Beautiful Rose

By Alice Jackson

A Man joined army leaving his beautiful and caring fiance in the military under Louis XIV.

This work is a portrayal of heroism and undefining love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alice Jackson
• Release date: Jun 19, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393386483

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Table of Contents

Beautiful Rose

I

THE SON OF THE FALCONNIER

There was, about the year 1663, a few hundred paces from Saint-Omer, a pretty well-built house, the door of which opened on the great road to Paris. A hedge of hawthorn and elderberry surrounded a garden, where flowers, goats, and children were seen pell-mell. Half a dozen chickens with their chicks were cackling in a corner between cabbages and strawberries; two or three hives, grouped under peach-trees, turned towards the sun their fragrant cones, buzzing with bees, and here and there, on the branches of large pear-trees laden with fruit, cooed some fine wood-tree which was flapping around. of his companion.

The cottage had a fresh and smiling appearance that pleased the heart; Virginia creeper and hops covered its walls; seven or eight irregularly pierced windows, all wide open to the south, seemed to look upon the country with good-natured goodness; a thin stream of smoke trembled at the end of the chimney, where the flexible stems of the parietes hung, and at some hour of the day passed in front of the house, there were heard happy cries of children mixed with the rooster's song. Among these children who came there from every corner of the suburb, there were three who belonged to Guillaume Grinedal, the master of the house: Jacques, Claudine and Pierre.

Guillaume Grinedal, or Father Guillaume, as he was familiarly called, was indeed the best falconer there was in all Artois; but for a long time he had scarcely had occasion to exercise his knowledge. During the regency of Queen Anne of Austria, the lord of Assonville, his master, ruined by the wars, had been forced to sell his lands; but before leaving the country, wishing to reward the fidelity of his old servant, he had made him present the cottage and the garden. Old Grinedal, refusing to serve as new masters, had retired to this dwelling, where he lived by the product of some work and his savings. Became widowed, father Guillaume thought only of his children, that he raised as well as his means permitted him, and most honestly in the world. As long as they were small, the children lived as free as butterflies, rolling on the grass in summer, skating on ice in winter, and running bareheaded in the sun, rain or wind. Then came the time of studies, which consisted in reading in a big book on the knees of the good man Grinedal, and writing on a slate, which did not prevent one finding still the leisure of picking the strawberries in the woods and crayfish in the streams.

Jacques, the elder of the family, was, at the age of seventeen or eighteen, a tall boy who seemed to have more than twenty. He was not a talker, but he acted with extreme boldness and resolution as soon as he thought he was right. His strength made him dread of all the schoolboys of the suburb and the suburbs, as his righteousness made him love him. He was readily taken to judge in all the quarrels of children; Jacques made his decision, supported it with the need for some good punches, and everyone returned happy. When there was an argument and battles for cherries or a top of Germany, as soon as Jacques was seen arriving, the most boisterous fell silent and the weakest straightened up; Jacques dismissed the fighters,

Sometimes he spoke to someone bigger and stronger than himself; but the fear of being beaten did not stop him. Ten times overwhelmed, he rose ten times; vanquished the day before, he began again the next day, and such was the empire of his courage, supported by the feeling of justice inherent in him, that he always ended by winning. But this determined little boy, who would not have recoiled before ten gendarmes of the king, was troubled and stammered in front of a little girl who could be four years younger than himself. It was enough of the presence of Miss Suzanne de Malzonvilliers to stop him in the midst of his most violent exercises. As soon as he saw her, he tumbled down the poplars where he found the magpies, released the arm of the naughty funny that he was correcting, or letting go of the bull he was fighting. The young lady needed only an imperceptible sign from her finger, just a glance, to make Jacques, all red and confused, come running to her side.

Mademoiselle de Malzonvilliers's father was a wealthy merchant who had made the most of fortune in the time of the Fronde, when so many others ruined themselves. He had not always been called by the brilliant name of Malzonvilliers, which was that of a land where he had put most of his good; but as a shrewd man, he had thought that he and other bourgeois of his acquaintance could exchange the common name of his father for a name which did honor to his crowns. M. Dufailly had become progressively and by a series of skilful transformations, first M. du Failly, then M. du Failly de Malzonvilliers, and finally M. de Malzonvilliers. Now he was only waiting for a favorable opportunity to give himself a title, baron or knight. At the At a time when his business necessitated frequent journeys through the province, and often even to Paris, M. de Malzonvilliers had often entrusted the management of his property to Guillaume Grinedal, who passed for the most honest craftsman of Saint-Omer. This confidence, of which M. de Malzonvilliers had always been found, had established between the falconer and the dealer the intimate and daily relations, which benefited the three children, Jacques, Claudine, and Pierre. Suzanne, who was about the age of Claudine, had masters of all kinds, and the lessons were used for all, so that the sons of Father Guillaume soon found more than half of the petty bourgeois Saint Omer. Malzonvilliers had often entrusted the management of his property to Guillaume Grinedal, who was considered to be the most honest craftsman of Saint-Omer. This confidence, of which M. de Malzonvilliers had always been found, had established between the falconer and the dealer the intimate and daily relations, which benefited the three children, Jacques, Claudine, and Pierre. Suzanne, who was about the age of Claudine, had masters of all kinds, and the lessons were used for all, so that the sons of Father Guillaume soon found more than half of the petty bourgeois Saint Omer. Malzonvilliers had often entrusted the management of his property to Guillaume Grinedal, who was considered to be the most honest craftsman of Saint-Omer. This confidence, of which M. de Malzonvilliers had always been found, had established between the falconer and the dealer the intimate and daily relations, which benefited the three children, Jacques, Claudine, and Pierre. Suzanne, who was about the age of Claudine, had masters of all kinds, and the lessons were used for all, so that the sons of Father Guillaume soon found more than half of the petty bourgeois Saint Omer. who benefited the three children, Jacques, Claudine and Pierre. Suzanne, who was about the age of Claudine, had masters of all kinds, and the lessons were used for all, so that the sons of Father Guillaume soon found more than half of the petty bourgeois Saint Omer. who benefited the three children, Jacques, Claudine and Pierre. Suzanne, who was about the age of Claudine, had masters of all kinds, and the lessons were used for all, so that the sons of Father Guillaume soon found more than half of the petty bourgeois Saint Omer.

