stories by english authors in france(旅法英国作家的故事)-第10节
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it seemed to her that； than the Berceau； heaven itself could hold no sweeter
or fairer nook of Paradise。
The year rolled on； and the cottage under the sycamores was but the
happier for its new inmate。 Bernadou was serious of temper； though so
gentle； and the arch； gay humour of his young wife was like perpetual
sunlight in the house。 Margot； too； was so docile； so eager； so bright； and
so imbued with devotional reverence for her husband and his home； that
Reine Allix day by day blessed the fate that had brought to her this
fatherless and penniless child。 Bernadou himself spoke little； words were
not in his way； but his blue； frank eyes shone with an unclouded radiance
that never changed； and his voice； when he did speak； had a mellow
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softness in it that made his slightest speech to the two women with him
tender as a caress。
〃Thou art a happy woman； my sister；〃 said the priest； who was well…
nigh as old as herself。
Reine Allix bowed her head and made the sign of the cross。 〃I am；
praise be to God！〃
And being happy； she went to the hovel of poor Madelon Dreux； the
cobbler's widow； and nursed her and her children through a malignant
fever； sitting early and late； and leaving her own peaceful hearth for the
desolate hut with the delirious ravings and heartrending moans of the
fever…stricken。 〃How ought one to dare to be happy if one is not of use？〃
she would say to those who sought to dissuade her from running such
peril。
Madelon Dreux and her family recovered； owing to her their lives； and
she was happier than before； thinking of them when she sat on the settle
before the wood fire roasting chestnuts and spinning flax on the wheel；
and ever and again watching the flame reflected on the fair head of
Bernadou or in the dark； smiling eyes of Margot。
Another spring passed and another year went by； and the little home
under the sycamores was still no less honest in its labours or bright in its
rest。 It was one among a million of such homes in France； where a sunny
temper made mirth with a meal of herbs； and filial love touched to poetry
the prose of daily household tasks。
A child was born to Margot in the springtime with the violets and
daisies； and Reine Allix was proud of the fourth generation； and； as she
caressed the boy's healthy； fair limbs； thought that God was indeed good to
her； and that her race would live long in the place of her birth。 The child
resembled Bernadou； and had his clear； candid eyes。 It soon learned to
know the voice of 〃/gran'mere/；〃 and would turn from its young mother's
bosom to stretch its arms to Reine Allix。 It grew fair and strong； and all the
ensuing winter passed its hours curled like a dormouse or playing like a
puppy at her feet in the chimney… corner。 Another spring and summer
came； and the boy was more than a year old； with curls of gold； and
cheeks like apples； and a mouth that always smiled。 He could talk a little；
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and tumbled like a young rabbit among the flowering grasses。 Reine Allix
watched him； and her eyes filled。 〃God is too good；〃 she thought。 She
feared that she should scarce be so willing to go to her last sleep under the
trees on the hillside as she used to be。 She could not help a desire to see
this child； this second Bernadou； grow up to youth and manhood； and of
this she knew it was wild to dream。
It was ripe midsummer。 The fields were all russet and amber with an
abundance of corn。 The little gardens had seldom yielded so rich a produce。
The cattle and the flocks were in excellent health。 There had never been a
season of greater promise and prosperity for the little traffic that the
village and its farms drove in sending milk and sheep and vegetable
wealth to that great city which was to it as a dim； wonderful； mystic name
without meaning。
One evening in this gracious and golden time the people sat out as
usual when the day was done； talking from door to door； the old women
knitting or spinning； the younger ones mending their husbands' or brothers'
blouses or the little blue shirts of their infants； the children playing with
the dogs on the sward that edged the stones of the street； and above all the
great calm heavens and the glow of the sun that had set。
Reine Allix； like the others； sat before the door； for once doing nothing；
but with folded hands and bended head dreamily taking pleasure in the
coolness that had come with evening； and the smell of the limes that were
in blossom； and the blithe chatter of Margot with the neighbours。
Bernadou was close beside them； watering and weeding those flowers that
were at once his pride and his recreation； making the face of his dwelling
bright and the air around it full of fragrance。
The little street was quiet in the evening light； only the laughter of the
children and the gay gossip of their mothers breaking the pleasant stillness；
it had been thus at evening with the Berceau centuries before their time；
they thought that it would thus likewise be when the centuries should have
seen the youngest…born there in his grave。
Suddenly came along the road between the trees an old man and a
mule； it was Mathurin； the miller； who had been that day to a little town
four leagues off； which was the trade…mart and the corn…exchange of the
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district。 He paused before the cottage of Reine Allix； he was dusty； travel…
stained； and sad。 Margot ceased laughing among her flowers as she saw
her old master。 None of them knew why； yet the sight of him made the air
seem cold and the night seem near。
〃There is terrible news；〃 he said； drawing a sheet of printed words
from his coat…pocket〃terrible news！ We are to go to war。〃
〃War！〃 The whole village clustered round him。 They had heard of war；
far…off wars in Africa and Mexico； and some of their sons had been taken
off like young wheat mown before its time； but it still remained to them a
thing remote； impersonal； inconceivable； with which they had nothing to
do； nor ever would have anything。
〃Read！〃 said the old man； stretching out his sheet。 The only one there
who could do so； Picot； the tailor； took it and spelled the news out to their
wondering ears。 It was the declaration of France against Prussia。
There arose a great wail from the mothers whose sons were conscripts。
The rest asked in trembling； 〃Will it touch us？〃
〃Us！〃 echoed Picot； the tailor； in contempt。 〃How should it touch us？
Our braves will be in Berlin with another fortnight。 The paper says so。〃
The people were silent； they were not sure what he meant by Berlin；
and they were afraid to ask。
〃My boy！ my boy！〃 wailed one woman； smiting her breast。 Her son
was in the army。
〃Marengo！〃 murmured Reine Allix； thinking of that far…off time in her
dim youth when the horseman had flown through the dusky street and the
bonfire had blazed on the highest hill above the river。
〃Bread will be dear；〃 muttered Mathurin； the miller； going onward
with his foot…weary mule。 Bernadou stood silent； with his roses dry and
thirsty round him。
〃Why art thou sad？〃 whispered Margot； with wistful eyes。 〃Thou art
exempt from war service； my love？〃
Bernadou shook his head。 〃The poor will suffer somehow；〃 was all he
answered。
Yet to him； as to all the Berceau； the news was not very terrible；
because it was so vague and distantan evil so far off and shapeless。
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Monsieur Picot； the tailor； who alone could read； ran from house to
house； from group to group； breathless； gay； and triumphant； telling them
all that in two weeks more their brethren would sup in the king's palace at
Berlin； and the people believed and laughed and chattered； and； standing
outside their doors in the cool
