VI.
THE TWICE-MARRIED COUNTESS.
But with all the sluggishness of the flatboat, the toils, the anxieties,and the frights, what happy times, what gay moments, we passed together onthe rough deck of our rude vessel, or in the little cells that we calledour bedrooms.
It was in these rooms, when the sun was hot on deck, that my sister and Iwould join Alix to learn from her a new stitch in embroidery, or some ofthe charming songs she had brought from France and which she accompaniedwith harp or guitar.
Often she read to us, and when she grew tired put the book into my handsor Suzanne's, and gave us precious lessons in reading, as she had insinging and in embroidery. At times, in these moments of intimacy, shemade certain half-disclosures that astonished us more and more. One daySuzanne took between her own two hands that hand so small and delicate andcried out all at once:
"How comes it, Alix, that you wear two wedding rings?"
"Because," she sweetly answered, "if it gives you pleasure to know, I havebeen twice married."
We both exclaimed with surprise.
"Ah!" she said, "no doubt you think me younger [bocou plus jeune] than Ireally am. What do you suppose is my age?"
Suzanne replied: "You look younger than Francoise, and she is sixteen."
"I am twenty-three," replied Alix, laughing again and again.
Another time my sister took a book, haphazard, from the shelves.Ordinarily [audinaremend] Alix herself chose our reading, but she was busyembroidering. Suzanne sat down and began to read aloud a romance entitled"Two Destinies."
"Ah!" cried my sister, "these two girls must be Francoise and I."
"Oh no, no!" exclaimed Alix, with a heavy sigh, and Suzanne began herreading. It told of two sisters of noble family. The elder had beenmarried to a count, handsome, noble, and rich; and the other, against herparents' wish, to a poor workingman who had taken her to a distantcountry, where she died of regret and misery. Alix and I listenedattentively; but before Suzanne had finished, Alix softly took the bookfrom her hands and replaced it on the shelf.
"I would not have chosen that book for you; it is full of exaggerationsand falsehoods."
"And yet," said Suzanne, "see with what truth the lot of the countess isdescribed! How happy she was in her emblazoned coach, and her jewels, herlaces, her dresses of velvet and brocade! Ah, Francoise! of the twodestinies I choose that one."
Alix looked at her for a moment and then dropped her head in silence.Suzanne went on in her giddy way:
"And the other: how she was punished for her plebeian tastes!"
"So, my dear Suzanne," responded Alix, "you would not marry--"
"A man not my equal--a workman? Ah! certainly not."
Madame Carpentier turned slightly pale. I looked at Suzanne with eyes fullof reproach; and Suzanne remembering the gardener, at that moment in hisshirt sleeves pushing one of the boat's long sweeps, bit her lip andturned to hide her tears. But Alix--the dear little creature!--rose, threwher arms about my sister's neck, kissed her, and said:
"I know very well that you had no wish to give me pain, dear Suzanne. Youhave only called up some dreadful things that I am trying to forget. I amthe daughter of a count. My childhood and youth were passed in chateauxand palaces, surrounded by every pleasure that an immense fortune couldsupply. As the wife of a viscount I have been received at court; I havebeen the companion of princesses. To-day all that is a dreadful dream.Before me I have a future the most modest and humble. I am the wife ofJoseph the gardener; but poor and humble as is my present lot, I would notexchange it for the brilliant past, hidden from me by a veil of blood andtears. Some day I will write and send you my history; for I want to makeit plain to you, Suzanne, that titles and riches do not make happiness,but that the poorest fate illumined by the fires of love is very oftenradiant with pleasure."
We remained mute. I took Alix's hand in mine and silently pressed it. EvenSuzanne, the inquisitive Suzanne, spoke not a word. She was content tokiss Alix and wipe away her tears.
If the day had its pleasures, it was in the evenings, when we were allreunited on deck, that the moments of gayety began. When we had brilliantmoonlight the flatboat would continue its course to a late hour. Then, inthose calm, cool moments, when the movement of our vessel was so slightthat it seemed to slide on the water, amid the odorous breezes of evening,the instruments of music were brought upon deck and our concerts began. Myfather played the flute delightfully; Carlo, by ear, played the violinpleasantly; and there, on the deck of that old flatboat, before anindulgent audience, our improvised instruments waked the sleepingcreatures of the centuries-old forest and called around us the wonderingfishes and alligators. My father and Alix played admirable duos on fluteand harp, and sometimes Carlo added the notes of his violin or played forus cotillons and Spanish dances. Finally Suzanne and I, to please papa,sang together Spanish songs, or songs of the negroes, that made ourauditors nearly die a-laughing; or French ballads, in which Alix wouldmingle her sweet voice. Then Carlo, with gestures that always frightenedPatrick, made the air resound with Italian refrains, to which almostalways succeeded the Irish ballads of the Gordons.
But when it happened that the flatboat made an early stop to let our menrest, the programme was changed. Celeste and Maggie went ashore to cookthe two suppers there. Their children gathered wood and lighted thefires. Mario and Gordon, or Gordon and 'Tino, went into the forest withtheir guns. Sometimes my father went along, or sat down by M. Carpentier,who was the fisherman. Alix, too, generally sat near her husband, hersketch-book on her knee, and copied the surrounding scene. Often, tired offishing, we gathered flowers and wild fruits. I generally staid near Alixand her husband, letting Suzanne run ahead with Patrick and Tom. It was astrange thing, the friendship between my sister and this little Irish boy.Never during the journey did he address one word to me; he never answereda question from Alix; he ran away if my father or Joseph spoke to him; heturned pale and hid if Mario looked at him. But with Suzanne he talked,laughed, obeyed her every word, called her Miss Souzie, and was never sohappy as when serving her. And when, twenty years afterward, she made ajourney to Attakapas, the wealthy M. Patrick Gordon, hearing by chance ofher presence, came with his daughter to make her his guest for a week,still calling her Miss Souzie, as of old.
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