If love be love; a forest idyl

Front matter

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CHAPTER I. “ Discussing how their courtship grew

Aucl talk of others that are wed,

And how she look’d and what he said,

And back we come at fall of dew.” — T ennyson.

Boisy-la-Reine! Have you ever heard of Boisy-la-Reine? Probably not, and equally probable is it that ninety-nine out of every hundred Frenchmen could tell you no more about it than that there is such a place in the Departement of Seine-et-Marne, that they have seen the name in the Indicateur of the Chemin-de-fer de Lyon, and possibly may have remarked it on the fa9ade, as journeying southward the so - called express train from Paris crawled past the diminutive Gave, which stands like an oasis of lath and plaster in the midst of a desert of forest.

And yet, insignificant as Boisy -la-Reine appears to the outside world, the little straggling township, with its suburbs of white stucco villas surmounted by peaked and gabled roofs of stained pine, its dusty poplar -lined roads converging towards the^main street in which, a good mile from the railway, stand all the public buildings and nearly all the shops, is, in the eyes of its inhabitants, a place of supreme importance. Does it not contain its Maine, garrisoned by at least three gendarmes ? Can it not boast of its Market-place, its college, its Palais de Justice, and its ancient Church of St. Gudule? And then, if to these material advantages be added its situation on the banks of a river navigable for rafts and small craft, and its proximity to a noble forest, surely it must be allowed that Boisy-la-Reine has the right to consider itself one of the favored spots of La belle Finance , and by so much the more of the entire earth?

This pride of station is fostered and enhanced by the awe and admiration of the neighboring villages, by whom Boisy-la-Reine, owing to the remoteness of the chef-lieu of the Departement , is always the town par excellence.

In one of the side streets, taking its departure from the Place St. Gudule, opposite the church, and winding along the wooded slopes

IF LOVE BE LOVE.

which border the river, stands a large conventual-looking building —or rather, collection of buildings— surrounded by a high wall of flints and mortar. Over the fancifully constructed iron grille depends a large black board, on which is written in massive gilt letters — Pendonnat pour les Demoiselles.

To-day the short gravel walk, hedged in on either side by a mass of densely grown shrubs, which leads from the roadway to the maiu entrance of the building, is strewn at intervals with flowers, rice, and a few odd satin slippers. Glimpses are to be caught through the open door of excited female forms clad in gala attire fluttering from room to room and about the passages. In a long, low, whitewashed apartment at the end of the hall two lengthy deal tables, flanked by benches to match, still bear evidences of a lately completed meal, the festal character of which is demonstrated by a profusion of flowers and remnants of ornamental cakes and bonbons. Evidently some event has occurred to galvanize the inhabitants of this domicile of staid routine and prim decorum into a state of rejoicing and excitement.

The buzz of conversation, intermingled with peals of girlish laughter, issues from a room on the right, into which a trim maid-servant, bedecked with ribbons and favors, lias just entered, bearing coffee for the assembled guests.

Let us follow her into this, the state salon of the principals of the establishment, and make ourselves acquainted with the cause of this unwonted festivity.

Near the door, busily engaged in conversation with M. le Cure, sits Mademoiselle Mathilde Delaforet, the eldest of the three maiden sisters by whom the school is conducted. This lady, clad in rich, yet sober-colored and somewhat old-fashioned silk, lias silver-gray hair and piercing dark eyes. These, and a certain stateliness of carriage, give her the air of one used to command, tempered, however, by a cheerful and benevolent expression.

Dispersed about the room are a score of ladies and gentlemeu, the former predominating as well in numbers as in conversational power, to judge from the constant rattle of their tongues.

Centre of a small group of the male sex, all attired in evening dress and white cravats, although it is yet early in the afternoon, stands Mademoiselle Clarisse, the youngest of the Demoiselles Delaforet. This young lady — for such we suppose we must describe her, as she thus considers herself — is not without pretensions to good looks. Her vivacious mauners and ready laughter, added to a cer tain studied juvenility of attire, might lead a casual observer to place her on a much lower rung of the ladder of Time than she had actually attained. But the deception — if deception we must call it — is an innocent and easily pardonable one, since it leads her to cultivate graces and amiabilities which her sister Hortense, next on the rostrum, higher up, has seen tit to abandon as useless.

