I must now say a word of his most respectable housekeeper. Madame Francoise was an ugly old witch, as malicious as an ape, and as wicked as the devil himself. She was about sixty, but would not own to more than forty; she had been with his Reverence some fifteen years, and had contracted the habit of always indentifying herself with him, by continually making use of the plural pronoun we. If any one came to order a mass for his dead or living relations, after receiving the cash, her answer was-“We will say it as you desire”; and if sufficient remuneration was not offered the reply was-“We cannot do it.”
Beneath the shade of the flag that united Francoise and her master, grew up a young woman, who passed as the niece of his Reverence, though she could have claimed a nearer relationship.
She was a great full-faced damsel, a little marked with the smallpox, very fair complexion, and fine neck and bosom; her nose closely resembled the rector's, barring the carbuncles, which had not yet burst forth, but promised fair at no very distant time; her eyes were small but shining. As for her hair, it might very well have passed for red, but as that is a proscribed color, and auburn is more fashionable, she called it auburn; but whether red or auburn was a matter of small importance to a certain priggish student, who often came to pass eight or ten days at the rectory, less for friendship towards the rector than his charming niece.
This young lady who passed under the name of Miss Nicole, was much liked by all the boarders of her worthy uncle's school. The day scholars, of whom I had long been one, were also eager to share in her good graces; big boys succeeded very well, but it was quite the contrary with the little ones, among whom unfortunately I was reckoned. I several times attempted to gain my point with the damsel, but my age was against me; and all my protestations that my face only was young, advanced me nothing, and to fill up the measure of my woes, Madame Francoise was made acquainted with my amorous propensities; who imparted her knowledge to the rector, who did not spare me. I was enraged at being so little, for I saw that all my sorrows sprang from it.
I grew quite disgusted with the difficulties I experienced with Miss Nicole; the repulses of the niece and the floggings of the uncle were rather too much for me; but my desires were not eradicated; they were only concealed, and the presence of Nicole served to arouse them. Nothing but an opportunity was wanting to make them burst forth, nor was it long before it arrived; but the order of things obliges me to turn to other subjects.
My reader will remember that the morrow of the eventful day which has so long occupied his attention was appointed for my second visit to Madame Dinville. I anticipated the pleasure I should enjoy from meeting my dear Susan, far more than that of visiting her godmother.
“At the chateau,” thought I, “are some sweet shady plantations, where I will induce her to go. The little jade is amorous enough, and will, no doubt, readily follow me. In that sweet solitude we shall have nothing to fear from rotten bedsteads or jealous mothers.” These agreeable ideas occupied my thoughts as I walked to the chateau. When I entered, everything appeared wondrous still, and I passed through several apartments without seeing any person. As I entered the rooms, one after the other, my heart beat high with the expectation of seeing my Susan; but I saw her not. At last I came to a chamber the door of which was shut; but as the key was outside, I had not gone thus far for nothing; so I opened the door, and was a little startled at the sight of a bed, which I thought was unoccupied. I immediately heard a woman's voice asking who was at the door, which I recognised as Madame Dinville's. I turned to go back, but she prevented me by crying out:
“What is it my little Silas? Come and embrace me, my darling.”
I was now as bold as I had been bashful, and rushed into her arms.
“I like,” said she to me, with a satisfied air, “a young lad that knows how to be punctual.”
Scarcely had she finished speaking, before I saw a foppish little personage enter the chamber from the dressing-room, singing, or more properly murdering the air of a new and popular song, marking each cadence by a pirouette that corresponded marvelously well with the singular tones of his voice. At the sudden apparition of this modern Amphion (it was an abbe), I blushed for myself and Madame Dinville, and was suspicious that I had, by coming upon them unexpectedly, somewhat inconvenienced a party that cannot be agreeably composed of more than two persons, for I had no idea that a man could desire the company of a woman for any other reason than the one which was always uppermost in my own head.
I examined him with great attention, and reflecting that he was an abbe, I sought to discover in what he differed from other people. My understanding of the word abbe was very imperfect; as I fancied that they must all resemble the rector or his curate; and could hardly reconcile their steady deportment with the singular extravagances of the gentleman before me.
This diminutive Adonis, called the Abbe Filot, was receiver of taxes at the neighboring town, and was very rich, God knows by what means. Like most of the fools of his order, his learning was very inferior to his impudence. He had followed Madame Dinville to her country-seat to contribute to her amusement.
The lady rang the bell, and I heard some one enter; it was Susan. My heart leaped for joy at thus finding my hopes realised. She did not see me at first, as the curtain of the bed on which Madame had made me sit down partially concealed me; I may observe, en passant, that the abbe was rather jealous of the liberty that the kind lady had given me, and seemed to think it very bad taste on her part.
When Susan approached the bed, she saw me, and her beautiful cheeks were instantly suffused with a blush; she cast down her eyes, and could not speak for agitation. I was in a condition very little differing from hers, excepting that instead of looking at the floor, my eyes were intently fixed on her. Though the charms of Madame Dinville were not to be condemned, I should most certainly have decided for Susan-had it not been that I felt very uncertain of success with her, while with her godmother everything promised a prompt fruition of my desires. When Susan received a message for the chambermaid, she went out, and my attention was devoted wholly to Madame Dinville. I did not at first perceive that while my thoughts were debating the question relative to Susan and Madame Dinville the abbe had disappeared. The good lady had seen him go out, but, thinking that I also was aware of his absence, she did not say a word to me about him. In a few moments she leaned towards me, and took my hand with a languid look that plainly told me that there was no obstacle on her part to my happiness, and let it fall on her thighs, which she opened and closed in a most lascivious manner. Still supposing that the abbe was in the room, I hesitated to make my advances, though I could not help observing her reproachful looks.
“Are you asleep, Silas?” she at last exclaimed.
A gallant by profession would have profited by such an occasion to vent a whole load of nonsense, but I simply replied:
“No, madam, I am not.”
Though this answer made her think me less forward than my conduct at our previous meeting implied, it did me no injury in her estimation, but rather the contrary; it suggested the idea that I was a novice in the art of love, and she would have the pleasure of giving me the first lesson. My indifference showed her that the mode of attack she had adopted was not suitable, and that something more striking was requisite to move me. Accordingly she threw herself into a posture that rendered visible a greater portion of her charms. The sight of them aroused me from my reverie, drove the idea of Susan from my mind, and made me over, body and soul, to Madame Dinville. Perceiving the effect produced upon me by this stratagem, and still further to encourage me, she asked what had become of the abbe. When I looked round and saw he was no longer there, I felt what a fool I had been.