Chapter XII.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XI, Issue 47, 21 March 1884, Page 7

Chapter XII.

There is nothing particular going on to-day. M. de Tourmao-ne is gone to the country for a week or so, and has not yet received my present of the «• Pharaohs" ; but to-morrow, I think, something important will happen, for But wait, Elise, until I have told you the whole affair, and I think you will agree with me that it looks as if God were pointing out my destiny. We wanted a housekeeper, and I asked M. le Cure if he could recommend anyone to us. He said that lie thought he could and this morning came a person of about forty years of age, rather sadlooking, but I am sure very good, who turnei out to suit me better than I expected. She was a widow, she said, and had once occupied a much better position than her present one, but was now obliged to go to service in order to support her children. I thought of my mother, and bad all but said that we would employ her, when it occurred to me that it might be advisable to have further reference and I asked her to name some friend of whom we could enquire about her. I have known a Madame Darcet, who lives near here for a very longtime; I am a country-woman of hers, and she is charitably taking care of my little child while I look for a situation " I said I was certain tbab my aunt would think Madame Darcefc's recommendation conclusive, and that I would speak to her on the subject. I then dismissed the aspirant and went to paint her picture in very glowing colours for Madame d'Aubecourt. V°' course y° u wLl * take tier at once ?" she said, when she had heard all, . " 1 f°>" I answered, " but M. le Cure is rather easily taken in. especially by a tale ot woe, and perhaps it would be well to have some further particulars. Madame Darcet knows her, and is takine Care ,?™u V* h ? v ch . ildren > so we could send to her for information » " What a charming charitable woman this Madame Darcet must be— takingcare of her cbildl Why that speaks very well of her son who piovides for it. He must be a very fine character." I allowed my aunt to continue her vein of praise unchecked and when she had quite done I a^ked her whom she would send to Madame Darcet.

•< Whom ? why, yourself, of course, Stephanie. I made no objection ; but, after this little dialogue, I had some trouble from keeDing myself from getting absent. My aunt, however, did not remark it. fehe commenced giving me a little lecture in domestic economy warning me of the great responsibility which devolves on the mistress of a household and the neces-sity of enquiring into the chaiacter of domestics, especially those employed in so onerous a situation as that of housekeeper, who has so many valuables and plate and linen under her care. The old Maichioness d'Aubecourt/her mother-in law, was wont, she, said to make it her duty to inspect her establishment from cellar to garret every day— a practice which she would gladly emulate, did her health permit her to do so. The digression

ended with an assurance that (he recommendation of so virtuous and excellent a lady as Madame Darcet would be entirely satisfactory I and convincing. At which point I took my eyes off the lilac-tree in the garden, at which I had been gazing rather dreamily, and tried to look as if I had been all the time deeply attentive to what she had S u \r 1 , aew further remarks I withdrew, having a va<me idea that Madame the Marchioness, who is at times somewhat troubled with ennui, was not sorry to have an opportunity of hearing some details of oar amiable neighbours. However, in discerning the beam in her eye, I must not overlook the mote in my own, for I am quite as anxious as my aunt is to know more of the quiet old house opposite, and I can hardly believes that to-monow I shall make Madame Darcet s acquaintance. I wish to-morrow was come ; but what if I should meet Germain ; I tremble' when I think of that, and almost wish I were not going ; and yet lam longing to go. When we have been longing very, very much for something, especially a beloved presence, and when we have watched, and waited, and counted the days until our happiness, it often hippens that as the thing comes into our very grasp, a strong wild desire comes over 119 to turn and fly away. 1 feel just so about to-morrow's visit. It is a long tims since I said anythine about the Viscount de bauveterre. We see him quite often enough, I assure you, but he does not riso in the least in my .favour, and if lam not very much mistaken he is falling a little in that of my aunt. Ido my bsit to assist his fall, ji little treacherously sometimes, 1 fear. , This is how I proceed. The Viscount is very fond of showing off his wit, of which, as far as a flashy sort of wit goes, he has some, but in his hastd he doas not always pause to weigh his words. He chatters away, and I hsten with my eyes on my work, knowing that there is no immediate necessity f,,r interrupting him. I have measured his character exactly and weighed it against my aunt's particular antipathies, and by means of a little word dropped cleverly here, and there I manage to keep him on subjects which I know will jar most npon her taste. As long as he runs on in this way, I encourage him with a smile and an air of the deepest attention ; but the momenthegets on the road to favour, I hasten to draw him back again. His prime error being that 1 am the only one he has to charm, I lead him as I choose. l oor fellow, he is not solitary in supposing that the beloved one is the only power to be conciliated, over-looking the strong hauds that in reality h>ld the reins of fvte. I could forgive the Viscount his somewh.it interested endeavours to please and dazzle me, if I were not afraid of the more formidable abilities of his mother, on whom I have no mercy. One look at her cold, haughty face, and any shallow of scrupl-s disippears from my mind. Deceit is my only weapoi of defence; o>c must ba snaky to bafflsa snake. And so I go on, diawing the unfortunate Viscount into ihe most absurd blunders, while he imagines he is getting on splendidly. Occasionally he plays the liberal, believing that I nourish a secret admiration for the opinions of M. Benjamin Constant. And into these conversations he throws himself heart and soul. Madame de Sauveterre I lead by a different way. She must be got to talk and fume, and chaiter about the noble blood of the Caniacs of Perigord ; and I manage constantly, but without appearing to do so, to bring her round to the subject of common people, and low marriages, etc. My aunt, though at starting somewhat of her opinion, soon begins to chafe ; and I begin to hope — I hardly know what.