"What are you doing now?"

"An ear."

"Is it a good likeness?"

"It will be very striking."

Cadet went down to the company, exclaiming:

"I couldn't get in; he was just doing an ear, that's going to be striking. Oh! that painter seems to be a smart one! I tried to look through the key-hole, but he must have her posed in profile, for I thought I saw an eye instead of an ear. I'm going to put my wife's picture in our big room opposite the one of the boar my grandfather killed."

At last, after two hours, Auguste appeared, leading the bride that was to be, who would not have raised her eyes to look at a diamond, and who was even more ruddy than usual. Everyone exclaimed at her beauty, her bloom, and her innocent air, and Monsieur Cadet swelled with pride.

The groom asked to see the portrait and Auguste exhibited a face which was as like that of the queen of clubs as one drop of water is like another. The guests all went into ecstasies over it, saying that the resemblance was striking, and furthermore that it had the advantage of resembling the groom and Pere Rondin as well. Monsieur Cadet was overjoyed, and Auguste received compliments from the whole company.

The rest of the day pa.s.sed in dancing and recreation; many guests did not leave the table except to go to bed, and Bertrand was among them.

The wedding day arrived at last. At daybreak the farm-house was astir.

Monsieur Cadet donned a costume that he had had made in Paris: nut-brown coat, waistcoat and trousers. Mamma Eustache went to dress the bride.

Mademoiselle Suzanne Tapotte was soon led in, armed with the virginal bouquet; whereupon they set out for the church, with the musicians at the head of the procession.

Bertrand enjoyed the festivities immensely; Auguste too, seemed not to be bored; he danced with the girls, while his companion kept the corks popping. The whole night was pa.s.sed in games, feasting and carousing.

But at midnight Monsieur Cadet led his wife away to the nuptial chamber, leaving the rest to drink and dance. Two hours later they were amazed by the apparition of the husband, in nightgown and nightcap, in the ball-room, crying:

"My friends, I am the happiest of men, that's all I've got to say."

And Monsieur Cadet returned to his spouse amid a shower of congratulations and jests from his friends, while Pere Rondin said to Auguste:

"Didn't I tell you my nephew was a sly one, and that it's a sort of rosiere, as you might say, that he's brought from Paris?"

Auguste added his congratulations to those of the other guests. At daybreak, weary of dancing and eating, he went to bed, leaving the dauntless Bertrand to hold his own with three farmers, two of whom were all ready to slide under the table.

Auguste and his faithful companion pa.s.sed the week of the wedding festivities at Monsieur Eustache's farm; and during that time the bride gave the young man several more sittings, for she always found something to change in her nose or her eye or her ear.

At the end of the week the travellers resumed their journey, not without an invitation from Monsieur Cadet to repeat their visit.

"_Beati pauperes spiritu!_" said Auguste as they left the farm. To which Bertrand replied:

"Yes, lieutenant. Here is one place at all events where you have behaved yourself."

XXIV

A SKETCH OF ITALY

Auguste and Bertrand arrived at Turin, undelayed by any fresh adventure.

They took rooms at a modest hotel, for, before continuing their journey, Auguste desired to make the acquaintance of that pleasant Italian city, where one may fancy oneself in France, and where reigns an attractive mixture of French manners and Italian morals. The ladies of Turin are pretty, agreeable and piquant; in addition to the charm of our Frenchwomen they have more fire in their glance, a more sensuous intonation to the voice, more abandon in their bearing. Bertrand, observing that his master gazed persistently at the Italian women, said to him again and again:

"Look out, lieutenant; we are travelling in search of fortune and not of conquests; we didn't come to Italy to admire black eyes and Greek noses."

"True, Bertrand; but as we find them here, there's no reason why we shouldn't admire them."

"Remember, monsieur, that the fine arts alone are to occupy your mind."

"The sight of a lovely woman kindles the flame of genius. Raphael was in love with his Madonna model."

"Perhaps that wasn't the best thing he did, lieutenant."

"Bertrand, you understand nothing about art."

"Perhaps not, but I know enough about it to calculate."

"I want to paint one of these charming heads that have caught my eye; I want to take for a model one of the piquant faces that I notice among the girls of this region."

"In that case you will do like Monsieur Raphael, you will fall in love with your model."

"So much the better, if it results in my producing a chef-d'oeuvre."

"I'm afraid that it will result in your producing something else."

"Have you heard them sing, Bertrand?"

"Who, monsieur?"

"The young girls in the suburbs, the villagers, the simple working-girls; they all sing with such taste and harmony! I hear delightful concerts every evening when I am walking. We are in the land of music, my friend."

"I should prefer to be in the land of gold mines."

"Here the common people, the workmen, are born musicians; the petty tradeswoman seeks recreation after her day's labor with her guitar. The boatman as well as the great n.o.bleman, the peasant woman as well as the rich lady, blends her voice with the chords that she strikes on that instrument."

"It seems, then, that everybody plays it."

"And the Italian women have a nonchalant air when singing that forms such a striking contrast to the fire of their eyes."

"I certainly shall go back to Paris and make trousers, monsieur."

Auguste left Bertrand and went out to walk in the suburbs of the city.

The season being farther advanced in that beautiful climate, there was already a wealth of verdure, shrubbery and fragrant groves, which the Italian regards with the indifference of habit, but which arouse the admiration of the stranger who sees for the first time that lovely sky, that delicious landscape, and those flowering orange trees which spread the sweetest of perfumes all about.

In a pleasant country everything is calculated to inspire pleasure. The climate of Italy seems to be the fitting climate of love. The aspect of a wild landscape, of a rugged and sterile country inclines the soul to melancholy and sadness; that of a verdant grove, of a valley studded with flowers, makes our hearts beat more gently and gives birth to no thoughts save of pleasure and of love.

Auguste, who did not need to be in Italy to have his imagination take fire, was conscious nevertheless of the soothing influence of the climate; he sighed as he glanced at the lovely women who pa.s.sed him by; and as the young Frenchman was a comely youth, his sighs were answered by some very expressive glances.

Among the attractive young women whom he met in the street, Auguste noticed one, modestly but respectably attired, who usually had an older woman on her arm. The young woman's face was fascinating; but her timid glances, far from challenging the young foreigner's, were modestly lowered when they met. Auguste followed them, however. Sometimes the older woman turned her head, and, when she saw the young man, urged her companion to quicken her pace. When they reached a distant suburb of the city, the ladies entered a small isolated house. The young woman afforded Auguste one more glimpse of her lovely features as she furtively glanced at him; but the old woman closed the door behind them and the enchanting image vanished.