An Old Maid

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"Jacquelin!" called Josette, excited by the sentiment she saw on her
mistress's face.

Jacquelin, informed by Josette, came in to say,--

"But, mademoiselle, Penelope is eating her oats."

"What does that signify? I must start at once."

"But, mademoiselle, it is going to rain."

"Then we shall get wet."

"The house is on fire!" muttered Josette, piqued at the silence her
mistress kept as to the contents of the letter, which she read and
reread.

"Finish your coffee, at any rate, mademoiselle; don't excite your
blood; just see how red you are."

"Am I red, Josette?" she said, going to a mirror, from which the
quicksilver was peeling, and which presented her features to her
upside down.

"Good heavens!" thought Mademoiselle Cormon, "suppose I should look
ugly! Come, Josette; come, my dear, dress me at once; I want to be
ready before Jacquelin has harnessed Penelope. If you can't pack my
things in time, I will leave them here rather than lose a single
minute."

If you have thoroughly comprehended the positive monomania to which
the desire of marriage had brought Mademoiselle Cormon, you will share
her emotion. The worthy uncle announced in this sudden missive that
Monsieur de Troisville, of the Russian army during the Emigration,
grandson of one of his best friends, was desirous of retiring to
Alencon, and asked his, the abbe's hospitality, on the ground of his
friendship for his grandfather, the Vicomte de Troisville. The old
abbe, alarmed at the responsibility, entreated his niece to return
instantly and help him to receive this guest, and do the honors of the
house; for the viscount's letter had been delayed, and he might
descend upon his shoulders that very night.

After reading this missive could there be a question of the demands of
Prebaudet? The keeper and the gardener, witnesses to Mademoiselle
Cormon's excitement, stood aside and awaited her orders. But when, as
she was about to leave the room, they stopped her to ask for
instructions, for the first time in her life the despotic old maid,
who saw to everything at Prebaudet with her own eyes, said, to their
stupefaction, "Do what you like." This from a mistress who carried her
administration to the point of counting her fruits, and marking them
so as to order their consumption according to the number and condition
of each!

"I believe I'm dreaming," thought Josette, as she saw her mistress
flying down the staircase like an elephant to which God has given
wings.

Presently, in spite of a driving rain, Mademoiselle Cormon drove away
from Prebaudet, leaving her factotums with the reins on their necks.
Jacquelin dared not take upon himself to hasten the usual little trot
of the peaceable Penelope, who, like the beautiful queen whose name
she bore, had an appearance of making as many steps backward as she
made forward. Impatient with the pace, mademoiselle ordered Jacquelin
in a sharp voice to drive at a gallop, with the whip, if necessary, to
the great astonishment of the poor beast, so afraid was she of not
having time to arrange the house suitably to receive Monsieur de
Troisville. She calculated that the grandson of her uncle's friend was
probably about forty years of age; a soldier just from service was
undoubtedly a bachelor; and she resolved, her uncle aiding, not to let
Monsieur de Troisville quit their house in the condition he entered
it. Though Penelope galloped, Mademoiselle Cormon, absorbed in
thoughts of her trousseau and the wedding-day, declared again and
again that Jacquelin made no way at all. She twisted about in the
carriole without replying to Josette's questions, and talked to
herself like a person who is mentally revolving important designs.

The carriole at last arrived in the main street of Alencon, called the
rue Saint-Blaise at the end toward Montagne, but near the hotel du
More it takes the name of the rue de la Porte-de-Seez, and becomes the
rue du Bercail as it enters the road to Brittany. If the departure of
Mademoiselle Cormon made a great noise in Alencon, it is easy to
imagine the uproar caused by her sudden return on the following day,
in a pouring rain which beat her face without her apparently minding
it. Penelope at a full gallop was observed by every one, and
Jacquelin's grin, the early hour, the parcels stuffed into the
carriole topsy-turvy, and the evident impatience of Mademoiselle
Cormon were all noted.

The property of the house of Troisville lay between Alencon and
Mortagne. Josette knew the various branches of the family. A word
dropped by mademoiselle as they entered Alencon had put Josette on the
scent of the affair; and a discussion having started between them, it
was settled that the expected de Troisville must be between forty and
forty-two years of age, a bachelor, and neither rich nor poor.
Mademoiselle Cormon beheld herself speedily Vicomtesse de Troisville.

"And to think that my uncle told me nothing! thinks of nothing!
inquires nothing! That's my uncle all over. He'd forget his own nose
if it wasn't fastened to his face."

