CHAPTER XIX
HER coming again, on the following Saturday, was like a great burst of light before his eyes. Such a gust of youth swelled his breast that for a moment he felt faint.
He was in the meadow, near the water-holes where the fish were kept; she was alone, coming along the road from Saint-Ambroise with a basket over her arm. When she reached the embankment she made him a pretty curtsy and strolled down toward him, listlessly, her shoulders swaying as if poised for a dance.
"Good evening, Monsieur Corbier! I passed by to see if you still had some fish to sell. Are there any nice ones left?"
He did not hear what she said, his thoughts in a turmoil.
"Tell me your name, since you know mine. The other day you ran off without telling me."
"My name? Don't you sell fish to people unless you know their names? My name is Violette, and I'm a dressmaker at Chantepie."
"Violette, you're the prettiest dressmaker in all the world!"
She gave a low laugh, with her head thrown back a little, like a strutting pigeon.
He went on, pointing to the road:
"You say you are from Chantepie, but you came from the other direction"
"That's because I've got two new customers at Saint-Ambroise. I went there Wednesday evening; now my work is done and I'm on my way home. Passing by your place, I thought I'd buy some fish for mamma, who isn't very well."
She drawled the last words sweetly and sadly and it gladdened Michael's heart to find that she was as good as she was beautiful. He spoke quickly:
"There are very few fish left; every day people from all around have been coming for some. But here are some tench, and here a few bream; and oh, yes, here are the carp, but they're the landlord's fine and I can't sell them."
She seemed annoyed at that and muttered:
"I'm sorry, I'd have bought one."
Immediately he plunged his net into the water-hole and brought up two enormous carp.
"Pick out the best of them. I'd rather give it to you than to the landlord.— He'll have to be satisfied with the remaining five."
Seeing him bent over the net, she laughed silently in triumph; then she exclaimed:
"What big fellows! I'd have never thought they were as big as that! Thank you, but I don't want it. My basket is too small, and besides it would be too heavy for me to carry all the way to Chantepie."
Michael threw the carp back into the water and selected the best of the tench, filling her basket, and when she offered to pay for it, he refused indignantly.
"Not at all! You'd hurt me dreadfully!"
Her fine black eyes moved lazily under the caressing lids.
"Monsieur Corbier, I appreciate this very much and I won't forget it—but you'll know nothing about it because you never come to Chantepie. It may be ten years before we see each other again."
He took her up quickly:
"Ten years! I hope not! If you'd said ten days, I'd have still found it too long"
As he had come close to her and spoken very low, she stepped back and broke in on his speech:
"Oh,—who is that woman up there at your house? Your hired girl, I suppose?"
Away up near the house Madeleine was just then heard calling Lalie.
"Yes," said Michael. "She's my housekeeper."
"Oh!— And Lalie, who's she?"
"She's my little girl; she's five years old." After a moment's hesitation, he added: "She has a little brother who's younger. I'm a widower."
"I know. I've heard all about it. She's a Clarandeau, isn't she—your hired girl?"
"Yes, the sister of a young fellow who lost his arm last year at the threshing."
"Wait a minute—I believe I know her.— A big woman, with pockmarks on her face—still, not too terribly homely, isn't she?"
She looked at him squarely and boldly:
"Am I right? A girl of about your own age—and not exactly homely?"
There was a trace of annoyance in his answer:
"What do I know? Why don't you listen to me?"
"Because I'm in a hurry. Thank you very much, and now I'll say good-bye, hoping you'll give me a chance to repay you some time for your kindness."
She turned on her heel, flicking her skirts, and nimbly ran up the meadow slope and back to the road.
When she had gone a little way she halted for a minute. Her basket was heavy; she set it down and lifted the lid; it was so full that some of the fish were spilled on the road.
An insolent smile passed over her face; it still remained beautiful, but the lines of it were quite changed. Her sharp teeth glittered as if made to bite into living, bleeding flesh, like the teeth of a wild animal. The red, curled lip showed cruel wile and perhaps also a little contempt for the too easy prey.
"Oh—men! One more I can twist round my little finger. If he doesn't come to-morrow, he'll come running in a week. I'll have to manage to be alone."
Back at the pond, Michael stood, all reason swept from his brain, following her with his eyes as far as he could, drinking in exultantly the strong spring air that was still charged with the fragrance of her.
"My youth is not gone, since the loveliest of them all does not repulse me!"
Leaning motionless and wide eyed against the railing of the pond, he stood lost in dreams of a marvellous adventure.