Bijou. Gyp
you always see the black side of things; he thinks Bijou is sweet, he admires her and likes to be with her; but that is all!"
"You know very well, grandmamma, that Bijou is perfectly adorable, and so attractive that everyone is fascinated by her."
The marchioness pointed to her great-nephew, Jean de Blaye, who, ever since he had left the window, did not appear to be taking any notice of what was going on around him.
"Everyone?" she said, almost angrily; "no, not everyone. Look at Jean, he is as blind as the abbé!"
Jean de Blaye was sitting motionless in a large arm-chair; there was an impassive expression on his face, and a far-away look in his eyes. He appeared to be in a reverie, and the younger lady glanced across at him, as she answered:
"I am afraid that he is only acting blind!"
"Oh, nonsense!" said Madame de Bracieux delighted, "do you think that Bijou could possibly interest Jean enough, for instance, to keep him, even for a time, from his actresses, his horses, his theatres, and the stupid life he generally leads?—You really think so?"
"I do think so!"
"And how long have you thought this?"
"Oh, only just now. When he told us with such conviction that 'he did not care all that much about being reminded of Paris,' I felt that he was speaking the truth. I began to wonder then what could have made him forget Paris. I wondered and wondered—and I found out."
"Bijou?"
"Exactly."
"So much the better if that really should be so. For my part, I do not think it looks like it. He takes no notice of her."
"When we are watching him—no."
"He seems low-spirited and absent-minded."
"He would be for less cause than this. Jean never does things in a half-and-half way. If he were in love, I mean seriously, he would be desperately in love; and if he were to be desperately in love with Bijou, or if he were to discover that he was falling in love with her, it certainly would not be a thing for him to rejoice over. He cannot—no matter how much he might wish it—he cannot marry Bijou. It is not only that he is her cousin, but he is not rich enough."
"He has about twenty thousand pounds. Bijou has eight thousand, to which I shall add another four thousand, that makes twelve thousand—total between them thirty-two thousand."
"Well, and can you imagine Bijou with an income of about nine hundred pounds a year?"
"No. I know that she would consider it enough. She makes her own dresses; everyone says they do that, but, in this case, it is a fact. Then she is very industrious and clever; she understands housekeeping wonderfully well, and for the last four years has managed everything both here and in Paris; but I could not possibly reconcile myself to the idea of seeing her enduring the hardships of a limited income—and it would be limited. Good heavens! though, I hope she will not go and fall in love with Jean."
"Oh, I do not think she will."
"You see, he is charming, the wretch; and it appears he is a great favourite?"
"Yes, certainly; but then Bijou is made so much of. She is surrounded and adored by everyone, so that she has not much time to fall in love herself!"
"And then, too, she is such a child!" said the marchioness, glancing at her grand-daughter with infinite tenderness.
Bijou was standing near the billiard-table watching the game, and laughing as she teased the players.
At a little distance from her, the young professor was also standing motionless, watching her with a rapturous expression in his eyes.
Suddenly Jean de Blaye rose abruptly, looking annoyed, and moved away in the direction of the door that led to the flight of steps going down to the garden.
"Wait a minute!" called out Denyse, "wait, and let me give you a flower!"
She went to the basket, and taking out a yellow rose scarcely opened, she crossed over to her cousin, and put it in his button-hole.
"There!" she said, stepping back and looking satisfied, "you are very fine like that!" And then turning towards the tutor, she said in the most winning way, and with perfect ease: "Monsieur Giraud, will you have a rosebud too?"
The young man took the flower, and, almost trembling with confusion, tried in vain to fasten it in his coat.
"Ah! you can't do it!" said the young girl, taking it gently from him. "Let me put it in for you, will you?"
He was so tall that, in order to reach his button-hole, she was obliged to stand on tip-toes. She slipped the flower through slowly, and with the greatest care, and when she had finished she gave a little tap to the shiny revers of the old coat, which were all out of shape and faded.
"There, that's right!" she said, smiling pleasantly; "like that, it is perfectly lovely!"
The marchioness, her eyes shining with affection, was looking at her.
"What do you think of her? isn't she sweet?" the old lady said to Bertrade, who seemed to be admiring Bijou also.
Madame de Rueille looked at the young tutor, who was standing still in the middle of the room.
"Poor fellow!" she said.
"What, still! Well, decidedly, Monsieur Giraud appears to interest you very much!"
"Very much indeed! I am sorry for people who are sensitive and unhappy; for, you see, I am one of the merry ones myself!"
"Oh!—I don't know about that. You said just now that Jean was acting blind; well, I should say you were acting merry. You are merry, for instance, when anyone is looking at you."
The young wife did not answer, she only pointed towards Bijou.
"She is one of the genuinely merry ones, at any rate, is she not, grandmamma?"
Bijou had just given the children some flowers, and was now speaking to the Abbé Courteil.
"And you too, monsieur, I want to decorate you with my flowers! There, now, just tell me if that rose is not beautiful? Ah, if you want a lovely rose, that certainly is one."
She was holding out to him an enormous rose, which was full blown, and looked like a regular cabbage.
The abbé had risen from his seat without loosing the bag containing the loto numbers. He looked scared, and stammered out as he stepped back:
"Mademoiselle, it is indeed a superb flower; but—but I should not know where to put it. The button-holes of my cassock are so small, the stalk would never go through. I am very much obliged, mademoiselle, I really am. I—but there is no place to put it—it is—"
"Oh, but there is room for it in your girdle," she answered, laughing. "There, monsieur, look there—it is as though it had been made for it!"
Standing at some little distance away, she pushed the long stalk of the flower between the abbé's girdle and cassock.
He thanked her as he bowed awkwardly.
"I am much obliged, mademoiselle, it is very kind of you; I am quite touched—quite touched."
At every movement the rose swung about in the loose girdle. It moved backwards and forwards in the most comical way, with ridiculous little jerks, showing up to advantage against the cassock which was all twisted like a screw round the abbé's thin body.
"Now, I am going to arrange my vases," remarked Bijou, when she had adorned everyone with flowers.
"Where?" asked M. de Rueille.
"Why, in the dining-room, in the drawing-room, in the hall, here, everywhere."
"We will come and help you!" exclaimed several voices.
"Oh,