Rose à Charlitte

by Marshall Saunders

  CHAPTER IV.

  AN UNKNOWN IRRITANT.

  "Il est de ces longs jours d'indicible malaise Ou l'on voudrait dormir du lourd sommeil des morts, De ces heures d'angoisse ou l'existence pese Sur l'ame et sur le corps."

  Two or three weeks went by, and, although Bidiane's headquarters werenominally at the inn, she visited the horseshoe cottage morning, noon,and night.

  Rose always smiled when she heard the rustling of her silk-lined skirts,and often murmured:

  "Sa robe fait froufrou, froufrou, Ses petits pieds font toc, toc, toc."

  "I wonder how long she is going to stay here?" said Agapit, one day, tohis cousin.

  "She does not know,--she obeys Mr. Nimmo blindly, although sometimes shechatters of earning her own living."

  "I do not think he would permit that," said Agapit, hastily.

  "Nor I, but he does not tell her so."

  "He is a kind of _Grand Monarque_ among you women. He speaks, and youlisten; and now that Bidiane has broken the ice and we talk more freelyof him, I may say that I do not approve of his keeping your boy anylonger, although it is a foolish thing for me to mention, since you havenever asked my advice on the subject."

  "My dear brother," said Rose, softly, "in this one thing I have notagreed with you, because you are not a mother, and cannot understand. Ifeared to bring back my boy when he was delicate, lest he should die ofthe separation from Mr. Nimmo. It was better for me to cry myself tosleep for many nights than for me to have him for a few weeks, and then,perhaps, lay his little body in the cold ground. Where would then be mysatisfaction? And now that he is strong, I console myself with thethought of the fine schools that he attends, I follow him every hour ofthe day, through the letters that Mr. Nimmo sends to Bidiane. As I dustmy room in the morning, I hold conversations with him.

  "I say, 'How goes the Latin, little one, and the Greek? They are hard,but do not give up. Some day thou wilt be a clever man.' All the time Italk to him. I tell him of every happening on the Bay. Naturally Icannot put all this in my letters to him, that are few and short onaccount of--well you know why I do not write too much. Agapit, I do notdare to bring him back. He gives that dear young man an object in life;he also interests his mother, who now loves me, through my child. Ispeak of the schools, and yet it is not altogether for that, for have wenot a good college for boys here on the Bay? It is something higher. Itis for the good of souls that he stays away. Not yet, not yet, can Irecall him. It would not seem right, and I cannot do what is wrong; alsothere is his father."

  Agapit, with a resigned gesture, drew on his gloves. He had been makinga short call and was just about to return home.

  "Are you going to the inn?" asked Rose.

  "Why should I call there?" he said, a trifle irritably. "I have not thetime to dance attendance on young girls."

  Rose was lost in gentle amazement at Agapit's recent attitude towardsBidiane. Her mind ran back to the long winter and summer evenings whenhe had come to her house, and had sat for hours reading the letters fromParis. He had taken a profound interest in the little renegade. Step bystep he had followed her career. He had felt himself in a measureresponsible for the successful issue of the venture in taking herabroad. And had he not often spoken delightedly of her return, and herprobable dissemination among the young people of the stock of new ideasthat she would be sure to bring with her?

  This was just what she had done. She had enlarged the circle of heracquaintance, and every one liked her, every one admired her. Day afterday she flashed up and down the Bay, on the bicycle that she had broughtwith her from Paris, and, as she flew by the houses, even the old womenleft their windows and hobbled to the door to catch a gay salutationfrom her.

  Only Agapit was dissatisfied, only Agapit did not praise her, and Roseon this day, as she stood wistfully looking into his face, carried on aninternal soliloquy. It must be because she represents Mr. Nimmo. She hasbeen educated by him, she reveres him. He has only lent her to the Bay,and will some day take her away, and Agapit, who feels this, is jealousbecause he is rich, and because he will not forgive. It is strange thatthe best of men and women are so human; but our dear Lord will some daymelt their hearts; and Rose, who had never disliked any one and had notan enemy in the world, checked a sigh and endeavored to turn herthoughts to some more agreeable subject.