The second Mademoiselle Delaforet labors under a highly roman tic and nervous disposition. Ever since the unfortunate termination of an early affaire de cceur — an episode which occurred in the far-off

IF LOVE BE LOVE.

times, when their parents were alive and the three sisters were not compelled to labor for daily bread — Hortense has. posed as a femme incoinprise. Why she, more than the others, should lay claim to especial sympathy and compassion, nobody knows. Nevertheless, her rights under this head are firmly established, and “poor Hortense,” the only sleeping partner in the concern, is never asked — nor has it ever entered her head — to volunteer any assistance in the active work in which her sisters are engaged. This, however, does not prevent her from absorbing the lion’s share of the earnings of the establishment, nor from appropriating the best room, the best morsels that come to table, and the most comfortable chair in their joint sitting-room, for her private delectation.

Like most people who suffer from their nerves, she is fretful and exacting, not given to express her gratitude when things are going well — the first to complain of any unavoidable discomfort, which her energetic sisters pass over with a laugh, or feel concerned about solely on her account.

Notwithstanding these unamiable’ characteristics, both Mademoiselle Delaforet and Mademoiselle Clarisse are genuinely attached to, and proud of “poor Hortense.” She it is who represents the honor and respectabilit} r of the family abroad. Her finge'rs are never soiled with ink, nor show traces of culinary labors. Her dresses are richer and more fashionable than those her sisters can afford themselves. Consequently, upon her devolves the paying and receiving of visits, and the maintenance of a state and dignity befitting the family of a former Maire of Boisy-la-Reine.

It may readily be imagined that for a great occasion like the present, when their salon is not only graced by the presence of the leading magnates of the town, but a real live vicomte — M. de Malslierbes, who possesses a small estate in the neighborhood, has gracefully accepted their hospitality — Mademoiselle Hortense has donned her choicest attire and most courtly mien. Nor need we hesitate to fix upon the little group with which she has contrived to surround herself as the creme-de-la-creme of Boisy-la-Reine society.

The portly gentleman, with a wide expanse of embroidered shirtfront, is Monsieur Bouchard — the reigning Maire ; and his spouse, the equally rotund dame, with blond frizzled hair, seated beside Mademoiselle Hortense, whose waist she tenderly encircles with a much bejewelled arm.

Facing the two ladies, leaning on the back of a chair in an attitude of studied elegance, stands the Vicomte de Malslierbes. His coalblack hair is cut quite short, and stands up like a brush on his pearshaped head. An aquiline nose of unusual proportions, which buries itself in a long black mustache, worn with an imperial and pointed at the ends, gives a first impression of aristocratic hauteur and manliness, which the shifty, irresolute expression in his gray-green eyes and the smallness of his chin afterwards dissipates. Nevertheless, the appearance of M. de Malslierbes is decidedly striking, and as he speaks, waving his gibus (the lining of which displays his coronet and monogram in gold and colors) to emphasize his words, or care-

IF LOVE BE LOVE.

lessly passing his long white fingers through his hair, a silence begotten of admiration and awe falls on the little coterie.

“How charming the bride looked!” he is saying; “never in my life have I beheld a more graceful apparition. Such eyes — such a figure — such a complexion — such lips — such feet! Ah! Mesdames — le ne vous des que 9a!” Whereupon he joins the tips of his fingers, and carrying them to his lips, impresses a fervent kiss upon them with an expression of indescribable enthusiasm.

“Ah, M. le Yicomte, it is well the bridegroom does not hear you — or he would be uneasy!” cried out Madame Bouchard, wagging her head at him; “and not without cause— eh, mon mari ! Poets are always dangerous to us poor women. ”

Monsieur Bouchard is a ponderous thinker, and not to be entrapped into a sudden expression of opinion. He only stares vacantly at his better half, as though lost in admiration of her profound penetration.

And she, good woman, knowing her husband’s peculiarity — one to which he owes in no small measure his present exalted position, since his silence is accounted to him as wisdom among a people who generally talk first and think afterwards — she, taking his assent to her proposition for granted, continues in a tragic whisper : “ For my part, although I like him well enough myself, I have my doubts whether this cold-blooded, hard-headed Englishman is the proper sort of husband for such a fiery, impetuous creature.”

