LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume I, Issue 13, 15 June 1874, Page 4

LITERATURE.

«. BERTHE’S WEDDING-DAY. By the Author op ‘ Patty.’ Continued. CHAPTER 11. It is a very bright morning after the rain ; the sun is drinking eagerly at every leaf of the tall forest trees, and even at the dripping grass blades. Francois had told Berthe that business would keep him all day in Caudebcc ; so she must not expect him. And Berthe had smiled to herself. She knew that her lover’s business was the completion of his mobilier the finishing touches in the way of decoration to the two rooms in the Gendarmerie which she was henceforth to inhabit as Madame Garaye. It was hard to get through a day without Francois ; since the young people have been promised some six months back, Francois has gone out to Yillequier every day, for the good gendarmes of Caudebec have a tranquil life of it. Berthe feels happier this morning, but she is pale from her wakeful night. Touine looks at her daughter when they all sit down to the mid-day meal of soup and bread. ‘Eh ! ma fille ! thou dost not look like a bride. Thy cheeks are as white as a June lily.’ ‘ Bah ? bah !” Matthieu laughs in his fat way. ‘ She will grow rosy enough when she hears our gendarne on the road by-and by.’ Berthe smiles, but there is little of the old sunshine in her eyes.

‘ Francois is not coming to-day,’ she says gravely. ‘ Not coming Bah ! What hast thou said to vex him ? It is ill done to quarrel so near the marriage day.’ Berthe looks uneasy, half ready to cry. She knows that she has not quarrelled, but what then ? It is useless to contradict her father, and besides he does not give her the chance. He drags his long stiff legs out of the cottage ; he is going up to the Chateau again. He and Tonine wonder sometimes why their limbs have stiffened so early, and why they are so often racked with pain. Down in the village and in the town of Caudebec, only three miles away, their neighbours and gossips are strong and healthy. The simple pair never think that their lord would have done well to build his cottages in some what less of a morass—for on the heights beside the Chateau there is plenty of dry ground. As Matthieu steps outside the cottage door he finds himself face to face with two gendarmes. One of them —a broad big fellow with a dark coarse face —Matthieu knows very well; he is a comrade of Berthe’s lover, and Francois has often brought him with him to the cottage, and calls him mon gros Jacob, and teases him till Matthieu thinks the stout man loses patience ; but the other gendarme is a stranger, and Matthieu sees in an instant that he is Jacob’s superior. He is a tall, dark, slight man, who looks frail and delicate beside his burly companion. ‘ Bonjour, monsieur ;’ the stranger raises his cap, and so does Matthieu. ‘ Are jou Matthieu Duval?’ ‘At your service, monsieur,’ and the caps are raised again, ‘ Well, then,’ the stranger goes on, * I have a question to ask you, Is our comrade Francois Garaye here ?’ He puts the question in a coaxing mysterious way, at which Matthieu’s blue eyes open roundly. ‘Here? No, monsieur, mafoi 1 At this time? No.’ Matthieu smiles, and looks over his shoulder into the cottage. ‘ Even our young lass never expects him till the evening.’ The tall thin man gives a significant glance at Jacob, and Matthieu looks too, to see what they are meaning.

< Why, how pale is Monsieur Jacob 1’ he says. ‘ Liable 1 come in and sit down, messieurs.’ When the Gendarmes follow Matthieu into the cottage they only find Tonine there. Berthe did not hear what was said, but through the window she has caught a glimpse of Monsieur Jacob. She does not like him ; he always stares at her in a manner which is insufferable, and she cannot tell Francois, because Jacob is his friend. The only cloud that hangs over her future life in Caudebec is that this fat staring Jacob Leduc will also inhabit the Gendarmerie.

