She perfectly represented the idea conveyed by the word /mignonne/,for she was one of those pliant little women who allow themselves to be taken up,petted,set down,and taken up again like a kitten.Her small feet,as I heard them on the gravel,made a light sound essentially their own,that harmonized with the rustle of her dress,producing a feminine music which stamped itself on the heart,and remained distinct from the footfall of a thousand other women.Her gait bore all the quarterings of her race with so much pride,that,in the street,the least respectful working man would have made way for her.Gay and tender,haughty and imposing,it was impossible to understand her,excepting as gifted with these apparently incompatible qualities,which,nevertheless,had left her still a child.But it was a child who might be as strong as an angel;and,like the angel,once hurt in her nature,she would be implacable.
"Coldness on that face must no doubt be death to those on whom her eyes had smiled,for whom her set lips had parted,for those whose soul had drunk in the melody of that voice,lending to her words the poetry of song by its peculiar intonation.Inhaling the perfume of violets that accompanied her,I understood how the memory of this wife had arrested the Count on the threshold of debauchery,and how impossible it would be ever to forget a creature who really was a flower to the touch,a flower to the eye,a flower of fragrance,a heavenly flower to the soul.Honorine inspired devotion,chivalrous devotion,regardless of reward.A man on seeing her must say to himself:
"'Think,and I will divine your thought;speak,and I will obey.If my life,sacrificed in torments,can procure you one day's happiness,take my life,I will smile like a martyr at the stake,for I shall offer that day to God,as a token to which a father responds on recognizing a gift to his child.'Many women study their expression,and succeed in producing effects similar to those which would have struck you at first sight of the Countess;only,in her,it was all the outcome of a delightful nature,that inimitable nature went at once to the heart.If I tell you all this,it is because her soul,her thoughts,the exquisiteness of her heart,are all we are concerned with,and you would have blamed me if I had not sketched them for you.
"I was very near forgetting my part as a half-crazy lout,clumsy,and by no means chivalrous.
"'I am told,madame,that you are fond of flowers?'
"'I am an artificial flower-maker,'said she.'After growing flowers,I imitate them,like a mother who is artist enough to have the pleasure of painting her children.That is enough to tell you that I am poor and unable to pay for the concession I am anxious to obtain from you?'
"'But how,'said I,as grave as a judge,'can a lady of such rank as yours would seem to be,ply so humble a calling?Have you,like me,good reasons for employing your fingers so as to keep your brains from working?'
"'Let us stick to the question of the wall,'said she,with a smile.
"'Why,we have begun at the foundations,'said I.'Must not I know which of us ought to yield to the other in behalf of our suffering,or,if you choose,of our mania?--Oh!what a charming clump of narcissus!They are as fresh as this spring morning!'
"I assure you,she had made for herself a perfect museum of flowers and shrubs,which none might see but the sun,and of which the arrangement had been prompted by the genius of an artist;the most heartless of landlords must have treated it with respect.The masses of plants,arranged according to their height,or in single clumps,were really a joy to the soul.This retired and solitary garden breathed comforting scents,and suggested none but sweet thoughts and graceful,nay,voluptuous pictures.On it was set that inscrutable sign-manual,which our true character stamps on everything,as soon as nothing compels us to obey the various hypocrisies,necessary as they are,which Society insists on.I looked alternately at the mass of narcissus and at the Countess,affecting to be far more in love with the flowers than with her,to carry out my part.
"'So you are very fond of flowers?'said she.
"'They are,'I replied,'the only beings that never disappoint our cares and affection.'And I went on to deliver such a diatribe while comparing botany and the world,that we ended miles away from the dividing wall,and the Countess must have supposed me to be a wretched and wounded sufferer worthy of her pity.However,at the end of half an hour my neighbor naturally brought me back to the point;for women,when they are not in love,have all the cold blood of an experienced attorney.
"'If you insist on my leaving the paling,'said I,'you will learn all the secrets of gardening that I want to hide;I am seeking to grow a blue dahlia,a blue rose;I am crazy for blue flowers.Is not blue the favorite color of superior souls?We are neither of us really at home;we might as well make a little door of open railings to unite our gardens.You,too,are fond of flowers;you will see mine,Ishall see yours.If you receive no visitors at all,I,for my part,have none but my uncle,the Cure of the White Friars.'
"'No,'said she,'I will give you the right to come into my garden,my premises at any hour.Come and welcome;you will always be admitted as a neighbor with whom I hope to keep on good terms.But I like my solitude too well to burden it with any loss of independence.'
"'As you please,'said I,and with one leap I was over the paling.
"'Now,of what use would a door be?'said I,from my own domain,turning round to the Countess,and mocking her with a madman's gesture and grimace.