Jacques took advantage especially of this teaching; as he had the right and persevering spirit, he was bent on things until he understood them. He was often met by the fields, his head bare, his feet in his hooves, and a book in his hand, and he did not let him go until he had put it in his head. Only one thing could distract him from this occupation, it was the pleasure he felt in seeing his father wield the old weapons brought from the four corners of the city and the neighboring castles to restore them. Guillaume Grinedal was the best musketeer in the canton; it was an art he had learned at the time when he was a master of falconry at M. d'Assonville, and who would have brought him a lot of money if he had wanted it. exercise in the hope of gain. But, in his condition, he acted as an artist, not wanting anything but the just wages of his work, which he always valued less than he was worth. Jacques often amused himself by helping him, and when he had stuffed a hauberk or some sword, he considered himself the happiest boy in the country, provided, however, that Mademoiselle de Malzonvilliers gave him his daily smile at daybreak. When Suzanne strolled through the falconer's garden in the company of the children and domestic animals, who lived in perfect harmony, she offered, with Jacques, the strangest contrast that could be seen. Jacques was tall, strong, vigorous. His black eyes, full of firmness and brilliancy, shone under a bruised forehead with tan and all charged with thick blond hair curls. At the slightest gesture of his arms, it was understood that in a jiffy he would have torn a young tree or bent an ox on his hocks; but at the slightest word of Suzanne, he blushed. Suzanne, on the contrary, had an exquisite delicacy of forms and features; at fifteen she appeared to be twelve or thirteen scarcely; his pale face, his slender waist, his frail limbs indicated a nervous organization of extreme delicacy. His feet and hands belonged to childhood. But the calm and radiant glance of her large blue eyes, full of life and intelligence, the clear and firm contours of her mouth announced at the same time the resolution of an honest and courageous soul. She had the body of a child and the smile of a woman. When he happened to to fall asleep in the shade of an oak tree, his head resting on Jacques' shoulder, the poor boy remained motionless as long as the sleep of his girlfriend lasted, and, in a silent contemplation, he admired the young and pure face which rested on his heart with so naive abandonment. When the girl opened her pink and serious lips, Jacques held his breath to hear better. Her soul oscillated at Suzanne's voice like the branch of the willow at the slightest breath of the wind, and at times he felt, as he listened to it, lift to his eyelids tears whose cause was unknown to him, but whose divine source was pouring out in his heart. he admired the young and pure face which rested on his heart with so naive abandonment. When the girl opened her pink and serious lips, Jacques held his breath to hear better. Her soul oscillated at Suzanne's voice like the branch of the willow at the slightest breath of the wind, and at times he felt, as he listened to it, lift to his eyelids tears whose cause was unknown to him, but whose divine source was pouring out in his heart. he admired the young and pure face which rested on his heart with so naive abandonment. When the girl opened her pink and serious lips, Jacques held his breath to hear better. Her soul oscillated at Suzanne's voice like the branch of the willow at the slightest breath of the wind, and at times he felt, as he listened to it, lift to his eyelids tears whose cause was unknown to him, but whose divine source was pouring out in his heart.

One day in the month of May, 1658, five years before the beginning of this story, and shortly before the glorious battle of the Dunes, Jacques, who might then be thirteen or fourteen years old, saw him coming to him. was walking in a meadow, a short distance from Saint-Omer, a stranger dressed in rather nasty clothes. It might have been mistaken for some deserter, for his attire, which was as much of the civilian as of the soldier, if the stranger had not been forged. One could hardly be a soldier with a lump on the shoulder, and Jacques thought it must be a peddler. The stranger followed a path traced by the market gardeners between the vegetable plants, and sometimes raised himself on a hillock to look over the hedges in the countryside. When he was close to Jacques, he stopped and began to consider it for a moment. Jacques was leaning against a big apple tree, his hands in the pockets of a linen blouse, hissing between his teeth. After a few minutes of reflection, the stranger walked towards him.

Are you from this country, my boy? he said to him.

Yes, sir, replied Jacques.

