(7) CHAPTER I. ADIEU, CHARMANT PAYS. Was it a vision or a waking dream? Fled is that music :-Do I wake or sleep? FIVE O'CLOCK on a fine Sunday,-western light streaming along the shore, low cliffs stretching away on either side, with tufted grasses and thin straggling flowers growing from the loose arid soil,-far-away promontories, flashing and distant shores, which the tides have not yet over-lapped, all shining in the sun. The waves swell steadily inwards, the foam sparkles where the ripples meet the sands. The horizon is solemn dark blue, but a great streak of light crosses the sea; three white sails gleam, so do the white caps of the peasant-women, and the wings of the seagulls as they go swimming through the air. Holiday people are out in their Sunday clothes. They go strolling along the shore, or bathing and screaming to each other in the waters. The countrymen wear their blue smocks of a darker blue than the sea, and they walk by their wives and sweethearts in their gay-coloured Sunday petticoats. A priest goes by; a grand lady in frills, yellow shoes, red jacket, fly-away hat, and a cane. Her husband is also in scarlet and yellow. Then come more women and Normandy caps flapping, gossiping together, and baskets and babies, and huge umbrellas. A figure, harlequin-like, all stripes and long legs, suddenly darts from behind a rock, and frisks into the water, followed by a dog barking furiously. More priests go by from the seminary at Asnelles. Then perhaps a Sister of Charity, with her large flat shoes, accompanied by two grand-looking bonnets. I believe M. le Sous-préfet himself had been seen on the sands that afternoon, by Marion, by Isabeau, by Madame Potier, and all the village, in short. M. le Maire had also been remarked walking with the English gentleman from the château; one pair of eyes watched the two curiously as they went by. The little Englishman was sauntering in his odd loose clothes; Monsieur Fontaine, the maire, tripping beside him with short, quick military steps, neat gaiters, a cane, thread gloves, and a curly-rimmed Panama hat. M. Fontaine was the taller of the two, but the Englishman seemed to keep ahead somehow, although he only sauntered and dragged one leg lazily after the other. Pélottier the inn-keeper had been parading up and down all the afternoon with his rich and hideous bride. She went mincing along with a parasol and mittens and gold earrings and a great gold ring on her forefinger, and a Paris cap stuck over with pins and orange-flowers. She looked daggers at Reine Chrétien, who had scorned Pélottier, and boxed his great red ears, it was said, earrings and all. As for Reine she marched past the couple in her Normandy peasant dress, with its beautiful old laces, and gold ornaments, looking straight before her, as she took the arm of her grandfather, the old farmer from Tracy. Besides all these grown-up people there comes occasionally a little flying squadron of boys and girls, rushing along, tumbling down, shouting and screaming at the pitch of their voices, to the scandal of the other children who are better brought up, and who are soberly trotting in their small bourrelets and bibs and blouses by the side of their fathers and mothers. The babies are the solemnest and the funniest of all, as they stare at the sea and the company from their tight maillots or cocoons. The country folks meet, greet one another cheerfully, and part with signs and jokes; the bathers go on shouting and beating the water; the lights dance. In the distance, across the sands, you see the figures walking leisurely homewards before the tide overtakes them; the sky gleams whiter and whiter at the horizon, and bluer and more blue behind the arid grasses that fringe the overhanging edges of the cliffs. Four or five little boys come running up one by one, handkerchief-flying, umbrella-bearer ahead, to the martial sound of a penny trumpet. "Soldats, Soldats, ne The little captain pursues them breathless and exhausted, brandishing his sword in an agony of command. "Soldats," he says, addressing his refractory troops, souvenez-vous qu'il ne faut jamais courir ? courez pas, je vous en prrrrie-une, deux, trois," and away they march to the relief of a sand fort which is being attacked by the sea. And so the day goes on and the children play Among the waste and lumber of the shore, And while they build "their castles of dissolving sand to watch them overflow," the air, and the sounds, and the . colours in which all these people are moving, seem to grow clearer and clearer; you can see the country people clam bering the cliffs behind the village, and hear the voices and the laughter of the groups assembled on the embanked market-place. And meanwhile M. le Maire and the Englishman are walking slowly along the sands towards Tracy -with long grotesque shadows lengthening as the sun begins to set. "I hope you will revisit our little town before long," M. Fontaine was politely remarking to his companion. "I hear that you start to-morrow, and that Madame de Tracy accompanies you." "My aunt declares she cannot possibly go alone," said the Englishman, shrugging his shoulders, and speaking in very good French for an Englishman, "or I should have been glad to stay another week." "You have not yet visited the oyster-park at Courseulles," said M. le Maire, looking concerned. "It is a pity that you depart so soon." "I am very unfortunate to miss such a chance," said the Englishman smiling. The Maire of Petitport seemed to think this a most natural regret. "Courseulles is a deeply-interesting spot," he said. "Strangers travel from far to visit it. You have nothing of the sort in your country, I believe. You would see the education of the oyster there brought to its highest point of perfection. They are most intelligent animals, I am assured; one would not have imagined it. You would see them sorted out according to size, in commodious tanks. Every variety is there-from enormous patriarchal oysters to little baby ones, en maillot, I may say. The returns are enormous, I believe. And then you have such a fine air at Courseulles; magnificent plains-a vast horizon-no trees, nothing to interrupt the coup-d'œil. The effect of the moon shining on the marshes and the establishment is really striking." "I think old Chrétien has a share in the concern," said the Englishman. "Mademoiselle Reine and her grandfather are very reserved upon the subject, and I have never been able to ascertain exactly what their yearly percentage amounts to," said Fontaine, confidentially holding up one thin hand. "1 know that she drives over once a month in her spring-cart, to superintend the affairs. She is a person, as you are aware, of great method and order; and indeed, in affairs, it is absolutely necessary." "She seems to manage the farm very fairly," said the other. "Old Chrétien is a stupid old fellow, always drinking cider; he don't seem to do much else." "Alas, no!" replied Fontaine. "I look upon drunkenness as a real misfortune. He has told me in confidence that he cannot exist without the stimulant of cider. Even Mademoiselle Reine cannot persuade him to abandon it." "I cannot imagine anybody having any difficulty in refraining from cider," said the other, smiling again. "She was good to give me some the other day, with soupe aux choux; and I confess —— 66 Comment, Monsieur Butler! You do not like our cider?" said the maire, looking quite surprised. "It is because you have the taste of your 'potter' still in your mouth. Come back to us, and I promise to convert you." "Very well, that is a bargain," said Butler, looking about him a little distractedly. Madame Pélottier, who happened to be passing, imagined that he was admiring her elegance. She drew herself up, stuck out her forefinger, and bowed. The maire, with a brisk glissade, returned the salute. |