  Agapit, however, still stood before her, and while he was there it wasdifficult to think of anything else. Then he presently asked adistracting question, and one that completely upset her again, althoughit was put in a would-be careless tone of voice.

  "Does the Poirier boy go much to the inn?"

  Rose tried to conceal her emotion, but it was hard for her to do so, asshe felt that she had just been afforded a painful lightning glance intoAgapit's mind. He felt that he was growing old. Bidiane was associatingwith the girls and young men who had been mere children five yearsbefore. The Poirier boy, in particular, had grown up with amazingrapidity and precociousness. He was handsomer, far handsomer than Agapithad ever been, he was also very clever, and very much made of on accountof his being the most distinguished pupil in the college of Sainte-Anne,that was presided over by the Eudist fathers from France.

  "Agapit," she said, suddenly, and in sweet, patient alarm, "are wegetting old, you and I?"

  "We shall soon be thirty," he said, gruffly, and he turned away.

  Rose had never before thought much on the subject of her age. Whatevertraces the slow, painful years had left on her inner soul, there were norevealing marks on the outer countenance of her body. Her glass showedher still an unruffled, peaceful face, a delicate skin, an eye undimmed,and the same beautiful abundance of shining hair.

  "But, Agapit," she said, earnestly, "this is absurd. We are in ourprime. Only you are obliged to wear glasses. And even if we were old, itwould not be a terrible thing--there is too much praise of youth. It isa charming time, and yet it is a time of follies. As for me, I love theold ones. Only as we grow older do we find rest."

  "The follies of youth," repeated Agapit, sarcastically, "yes, suchfollies as we have had,--the racking anxiety to find food to put inone's mouth, to find sticks for the fire, books for the shelf. Yes, thatis fine folly. I do not wonder that you sigh for age."

  Rose followed him to the front door, where he stood on the threshold andlooked down at the river.

  "Some days I wish I were there," he said, wearily.

  Rose had come to the end of her philosophy, and in real alarm sheexamined his irritated, disheartened face. "I believe that you arehungry," she said at last.

  "No, I am not,--I have a headache. I was up all last night reading abook on Commercial Law. I could not eat to-day, but I am not hungry."

  "You are starving--come, take off your gloves," she said, peremptorily."You shall have such a fine little dinner. I know what Celina ispreparing, and I will assist her so that you may have it soon. Go liedown there in the sitting-room."

  "I do not wish to stay," said Agapit, disagreeably; "I am like a bear."

  "The first true word that you have spoken," she said, shaking a fingerat him. "You are not like my good Agapit to-day. See, I will leave youfor a time--Jovite, Jovite," and she went to the back door and wavedher hand in the direction of the stable. "Go take out Monsieur LeNoir'shorse. He stays to dinner."

  After dinner she persuaded him to go down to the inn with her. Bidianewas in the parlor, sitting before a piano that Vesper had had sent fromBoston for her. Two young Acadien girls were beside her, and when theywere not laughing and exchanging jokes, they sang French songs, thefavorite one being "_Un Canadien Errant_," to which they returned overand over again.

  Several shy young captains from schooners in the Bay were sitting tiltedback on chairs on the veranda, each one with a straw held between histeeth to give him countenance. Agapit joined them, while Rose went inthe parlor and assisted the girls with their singing. She did not feelmuch older than they did. It wa
s curious how this question of ageoppressed some people; and she glanced through the window at Agapit'snow reasonably contented face.

  "I am glad you came with him," whispered Bidiane, mischievously. "Heavoids me now, and I am quite afraid of him. The poor man, he thought tofind me a blue-stocking, discussing dictionaries and encyclopaedias; hefinds me empty-headed and silly, so he abandons me to the younger set,although I admire him so deeply. You, at least, will never give me up,"and she sighed and laughed at the same time, and affectionately squeezedRose's hand.

  Rose laughed too. She was becoming more light-hearted under Bidiane'shalf-nonsensical, half-sensible influence, and the two young Acadiengirls politely averted their surprised eyes from the saint who wouldcondescend to lay aside for a minute her crown of martyrdom. All the Bayknew that she had had some trouble, although they did not know what itwas.