‘ Sit ye down,’ Matthieu says; then, when they are seated, ‘You have a reason for coming here to seek Francois Garaye V He looks at the broad dark face, but Jacob’s eyes are fixed on his superior. The tall thin official bows to Matthieu. ‘ I will explain to monsieur. I arrive at Caudebec yesterday, from Rouen, and this morning I inspect our force, and I find that one name does not answer to the muster roll. I inquire the reason for this, and I learn from my excellent friend’—he looks at Jacob—‘that Francois Garaye, the second in rank at the Gendarmerie of Caudebec, has not been seen since the afternoon of yesterday. I see that my friend’—he lays his fingers on Jacob’s dark blue sleeve—'‘ hesir tates and looks confused, and I proceed to cross-question. I am seldom baffled.’ The thin man smacks his lips and sends a glance of conscious merit into the recess where Tonine crouehes beside the fire. ‘My friend Jacob there imparts to me the relations which exist between the said Francois Garaye and ’—the thin man bows politely — 1 the young lady of the house, and he asks me to be merciful. He says it is the first neglect of which his comrade has been found guilty. In short ’—he waves his hand— ‘ he comes here with me, that we may together administer rebuke, and make the simpleton return to his post before his absence is remarked by the townsfolk, for you comprehend, no doubt’—here the the thin gendarme lays a long thin finger on his arched flexible nose—‘that the town of Caudebec, is too precious to be neglected, and that the absence of one of its valiant defenders during a whole night is neglect of a serious nature ; and, monsieur, I am a disciplinarian, as a police inspector must always be.’ The thin man stops short here, and refreshes himself with a huge pinch of snuff and a red pocket-handkerchief. Matthieu plunges both hands into his hair and sits looking stolidly at the gendarme. The old woman beside the fire has heard every word, and now she gets up stiffly from her chair, and moves likes a bent stick out of the kitchen. The thia official smiles, and nrdges Jacob ever so little.

Mq:thieu looks vexed and puzzled, I £now nothing of the lad. monsieur,’ he says, in his broad Norman speech. ‘ I came in late last night, and my wife told me that Francois Garaye had been here, and that he bad gone away—that is all I know.’

There is a pause ; Tonine’s dragging footsteps sound on the tile floor outside. She pushes at the half-opened door and comes in, followed by Berthe. Berthe is so white that her father’s mouth opens at sight of her. The girl’s eyes are dilated, she walks up to the stranger, and fixes them on his face. ‘ Monsieur, what is this my mother says 7 What has been done to Francois Garaye V She never so much as glances at Jacob. She knows where he sits, just beyond the other, with his eyes fixed on the red-tiled floor.

