And Jane would exclaim, —

  “Oh, how I should love to see it all!

  “Why shouldn’t you?” Elim would answer with a smile.

  And he would look at her with an expression which completed the thought that was in her mind.

  Jane would then lower her eyes with a deep sigh and resume her work.

  Of what was she thinking at such times?

  There was a time when I could have told you; but now I have quite forgotten what girls think about.

  Elim, who was naturally amusing, and was now stimulated by the pleasure of giving pleasure, grew charming; but he had by his side a disposition even more gay and smiling than his own, and that was Jane’s.

  Educated at a French boarding-school, she possessed all the good qualities of a Frenchwoman coupled with the frankness of her own country; add to that a real beauty which expanded day by day, enhanced by all the charms of youthfulness.

  This combination of attractions made Elim very thoughtful at times: it is true that the thoughtful mood was often sweeter than the merriment itself; but, as regards Jane, she was always merry. Love was to her as yet only a plaything; she knew neither its happiness nor its torture. Often her evenness of temper made Elim angry; but his anger succumbed quickly to Jane’s bantering, and the two young people would begin to laugh again like two children.

  A week of rainy weather passed in this way.

  At last the sky cleared, and Jane proposed a walk in the garden, which was of the true Dutch type. The paths were strewn with fine bright sand; all the little mounds were tended like almond cakes; the trees were clipped hedge-wise, the bushes trimmed to resemble vases of flowers, columns, or fans. All the vegetable creation seemed to have passed beneath the joiner’s plane.

  Nothing had preserved its natural shape. There was a bridge on which two fowls could not have passed each other; there were flowers in steel, Chinamen in wood, sheltering themselves with parasols from the summer sun in the month of October; a sportsman aiming at a duck which, for twenty years, had had no thought of flying from the lake.

  Observing a stork on a tower, Elim asked if it was not made of marble.

  Ah! Monsieur Elim,” said Jane, laughing, “we are not quite heathens, and although this bird is the object of a kind of cult with us, as it was with the Egyptians, we do not yet build temples to it nor worship it as an idol.”

  “That is a pity; for Master Quenzius seems to me to have been created and sent into the world to be the priest of this household god, of whom he has both the nose and mouth.”

  “And what do you think of our garden?”

  “It is very interesting; quite a museum of quaint things. What a misfortune that I cannot see it when it is green and filled with flowers!”

  “You may console yourself for your loss: under the gardener’s shears it is exactly the same, summer and winter; only perhaps it is even more doleful in summer. As to flowers, I will show you their domain, where they bl’oom like your northern beauties.”

  Jane opened the door of the greenhouse. A little turret through which they passed was filled with birds; behind a wire curtain hopped and flew a large number of rare birds. Some of them came and settled on Jane’s fingers and ate sugar from her mouth.

  Elim smiled at this idyllic picture.

  “It is charming,” said he; “but, after all, your guests are prisoners.”

  “What does it matter, if I make my guests blithe and happy? The poor creatures nearly all come from hot climates, and if I gave them their freedom they would inevitably perish.”

  “You are so kind, dear Jane, that you would make even a falcon forget his freedom.”

  “A falcon! thank you; it is not the custom nowadays for ladies to carry birds of prey at their wrists. No; I am afraid of falcons, both for myself and for my birds.”

  “You are wrong, Jane; a falcon when tamed is a delightful bird: with you, it would live on bonbons and caresses.”

  “Yes, only to fly away some fine day.”

  “No, to remain under your roof like a pigeon.”

  “That’s a nice tale you are telling me, Elim. Do you think I believe that a falcon wears talons as a mere ornament? But let us leave the birds and go to the flowers — flowers are my father’s favourite companions.”

  “The cultivation of flowers is an amusing occupation for old men, as a recollection of pleasures that are past; it is a useful lesson for young people.”

  “Yes, Mr. Philosopher; and I, too, wish that they would last longer. You want either to have a thousand hearts, or only one very cold one, to see flowers die.”