If Jacques had been asked why he had greeted the man he thought was a peddler by the name of Monsieur , he would have been hard pressed to explain it. The stranger had an air which imposed on Jacques, although the son of Guillaume Grinedal could not allow himself to be easily intimidated. He spoke, looked, and acted with extreme simplicity, but in this simplicity, there was more nobility and pride than in all the importance of M. de Malzonvilliers.

If that is so, said the stranger, you will probably be able to show me somebody who can go on a long horse race?

"You have that one in front of you, sir.

-You?

-Myself.

-But, my boyfriend, you look very young! Do you know that it's a matter of galloping seven or eight leagues without unleashing?

-Do not worry about age; give me only the horse, and you will see.

The stranger smiled, then added:

-It is restive and full of fire ...

-I have good arms and good eye, he can run ...

"Come on, then; the horse is not far away.

The stranger and Jacques left the meadow and entered a small wood. In the middle, behind a thicket, Jacques saw a horse pawing around an abalone to which he was attached. A brake on his nostrils prevented him from neighing. Jacques had never seen such a beautiful animal, even in the stables of M. de Malzonvilliers. He approached the horse, caressed his rump, untied the brake which irritated him, and was preparing to jump into the saddle, when the stranger gently put his hand on his shoulder.

Before leaving, he said to her, "at least you must know where you must go.

That's right, replied Jacques, who already had his foot in the stirrup.

The impatience to gallop on such a proud horse had made him forget the purpose of the race.

"You probably know where the little village of Witternesse is?

-Very well: about a league on the right, on the side of Aire.

"That's where you'll go; Now remember this: before entering Witternesse, you will see on the left a farm at the end of a field of rye. There are four windows with a dovetail weather vane on the roof. You will knock three times at the door; on the third blow, you will pronounce the name of Bergamo aloud; a man will come out and you will give him this paper ...

At the end of these words, the stranger took a little wallet from his pocket, took a pencil, and began to write.

-Do you read? he asked Jacques sharply.

-Yes, sir, very well.

The stranger frowned; but this movement was so rapid that Jacques did not have time to notice it. For a moment the stranger turned the pencil between his fingers; then, taking a sudden resolution, he quickly wrote a few words, tore up the page, and presenting it to Jacques, fixed a deep glance on the child. Jacques examined the paper.

I read, but I do not understand, he said.

The stranger smiles.

It is not necessary for you to understand, he went on; put the paper in your pocket and jump on horseback ... Good! ... Parbleu, my boy, you're holding you up cheerfully! ... if you do it that way, you will not be used to fascinate some ditch ... However, always have them eyes on the ears of the animal ... he is whimsical; but when he is in the mood to make a discrepancy, he has the honesty to warn his cavalier by a certain movement of the ear, the loins of many of whom have kept the memory. Ah! you laugh! you will see, my boy!

As Jacques unleashed his bridle to the horse, the stranger restrained him.

-A word again. Do you know in the neighborhood a house of good people where I can wait for your return without fearing the indiscreet?

-I know ten, but there is one especially that will do your business. Get out of the wood, follow the path where I met you, take the high road and stop in front of the first house you find on your right. You will recognize it easily. Everything is open, doors and windows. You will be at my father's house, Guillaume Grinedal, at home.

-Devil! but I'll be fine, "said the stranger with a smile. Go now.

He withdrew his hand, which was gripping the curb, and the horse left. A quarter of an hour later, the stranger entered Guillaume Grinedal's garden. At the sight of a stranger, the falconer left a long pommel pistol that he furbished and got up.

-What are you asking? he said to him.

-L'hospitalité.

-Come in. What I have is yours. If you are hungry, you will eat; if you are thirsty, you will drink; and for as poor as I am, I always have a bed for the traveler whom God leads.

In speaking thus, Father Guillaume had discovered his brow; his honest features, wrinkled by work, retained an expression of dignity which made him appear above his condition.

I thank you, said the stranger; my visit will be short. When your son returns, I will leave.

Guillaume questioned him with his eyes.

-Oh! said his guest, "he runs no danger. Before the moon has risen, he will be back. I am a merchant from Arras who goes to Lille for the business of my business; the country is bad, and I thought that your son might, more surely than I, take charge of a suitcase left at the hands of my valet at Witternesse. We can not take too much precautions in the times we live.

While the stranger was speaking, Pierre, Claudine, and a few children, at first scattered in the garden, had slowly gathered around him, with that eager and wild curiosity which seeks a thousand detours to satisfy itself and is surprised at everything. what she sees. William removed them from the gesture and begged the stranger to follow him, to which he submitted without deliberating.

You are right, said the falconer, when they reached the lower hall of the house, "we live in a time when we must surround ourselves with precautions. But in the house of an honest man there is no need; so, my gentleman, do not hesitate to disguise your language and manners.

At these words, the stranger shuddered.

I do not ask you for your quality and your name, said the falconer. The host is sacred; his secret is like his person; but it is not necessary to speak in front of the children; the children have the right senses, they understand and guess; as soon as you open your mouth they listen. To be quiet is therefore prudent. I have gray hair, I have not seen anything, heard nothing, understood nothing.

-You are a good man! exclaimed the stranger impetuously. Mordieu! I only have to hide with you. You are not mistaken, Master Guillaume, I am ...