“Carmen Mendes is a little fool,” said Mademoiselle Hortense, with an air of superior wisdom; “and as for Monsieur Danvers — I appeal to you, M. le Yicomte, how can we designate a man who loses his heart through his eyes, and marries a pretty, brainless baby?”

M. de Malsherbes was far too polite to openly contradict a lady, so he arched his eyebrows sympathetically. ‘ ‘ How, indeed, mademoiselle?” he began ; then stopped and gazed in dismay towards Monsieur Bouchard, from the depths of whose waistcoat a suppressed gurgling sound like the rumble of distant thunder was proceeding.

The old gentleman was still staring fixedly at his wife, but a sudden twinkle of intelligence had come into his beady eyes, and bis features were twitching with a convulsive movement. Presently he broke forth into a long, low chuckle, and then seeing that his audience was waiting breathlessly for his utterance, exclaimed, “Parbleu ! she is right, my little wife. He would be uneasy — and not without cause!” and then relapsed into silence — a silence which his wife did not leave long unbroken.

As, however, her remarks, although piquant and interesting to her hearers, are principally speculative and baseless, we prefer to cross the room and give ear to the more categorical narrative of the circumstances culminating in this day’s proceedings, with which, by special request, the elder Mademoiselle Delaforet is regaling thie Church and the Bar, as represented by M. le Cure and Monsieur Goodchaux, the celebrated avocat of M .

IF LOVE BE LOVE.

“You must know, then,” the old lady was saying, “that some five years ago Monsieur Mendes, a gentleman of Spanish descent, residing in Paris, but reported to have enormous possessions in South America, arrived here with his little daughter Carmen, a child of fourteen, with a view to getting her received into our establishment as an interne. He explained that, being obliged to return to Brazil on business which might detain him for an indefinite period, and his child being motherless, he was anxious to find a comfortable home for her, where her education would be attended to, while her bodily comforts were not neglected.”

“And that I am sure he found here,” exclaimed Monsieur Goodchaux.

“ Yes, I hope so, poor child. She was a reckless, fiery little savage when she first came to us, and though I cannot flatter myself that we have succeeded in making her all that we could have wished, still I venture to hope that our civilizing influences were not employed in vain. She is cast in a different mould to our French girls, and, fond as she grew to be of us all, never ceased to chafe under the necessary restraints and discipline.”

‘ ‘ Indeed, yes ; I remember well, you had sad trouble with her at first,” remarked the cure; “she was always trying to run away.”

“Yes; and once or twice nearly succeeded. * She was passionately attached to her father, although he seems never to have paid much attention to her, but let her run wild like any child in the streets. And when, after two years, he not only failed to fulfil his promise of coining to fetch her away, but all tidings of him actually ceased, poor Carmen went nearly mad, and nothing would serve but that she must try and make her way out to South America by herself, without money and without friends. ”

“It is quite a romance. I am all impatience to learn how the w r ild creature of your story became transformed into the lovely and accomplished bride whose nuptials we have had the felicity of celebrating this day,” cried the man of law.

“ It was almost too romantic for us,” replied the lady, smiling at his enthusiasm. “For months we had to watch her like any prisoner, and with all our care she broke away several times. Once we only stopped her at the station, where she had taken a ticket for Paris. Fancy a young creature of sixteen, beautiful as a dream, a perfect woman in person, though a very baby in knowledge of the world, arriving alone late at night in that Babylon! Ah, I shudder to think of it even now, and never cease to thank le bon Dieu that we recaptured our wandering lamb, and brought her back in time.”

4 4 What resolution — what a will for a child of that age, even to conceive so daring a project.”

“ You say well. Even then I doubt if we should have kept her without chains, had it not been for a sudden and violent affection which she entertained for Miss Danvers, an English girl, one of our pupils who had just arrived, and displayed some sympathy with her. ”

“Ah ! so it is her brother, then, that Mademoiselle Carmen has married?”

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IF LOVE BE LOVE.