  “The flowers are happier than we, Jane; we die as they do, and they do not suffer like us.”

  “Yes, but to make up for it, they have not our pleasures, and I confess that I do not envy flowers their fate. You are a botanist, Elim?”

  “Oh, I am merely an amateur, Jane. The names bulbata, barbata, grandifolia, grandiflora, are like the Arabic alphabet to me.”

  “And you do not blush to confess your ignorance when you are in the flower-temple of the most celebrated botanist in Holland?”

  “Not only do I confess my ignorance, but I am not ashamed of it. I am like the nightingale of the Persian poets — I adore the rose, the white rose alone.”

  “That is not enough, Elim, and if you wish to win a lasting place in my father’s estimation, you must be able to talk to him about the stems and leaves, the petals and the pistils of all the rare flowers.”

  “Your advice is law, Jane; I am prepared not only to hang on to the flowers like a bee, but to grow out of the ground myself like a flower, if you will water me with the scented water of your knowledge. It is only from Flora herself that I can learn the paths of her kingdom and the names of her subjects, male and female. Let us begin our lessons from to-day.”

  “Willingly. Look at this flower, for example; its name is aster.”

  “That means star,” said Elim. “I, too, know two stars. The sky has none more clear or brilliant, and it is by their rays alone that I would guide my bark across the ocean.”

  “Ah! please don’t talk about your ocean, which frightens me so, since you were nearly drowned, and let us come down from the sky, where we are not worthy to have our dwelling.”

  “Nothing easier, when the sky comes down to the earth.”

  “Oh! how confused your poetical similes are growing, Elim. Isn’t that what is called fustian in plain English? Look, here is a relation of your much-loved rose — it is the moss-rose.”

  “Don’t you think it looks rather chilly in its pelisse?”

  “This is Chinese fire.”

  “Which burns only when in your hands.”

  “Here is a flower which, as the Indians assert, gives a cry when you pluck it from its stem.”

  “Probably it cries, ‘Don’t touch me.’”

  “None of them can ever say that to me, for I have never done them any harm. Now, mind you don’t fall asleep, for here is the whole poppy tribe.”

  “I’m not afraid of their putting me to sleep; I am too close to the antidote; and I say this from experience, for, when you say to me, ‘Good night, Elim,’ I have noticed that I have not slept the whole night.”

  “Poor Elim! now I understand why you dream so much during the day. But where did we leave off; was it at this tulip? Oh, no; you see your absent-mindedness is becoming infectious, my pupil. Let us pass on to this cactus, which flowers once a year, and that at night. Poor ephemeral creature, it lives for two hours, and then its leaves fall.”

  “Only two hours! but still, it does bloom; for two hours it delights the fair eyes which gaze at it. I would give years of my life in order to bloom and be loved for two hours.”

  And Elim looked passionately at Jane. Jane saw the look and lowered her eyes.

  “It is dreadfully hot in here,” she said, letting the wrap which surrounded her neck drop upon her shoulders, and opening the door of the greenhouse.

  “Come,” she went on, “let us repeat this first lesson and see what progress my pupil has made, and whether he is to be sent into the corner or allowed to play in the yard. So, to begin with, Monsieur Elim, be good enough to tell me the name of this flower,” she asked, as she plucked a tuberose.

  I don’t know,” answered Elim, still gazing at her. “But, good gracious! what do you know, then?” she cried.

  “I know how to love, and lore passionately!” said the young man, seizing her two hands.

  And what does ‘love’ mean?” asked Jane, with a simplicity which had no trace of affectation in it.

  Suppose this question put by a woman of thirty, dear reader; it would be artifice rather than simplicity.

  I have read in books and heard so many dissertations on the subject of love, that I am ready to say with Jane, “What does ‘love’ mean?”