The thin-face man rises and bows ; he begins to smile. ‘lt is the other way, mademoiselle. I am come to ask you for Francois Giaraye. You and I will have a talk by ourselves.’ Then his smile fades away beneath the intense expression of those scared eyes ; he bends down and whispers to Berthe, ‘ You will serve him best by speaking the truth. He must be reprimanded, but for your sake he shall not be punished.’ Berthe puts her hancU on the man’s arm, and gives him an impatient little push away. * Father I’—she speaks so hurriedly, so unlike her usual peaceful self, that Matthieu too stares at her, and is more perplexed than ever—‘ dost thou hear this, and canst thou stand idle 7 Thou kuowest Francois has not been here since seven last night, arid they come here to ask for him now. Why dost thou not tell them he went away at seven 7 Where is he ? Why do they seek him here 7 We know nothing.’ Her voice rises as she goes on ; all her suppressed terror has got free, and is mastering the quiet, gentle girl. ‘ Come—come ! I say, all of you, and help me to look for him—come 1 She looks round at them all, but there is no answering terror in their faces. Jacob whispers to his comrade, and then a quiet nod is exchanged between the two gendarmes the thin faced superior puts his hand on Matthieu’s shoulder, and bends down to whisper in his ear. Tonine stands clinging to the blackened dresser, above which are four ranges of gaycoloured plates: She sees that the terror which sways her daughter is not shared by Matthieu, She looks from one to the other with her dull bleared eyes, striving to gather in what is meant. When her eyes reach the face of Jacob, she see there for an instant the same scared pale horror that has mastered Berthe. But even while she gathers this in, Jacob’s expression changes, and the stout gendarme is looking at her daughter with profound sympathy in his face. Berthe opens the door and looks impatiently at the silent men. ‘Cornel’ she says again, then she passes quickly out of sight. ‘ Monsieur ’ —the thin gendarme draws a breath of relief—‘ it will be better to follow mademoiselle and tells her the conclusion at which we have arrived. The poor girl must not waste pity on a faithless lover.” He looks at Matthieu, but Duval sits in scowling silence, ‘ You see madame ’—the stranger speaks for the first time to Tonine—* it is evident that the young man has departed, no one knows where. Well then, there is only one reason to be found for his departure. I have thought profoundly over the affair, but there seems no reason so likely as that which my friend Jacob suggested to me this morning, for you understand, a man would not give up-so respectable an etat without a reason. - My friend Leduc’—he looks sympathising —‘ has grave reason to suppose that Francois Garaye, for some reason unknown to us, shrank from the fetters of a married life, and therefore Francois Garaye will not reappear at Caudebes. At your service, monsieur. Ido not wonder at your anger.’ He raises his hat, and passes Jout of the cottage in pursuit of Berthe. CHAPTER 111. It is Sunday in Caudebec, Bright August sunshine streams down the beautiful spire of Notre Dame, over the richly sculptured triple portal, on to the groups which come in a swiftly moving stream from the dark narrow streets of quaint half-timbered houses into the Grande Place where the church stands. It is the Grande Place of Caudebec, but it is really a small market place, bordered by two long sides of gabled houses with grotesque dormers atop ; these converge into two narrow streets, leading in straggling crooked fashion to the Seine ; between these streets, and facing the church, so as to close in the Place, are a few houses with shops in front of far more modern construction than those on either side. The sunshine rests specially on the snowy caps of the farmers’ wives, some of whom have come across the ferry to hear mass in Caudebec, and also it glints on the epaulettes of the soldier among the crowd pouring into church in slow decorous order ; it glitters just nowon the cap of a stout gendarme with a small, decrepid woman clinging to his right arm. It is Jacob Leduc, the chief of the gendarmerie of Caudebec, and the infirm woman is Tonine Duval. On the other side of Tonine walks a thin, pale girl —a shadow of the rosy, plump Berthe who bade good-bye to Francois Garaye two years ago. How sadly Berthe has changed in these two years ! Even the sweet softness of her 'eyes is changed ; there is a new look, but not a fixed look, in her face. It requires a special cause to bring that sudden darting in of horror and distrust to the sweet blue eyes ; and yet now, as she turns her head to stretch her hand to the beniticr under the porch, and meets Jacob’s glance, the look spreads over her face till her lips even lose colour. No one notices Berthe to-day, for the entrance doorways are small, and the crowd of .worshippers have to pass in heedfully when there are so many, or it might seem strange to them to note that look of ghastly horror in the face of a girl gazing at the man to whom gossip has assigned her.

They pass in, and Jacob’s chair is next those occupied by the mother and daughter ; and when th epoin heuit comes round Jacob leans across Tonine to offer a piece to Berthe. Service is over, and the crowd streams out, with its tongue unloosed, beyond the portal, and there is much greeting, more especially among the women. Madame Haular, the tailor’s wife, slips away from her husband and her tall, gawky daughter, and greets a stout, squat woman, who is so like her that you see at once they are mother and daughter, the new edition being a great improvement on the original. Madame Haulard’s eyes are weak, but old Julie Carron’s eyelids have a red border which is unpleasant to behold ; her mouth, too, is wider than her daughter’s is, and she has lost her teeth ; but there is an energy and a vivacity in the old woman which the better-grown, better favoured daughter seems to lack; To he continued,