This etext was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net>
[NOTE: There is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of thefile for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making anentire meal of them. D.W.]
By GUSTAVE DROZ
Toward midnight mamma made a sign to me with her eyes, and under cover ofa lively waltz we slipped out of the drawing-room. In the hall theservants, who were passing to and fro, drew aside to let us go by them,but I felt that their eyes were fixed upon me with the curiosity whichhad pursued me since the morning. The large door giving on to the parkwas open, although the night was cool, and in the shadow I could make outgroups of country folk gathered there to catch a glimpse of thefestivities through the windows. These good people were laughing andwhispering; they were silent for a moment as we advanced to ascend thestaircase, but I once more felt that I was the mark of these inquisitivelooks and the object of all these smiles. The face of mamma, whoaccompanied me, was much flushed, and large tears were flowing from hereyes.
How was it that an event so gay for some was so sad for others?
When I think over it now I can hardly keep my countenance. What sillyterrors at that frightful yet charming moment! Yet, after all, oneexaggerates things a great deal.
On reaching the first floor mamma stopped, choking, took my head in herhands, and kissed me on the forehead, and exclaimed, "Valentine!" I wasnot greatly moved by this outburst, knowing that mamma, since she hasgrown a little too stout, has some difficulty in getting upstairs.I judged, therefore, that the wish to take breath for a moment withoutappearing to do so had something to do with this sudden halt.
We entered the nuptial chamber; it was as coquettish as possible,refreshing to the eye, snug, elegant, and adorned with fine Louis XVIfurniture, upholstered in Beauvais tapestry. The bed, above all, was amarvel of elegance, but to tell the truth I had no idea of it till a weeklater. At the outside it seemed to me that I was entering an austere-looking locality; the very air we breathed appeared to me to havesomething solemn and awe-striking about it.
"Here is your room, child," said mamma; "but first of all come and sithere beside me, my dear girl."
At these words we both burst into tears, and mamma then expressed herselfas follows:
"The kiss you are giving me, Valentine, is the last kiss that I shallhave from you as a girl. Your husband—for Georges is that now—"
At these words I shuddered slightly, and by a singular freak of my brainpictured to myself Monsieur Georges—Georges—my husband—in a cottonnight cap and a dressing-gown. The vision flashed across my mind in themidst of the storm. I saw him just as plainly as if he had been there.It was dreadful. The nightcap came over his forehead, down to hiseyebrows, and he said to me, pressing my hand; "At last, Valentine; youare mine; do you love me? oh! tell me, do you love me?" And as hishead moved as he uttered these words, the horrible tuft at the end of hisnightcap waggled as an accompaniment.
"No," I said to myself, "it is impossible for my husband to appear insuch a fashion; let me banish this image—and yet my father wears thehideous things, and my brother, who is quite young, has them already.Men wear them at all ages, unless though—