Have you never remarked that, under circumstances such as these, old
maids become, like Richard III., keen-witted, fierce, bold,
promissory,--if one may so use the word,--and, like inebriate clerks,
no longer in awe of anything?

Immediately the town of Alencon, speedily informed from the farther
end of the rue de Saint-Blaise to the gate of Seez of this precipitate
return, accompanied by singular circumstances, was perturbed
throughout its viscera, both public and domestic. Cooks, shopkeepers,
street passengers, told the news from door to door; thence it rose to
the upper regions. Soon the words: "Mademoiselle Cormon has returned!"
burst like a bombshell into all households. At that moment Jacquelin
was descending from his wooden seat (polished by a process unknown to
cabinet-makers), on which he perched in front of the carriole. He
opened the great green gate, round at the top, and closed in sign of
mourning; for during Mademoiselle Cormon's absence the evening
assemblies did not take place. The faithful invited the Abbe de Sponde
to their several houses; and Monsieur de Valois paid his debt by
inviting him to dine at the Marquis d'Esgrignon's. Jacquelin, having
opened the gate, called familiarly to Penelope, whom he had left in
the middle of the street. That animal, accustomed to this proceeding,
turned in of herself, and circled round the courtyard in a manner to
avoid injuring the flower-bed. Jacquelin then took her bridle, and led
the carriage to the portico.

"Mariette!" cried Mademoiselle Cormon.

"Mademoiselle!" exclaimed Mariette, who was occupied in closing the
gate.

"Has the gentleman arrived?"

"No, mademoiselle."

"Where's my uncle?"

"He is at church, mademoiselle."

Jacquelin and Josette were by this time on the first step of the
portico, holding out their hands to manoeuvre the exit of their
mistress from the carriole as she pulled herself up by the sides of
the vehicle and clung to the curtains. Mademoiselle then threw herself
into their arms; because for the last two years she dared not risk her
weight on the iron step, affixed to the frame of the carriage by a
horrible mechanism of clumsy bolts.

When Mademoiselle Cormon reached the level of the portico she looked
about her courtyard with an air of satisfaction.

"Come, come, Mariette, leave that gate alone; I want you."

"There's something in the wind," whispered Jacquelin, as Mariette
passed the carriole.

"Mariette, what provisions have you in the house?" asked Mademoiselle
Cormon, sitting down on the bench in the long antechamber like a
person overcome with fatigue.

"I haven't anything," replied Mariette, with her hands on her hips.
"Mademoiselle knows very well that during her absence Monsieur l'abbe
dines out every day. Yesterday I went to fetch him from Mademoiselle
Armande's."

"Where is he now?"

"Monsieur l'abbe? Why, at church; he won't be in before three
o'clock."

"He thinks of nothing! he ought to have told you to go to market.
Mariette, go at once; and without wasting money, don't spare it; get
all there is that is good and delicate. Go to the diligence office and
see if you can send for pates; and I want shrimps from the Brillante.
What o'clock is it?"

"A quarter to nine."

"Good heavens! Mariette, don't stop to chatter. The person my uncle
expects may arrive at any moment. If we had to give him breakfast,
where should we be with nothing in the house?"

Mariette turned back to Penelope in a lather, and looked at Jacquelin
as if she would say, "Mademoiselle has put her hand on a husband
/this/ time."

"Now, Josette," continued the old maid, "let us see where we had
better put Monsieur de Troisville to sleep."

With what joy she said the words, "Put Monsieur de Troisville"
(pronounced Treville) "to sleep." How many ideas in those few words!
The old maid was bathed in hope.

"Will you put him in the green chamber?"

"The bishop's room? No; that's too near mine," said Mademoiselle
Cormon. "All very well for monseigneur; he's a saintly man."

"Give him your uncle's room."

"Oh, that's so bare; it is actually indecent."

"Well, then, mademoiselle, why not arrange a bed in your boudoir? It
is easily done; and there's a fire-place. Moreau can certainly find in
his warerooms a bed to match the hangings."

"You are right, Josette. Go yourself to Moreau; consult with him what
to do; I authorize you to get what is wanted. If the bed could be put
up to-night without Monsieur de Troisville observing it (in case
Monsieur de Troisville arrives while Moreau is here), I should like
it. If Moreau won't engage to do this, then I must put Monsieur de
Troisville in the green room, although Monsieur de Troisville would be
so very near to me."

Josette was departing when her mistress recalled her.

"Stop! explain the matter to Jacquelin," she cried, in a loud nervous
tone. "Tell /him/ to go to Moreau; I must be dressed! Fancy if Monsieur
de Troisville surprised me as I am now! and my uncle not here to
receive him! Oh, uncle, uncle! Come, Josette; come and dress me at
once."