  Some say that lore is synonymous with desire; others, that to lore is to forget completely the material side of lore. Some say there is no lore without money; others, that the rich do not know the meaning of love. And it is all in rain for you, realistic philosophers, spiritualists, Epicureans, Platonists, and even lovers, to argue about lore; the more you pile argument upon argument, the more perplexed will the question become.

  Do not, then, be surprised, dear reader, at the perplexity into which this simple question threw our hero. He did not find a word to reply, but dropped his eyes to the flower which Jane held in her hand, and, without thinking what he was saying, replied, —

  “It is a campanula.”

  Jane burst out laughing.

  “Ah!” she said, “you are a terrible pupil, and I do not believe I can sow flowers in your memory any more than in the snow of St. Petersburg, of which you were telling me the other day.”

  “I confess, Jane, that I do not understand flowers except in a garland. A bird of paradise appears beautiful, but we do not need on that account to know its real name; we know that it comes from the sky, and that is all. Suppose, Jane, that neither of us knew the name of the rose, should we smell its scent any the less on that account?”

  “True; but I think it would be better to smell the scent and at the same time to know the name of the flower. Campanulas have not leaves as large as this — look!”

  Elim looked, and in order to see better, raised Jane’s hand towards his eyes, lowering his eyes at the same time to her hand.

  The result was that his face was about on the same level as the girl’s, and, the half-open door of the greenhouse setting up a current of air, her hair, wafted by the breeze, brushed his face.

  The young man raised his eyes and saw close before them Jane’s blue eyes, pink cheeks and fresh mouth, and felt her scented breath.

  You know the electricity contained in a woman’s hair. Elim had no strength to resist; he clasped her waist with his arm, and in a transport of passion and with a cry of love pressed his lips to Jane’s, smothering her astonishment in a kiss.

  Jane tore herself from his arms.

  “Oh!” she cried, “I would not have believed you could behave so.”

  And bursting into tears she escaped from the greenhouse.

  The young man remained where he was, motionless and confused, with arms outstretched.

  A bomb exploding in his pocket would have alarmed him less than this unexpected severity, which really seemed somewhat incomprehensible.

  CHAPTER V

  THE MEANING OF LOVE

  “ELIM rubbed his eyes, thinking he must be under the influence of a dream. Why was Jane annoyed? what made her so angry?

  “She did not appear so indifferent to me, all the same,” he said to himself; “I thought she listened readily enough and answered to the language which my eyes spoke to her. True, the kiss which I gave her was unexpected, but her lips did not avoid mine. I could not possibly have been mistaken on that point.”

  Quite perturbed by anxiety, Elim entered the diningroom; but he sought in vain to meet Jane’s glance.

  Jane was in a sulk, and, when the culprit addressed her, contented herself with answering “yes” and “no.”

  Elim, however, persevered. The more Jane treated him with coolness, the more anxious was the young man to gain her forgiveness.

  At last he resolved to follow her example, and withdraw to his own chamber, quite determined not to appear either for tea or for supper.

  “I really never saw anything like it,” he said to himself as he strode backwards and forwards. “So young and at the same lime so changeable! Changeable, do I say? worse than that, unkind! What a blessing that I am not in love with her.”

  At these words he sighed.

  “It is true she is beautiful; as far as that goes, there is nothing to be said: she is made like a Venus and is pure as the day; but what a disposition! a regular serpent — Yes, yes, Miss Jane, all is over between us, I warrant you, and now you may flirt with Quenzius, if it amuses you to do so.”

  The door of Elim’s room opened, and the servant appeared.

  “Will you have tea, sir?” he asked.

  “Eh! what?” said Elim, who had neither heard nor understood.

  “I asked if you would come and take tea, sir,” repeated the servant.

  “I am coming this very moment,” answered the young man — “Well, yes,” said he when the servant had gone out, “I am coming, but I will take no more notice of her than if she were not present.”

  And carrying his intention into effect, Elim entered the drawing-room with a cheerful air, and, instead of going to sit by Jane as usual, seated himself near Mynheer August and began to laugh and chat with him.

