The Awakening and Selected Short Stories - Page 139/161

As the day was pleasant, Madame Valmonde drove over to L'Abri to see

Desiree and the baby.

It made her laugh to think of Desiree with a baby. Why, it seemed

but yesterday that Desiree was little more than a baby herself; when

Monsieur in riding through the gateway of Valmonde had found her lying

asleep in the shadow of the big stone pillar.

The little one awoke in his arms and began to cry for "Dada." That

was as much as she could do or say. Some people thought she might have

strayed there of her own accord, for she was of the toddling age. The

prevailing belief was that she had been purposely left by a party of

Texans, whose canvas-covered wagon, late in the day, had crossed the

ferry that Coton Mais kept, just below the plantation. In time Madame

Valmonde abandoned every speculation but the one that Desiree had been

sent to her by a beneficent Providence to be the child of her affection,

seeing that she was without child of the flesh. For the girl grew to be

beautiful and gentle, affectionate and sincere,--the idol of Valmonde.

It was no wonder, when she stood one day against the stone pillar in

whose shadow she had lain asleep, eighteen years before, that Armand

Aubigny riding by and seeing her there, had fallen in love with her.

That was the way all the Aubignys fell in love, as if struck by a pistol

shot. The wonder was that he had not loved her before; for he had known

her since his father brought him home from Paris, a boy of eight, after

his mother died there. The passion that awoke in him that day, when he

saw her at the gate, swept along like an avalanche, or like a prairie

fire, or like anything that drives headlong over all obstacles.

Monsieur Valmonde grew practical and wanted things well considered: that

is, the girl's obscure origin. Armand looked into her eyes and did not

care. He was reminded that she was nameless. What did it matter about a

name when he could give her one of the oldest and proudest in Louisiana?

He ordered the corbeille from Paris, and contained himself with what

patience he could until it arrived; then they were married.

Madame Valmonde had not seen Desiree and the baby for four weeks. When

she reached L'Abri she shuddered at the first sight of it, as she always

did. It was a sad looking place, which for many years had not known the

gentle presence of a mistress, old Monsieur Aubigny having married and

buried his wife in France, and she having loved her own land too well

ever to leave it. The roof came down steep and black like a cowl,

reaching out beyond the wide galleries that encircled the yellow

stuccoed house. Big, solemn oaks grew close to it, and their

thick-leaved, far-reaching branches shadowed it like a pall. Young

Aubigny's rule was a strict one, too, and under it his negroes had

forgotten how to be gay, as they had been during the old master's

easy-going and indulgent lifetime.