Jack (19 page)

“Is she not pretty?” asked Rondic of his brother. “She has been giving a lecture to her nephew.”

Madame Rondic turned at that moment, and greeted them warmly. “I hope,” she said to the child, “that you will be happy with us.”

They entered the house, and as they took their seats at the table, Labassandre said with a theatrical start, “And where is Zιnaοde?”

“We will not wait for her,” answered Rondic; “she will be here presently. She is at work now at the chβteau, for she has become a famous seamstress.”

“Indeed! Then she must have learned also to keep her temper well under control, if she can work at the Director’s,” said Labassandre, “for he is such an arrogant, haughty person—”

“You are very much mistaken,” interrupted Ron-die; “he is, on the contrary, a most excellent man; strict, perhaps, but when a master has to manage two thousand operatives, he must be somewhat of a disciplinarian. Is not that so, Clarisse?” and the old man turned to his wife, who, seemingly occupied with her dinner, paid no attention to him. ΐ certain preoccupation was very evident.

At this moment the youth, with whom Madame Rondic had been talking at the door, came in and shook hands with his uncle Labassandre, who replied coldly to his greeting; thinking, possibly, of the remonstrances he had promised to lavish upon him. Zιnaοde quickly followed: a plump little girl, red and out of breath; not pretty, and square in face and figure, she looked like her father. She wore a white cap, and her short skirts, and small shawl pinned over her shoulders, increased her general clumsiness. But her heavy eyebrows and square chin indicated an unusual amount of firmness and decision, offering the strongest possible contrast to the gentle, irresolute expression of her stepmother’s sweet face. Without a moment’s delay, not waiting to detach the enormous shears that hung at her side, or to disembarrass herself of the needles and pins which glittered on her breast like a cuirass, the girl slipped into a seat next to Jack. The presence of the strangers did not abash her in the least. Whatever she had to say she said, simply and decidedly; but when she spoke to her cousin Chariot, it was in a vexed tone.

He did not appear to notice this, but replied with jests which left more than one scar.

“And I wished them to marry each other,” said Father Rondic, in a despairing, complaining tone, as he heard them dispute.

“And I made no objection,” said the young man with a laugh, as he looked at his cousin.

“But I did, then,” answered the girl abruptly, frowning and unabashed. “And I am glad of it. Had I married you, my handsome cousin, I should have drowned myself by this time!”

These words were said with so much unction that for a few moments the handsome cousin was silent and discomfited.

Clarisse was startled, and turned to her daughter-in-law with a timid look of appeal.

“Listen, Chariot,” said Rondic, anxious to change the conversation: “to prove to you that the Director is a good man. He has found a splendid place at Guιrigny for you. You will have a better salary there than here, and “—here Rondic hesitated, glanced at the irresponsive face of the youth, then at his daughter and at his wife, as if at a loss to finish his phrase.

“And, it is better to go away, uncle, than to be dismissed!” answered Chariot, roughly. “But I do not agree with you. If the Director does not want me, let him say so,—and I will then look out for myself!”

“He is right!” cried Labassandre, thumping loud applause on the table. A hot discussion now arose; but Chariot was firm in his refusal.

Zιnaοde did not open her lips, but she never took her eyes from her stepmother, who was busy about the table.

“And you, mamma,” said she at last, “is it not your opinion that Chariot should go to Guιrigny?”

“Certainly, certainly,” answered Madame Rondic, quickly, “I think he ought to accept the offer.”

Chariot rose quickly from his chair.

“Very well,” he said, moodily, “since every one wishes to get rid of me here, it is easy for me to decide. I shall leave in a week; in the meantime I do not wish to hear any more about it.”

The men now adjourned to a table in the garden, neighbors came in, and to each as he entered Rondic offered a measure of wine; they smoked their pipes, and talked and laughed loudly and roughly.

Jack listened to them sadly. “Must I become like these?” he said to himself, with a thrill of horror.

