The Seven Cardinal Sins: Envy and Indolence

As always before, she kissed her son on the forehead, without blushing.

Thus passed the last fortnight of December.

Upon the eve of the new year, David, Marie, and her son were preparing to go out, in order to carry a few last remembrances to their dependents, when Marguerite handed her mistress a letter which the express had just brought.

At the sight of the handwriting, Marie could not hide her surprise and fear.

This letter was from M. Bastien, who wrote as follows:

"MADAME, MY WIFE (with whom I am not at all satisfied): – My business in Berri has ended sooner than I anticipated. I am now at Pont Brillant, with my boon companion, Bridou, occupied in verifying accounts. We will leave soon for the farm, where Bridou will stay a few days with me, in order to assist me in estimating the indemnity due me, out of the sum allotted to the sufferers from the overflow, because we must get some good out of so much evil.

"We will arrive in time for dinner.

"Take care to have a leg of mutton with an abundance of clove of garlic in the best style, and some fine cabbage soup, as I am fond of it, with plenty of hot salted pork, and plenty of Blois sausage; attend especially to that, if you please.

"Nota bene. I shall arrive in a very bad humour, and very much disposed to box my son's ears, in case his fits of melancholy and coxcomb airs are not at an end.

    "Your husband, who has no desire to laugh,
    "JACQUES BASTIEN.

"P. S. Bridou is like me; he likes cheese that can walk alone. Tell Marguerite to provide it, and do you attend to it."

Madame Bastien had not recovered from the surprise and regret produced by the unexpected announcement of M. Bastien's return, when she was drawn from her unhappy reflections by a tumultuous and constantly increasing excitement that she heard outside. One would have declared that an assemblage had surrounded the house. Suddenly Marguerite entered, running, her eyes sparkling with joy, as she cried:

"Ah, madame! come, – come and see!"

Marie, more and more astonished, automatically followed the servant.

CHAPTER XXXII

THE weather was clear, the winter sun radiant. Marie Bastien, as she went out on the rustic porch, built above the front door of the house, saw about one hundred persons, men, women, and children, almost all clothed in coarse, but new and warm garments, filing in order, and ranging themselves behind the little garden.

This procession was ended by a cart ornamented with branches of fir, on which was placed what was called by the country people, a ferry-boat – a little flat boat, resembling the one Frederick and David so bravely used during the overflow.

Behind the cart, which stopped at the garden gate, came an empty open carriage, drawn by four horses, and mounted by two postilions in the livery of Pont Brillant; two footmen were seated behind.

At the head of the procession marched Jean François, the farmer, leading two of his little children by the hand; his wife held the smallest child in her arms.

At the sight of Madame Bastien, the farmer approached.

"Good day, Jean François," said the young woman to him, affectionately. "What do these good people who accompany you want?"

"We wish to speak to M. Frederick, madame."

Marie turned to Marguerite, who, with a triumphant air, was standing behind her mistress, and said to her:

"Run and tell my son, Marguerite."

"It will not take long, madame; he is in the library with M. David."

While the servant went in quest of Frederick, Marie, who saw then for the first time the handsomely equipped carriage standing before the garden gate, wondered what could be its purpose.

Frederick hastened, not expecting the spectacle which awaited him.

"What do you want, mother?" said he, quickly.

Then, seeing the crowd which had gathered in the little garden, he stopped suddenly, with an interrogative look at his mother.

"My child – "

But the young woman, whose heart was beating with joy, could say no more; overcome by emotion, she had just discovered that the assemblage was composed entirely of those unfortunate people whom she and her son and David had helped in the time of the overflow.

Then Marie said:

"My child, it is Jean François who wishes to speak to you, – there he is!"

And the happy mother withdrew behind her son, exchanging a glance of inexpressible delight with David, who had followed his pupil, and stood half hidden under the porch.

Frederick, whose astonishment continued to increase, made a step toward Jean François, who said to the young man, in a voice full of tears:

"M. Frederick, it is we poor valley people, who have come to thank you with a free heart, as well as your mother and your friend, M. David, who have been so kind. As I owe you the most," continued the farmer, with a voice more and more broken by tears, and pointing to his wife and children with an expressive gesture, "as I owe you the most, M. Frederick, the others have told me – and – I – "

The poor man could say no more. Sobs stifled his voice.

Other sobs of tenderness from the excited crowd responded to the tears of Jean François, and broke the almost religious silence which reigned for several minutes.

Frederick's heart was melted to tears of joy. He threw himself upon his mother's neck, as if he wished to turn toward her these testimonials of gratitude by which he was so profoundly touched.

At a sign from Jean François, who had dried his eyes and tried to regain his self-possession, several men of the assemblage approached the cart, and, taking the ferry-boat, brought it in their arms and laid it before Frederick.

It was a simple and rustic little boat with two oars of unpolished wood, and on the inner railing were written in rude and uneven letters, cut into the framework, the words: "The poor people of the valley to M. Frederick Bastien."

Then followed the date of the overflow.

Jean François, having subdued his emotion, said, as he showed the boat to the son of Madame Bastien:

"M. Frederick, we united with each other in making this little boat, which almost looks like the one which served you in saving us and our effects. Excuse the liberty, M. Frederick, but it is with good intention and warm friendship that we bring this little boat to you. When you use it, you will think of the poor people of the valley, and upon those who will always love you, M. Frederick; they will teach your name to their little children, who, when they are grown, will some day teach it to theirs, because that name, you see, M. Frederick, is now the name of the good saint of the country."

Frederick allowed his tears to flow, as a silent and eloquent response. David then, leaning over his pupil's ear, whispered to him:

"My child, is not this rude procession worth all the splendour of the brilliant hunting procession of St. Hubert?"

At the moment Frederick turned toward David to press his hand, he saw a movement in the crowd, which, suddenly separating itself with a murmur of surprise and curiosity, gave passage to Raoul de Pont Brillant.

The marquis advanced a little in front of Jean François; then, with perfect ease and grace, he said to Frederick:

"I have come, monsieur, to thank you for saving my life, because this is my first day out, and it was my duty to dedicate it to you. I met these good people on the way, and after learning from one of them the purpose of their assemblage I joined them, since, like these good people, I am of the valley, and like several of them, I owe my life to you."

After these words, uttered with an accent perhaps more polished than emotional, the Marquis de Pont Brillant, with exquisite tact, again mingled with the multitude.