  But Jane, who formerly interested herself in all that Elim said or did, did not even appear to notice his presence.

  More than this; she seemed to have forgotten all Elim’s likes and dislikes. He detested tea with sugar, and she put three lumps in his cup: she offered him cream, though it was a matter of public notoriety that he took his tea with a slice of lemon.

  The young man was furious. Jane seemed to him a little monster; it is true that she was the prettiest little monster in the world. Elim’s exasperation was so great that he was capable of two alternatives — either of falling out with her for the rest of his life, or of taking her in his arms before her father and mother and pressing her to his heart.

  I have often asked myself which is the sweeter to two lovers, their first kiss, or their first quarrel; but when the two things come together, it is enough to drive you mad.

  Elim went back to his room choking with rage. Had he known by heart the soliloquy of Figaro, he would have recited it from beginning to end; but as he did not know it, he contented himself with exclaiming, —

  “Oh! women, women!”

  For fear lest he should be induced to go back to the drawing-room, Elim undressed and went to bed, biting his nails.

  At midnight he was still tossing from side to side on his bed, without having discovered anything else to say but the eternal exclamation, —

  “Oh! women, women!”

  At last, at about two in the morning, he fell asleep.

  What happened to him during his sleep? By what dreadful nightmare was he beset? I know not; but, as a matter of fact, he awoke to find himself on the floor.

  He plunged into his bath and dressed; then, not feeling sufficiently refreshed, he went down to the garden in order to collect his wits for another interview.

  Without knowing why, he went up to the doors of the greenhouse: there he met the gardener, who had a watering-pot in his hand and a pipe in his mouth.

  “There is nobody in there?” asked Elim, wishing to make some remark to the man.

  “What! nobody, sir?” said he. “Why, there are more than a thousand flowers and a hundred birds.” Old joker!” said Elim, entering the greenhouse and closing the door behind him.

  “Zoo! zoo!” murmured the Dutchman with a shake of his head; and he went off smiling to himself.

  Elim, on entering the greenhouse, went involuntarily up to the group of tuberoses near which he had been so happy and then so miserable the day before. His soul floated in the perfume of the flowers like the Indian peri. The scented atmosphere seemed to take possession of him; it penetrated every pore, and filled him with an irresistible sadness.

  “How strange it is!” he murmured: “I have never before been at once so happy and so miserable.”

  He sat down on a bench surrounded by roses, and feeling the sweet sadness intoxicate him more and more, he did not try to combat it, but let his head fall between his hands.

  Then his heart, big with sighs, unburdened itself; those tears so sweet that you retain them in your breast as long as possible rose to his eyes. He felt them trickle between his fingers, and, having no longer strength or will to hold them in, he murmured in his softest tones, as though speaking to himself, —

  “Jane, my beloved Jane!”

  At this moment he seemed to hear a gentle noise at his side, like the flutter of a bird.

  He raised his face, all bathed in tears, and uttered a cry.

  Jane was standing before him.

  He opened his arms and repeated, —

  “Jane! my beloved Jane!”

  The girl fell upon his breast.

  “Oh!” said he after an interval — so powerless is man in the presence of happiness — ” Jane, Jane, how you have hurt me!”

  This time it was Jane who smilingly offered him her rosy and innocent lips. Elim, as though he dreaded lest she should escape from him again, clasped her with both hands round the head, and once again the lips of the two lovers met.

  Jane pushed Elim gently from her.

  “Why do you push me away, Jane?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” answered the girl; “it is not I who push you away, Elim; it is not my heart, it is my hands. Naughty hands! take hold of them, they will not push you away any more.”

  Elim seized them and covered them with kisses.

  Both spoke at once, each looked at the other; they laughed, without knowing what made them laugh. They “thee’d” and “thou’d” each other, though which of them began it they would have been puzzled to say.

  “What was the matter with you yesterday, naughty girl?” asked Elim.

 

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