During the evening Rondic presented the lad to the foreman of the workshops. Labescam, a heavy Cyclops, opened his eyes wide when he saw his future apprentice, dressed like a gentleman, with such dainty white hands. Jack was very delicate and girlish in his appearance. His curls were cut, to be sure, but the short hair was in crisp waves, and the air of distinction characteristic of the boy, and which so irritated D’Argenton, was more apparent in his present surroundings than in his former home. Labescam muttered that he looked like a sick chicken.

“O,” said Rondic, “it is only the fatigue of his journey and these clothes that give him that look;” and then turning to his wife, the good man said,

“You must find a blouse for the apprentice; and now send him to bed, he is half asleep, and to-morrow the poor lad must be up at five o’clock!”

The two women took Jack into the house: it was small and of two stories, the first floor divided into two rooms—one called the parlor, which had a sofa, armchairs, and some large shells on the chimney-piece.

One of the rooms above was nearly filled by a very large bed hung with damask curtains trimmed with heavy ball fringe. In Zιnaοde’s room the bed was in the wall, in the old Breton style. A wardrobe of carved oak filled one side of the room; a crucifix and holy images, hung over by rosaries of all kinds, made of ivory, shells, and American corn, completed the simple arrangements. In a corner, however, stood a screen which concealed the ladder that led to the loft where the apprentice was to sleep.

“This is my room,” said Zιnaοde, “and you, my boy, will be up there just over my head. But never mind that; you may dance as much as you please, I sleep too soundly to be disturbed.”

A lantern was given to him. He said good-night, and climbed to his loft, which even at that hour of the night was stifling. A narrow window in the roof was all there was. The dormitory at Moronval had prepared Jack for strange sleeping-places; but there he had companionship in his miseries: here he had no Mβdou, here he had nobody. The child looked about him. On the bed lay his costume for the next day; the large pantaloons of blue cloth and the blouse looked as if some person had thrown himself down exhausted with fatigue.

Jack said half aloud, “It is I lying there!” and while he stood, sadly enough, he heard the confused noise of the men in the garden, and at the same time an earnest discussion in the room below between Zιnaοde and her stepmother.

The young girl’s voice was easily distinguished, heavy like a man’s; Madame Rondic’s tones, on the contrary, were thin and flute-like, and seemed at times choked by tears.

“And he is going!” she cried, with more passion than her ordinary appearance would have led one to suppose her capable of.

Then Zιnaοde spoke—remonstrating, reasoning.

Jack felt himself in a new world; he was half afraid of all these people, but the memory of his mother sustained him. He thought of her as he looked at the sky set thick with stars. Suddenly he heard a long, shivering sigh and a sob, and found that Madame Rondic was looking out into the night, and weeping like himself, at a window below.

In the morning, Father Rondic called him; he swallowed a tumbler of wine and ate a crust of bread, and hurried to the machine-shop. And there, could his foolish mother have seen him, how quickly would she have taken her child from his laborious task, for which he was so totally unfitted by nature and education. The regulations for, lack of punctuality were very strict. The first offence was a fine, and the third absolute dismissal. Jack was generally at the door before the first sound of the bell; but one day, two or three months after his arrival on the island, he was delayed by the ill-nature of others. His hat had been blown away by a sudden gust of wind just as he reached the forge. “Stop it!” cried the child, running after it. Just as he reached it, an apprentice coming up the street gave the hat a kick and sent it on; another did the same, and then another. This was very amusing to all save Jack, who, out of breath and angry, felt a strong desire to weep, for he knew that a positive hatred toward him was hidden under all this apparent jesting. In the meantime the bell was sounding its last strokes, and the child was compelled to relinquish the useless pursuit. He was utterly wretched, for it was no small expense to buy a new cap; he must write to his mother for money, and D’Argenton would read the letter. This was bad enough; but the consciousness that he was disliked among his fellow-workmen troubled him still more.

Some persons need tenderness as plants need heat to sustain life. Jack was one of these, and he asked himself sadly why no one loved him in his new abiding-place. Just as he arrived at the open door, he heard quick breathing behind him, a heavy hand was laid on his shoulder, and turning, he saw a smiling, hideous face, while a rough hand extended the missing cap.

Where had he seen that face? “I have it!” he cried at last; but at that moment there was no time to renew his acquaintance with the pedler, to whom, and to whose fragile stock of goods, he had given such timely shelter on that showery summer’s day.

