II
One day Jean received two letters in a single envelope, bearing the postmark of his village. One letter was from his dear old mother, the other from Jeanne.
Letter from Françoise Peyral to her son.
My dear son,—Since my last letter many things have happened which will surprise you very much. But do not worry about them yet. You must do as we do, pray to the good God, and hope for the best.
I will begin by telling you that a new attorney has come into these parts, a young man called M. Prosper Suirot, who is not very much liked with us, being hard on poor people, and underhand by nature. But he is a man with a fine position, that cannot be denied. Well, this M. Suirot has asked your Uncle Méry for Jeanne’s hand in marriage, and has been accepted as his son-in-law. Now Méry came here one evening and made a scene; he had applied to your colonels for information about you without telling us, and it appears that he received bad accounts of you. They said that you were living with a negro woman out there; that you kept her, in spite of the remonstrances of your commanding officers, and that it was this that prevented you from becoming quartermaster, that there are bad reports of you out there; many things, my dear son, that I could never have believed, but it was written on a piece of stamped paper, with your regimental crest on it.
Then Jeanne came running to us in tears, vowing that she would never marry Suirot, or be wife to any one but you, my dear Jean, and that she would rather go into a convent.
I enclose a letter which she has written to you, in which she lets you know what you ought to do. She is of age, and very level-headed. Do exactly as she tells you, and write by return of post to your uncle, as she bids you. You will come back to us in ten months’ time, my dear son. If you behave well till you obtain your discharge, and pray constantly to the good God, without doubt everything will come right. But we are much worried, as you may imagine. We are afraid, too, that Méry may forbid Jeanne to come and see us again, and that will be a great pity.
Peyral joins me, my dear son, in embracing you, and in begging you to write to us as soon as possible.
Your old mother, who will love you as long as she lives.
Françoise Peyral.
Jeanne Méry to her cousin Jean.
My dear Jean,—I am so unhappy that I wish I could die on the spot. It is a great grief to me that you have never returned, and that you do not talk of coming back soon. And now my parents, backed up by my godfather, want to marry me to that horrid Suirot, of whom I have told you. People din into my ears that he is rich, and that I ought to feel honoured because he has made me an offer. I say no, you may be sure, and I am crying my eyes out.
My dear Jean, I am very unhappy, because everyone is against me. Olivette and Rose laugh when they see me always with red eyes; I think they would be very glad to marry that big booby Suirot, if he would only have them. As for me, the mere thought of it makes me shudder; and I will positively never marry him. If they drive me to it, I will run away from them all, and go into the convent of St Bruno.
If only I could sometimes pay your people a visit, it would cheer me up to have a talk with your mother, whom I love and respect as if I were her daughter. But as it is, I am given black looks, because I go there too often, and who knows if I shall not soon be forbidden to go at all.
My dear Jean, you must do exactly what I am going to tell you. I hear there are wicked rumours about you; I say to myself that people spread them for the sole purpose of influencing me. But I do not believe one word of all these stories. They are impossible, and no one here knows you as well as I do. All the same, I should be happy if you would say one little word on this subject, and if you would tell me of your affection for me; you know that it is always pleasant to hear about it, even if one is sure of it. And then, write to my father immediately and ask for my hand in marriage, and be sure to promise him that when you are home and my husband, you will always behave like a sensible, steady man, against whom nothing can be said. And then I will beg him on my knees.
The good God pity us, my dear Jean!
Your betrothed for life,
Jeanne Méry.
In country places young people are not taught to express in any way the sentiments of the heart. Girls brought up on the land sometimes feel very deeply, but they have no words to utter their emotions and thoughts; the subtle diction of passion is unknown to them. They cannot explain their feelings, save by the help of simple unimpassioned phrases. Therein lies the whole difference.
Jeanne must have felt very keenly to have written such a letter, and Jean, who spoke the same, simple language, recognised all the firmness and love that underlay it. The fervent loyalty of his betrothed inspired him with confidence and hope; he put into his reply all the tenderness and gratitude that he was able to express. He addressed to his Uncle Méry a formal request for Jeanne’s hand, accompanied by very sincere promises of steadiness and good conduct, and then he awaited, without undue anxiety, the return mail from France....
M. Prosper Suirot was a young attorney, narrow-chested and round-shouldered; moreover, a rabid free-thinker, bespattering with atheistic nonsense all the holy things of old; a short-sighted scribbler, whose small, red eyes were protected by smoked glasses. This rival would have appeared an object of pity to Jean, who felt an instinctive repugnance for persons who were plain and of poor physique.
Attracted by Jeanne’s dowry and beauty, the little attorney imagined in his foolish conceit that he was doing the peasant girl an honour by the offer of his ugly person and infinitesimal social position. He had even made up his mind that after their marriage, in order to rise to his height, Jeanne, having become a lady, should wear a hat.