Marguerite took her mother's arm, and spoke to her to cover her confusion and find shelter under the maternal wing, turning her neck with a swan-like motion to keep sight of Emmanuel, who still supported his uncle on his arm.The light was cleverly arranged to give due value to the pictures, and the half-obscurity of the gallery encouraged those furtive glances which are the joy of timid natures.
Neither went so far, even in thought, as the first note of love; yet both felt the mysterious trouble which stirs the heart, and is jealously kept secret in our youth from fastidiousness or modesty.
The first impression which forces a sensibility hitherto suppressed to overflow its borders, is followed in all young people by the same half-stupefied amazement which the first sounds of music produce upon a child.Some children laugh and think; others do not laugh till they have thought; but those whose hearts are called to live by poetry or love, listen stilly and hear the melody with a look where pleasure flames already, and the search for the infinite begins.If, from an irresistible feeling, we love the places where our childhood first perceived the beauties of harmony, if we remember with delight the musician, and even the instrument, that taught them to us, how much more shall we love the being who reveals to us the music of life? The first heart in which we draw the breath of love,--is it not our home, our native land? Marguerite and Emmanuel were, each to each, that Voice of music which wakes a sense, that hand which lifts the misty veil, and reveals the distant shores bathed in the fires of noonday.
When Madame Claes paused before a picture by Guido representing an angel, Marguerite bent forward to see the impression it made upon Emmanuel, and Emmanuel looked at Marguerite to compare the mute thought on the canvas with the living thought beside him.This involuntary and delightful homage was understood and treasured.The old abbe gravely praised the picture, and Madame Claes answered him, but the youth and the maiden were silent.
Such was their first meeting: the mysterious light of the picture gallery, the stillness of the old house, the presence of their elders, all contributed to trace upon their hearts the delicate lines of this vaporous mirage.The many confused thoughts that surged in Marguerite's mind grew calm and lay like a limpid ocean traversed by a luminous ray when Emmanuel murmured a few farewell words to Madame Claes.That voice, whose fresh and mellow tone sent nameless delights into her heart, completed the revelation that had come to her,--a revelation which Emmanuel, were he able, should cherish to his own profit; for it often happens that the man whom destiny employs to waken love in the heart of a young girl is ignorant of his work and leaves it unfinished.Marguerite bowed confusedly; her true farewell was in the glance which seemed unwilling to lose so pure and lovely a vision.Like a child she wanted her melody.Their parting took place at the foot of the old staircase near the parlor; and when Marguerite re-entered the room she watched the uncle and the nephew till the street-door closed upon them.
Madame Claes had been so occupied with the serious matters which caused her conference with the abbe that she did not on this occasion observe her daughter's manner.When Monsieur de Solis came again to the house on the occasion of her illness, she was too violently agitated to notice the color that rushed into Marguerite's face and betrayed the tumult of a virgin heart conscious of its first joy.By the time the old abbe was announced, Marguerite had taken up her sewing and appeared to give it such attention that she bowed to the uncle and nephew without looking at them.Monsieur Claes mechanically returned their salutation and left the room with the air of a man called away by his occupations.The good Dominican sat down beside Madame Claes and looked at her with one of those searching glances by which he penetrated the minds of others; the sight of Monsieur Claes and his wife was enough to make him aware of a catastrophe.
"My children," said the mother, "go into the garden; Marguerite, show Emmanuel your father's tulips."Marguerite, half abashed, took Felicie's arm and looked at the young man, who blushed and caught up little Jean to cover his confusion.
When all four were in the garden, Felicie and Jean ran to the other side, leaving Marguerite, who, conscious that she was alone with young de Solis, led him to the pyramid of tulips, arranged precisely in the same manner year after year by Lemulquinier.
"Do you love tulips?" asked Marguerite, after standing for a moment in deep silence,--a silence Emmanuel seemed little disposed to break.
"Mademoiselle, these flowers are beautiful, but to love them we must perhaps have a taste of them, and know how to understand their beauties.They dazzle me.Constant study in the gloomy little chamber in which I live, close to my uncle, makes me prefer those flowers that are softer to the eye."Saying these words he glanced at Marguerite; but the look, full as it was of confused desires, contained no allusion to the lily whiteness, the sweet serenity, the tender coloring which made her face a flower.
"Do you work very hard?" she asked, leading him to a wooden seat with a back, painted green."Here," she continued, "the tulips are not so close; they will not tire your eyes.Yes, you are right, those colors are dazzling; they give pain.""Do I work hard?" replied the young man after a short silence, as he smoothed the gravel with his foot."Yes; I work at many things.My uncle wished to make me a priest.""Oh!" exclaimed Marguerite, naively.