The child’s spirits rose, he was less sad, less lonely. While his hands were busy with his monotonous toil, his mind was occupied with thoughts of the past: he saw again the lovely country road near his mother’s house; he heard the low rumbling of the doctor’s gig, and felt the fresh breeze from the river, even there in the stifling atmosphere of the machine-shop.

That evening he searched for Bιlisaire, but in vain; again the next day, but could learn nothing of him; and by degrees the uncouth face that had revived so many beautiful memories, in the child’s sick heart faded and died away, and he was again left alone.

The boy was far from a favorite among the men; they teased, and played practical jokes upon him. Sunday was his only day of rest and relaxation. Then, with one of Dr. Rivals’ books, Jack sought a quiet nook on the bank of the river. He had found a deep fissure in the rocks, where he sat quite concealed from view, his book open on his knee, the rush, the magic, and the extent of the water before him. The distant church-bells rang out praises to the Lord, and all was rest and peace. Occasionally a vessel drifted past, and from afar came the laughter of children at play.

He read, but his studies were often too deep for him, and he would lift his eyes from the pages, and listen dreamily to the soft lapping of the water on the pebbles of the shore, while his thoughts wandered to his mother and his little friend.

At last autumnal rains came, and then the child passed his Sundays at the Rondics, who were all very kind to him, Zιnaοde in particular. The old man felt a certain contempt for Jack’s physical delicacy, and said the boy stunted his growth by his devotion to books, but “he was a good little fellow all the same!” In reality, old Rondic felt a great respect for Jack’s attainments, his own being of the most superficial description. He could read and write, to be sure, but that was all; and since he had married the second Madame Rondic, he had become painfully conscious of his deficiencies. His wife was the daughter of a subordinate artillery officer, the belle and beauty of a small town. She was well brought up,—one of a numerous family, where each took her share of toil and economy. She accepted Rondic, notwithstanding the disparity of years and his lack of education, and entertained for her husband the greatest possible affection. He adored his wife, and would make any sacrifice for her happiness or her gratification. He thought her prettier than any of the wives of his friends,—who were all, in fact, stout Breton peasants, more occupied with their household cares than with anything else. Clarisse had a certain air about her, and dressed and arranged her hair in a way that offered the greatest contrast to the monastic aspect of the women of the country, who covered their hair with thick folds of linen, and concealed their figures with the clumsy fullness of their skirts.

His house, too, was different from those about him. Behind the full white curtains stood a pot of flowers, sweet basil or gillyflowers, and the furniture was carefully waxed and polished; and Rondic was delighted, when he returned home at night, to find so carefully arranged a home, and a wife as neatly dressed as if it were Sunday. He never asked himself why Clarisse, after the house was in order for the day, took her seat at the window with folded hands, instead of occupying herself with needlework, like other women whose days were far too short for all their duties.

He supposed, innocently enough, that his wife thought only of him while adorning herself; but the whole village of Indret could have told him that another occupied all her thoughts, and in this gossip the names of Madame Rondic and Chariot were never separated. They said that the two had known each other before Madame Rondic’s marriage, and that if the nephew had wished he could have married the lady, instead of his uncle.

But the young fellow had no such desire. He merely thought that Clarisse was charmingly pretty, and that it would be very nice to have her for his aunt. But later, when they were thrown so much together, while Father Rondic slept in the armchair and Zιnaοde sewed at the chβteau, these two natures were irresistibly attracted toward each other. But no one had a right to make any invidious remark; they had, besides, always watching over them a pair of frightfully suspicious eyes, those of Zιnaοde. She had a way of interrupting their interviews, of appearing suddenly, when least expected; and, however fatigued she might be by her day’s work, she took her seat in the chimney-corner with her knitting. Zιnaοde, in fact, played the part of the jealous and suspicious husband. Picture to yourself, if you please, a husband with all the instincts and clearsightedness of a woman!

The warfare between herself and Chariot was incessant, and the little outbursts served to conceal the real antipathy; but while Father Rondic smiled contentedly, Clarisse turned pale as if at distant thunder.