Perhaps I do not suppose, hastily added the falconer, "and that is why I take the liberty of interrupting you, so as not to know more about it. Whether you are Spanish or French, you are no less a traveler in my custody. This roof protects you. If you are one of those who drew the sword against their king and their country, it is for God to judge you. I'm doing my homework; can you say: I'm doing mine.

The fake merchant lowered his eyes under the serene look of the artisan, and the blush passed over his brow like a flash. But immediately recovering his serenity, he saluted the old falconer with his hand.

"Well, my good fellow, I will not load your memory with a memory; but by the name of my father, I will not forget yours, nor what you do.

Two hours passed, and the stranger shared the falconer's dinner, at ease, as in the tent of a soldier, or in the house of a great lord. Then two others passed again; at the end of the fourth, anxiety raised the tip of her eyebrows. He walked to the window and opened it, listening; night had come, and the road was without noise. Soon he left the cottage and walked towards the garden gate. Father William followed him. As well as the darkness, the silence was deep.

-Your son is brave? said the stranger abruptly to the falconer.

-Honest and brave as steel.

-He would defend a deposit entrusted to his fidelity?

-This is only a child, but he would be killed like a man.

"Then I'm afraid for your son, Master William.

The father did not answer, but in the rays of the moon the stranger saw the paleness spread on his forehead. Both remained silent, their eyes fastened on the white line of the road that was drowning in a vague and boundless horizon. The mysteries of the night filled the space with confused, rapid, uncertain noises. Guillaume Grinedal leaned on the sticks of a hedgerow; we could hear the wood cracking under the effort of his hands. The gentleman wrinkled the lapels of his coat.

-Nothing, nothing yet! he murmured. Oh! I would give a thousand louis to hear the galloping of a horse!

As he spoke, a detonation sounded far away, farther than the wood whose thick shadows cut across the horizon. The hedge broke under the hand of the falconer, who jumped on the road.

-A shot! Did you hear it? exclaimed the gentleman.

I have heard it, replied Guillaume Grinedal, who threw himself flat on the road.

Two more detonations sounded again, but the sound came from so far away, that it took the ear of a father or a proscript to distinguish them from the thousand noises that floated under the deep sky. Guillaume Grinedal listened with his ear glued to the ground.

-Well? said the gentleman.

-Nothing ... nothing yet! My heart beats and my ears ring, "said the poor father. Ah! yes, now, a thump, jerky, continuous! He's coming ... it's galloping like a horse!

-Oh! the brave child! exclaimed the stranger, with explosion.

Guillaume Grinedal said nothing, but discovering his forehead whitened by the years, he raised his eyes to the sky and prayed. The gentleman looked in the space, his head bent forward: it was as if his sparkling eyes wanted to pierce the dark transparency of the night.

-I see it, mordieu! I see him! The horse has wings and the child is on it.

The gentleman seizes the falconer's arm.

-Do you not recognize it? he said.

But the falconer thanked God; two big tears trembled at the edge of her eyelids, and her agitated lips murmured thanksgiving. The stranger withdrew his hand, and full of a religious emotion, raised his hat. In a few leaps the horse came upon them. The child jumped on the road, and fell into the falconer's arms.

-My father! if he cried.

The father, silent, pressed him to his heart.

But, said Guillaume Grinedal suddenly, "there is blood on your clothes. Are you hurt?

It's nothing, replied Jacques, "a bullet tore my blouse, there, near the shoulder, and scratched me, I think!

You are a valiant boy, on my faith, said the gentleman; if ever you enlist under the flags of His Majesty King Louis, true God! you will make your way. That, see, do you have the suitcase?

Here she is on the horse's rump.

-Poor Phoebus! You did it roughly, huh? said the stranger cheerfully, passing his hand over the horse's neck.

Phoebus rubbed his foaming nostrils on the gentleman's coat, listened to the master's voice, neighed, and stomped the ground.

"Have you been sued? said the stranger, unfastening the bag.

A little league from Witternesse, I had to leave the main road to avoid a party of Spanish marauders, replied Jacques. Two leagues farther on, in front of Roquetoire, near Blendecques, I fell in the midst of a band of hussars and imperialists who beat the platform. They pushed me hard for a quarter of an hour. But Phoebus has good legs. At the entrance of the wood they lost my tracks. Ah! I forgot! Bergamo has sent me a letter for you. There she is.

The gentleman broke the seal, and approaching the window, he read quickly in the light of a lamp.

"That's good, my child. If some day we meet, old man, you man, in whatever situation we are both, you will be able to appeal to the guest of Guillaume Grinedal; he will remember.

At break of day, the stranger jumped on the saddle of Phoebus, who had forgotten, between a fresh litter and two bushels of oats, the fatigues of the evening. The stranger wore a peasant costume of Artois.

Good-bye, William, he said to the falconer, holding out his hand; I offer nothing to you: your hospitality is one of those which are not paid for, and I fear to offend you by giving you gold. Take my hand, and tighten it without fear. Under whatever coat I hide, it is, I swear to you, the hand of a loyal gentleman. As for you, my friend Jacques, preserve this honest heart and determined courage, and fortune will come to your aid: if God gives me life, I will pray him to give me the opportunity to help you as you do me. rescued

Jacques's large black eyes stared at the stranger, all brilliant with proud joy. With his misshapen shoulder and his counterfeit chest, the false Arras merchant seemed to him nobler and more imposing than all the king's officers whom he had yet seen. When he took her hand, Jacques's heart beat quickly, and when, pressing the flanks of Phoebus, the stranger ran off at a gallop, long father and son followed him with eyes, moved and silent. As they were returning to the garden, Jacques' foot rolled a shiny object that fell on the sand. It was a guilloché gold medallion.

