Marianne, Chapters IX-XVI [pp. 97-104]

APPLETONS' JOURNAL.
M.A?R ZA NN E.
BY GEORGE SAND.
IX.
IERRE experienced a strange sentiment of vex ation, and, resuming his usual sarcastic tone,
said, "I see that my mother was much mistaken.
You are not at all desirous to lead a single life."
"I must marry now or never," replied Marianne.
"Later, I should decide against it."
"Why?"
Because liberty is a precious and very sweet
possession. When it has been long enjoyed it is difficult to give it up."
' I agree with you. Marry, then, since such is
your desire. Therefore, I shall wait resolutely for
M. Philippe- Gaucher's appearance, hoping that he
will not meet with a refusal on your part. He will
be at our house on Sunday morning: come and dine
with us on that day."
"No, my godfather, I do not think it proper to
meet this person half-way. You and Madame Andre must dine with me."
' You know very well that she cannot walk so
far, especially to return in the evening."
"I have bought a patacihe, which my farmer's
strong mare can draw easily. Your mother promised
a long time ago to dine with me when I had a carriage."
You will then open to us your sanctuary, which
you would not allow me to enter to-day?"
"Since Madame Andre will be with you."
"Thus you look upon me as a stranger whom you
must treat with dignity and reserve? This is singular!"
"It is not singular. When my parents were living, you came to us naturally and without restraint
but, during the five years of your absence, I have become an orphan, and I must live as a prudent young
woman ought to live who wishes to preserve a stainless reputation. You know what a curious and backbiting little community this is. Although living in
the depths of an almost uncultivated country, I could
not receive a visit twice from any man whatever without being found fault with."
"But an old man like me-a godfather-a kind
of papa?"
"They would talk just the same. I know the
country, and you have forgotten it."
"Indeed! I ought, then, to desire your marriage,
since I shall have the pleasure of seeing you oftener."
"I did not think that this was so great a pleasure
to you, my godfather."
AUGUST, I876. VOL. I.-7
"You would not have deprived me of it so of ten-"
"You have voluntarily deprived yourself of it
more than once."
"It is true that I have often taken advantage of
your visits to my mother to work in my own room. It
was not very polite, but I did not suppose that you
had noticed it."
"I noticed with pleasure that you relied suffi ciently on my devotion to feel under no restraint."
"With pleasure! I should like better that you
had noticed it with vexation, or at least with regret."
"I beg pardon, my godfather?" said Marianne,
stopping and looking once more at Andre with her
great eyes, listlessly questioning.
The dominant expression of her countenance was
that of an astonishment that waits for an explanation
without taking the trouble to seek for it.
"It appears," thought Pierre, "that I have just
said a foolish thing, for I do not know how to explain it."
There was but one thing to do, and this was to
leave, in order to cut short the conversation.
"I do not wish you to walk any longer," said he,
releasing Marianne's arm; "I forget that, in approaching my own home, I am taking you away from
yours. Since everything is agreed upon, I have notlhing more to ask. I will bring you your fianct next
Sunday."
"I have not yet a fiance,"' replied Marianne, coldly. "As to the project for Sunday, your mother must
consent to be of the party; otherwise it is impossible. I shall come this evening to invite her, if this
also suits your convenience."
"Yes, this suits my convenience," said Andre, a
little sharply, whom this ceremonious tone really irritated and wounded. "Au revoir, then." And he
went off discontented, almost vexed.
"What a cold little nature!" said he, walking
quickly with a measured step. "Contracted in imagination, selfish, freezing cold, prudent through fear
of what people will say - in one word, a prude.
What was I thinking of just now when I tormented
myself by seeking to sound the depth of that
peaceful lake? There is no depth to it; it is not a
lake, it is a pond full of rushes and frogs. The
country! this is what it makes of us. She was a
pretty child, interesting in her appearance from her
pensive and invalid air. Now she is a proud young
woman, proud of her calculating prudence, and of
her voluntary mental deterioration."