"But Penelope?" said Josette, imprudently.

"Always Penelope! Penelope this, Penelope that! Is Penelope the
mistress of this house?"

"But she is all of a lather, and she hasn't had time to eat her oats."

"Then let her starve!" cried Mademoiselle Cormon; "provided I marry,"
she thought to herself.

Hearing these words, which seemed to her like homicide, Josette stood
still for a moment, speechless. Then, at a gesture from her mistress,
she ran headlong down the steps of the portico.

"The devil is in her, Jacquelin," were the first words she uttered.

Thus all things conspired on this fateful day to produce the great
scenic effect which decided the future life of Mademoiselle Cormon.
The town was already topsy-turvy in mind, as a consequence of the five
extraordinary circumstances which accompanied Mademoiselle Cormon's
return; to wit, the pouring rain; Penelope at a gallop, in a lather,
and blown; the early hour; the parcels half-packed; and the singular
air of the excited old maid. But when Mariette made an invasion of the
market, and bought all the best things; when Jacquelin went to the
principal upholsterer in Alencon, two doors from the church, in search
of a bed,--there was matter for the gravest conjectures. These
extraordinary events were discussed on all sides; they occupied the
minds of every one, even Mademoiselle Armande herself, with whom was
Monsieur de Valois. Within two days the town of Alencon had been
agitated by such startling events that certain good women were heard
to remark that the world was coming to an end. This last news,
however, resolved itself into a single question, "What is happening at
the Cormons?"

The Abbe de Sponde, adroitly questioned when he left Saint-Leonard's
to take his daily walk with the Abbe Couturier, replied with his usual
kindliness that he expected the Vicomte de Troisville, a nobleman in
the service of Russia during the Emigration, who was returning to
Alencon to settle there. From two to five o'clock a species of labial
telegraphy went on throughout the town; and all the inhabitants
learned that Mademoiselle Cormon had at last found a husband by
letter, and was about to marry the Vicomte de Troisville. Some said,
"Moreau has sold them a bed." The bed was six feet wide in that
quarter; it was four feet wide at Madame Granson's, in the rue du
Bercail; but it was reduced to a simple couch at Monsieur du
Ronceret's, where du Bousquier was dining. The lesser bourgeoisie
declared that the cost was eleven hundred francs. But generally it was
thought that, as to this, rumor was counting the chickens before they
were hatched. In other quarters it was said that Mariette had made
such a raid on the market that the price of carp had risen. At the end
of the rue Saint-Blaise, Penelope had dropped dead. This decease was
doubted in the house of the receiver-general; but at the Prefecture it
was authenticated that the poor beast had expired as she turned into
the courtyard of the hotel Cormon, with such velocity had the old maid
flown to meet her husband. The harness-maker, who lived at the corner
of the rue de Seez, was bold enough to call at the house and ask if
anything had happened to Mademoiselle Cormon's carriage, in order to
discover whether Penelope was really dead. From the end of the rue
Saint-Blaise to the end of the rue du Bercail, it was then made known
that, thanks to Jacquelin's devotion, Penelope, that silent victim of
her mistress's impetuosity, still lived, though she seemed to be
suffering.

Along the road to Brittany the Vicomte de Troisville was stated to be
a younger son without a penny, for the estates in Perche belonged to
the Marquis de Troisville, peer of France, who had children; the
marriage would be, therefore, an enormous piece of luck for a poor
emigre. The aristocracy along that road approved of the marriage;
Mademoiselle Cormon could not do better with her money. But among the
Bourgeoisie, the Vicomte de Troisville was a Russian general who had
fought against France, and was now returning with a great fortune made
at the court of Saint-Petersburg; he was a /foreigner/; one of those
/allies/ so hated by the liberals; the Abbe de Sponde had slyly
negotiated this marriage. All the persons who had a right to call upon
Mademoiselle Cormon determined to do so that very evening.