“No; a cousin, I believe. There is also a romance about the young man. But I fear I am neglecting my other guests. If you will excuse me, I will conclude my narrative later on.” So saying, Mademoiselle Delaforet rose, and,' beckoning to her sister Clarisse, joined with her in begging the vicomte to favor the company with a recitation of some of his own verses, a request with which he readily complied.

As we are more interested to learn how Carmen Mendes, the belle sauvage, as she was nicknamed by her school-mates, came to be the bride about whom all Boisy-la-Reine was talking, than in listening to the passionate, but very amateurish, declamation of M. de Malasherbes, we will take the liberty of anticipating Mademoiselle Delaforet, and continue the narrative from the point at which she broke off.

Psyche Danvers, when she arrived at the establishment of the Demoiselles Delaforet (three years before the opening of our story), was a blue-eyed, golden-haired, high-spirited damsel of eighteen.

Being the only girl out of a large family of bo} r s, her parents, who resided in Yorkshire, deemed it advisable that she should be sent abroad to receive the finishing polish which is not uncommonly supposed to be best attained out of our own country.

Behind this avowed pretext lay the desire to get her away from the influence of her cousin Yere, a son of Mr. Danvers’s elder brother, who had quarrelled with his father, and whom they suspected of nourishing a tender liking for Miss Psyche.

As a matter of fact, at that time the attachment between the cousins amounted to little more than a strong partiality on her part, augmented by a deep sense of the injustice her old playmate had suffered at the hands of his family; while he, smarting under his father’s harsh treatment, regarded with the warmest gratitude and admiration the only one of his relations who had the courage to openly espouse his cause.

Yere’s father was a wealthy land-owner, who farmed his own estate, and ruled his family with a rod of iron. Essentially one of the old school, both in habits of thought and life, he was imbued with a thorough contempt for all new-fangled notions, and more particularly for that which asserts the reciprocity of duty owed by parents to their children. He regarded his family much in the same light as he did his horses and hounds, with a rough sort of affection ; accepting, and even returning their caresses, when they were well-behaved and obedient, but repressing with a promptitude verging on ferocity any attempt to act contrary to his will. A hard man of business and a keen sportsman, he could imagine no delight away from his farms and his kennels; and though well advanced in years, kept a private pack of harriers, with which he hunted the country two days a week all through the season.

His family consisted of two daughters and three sons, of whom Yere was the youngest. One daughter was married to an officer in the army, and at Captain Compton’s earnest persuasion the old gentleman had consented to allow his eldest son to enter on a military

IF LOVE BE LOVE.

career. The second son, James, being a confirmed invalid, and not in any way fitted for a hard out-door life, the squire was reluctantly compelled to permit him to follow his natural bent and take Holy Orders. And this sacrifice he made with better grace, since the gift of the living of a neighboring parish was in his hands, and that from time immemorial it had been filled by some member of the family.

Thus there only remained Vere, who could qualify himself to undertake the management of the estate when the old gentleman should feel called upon to abdicate his position of ruling autocrat.

Unfortunate^, the youth had even less inclination for the mode of life his father had laid down for him than his brothers.

His was a thoughtful, romantic nature of disposition, tinged with a deep-seated reverence and love for all that was beautiful and artistic in life, and an equally strong aversion for its hard, cold, matter-of-fact side. Much as he loved the country, the thought of slaving from sunrise to sunset, disregardful of its beauties, and only mindful of squeezing the largest possible amount of labor out of the men, and of crops off the land, was to him inexpressibly repugnant. He had not even the consolation of enjoying the keen, delicious, exhilarating delights of sport. From the time that his legs would reach across a pony,, he had hunted at. his father’s command, but though an excellent horseman, he felt none of the enthusiasm of the true votaries of the chase. The same applied to shooting, and even to the gentler art of fishing. He carried a gun or handled a rod because his brothers did so and his father wished it, but once free from observation, down went fowling-piece or fishing-rod, and gave place to his sketch-book, without which he never stirred abroad.

His mother, a kindly and indulgent old lad}% was aware of Yere’s artistic yearnings, but regarding her husband as a serf does the Czar of all the Russias, dared not encourage them, and only counselled obedience to Mr. Danvers’s behests.