See, father, said the child; the stranger will probably have lost it.

"Keep him, my son; it is perhaps Providence that sends it to you.

II

THE FIRST TEARS

The memory of this adventure remained in the memory of Jacques. Time could weaken the details, but the whole thing remained like a luminous point deep in his heart. From the day of his meeting with the stranger, he took a more lively taste for the things of war. When a squadron passed on the road, banner in the wind and trumpet in mind, he ran after her as far as her legs could carry and hummed the brass bands for a whole week. At times, too, he sometimes regimented the children of the suburb, and engaged with them in a great simulacrum of battle, or some imitation of siege, which always ended in furious mingling, where his arms were marvelous; every child he was, he already showed himself with a surprising skill in the handling of weapons, sword, sword, ax, spades, daggers, pistols or carabiners. The words of the Arras dealer:If ever you get on your nerves, you'll make your way , still buzzing in his ears; but we must add that there was no exercise, no review, no combat, no assault, which Jacques willingly abandoned to follow Mademoiselle de Malzonvilliers when she went with Claudine to look for strawberries in the woods. On these occasions, which were renewed every day, the little general sighed with all his heart, and remained entirely forbidden when Suzanne's hand met his hand. The little girl made him go and come at will, but with so much natural grace and so charming an air that Jacques would have left for the end of the world without deliberating, at a sign of his blue eyes.

Years passed between studies, battles and walks. At that time we were in the midst of troubles and wars; we only heard of attacked cities, of surprised camps, of deadly expeditions. Cardinal Mazarin and the king's party fought against the parliament, the princes, and the Spaniard. M. de Conde held the campaign, sometimes victorious, sometimes vanquished; but until then the town of Saint-Omer, protected by a good garrison, had not suffered from the depredations of the enemy. Jacques would have left for a long time, if he had not been restrained by the charm he felt at living near Mademoiselle de Malzonvilliers. This feeling was all the more imperious, that he did not realize it. Chance, this great architect of the future, made him read in his own heart. One day when he was sitting in a corner of the garden, his head bowed, and rolling a dagger between his fingers, his sister Claudine came very gently to hit him on the shoulder. Jacques flinched.

-What are you thinking about? said the mischievous.

-I do not know.

"Do you want me to tell you? You think of mamzelle Suzanne.

-Why to her rather than to another? cried Jacques, a little confused.

-Because Suzanne is Suzanne.

-Beautiful reason!

Very good, resumed the child, whose clever smile half opened his rosy lips. Oh! I understand myself!

-So, explain yourself.

Here, Jacques, added Claudine, with a serious air, "do you think of Madame Suzanne, because you love her?

Jacques blushed to the roots of his hair; he jumped up; a new trouble filled his soul, and a thousand confused sensations animated him. The lightning had in his mind, he grabbed Claudine by the arm.

-My God! what have you got? exclaimed Claudine, frightened at the abrupt change which had taken place in her brother's features.

-List me, my sister; you're just a little girl ...

I'll be fifteen, come apricots, said the child.

But, continued Jacques, "they say that little girls get on better with these things than big boys. Why did you tell me that I loved mamzelle Suzanne? It may be, but I do not know.

-Lady! we see that at first glance. To say how, I could hardly do it; but I have understood many things that I can not explain to you, because I do not know how to take them. First, you do not speak to him like the other girls you know; and then you have sweet eyes like honey when you look at it; you do great tricks to avoid it, and yet you always meet her, or you seek her everywhere, and when you find her, you stop short, and it looks like you want to hide. Well, I do not know why or how, but you like it.

That's true, murmured Jacques, letting go of his sister's arm, "it's true, I love him.

Her voice, pronouncing these words, so sweet to the heart, had something grave and sad that moved Claudine.

Well, she said, passing her pretty arms around her brother's neck, "are not you going to be afflicted now? Is it so painful a thing to love people, that we must take this unhappy air? Now you make me cry now.

Poor Claudine wiped the corner of her eyes with her apron, then, smiling with the mobility of childhood, she raised herself on tiptoe, and, approaching her mouth with Jacques's ear, she continued:

Bah! in your place, I would rejoice. Suzanne is not your sister! I'm sure she loves you as much as you love her: you'll marry her.

Jacques kissed Claudine on both cheeks.

You are a good sister, said he; Now, I know what honesty commands me.

And Jacques, emerging from the embrace of his sister, left the garden. He was going straight to the castle, when, at the turn of a hedge, he met M. de Malzonvilliers.

I was looking for you, sir, said he, saluting him.

-Me? And what have you to say to me, my boy?

-I have to talk to you about a very important matter.

-In truth? Well, speak, I'm listening.