During this transurban excitement, which made that of Suzanne almost a
forgotten affair, Mademoiselle was not less agitated; she was filled
with a variety of novel emotions. Looking about her salon,
dining-room, and boudoir, cruel apprehensions took possession of her.
A species of demon showed her with a sneer her old-fashioned luxury.
The handsome things she had admired from her youth up she suddenly
suspected of age and absurdity. In short, she felt that fear which
takes possession of nearly all authors when they read over a work they
have hitherto thought proof against every exacting or blase critic:
new situations seem timeworn; the best-turned and most highly polished
phrases limp and squint; metaphors and images grin or contradict each
other; whatsoever is false strikes the eye. In like manner this poor
woman trembled lest she should see on the lips of Monsieur de
Troisville a smile of contempt for this episcopal salon; she dreaded
the cold look he might cast over that ancient dining-room; in short,
she feared the frame might injure and age the portrait. Suppose these
antiquities should cast a reflected light of old age upon herself?
This question made her flesh creep. She would gladly, at that moment,
spend half her savings on refitting her house if some fairy wand could
do it in a moment. Where is the general who has not trembled on the
eve of a battle? The poor woman was now between her Austerlitz and her
Waterloo.

"Madame la Vicomtesse de Troisville," she said to herself; "a noble
name! Our property will go to a good family, at any rate."

She fell a prey to an irritation which made every fibre of her nerves
quiver to all their papillae, long sunk in flesh. Her blood, lashed by
this new hope, was in motion. She felt the strength to converse, if
necessary, with Monsieur de Troisville.

It is useless to relate the activity with which Josette, Jacquelin,
Mariette, Moreau, and his agents went about their functions. It was
like the busyness of ants about their eggs. All that daily care had
already rendered neat and clean was again gone over and brushed and
rubbed and scrubbed. The china of ceremony saw the light; the damask
linen marked "A, B, C" was drawn from depths where it lay under a
triple guard of wrappings, still further defended by formidable lines
of pins. Above all, Mademoiselle Cormon sacrificed on the altar of her
hopes three bottles of the famous liqueurs of Madame Amphoux, the most
illustrious of all the distillers of the tropics,--a name very dear to
gourmets. Thanks to the devotion of her lieutenants, mademoiselle was
soon ready for the conflict. The different weapons--furniture,
cookery, provisions, in short, all the various munitions of war,
together with a body of reserve forces--were ready along the whole
line. Jacquelin, Mariette, and Josette received orders to appear in
full dress. The garden was raked. The old maid regretted that she
couldn't come to an understanding with the nightingales nesting in the
trees, in order to obtain their finest trilling.

At last, about four o'clock, at the very moment when the Abbe de
Sponde returned home, and just as mademoiselle began to think she had
set the table with the best plate and linen and prepared the choicest
dishes to no purpose, the click-clack of a postilion was heard in the
Val-Noble.

"'Tis he!" she said to herself, the snap of the whip echoing in her
heart.

True enough; heralded by all this gossip, a post-chaise, in which was
a single gentleman, made so great a sensation coming down the rue
Saint-Blaise and turning into the rue du Cours that several little
gamains and some grown persons followed it, and stood in groups about
the gate of the hotel Cormon to see it enter. Jacquelin, who foresaw
his own marriage in that of his mistress, had also heard the
click-clack in the rue Saint-Blaise, and had opened wide the gates
into the courtyard. The postilion, a friend of his, took pride in
making a fine turn-in, and drew up sharply before the portico. The
abbe came forward to greet his guest, whose carriage was emptied with
a speed that highwaymen might put into the operation; the chaise
itself was rolled into the coach-house, the gates closed, and in a few
moments all signs of Monsieur de Troisville's arrival had disappeared.
Never did two chemicals blend into each other with greater rapidity
than the hotel Cormon displayed in absorbing the Vicomte de Troisville.

Mademoiselle, whose heart was beating like a lizard caught by a
herdsman, sat heroically still on her sofa, beside the fire in the
salon. Josette opened the door; and the Vicomte de Troisville,
followed by the Abbe de Sponde, presented himself to the eyes of the
spinster.

"Niece, this is Monsieur le Vicomte de Troisville, the grandson of one
of my old schoolmates; Monsieur de Troisville, my niece, Mademoiselle
Cormon."

"Ah! that good uncle; how well he does it!" thought
Rose-Marie-Victoire.

The Vicomte de Troisville was, to paint him in two words, du Bousquier
ennobled. Between the two men there was precisely the difference which
separates the vulgar style from the noble style. If they had both been
present, the most fanatic liberal would not have denied the existence
of aristocracy. The viscount's strength had all the distinction of
elegance; his figure had preserved its magnificent dignity. He had
blue eyes, black hair, an olive skin, and looked to be about forty-six
years of age. You might have thought him a handsome Spaniard preserved
in the ice of Russia. His manner, carriage, and attitude, all denoted
a diplomat who had seen Europe. His dress was that of a well-bred
traveller. As he seemed fatigued, the abbe offered to show him to his
room, and was much amazed when his niece threw open the door of the
boudoir, transformed into a bedroom.

