'We must get them, I suppose, when I come back with the boat?' 'We must get them now,' said father. 'Help me out with the peas, Auguste.' It had been hard work to load the punt with the heavy baskets, and you will own that it was a little provoking to have to take it out again.

Still, Auguste need not have grumbled so much. ' That is the chateau all over ; no man's con venience to be consulted, but every man, woman, and child to wait upon them. Is there so much C MADEMOISELLE. hurry for the lettuces that they must go by ex press train ?' All that father said was — ' Apparently. 'And how many — ouf, what a weight! — how many lettuces are causing all this labour? A dozen?' ' Two.' 'Two! See now, Angele, was ever anything so absurd, so preposterous ! Two lettuces, two sous, and for that everything has to be stopped, and some one sent up express to the chateau ! Why could not that miserable M. Thomas have waited and carried them himself? Do they think we are the dirt under their feet, these people? Or do you, perhaps, think the same, Pere Meunier ?' It was an impertinence of Auguste, but father only said calmly, 'What I think is, that they are good customers, and if now and then they ask for something unreasonable we should do wisely to put up with it.

Less trouble will come MADEMOISELLE. 19 of that than of pushing ourselves forward as if we were all equals. 'You would be as good as M. Galland, if you had his money,' muttered Auguste. 'But I have not his money,' said father. 'Jac quette, take care ! I have not his money, and M. Galland is a gentleman, while I am a market gardener. I do not complain of the difference, but there it is.' ' Perhaps, some day — ' began Auguste, and stopped. Father looked at him. 'You would do better, my poor Auguste, to get this craze out of your brain. The good God never meant that we should all be equal. If the money were taken from the rich and distributed so that every man in the world should share alike, what do you think would happen ? Why, in a year's time — in half a year's time — there would be rich and poor ag-ain.

Probably, you would be one of the rich, and I am quite certain you would be one who would most resent the MADEMOISELLE. next distribution. There ! Now, Angele, hearken. Do thou and Jacquette pull two of the finest lettuces, and then do thou bring the boat back here, and let Jacquette take them to the chateau. And lose no time.' Though I was tired I was glad of this, for I had been afraid that father would send Louis; and I knew that Louis had a new book, lent to him by the schoolmaster ; and that he was in a great hurry to finish all he had to do and to get to it. Besides, I liked going to the chateau, on the chance of meeting Alademoiselle Hildegarde by the way. But as she punted along Angele looked back uneasily. ' I do hope that father will not vex Auguste,' she said. 'I should have thought it might be the other way,' I returned, bluntly. 'Auguste is decidedly cross.' 'It is only because you all misunderstand him,' she replied, with a sigh. 'He feels that his life MADEMOISELLE. 21 is wasted here, poor fellow !

There is no room for him to expand, and he would not remain but for my sake.' I turned away my face to laugh, I could not help it ; but, luckily, Angele was looking back so anxiously that she did not see me. And she very nearly ran the boat against Potato Point, as we called it — for Louis had given all kinds of names to the garden, and there was Carrot Channel, and Cape Tarragon, and Salad Bay. It was to Salad Bay we were going now. Angele sighed again. ' Oh, dear !' she said ' it is hard on Auguste !' ' I don't see that ! ' I cried. ' Look at father, and Pierre, and Louis.' 'Auguste is different,' Angele announced gra vely. ' As he says, in this little village it is impossible for him to rise. But if he were in a great town, with scope for his talents, things would be very different. M. Galland has not always been what he is, and I am sure he is not so clever as Auguste.

If Auguste had the chance — who MADEMOISELLE. knows? We might see him some day where M. Galland is now.' ' With a chateau ! ' I exclaimed. And this time I was stupefied. But Angele looked quite calm. ' Why not ? Stranger things have happened. If he could only get a start ! He is trying in Paris. ' ' But,' I objected, ' if he went away you would be very unhappy ? ' ' No. For then we should be married, and I should go, too.' ' And you are ready to leave Arnoye and all of us and go ! — with that cross Auguste,' I should have liked to have added. But I did not. ' With my husband — yes,' said Angele, smiling. It was so strange, so impossible to understand, that I could say nothing more ; and I was not sorry that by this time we had reached Salad Bay, and had to set to work to find two irre proachable, crisp-hearted lettuces.