Thus urged, Yere, who besides being of a peace-loving and unselfish disposition, entertained a sincere respect and affection for his father, did his utmost to force himself to take an interest in the career which was thus arbitrarily assigned to him. But after four or five years of patient effort, during which he was constantly at loggerheads with the old gentleman, owing to his w T ant of skill and forgetfulness, begotten of lack of interest in his work, finding the life entirelv abhorrent to him, he summoned heart of grace, and laying bare his secret aspirations to his father, begged him to let him follow the only profession for which he felt himself suited.

Had a thunder-bolt fallen at Mr. Danvers’s feet, he could not have been more dumfounded. For a moment lie was speechless, and then gave vent to his astonishment and wrath in a torrent of oaths, in which such epithets as “ ungrateful puppy,” “ d— d saucy young hound,” predominated.

Yere was no coward. Although he stood pale and silent under the lash of his father’s tongue, he never faltered from his purpose; and when the vials of the old man’s wrath had spent themselves.

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returned to the charge, urging his reasons with a quiet determination which brought on another outburst, and ended by his having to leave the room, to avoid a blow from his irascible parent’s hand.

After this ensued a period of family discord and discomfort.

Yere refused to resume his distasteful labors. Mrs. Danvers interceded in vain for her son. The old man was inexorable, and at last, sick at heart, and utterly alienated from his father, Yere determined to quit his unhappy home and seek a livelihood for himself with liis pencil and brush. He first directed his steps to his uncle’s house at Scarboro’, where for a while he found shelter and sympathy — especially from Miss Psyche. Yere’s father, however, w T ho was as dogged and obstinate as any old hound engaged in the chase, no sooner heard of this than he wrote off, commanding his brother to turn the young rebel out-of-doors. As an inducement to prompt obedience, he offered the post left vacant by Yere to one of his nephews, hinting that, if he proved himself capable and obedient, he might even hope for more substantial favors later on.

John Danvers, who always stood in awe of his self-willed senior, whom he regarded as the head of the house, and considering besides that he had a largo family of boys to provide for, easily persuaded himself and his wife that they had no right to run counter to his brother’s wishes in this matter, and so politely gave Vere to understand that his absence would be preferred to his continued presence.

Yere was not slow to take the hint and his departure, but not before Miss Psyche had given her parents a piece of her mind, and had publicly promised to correspond with and do all in her power to help her favorite cousin.

Scornfully rejecting the pecuniary assistance which his uncle proffered as a sop to his own conscience, Yere went up to London, and gaining admission to one of the schools of art, managed with his own small savings and the help which his mother, from time to time, was able surreptitiously to afford, to keep body and soul together, and pursue his favorite studies.

Meanwhile, Charlie, Mr John Danvers’s second son, was installed in Yere’s place at Danverfield, and Miss Psyche was packed off to Boisy-la- Heine in disgrace.

One of her first actions on reaching the pension was to forward to Yere two five-pound notes out of her slender pocket-money, begging him as a favor to paint her some little pictures for her bed room.

The young man was deeply touched by his cousin’s generous behavior, and not many months later Psyche received half a dozen charming sketches, which were the admiration and envy of the entire establishment, and became indirectly powerful instruments in determining Yere’s future destiny.

IF LOVE BE LOVE.

CHAPTER II. “ One fire burns out another’s burning

One pain is lessened by another’s anguish.”

Shakespeare.

The first few weeks of her sojourn at the Pensionnat Delaforet seemed unutterably dreary to Psyche Danvers. This was her first experience of foreign life, and indeed of boarding-school discipline in any shape or form, and the sense of irksome and unaccustomed restraint was accentuated and imbittered by the recollection of the unhappy circumstances which had led to her banishment.

In spite of a naturally cheerful and self-reliant disposition, when her father bade her a cold good-bye in the school-parlor and left her — the only English girl among a score of giggling, chattering foreigners — Psyche’s heart sank within her, and she knew not where to look for comfort and sympathy.

Her knowledge of the French language being restricted to the feeble smattering imparted by a daily governess at her own home, and consisting mainly of passages from Lafontaine’s Fables, Telemaque, and Ollendorfish sentences committed more or less accurately to memory, she found considerable difficulty in making herself understood.