Sir, I am now eighteen and a few months old, resumed Jacques, with the serious air of an ambassador; I am an honest boy with good arms and a little education; I will one day have two or three thousand livres from an uncle who is parish priest in Picardy; because for the good that can come back to me from my father's side, I decided to leave it to my sister Claudine. In this state, I come to ask you if you will give me your daughter in marriage.

-In marriage, yours! What are you telling me? exclaimed M. de

Malzonvilliers, dazed.

"I say, monsieur, that I love Miss Suzanne; the respect I owe you and my duty do not allow me to inform you of it before having told you of my feelings. That's why I come to beg you to make fun for your son-in-law.

During this speech, Jacques, hat in hand, a handkerchief rolled around his neck and in gray linen, was standing in the middle of the path.

I do not need to tell you, he added, "that your consent will make me perfectly happy, and that I will have no other desire than to acknowledge all your kindness by my conduct and my devotion.

Suddenly M. de Malzonvilliers burst out laughing. The strangeness of the proposition and the coolness with which it was made at first made him dizzy; but at Jacques's new address, he could not help but laugh in the poor boy's face. All the blood of Jacques rose in his face. In spite of the illusions with which young people cower, her native good sense told her in a low voice that her request would not be accepted, but her candid honesty did not allow her to believe that she could give anything to joke.

My proposal has made you happy, sir, he resumed with a half-suppressed emotion. I did not expect, I confess, the honor of causing you so much joy.

-Eh! my friend, I did not expect such an adventure either!

Do we ever live like this? It's more fun than a comedy by M.

Corneille, word of honor!

Jacques tore the edges of his hat with his fingers, but he was silent. M. de Malzonvilliers was still laughing. At last, no longer, he sat down on a stone quarter on the back of the path.

You will have plenty of time to laugh, said Jacques, "but now is the time to answer me; you can not guess, sir, what has been going on in my heart since I know that I love Miss Suzanne. I wait.

-Oh that! My boy, are you crazy? replied the attendant, wiping his eyes.

-A madman does not honestly ask the hand of a young person to his father.

"Is it serious, then, that you speak?

-Very seriously.

"Be silent, and do not look at me with that air of an unhappy shepherd, or you will make me laugh at choking me, and I warn you that it would be an abuse of my position; I am very tired, my friend.

"It is not my intention; I only want to know what your feelings are.

"Go to hell with my feelings! Do I have time to enjoy the nonsense trotting through the head of a crazy master! See, then, the beautiful alliance! the daughter of M. Malzonvilliers with the son of Guillaume Grinedal the falconer!

Make fun of me as you please, sir, I will not be offended, exclaimed Jacques, eagerly; but beware of touching in the name of my father, for as long as there is a God in heaven, if anyone insulted him, even if it were Suzanne's father, I would avenge myself.

-And what would you do, funny?

-I would strangle him!

And Jacques lifted two strong hands over his head, slowly joining the effect to the threat. M. de Malzonvilliers rose abruptly and put his hand on his neck; he seemed to already feel Jacques's fingers knotted behind his neck. But Jacques suddenly lowered his arms, and from his violent emotion there remained only a great pallor on his face.

I beg your pardon for my passion, he went on; I should never have forgotten the benefits you have bestowed on my family; this anger is the fault of my youth and not of my heart; forget it, sir. You might not mind me, if you knew how much I have suffered since I love. I live only for Miss Suzanne, and I feel that I can not get it. But if in order to deserve it I must undertake something impossible, tell me so, and with the help of God, it seems to me that I will succeed. Speak, sir, what must I do? Whatever it is, I am ready to obey, and if I do not succeed, I will leave my body there.

There is always in the expression of a true feeling an accent that moves; tears had come to Jacques's eyes, and his attitude expressed both anguish and resignation; M. de Malzonvilliers was at bottom a good man; vanity had obscured his judgment without spoiling his heart; he felt touched and held out his hand to Jacques.

Do not be sorry, my friend, he said to him, "or take things with such vivacity. You like, you say! It was not so long ago that I still loved; but I hardly remember what I loved at eighteen. You will forget how I forgot, and you will not be worse off.

Jacques shook his head sadly.

-Yes! Yes! we always say that, "continued the therapist. Eh! God, at your age, I thought I was already in the river because I had lost the object of my first flame! But, well! I have lost many others since! Let's talk about it, my boy; you will hear me, because you have good sense. Several gentlemen of the country ask me for Suzanne's hand. May I, in conscience, prefer you, you who have nothing, neither state nor fortune, and repel them, who have all this?

Jacques lowered his head, and a tear fell on the dust of the path.

-Parbleu! if you were rich and noble, continued M. de Malzonvilliers, I would not want another son-in-law than you!

-If I was rich and noble? exclaimed Jacques.

-Yes really.

"Well, sir, I will strive to win fortune and nobility.

"Listen, my friend, these things do not come very quickly. I do not promise to wait.

Jacques hesitated a moment; then, raising his eyes to heaven, he went on:

"In the custody of God, sir, I will hurry as much as I can.

-Poor boy! murmured M. de Malzonvilliers, while Jacques was leaving, it's a pity he was not a marquis, or at least a millionaire.

