Fromont and Risler, vol 3 | Page 9

Sunday morning.
Oh! the lovely drive, the lovely country, the lovely river, the lovely
trees!
Do not ask her where they went; Desiree never knew. But she will tell
you that the sun was brighter there than anywhere else, the birds more
joyous, the woods denser; and she will not lie.
The bouquet that the little cripple brought back from that beautiful
excursion made her room fragrant for a week. Among the hyacinths,
the violets, the white-thorn, was a multitude of nameless little flowers,

those flowers of the lowly which grow from nomadic seed scattered
everywhere along the roads.
Gazing at the slender, pale blue and bright pink blossoms, with all the
delicate shades that flowers invented before colorists, many and many a
time during that week Desiree took her excursion again. The violets
reminded her of the little moss-covered mound on which she had
picked them, seeking them under the leaves, her fingers touching
Frantz's. They had found these great water-lilies on the edge of a ditch,
still damp from the winter rains, and, in order to reach them, she had
leaned very heavily on Frantz's arm. All these memories occurred to
her as she worked. Meanwhile the sun, shining in at the open window,
made the feathers of the hummingbirds glisten. The springtime, youth,
the songs of the birds, the fragrance of the flowers, transfigured that
dismal fifth-floor workroom, and Desiree said in all seriousness to
Mamma Delobelle, putting her nose to her friend's bouquet:
"Have you noticed how sweet the flowers smell this year, mamma?"
And Frantz, too, began to fall under the charm. Little by little
Mam'zelle Zizi took possession of his heart and banished from it even
the memory of Sidonie. To be sure, the poor judge did all that he could
to accomplish that result. At every hour in the day he was by Desiree's
side, and clung to her like a child. Not once did he venture to return to
Asnieres. He feared the other too much.
"Pray come and see us once in a while; Sidonie keeps asking for you,"
Risler said to him from time to time, when his brother came to the
factory to see him. But Frantz held firm, alleging all sorts of business
engagements as pretexts for postponing his visit to the next day. It was
easy to satisfy Risler, who was more engrossed than ever with his press,
which they had just begun to build.
Whenever Frantz came down from his brother's closet, old Sigismond
was sure to be watching for him, and would walk a few steps with him
in his long, lute-string sleeves, quill and knife in hand. He kept the
young man informed concerning matters at the factory. For some time
past, things seemed to have changed for the better. Monsieur Georges

came to his office regularly, and returned to Savigny every night. No
more bills were presented at the counting-room. It seemed, too, that
Madame over yonder was keeping more within bounds.
The cashier was triumphant.
"You see, my boy, whether I did well to write to you. Your arrival was
all that was needed to straighten everything out. And yet," the good
man would add by force of habit, "and yet I haf no gonfidence."
"Never fear, Monsieur Sigismond, I am here," the judge would reply.
"You're not going away yet, are you, my dear Frantz?"
"No, no--not yet. I have an important matter to finish up first."
"Ah! so much the better."
The important matter to which Frantz referred was his marriage to
Desiree Delobelle. He had not yet mentioned it to any one, not even to
her; but Mam'zelle Zizi must have suspected something, for she
became prettier and more lighthearted from day to day, as if she
foresaw that the day would soon come when she would need all her
gayety and all her beauty.
They were alone in the workroom one Sunday afternoon. Mamma
Delobelle had gone out, proud enough to show herself for once in
public with her great man, and leaving friend Frantz with her daughter
to keep her company. Carefully dressed, his whole person denoting a
holiday air, Frantz had a singular expression on his face that day, an
expression at once timid and resolute, emotional and solemn, and
simply from the way in which the little low chair took its place beside
the great easy-chair, the easy-chair understood that a very serious
communication was about to be made to it in confidence, and it had
some little suspicion as to what it might be.
The conversation began with divers unimportant remarks, interspersed
with long and frequent pauses, just as, on a journey, we stop at every

baiting-place to take breath, to enable us to reach our destination.
"It is a fine day to-day."
"Oh! yes, beautiful."
"Our