When her school-mates surrounded her and plied her with ques- . tions, she could not reply by spouting “ Calypso et son ile ” or “ Le Cigale.” Had they asked her “if she had seen the good wife of the industrious gardener,” she could doubtless have retorted with sufficient promptitude, “JSTo; but she had met the wicked baker’s large dog.” But alas! of all the colloquial phrases she had learned at so much pains, not one was applicable to present needs. And so poor Psyche was obliged to remain bewildered and silent, and having no one to whom she could unburden her sorrows, felt desolate and unhappy to the last degree.

Mademoiselle Delaforet, who was kindness personified, was quite concerned to notice the falling off in appearance as in appetite of her new charge. It was just at this period that Carmen Mendes made her most daring attempt to escape; and as, after her recapture, all the other pupils, dreading her violent outbursts of temper, flatly refused to share her room, the old lady, thinking that both Carmen and Psyche, being strangers in a foreign land, they might feel drawn one towards the other, and mutually yield the sympathy and affection for which each was pining, determined to try the experiment. Accordingly, Mademoiselle Dubois, one of the governesses, who, on the strength of having once passed a month at Folkestone, considttf tOVE BE LOVE.

ered herself an accomplished English scholar, was instructed to sound Miss Danvers on the subject.

Psyche was a quick-witted girl, but it required all her powers of divination to enable her to decipher the meaning of the proposal which her equally puzzled preceptress was endeavoring to explain in a confused jargon of English-French and French-English.

Mademoiselle Delaforet and Mademoiselle Clarisse were present during the interview, and were lost in admiration at the fluency and facility with which their compatriot and subordinate carried on the conversation.

“ C’est etonnant! elle a l’accent tout-a-fait Anglais, et des fagons insulaires qu’on pourrait s’y meprendre,” exclaimed the head of the establishment, as Mademoiselle Dubois, after insisting on a “ shake hands, ’’commenced the colloquy with, “I hope you are well, if you please, Mees Danvers. Good-day;” although this was by no means their first meeting that morning.

When at last it dawned upon her that the object of all this preamble was to find out whether she would like the beautiful Spaniard to share her room in place of Mademoiselle Dubois herself, Psyche, feeling that she would be more at her ease with a fellow-pupil than with the little fat governess, who made nearly as much noise asleep as awake, gladly consented.

Up to that time she had only caught occasional glimpses of Carmen Mendes, but what little her imperfect knowledge of the language had enabled her to glean from the other girls’ conversation about the “ belle sauvage ” had awakened in her a strong interest in the woes of her companion in exile. The very audacity of Carmen’s efforts to escape, and the defiant manner in which she submitted to lectures and punishments, respecting neither governesses, school fellows, nor servants when they angered her, but flying at them with the fearless ferocity of a wild cat, proved her pluck. And this was a virtue which Psyche, whose code was modelled to no small extent on her brothers’, largely esteemed. Then, too, the thought that Carmen, like herself, was far from home and friends, aroused her ready sympathies, and made her welcome her new companion with a warmth and cordiality of manner which more than compensated for her deficiency of words, and enthroned her at once in the affections of this beautiful, warm-blooded child of the South.

At sixteen, Carmen, in form and perfection of development, was a full-grown woman. Lithe and active as a panther when roused to bestir herself by any of the wayward fancies or gusts of passion to which she w T as subject, in quiescence she possessed the languid yet stately grace of pose and carriage peculiar to the women of her nation. Her small and beautifully formed head was poised on a neck and bosom of faultless contour, the graceful curves and swelling roundness of which would have delighted the eye of an artist or sculptor. Jet black hair growing low on the forehead, so that its refractory waves almost touched the arched and strongly marked eyebrows, set off a matchless complexion which seemed to have absorbed its delicate coloring from the sun’s rays like a peach grown

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on a southern wall. Add to this large, lustrous eyes, flashing bo many tints, according to her changing moods, that it was impossible to determine their exact shade of color, fringed with long, curling lashes of the darkest hue, a well-shaped nose, and a mouth large, mobile, and cherry-lipped, equally lovely when armed with kisses or pouting in petulance, and you have a portrait — feeble, doubtless, beside the original, but the best we can paint — of Psyche’s new friend.