Jacques took a slow but firm step towards one side of the Malzonvilliers Park, where Suzanne used to walk at that hour, a book or some needlework in her hand. He approached him resolutely and told him the conversation he had had with his father; his voice was trembling, but his gaze sure. Suzanne had felt herself blush at the first word of Jacques; but, soon recovering from her confusion, she had fastened on her young lover that clear and serene glance which shone like a star in the depths of her blue eyes.

Your father did not leave me with hope, mademoiselle, said Jacques after he had finished his story; however, I am determined to do everything to earn you. Do you allow me?

-Do you like me, Jacques? the girl said in that vibrant, sweet voice that sounded like crystal.

-If I love you! I would give my life for my sister Claudine; but, Mademoiselle, it seems to me, and God forgive me this blasphemy, that I will give the salvation of my soul for you!

I will be your wife one day, my friend, said Suzanne, extending her hand to Jacques, who felt his heart melt with these words. We are both young, almost two children, she added with a smile, but God will come to our aid.

-I have a strong heart! exclaimed Jacques; O miss, I will win you!

-I count, and I promise you to be only to you!

Jacques wanted to kiss Suzanne's hand; but Suzanne opened her arms to him, and the two children embraced each other. Both were both serious and ingenuous. They believed in their hearts.

Go and deserve me, said Suzanne, her cheeks moist and reddening; I will wait for you while praying to God.

They exchanged a last oath and separated.

Jacques went back to the cottage, serious, but no longer sad. He immediately told Guillaume Grinedal what had happened during the day.

We love each other, he added, "and we will get married.

The father looked at the swallows fleeing in the distance in the blue sky.

-Clothes of lovers! he said, shaking his bald head. But whether they last or they pass, it does not matter, my son, we must leave.

It was my intention, answered Jacques.

Father and son shook hands.

The daughter belongs to the father, said Guillaume Grinedal; M. de Malzonvilliers has been good to us, he must not accuse you of having wished to sow disorder in his house. You will leave tomorrow without trying to see Suzanne again.

Jacques hesitated.

It must be, repeated the old man.

I will leave, said the son; I will leave without seeing her again.

Towards evening, at the usual hour, they sat down around the table. The dinner was silent. Jacques did not eat, and the chorus of songs he used to hum was dying on his lips. Claudine did not want to speak, for fear of bursting into tears; she sometimes turned away to wipe her eyes. Jacques and Guillaume tried to appear calm, but the pieces they carried to the mouth, they rested intact on their plate. After the vigil, the father kissed his three children; he kept Jacques longer on his heart.

Go to sleep, said he; but before, ask God for courage for the life that tomorrow begins for you.

The father withdrew, and the three children began to cry; neither of them had the strength to express his sorrow, and each of them found less words to say than kisses to give. Towards break of day, the family meets at the threshold of the door. Jacques had put on heavy shoes and gaiters; a leather belt hugged his linen blouse around his waist; a little knapsack hung over his shoulders, and his hand was armed with a strong stick of holly. Pierre and Claudine were sobbing. Jacques was a little pale, but his eyes had regained all his confidence and firmness.

Where are you going, my son? said the father.

Already, at that time, Paris was the magical city, the radiant center which solicited all the active intelligences, the audacious minds, the anxious imaginations. Jacques had not for a moment thought of the details of the extreme party he had chosen; however, at the question of his father, he answered without hesitation:

-In Paris.

-It's a big city, full of perils and surprises. Many have arrived as poor as you, who have left rich; but it is better to leave it miserable than to leave it honest. God bless you, my son.

Jacques knelt between his brother and his sister, and Guillaume put his trembling hands on the young forehead of his firstborn. After he had got up, the father wanted to slip into James' hand a purse where gold was shining, but Jacques returned it to him:

Keep this gold, said he; it is Claudine's dowry; I have arms, and in my knapsack fifty pounds that I have won.

The father did not insist; but, drawing from his bosom a jewel attached to a ribbon, he put it on Jacques's neck.

"Do you recognize him, Jacques? he said to him; it is the medallion lost by the stranger five years ago. You have won, so keep it; if you find the gentleman to whom he belongs, you will return it to him, and perhaps he will remember the hospitality of our roof. Let us embrace now, and may God lead you.

Jacques kissed Guillaume and Pierre first; Claudine had remained a little behind; when it was her turn, she jumped on Jacques's neck.

I kiss you for me first, she said to him in a whisper, so low, that her voice slid like a whisper in the traveler's ear; now it's for her .

Jacques flinched.

Yes, for her , replied his sister; she herself recommended it to me.

Jacques squeezed Claudine over her heart with passion at Suzanne's memory. He looked at the sky, full of new courage, his eye bright with hope. The first light of day was spreading over the humid countryside; on the horizon floated a thousand golden vapors, and the road was lost in the midst of solitudes bathed in light. Paris was there, behind this blazing horizon; Suzanne was the price of triumph. Jacques pulled away from Claudine's arms and left.