But all the way along the road, where the poplars had put forth MADEMOISELLE. 23 their best show in honour of sunshine and summer, and up towards the chateau, I could not cease wondering. We were so many, and Angele loved us all, and had always loved us. And Auguste was only one, and a few months ago I know she had never so much as thought of him. And yet she was ready to leave us and to go with him to a great town, where she must live at the top of a high house, and look at chim neys, and listen to his grumbling ! It was inconceivable, but I secretly thought she would wait a long while. I little knew.

Chapter II

No man or woman can really he strong, gentle, pure, and good, without the world being better for it, without somebody being helped and com forted by the very existence of that goodness. — Phillips Brooks. There never were more beautiful lettuces. Green crinkly balls hiding the crisp white within, and not even the suspicion of a slug, though M. Thomas shook and peered, and would have been triumphant if he could only have confronted me with one. But it seemed that he needed endive. He had let it slip from his head when he had spoken to my father, because he had been kept waiting so long that he could remember MADEMOISELLE. 25 nothing. I must run down and get it. I dared not demur, though I was tired enough, and my heart sank. The air was heavy with thunder, and I had not had so much as a glimpse of Mademoiselle Hildegarde, and here I had all the way to go again to bring what M. Thomas might have very well made shift to do without.

I was as cross this time as Auguste. But as I turned, and had got outside the great iron gates with the lions on the top, and was just going to start on a run down the hill, in order to get back as quickly as possible, my heart gave a jump, for Mademoiselle Hildegarde and her dog, Tartuffe, were coming out of a small wood which lay between the chateau and the church. She was carrying a basket, and she was in a simple white dress, and wore a straw hat, and I thought her beautiful eyes looked sad and heavy-lidded. But she smiled at me, and Tartuffe put on quite an amiable expression, though he was not a dog I loved. MADEMOISELLE. ' Where have you been all this while, Jacquette ? I have not seen you for so long that I believe you have grown. Are all well at the garden?' 'All, mademoiselle.' 'And what has brought you here to-day?' 'M. Thomas wished for lettuces, mademoiselle.' 'For lettuces?' She laughed. 'Could they find none for him here?

This is your busy time at home, I know, and you look tired, poor child ! When you get back what have you to do?' I stammered, ' I am coming here again, made moiselle.' ' Coming here again ! And for what ? ' With endive, mademoiselle. ' She frowned; then hastily bidding me stay where I was, she walked away through the gates and out of sight. But almost before I had time to wonder she was back. ' I have sent little Jean, the gardener's boy, for the endive ; he has gone through the garden, and will get all that they require. It is because MADEMOISELLE. 27 your salads are so good, Jacquette, that they give you all this labour; but it is too bad for such a little thing. However, it will soon come to an end, for we are going away.' My face fell, for I would rather have walked ten times over to the chateau than have lost the chance of seeing Mademoiselle Hildegarde. 'Does Mademoiselle mean that she is going for long ? ' She did not at once answer me.

She stood looking out over our w-ide country, and perhaps at the great thunder-clouds which still hung in threatening masses ; and I think she may have been looking at things which I could not see, for I know now that there were many who fore saw, and trembled. When she at last turned to me, what she said was, 'Jacquette, I think I love Arnoye as well as any one of you who were born here.' 'Yes, mademoiselle,' I said with all my heart. But I wondered a little. MADEMOISELLE. ' We are going into Savoy,' she said, ' and then, perhaps, to Paris. For how long I do not know ; we talk of six weeks, but I feel — I feel as if it were for ever.' 'Oh, no, no, mademoiselle!' I almost sobbed, for there was something in her voice which was most sorrowful, and I could have sworn I saw tears in her eyes. But when she saw that she had disturbed me she quite changed her tone. 'Think of the mountains we shall see, mountains with snow tops, Jacquette!' she exclaimed. 'Louis will show you pictures of them in his books.' I could not think of anything but that she was going. ' Alademoiselle, when ?' ' Next week,' she said gravely. ' You shall come up and see me before.