Mademoiselle Cormon and her uncle then left the noble stranger to
attend to his own affairs, aided by Jacquelin, who brought up his
luggage, and went themselves to walk beside the river until their
guest had made his toilet. Although the Abbe de Sponde chanced to be
even more absent-minded than usual, Mademoiselle Cormon was not less
preoccupied. They both walked on in silence. The old maid had never
before met any man as seductive as this Olympean viscount. She might
have said to herself, as the Germans do, "This is my ideal!" instead
of which she felt herself bound from head to foot, and could only say,
"Here's my affair!" Then she flew to Mariette to know if the dinner
could be put back a while without loss of excellence.

"Uncle, your Monsieur de Troisville is very amiable," she said, on
returning.

"Why, niece, he hasn't as yet said a word."

"But you can see it in his ways, his manners, his face. Is he a
bachelor?"

"I'm sure I don't know," replied the abbe, who was thinking of a
discussion on mercy, lately begun between the Abbe Couturier and
himself. "Monsieur de Troisville wrote me that he wanted to buy a
house here. If he was married, he wouldn't come alone on such an
errand," added the abbe, carelessly, not conceiving the idea that his
niece could be thinking of marriage.

"Is he rich?"

"He is a younger son of the younger branch," replied her uncle. "His
grandfather commanded a squadron, but the father of this young man
made a bad marriage."

"Young man!" exclaimed the old maid. "It seems to me, uncle, that he
must be at least forty-five." She felt the strongest desire to put
their years on a par.

"Yes," said the abbe; "but to a poor priest of seventy, Rose, a man of
forty seems a youth."

All Alencon knew by this time that Monsieur de Troisville had arrived
at the Cormons. The traveller soon rejoined his hosts, and began to
admire the Brillante, the garden, and the house.

"Monsieur l'abbe," he said, "my whole ambition is to have a house like
this." The old maid fancied a declaration lurked in that speech, and
she lowered her eyes. "You must enjoy it very much, mademoiselle,"
added the viscount.

"How could it be otherwise? It has been in our family since 1574, the
period at which one of our ancestors, steward to the Duc d'Alencon,
acquired the land and built the house," replied Mademoiselle Cormon.
"It is built on piles," she added.

Jacquelin announced dinner. Monsieur de Troisville offered his arm to
the happy woman, who endeavored not to lean too heavily upon it; she
feared, as usual, to seem to make advances.

"Everything is so harmonious here," said the viscount, as he seated
himself at table.

"Yes, our trees are full of birds, which give us concerts for nothing;
no one ever frightens them; and the nightingales sing at night," said
Mademoiselle Cormon.

"I was speaking of the interior of the house," remarked the viscount,
who did not trouble himself to observe Mademoiselle Cormon, and
therefore did not perceive the dulness of her mind. "Everything is so
in keeping,--the tones of color, the furniture, the general
character."

"But it costs a great deal; taxes are enormous," responded the
excellent woman.

"Ah! taxes are high, are they?" said the viscount, preoccupied with
his own ideas.

"I don't know," replied the abbe. "My niece manages the property of
each of us."

"Taxes are not of much importance to the rich," said Mademoiselle
Cormon, not wishing to be thought miserly. "As for the furniture, I
shall leave it as it is, and change nothing,--unless I marry; and
then, of course, everything here must suit the husband."

"You have noble principles, mademoiselle," said the viscount, smiling.
"You will make one happy man."

"No one ever made to me such a pretty speech," thought the old maid.

The viscount complimented Mademoiselle Cormon on the excellence of her
service and the admirable arrangements of the house, remarking that he
had supposed the provinces behind the age in that respect; but, on the
contrary, he found them, as the English say, "very comfortable."

"What can that word mean?" she thought. "Oh, where is the chevalier to
explain it to me? 'Comfortable,'--there seem to be several words in
it. Well, courage!" she said to herself. "I can't be expected to
answer a foreign language-- But," she continued aloud, feeling her
tongue untied by the eloquence which nearly all human creatures find
in momentous circumstances, "we have a very brilliant society here,
monsieur. It assembles at my house, and you shall judge of it this
evening, for some of my faithful friends have no doubt heard of my
return and your arrival. Among them is the Chevalier de Valois, a
seigneur of the old court, a man of infinite wit and taste; then there
is Monsieur le Marquis d'Esgrignon and Mademoiselle Armande, his
sister" (she bit her tongue with vexation),--"a woman remarkable in
her way," she added. "She resolved to remain unmarried in order to
leave all her fortune to her brother and nephew."