III

A STEP IN LIFE

A few hundred paces from the cottage, the road made an elbow and climbed a mound. At the top, Jacques turned around. On the threshold of the door, Guillaume Grinedal was standing, and near him, kneeling on the ground, Pierre and Claudine holding his hands between theirs. Behind him, Jacques left all his happiness, all that he had loved: the garden full of shade and freshness, the quiet retreat where he had stammered his first prayer and dreamed his first dreams of love; the great campaigns which had protected his soul from their solitude and serenity; the vast castle, veiled with old abalone, where so often he had sighed, without knowing the cause of his sighs, with the innocent sounds of two childish lips singing a song of the country. The tawny oxen lost in the fat meadows, the bulls ruminating in the shade of the beeches, the flock running along the path, the black swarms of crows scattered around the oaks, the girl passing barefoot the bulletin-board brook, the heavy farmer pressing the lazy hitch, and up to the larks huddled in the hollow of the furrows or lost in the immense azure, all the beings and all the things of the creation had a part in this life which had been released like a limpid and fresh wave between two banks of soft grass. Behind him was rest and peace; it was the unknown and his chances without number before him. the heavy farmer pressing the sluggish team, and even to the larks huddled in the hollow of the furrows or lost in the immense azure, all the beings and all the things of the creation had a part in this life which had expired like a limpid and fresh wave between two shores of soft grass. Behind him was rest and peace; it was the unknown and his chances without number before him. the heavy farmer pressing the sluggish team, and even to the larks huddled in the hollow of the furrows or lost in the immense azure, all the beings and all the things of the creation had a part in this life which had expired like a limpid and fresh wave between two shores of soft grass. Behind him was rest and peace; it was the unknown and his chances without number before him.

Jacques leaned on the holly stick, and looked away; a thousand forgotten memories awoke in a crowd in his heart; for a long time he listened to their confused voices, which repeated the past full of sweet joys and honest labors, and took pleasure in their mysterious tales, their eyes turned to the beautiful shades which made Malzonvilliers a green belt. Two tears that came to wet his hands, without him feeling them running down his cheeks, drew him from his dream. How many others had not already fallen on the dust! Jacques shook his head and rushed to the back of the mound. After spending the night at Fauquembergues, he arrived the next day at Fruges. In the inn where he stopped, a few roosters, sitting around a table, were laying out a quarter of sheep; they chatted briskly among themselves, and Jacques noticed with surprise that their wagons were still all on the road; the animals, unbridled only, ate from their provende spread on the ground. At the first words he heard, Jacques realized that a troop of stage drummers had entered the country between Aire and Saint-Omer. They belonged, it was said, to a body of Hungarian and Croat soldiers whom the Spanish government had dismissed, and who sought to collect a large booty before leaving Flanders. platform had entered the country, between Aire and Saint-Omer. They belonged, it was said, to a body of Hungarian and Croat soldiers whom the Spanish government had dismissed, and who sought to collect a large booty before leaving Flanders. platform had entered the country, between Aire and Saint-Omer. They belonged, it was said, to a body of Hungarian and Croat soldiers whom the Spanish government had dismissed, and who sought to collect a large booty before leaving Flanders.

The well-to-do inhabitants were hastily retreating on the side of Saint-Pol or Montreuil; the others hid their most precious objects. Women and children were seen on the carriages of the rollers, and from time to time passed on the road the families of gentlemen, accompanied by their servants armed to the teeth. Jacques was accustomed to these scenes of tumult and terror. He advanced to one of the rollers, and asked him if the enemies were still far away.

-Who knows? replied the man. Maybe ten leagues away, maybe a hundred steps away. The hussars go fast, and it is better to be between good walls than by roads.

Of those who hastily decamped, no one had seen anything yet, yet no one stopped and did not even dare to turn his head. Jacques thought that everyone was fleeing because he was running away from the others, and as a resolute boy, he decided to continue his journey, wanting to reach Hesdin before dark. The day was hot, and Jacques had been walking since morning; the appetite began to be felt with fatigue. Noticing neither Hungarians nor Croats, Jacques threw himself on the side of the road, near a fountain which ran under the shade of a bunch of trees, and taking from his valise some provisions which he had provided himself with. At Fruges, he began to eat breakfast. In this place the grass was thick and the shade cool; Jacques looked on the road, and seeing nothing, neither an infantryman nor a horseman, he lay like a shepherd of Virgil at the foot of a beech tree. He thought first and very much of Mademoiselle de Malzonvilliers and sighed; then, to the memory of the good people he had met flying like hares, he smiled; he was probably thinking of many other things when he fell asleep.

Jacques only wanted to rest; but the youth proposes and the fresh grass disposes. He slept like one sleeps at eighteen, when a great noise of neighing and pawing horses woke him with a start. Seven or eight horsemen were circling around him, while two others unfastened his knapsack after jumping from the saddle. Jacques jumped up, and with the first blow rolled one of the looters to the ground; he was going to take the other by the throat, when three or four horsemen fell upon him and overthrew him: before he could get up, a violent blow stunned him, and he lay down at the feet of the horses.

It had taken only three minutes for the riders to unbuckle his suitcase, they did not need two to loot the money and the effects, rob Jacques of his coat and disappear at a gallop. Jacques remained motionless for a few moments, lying on his back. The broad edges of his felt hat having cushioned the strength of the blow that was destined for him, Jacques was only dazed. When he got up, half naked and without money, he ran to a knoll to recognize the path the looters had taken. A whirlwind of smoke whipped by the wind rippled in the plain; two villages burned; between the sparkling thatched roofs passed the frightened cattle. A heavy cloud, riddled with sparks,