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Updated: May 28, 2025
It was Mercanson who had repeated in the village and in the chateau my conversation with him about Dalens and the suspicions that, in spite of myself, I had allowed him clearly to see. Every one knows how bad news travels in the provinces, flying from mouth to mouth and growing as it flies; that is what had happened in this case.
She has just lost her aunt, and is all alone; she is exposed to the power of I know not what enemy. Can it be Mercanson? He may have spoken of my conversation with him, and, seeing that I was jealous of Dalens, may have guessed the rest. Assuredly he is the snake who has been hissing about my well-beloved flower. I must punish him, and I must repair the wrong I have done Brigitte. Fool that I am!
She showed me how she had changed her coiffure which had displeased me, and told me how she had passed the day arranging her hair to suit my taste; how she had taken down a villainous black picture-frame that had offended my eye; how she had renewed the flowers; she recounted all she had done since she had known me, how she had seen me suffer and how she had suffered herself; how she had thought of leaving the country, of fleeing from her love; how she had employed every precaution against me; how she had sought advice from her aunt, from Mercanson and from the cure; how she had vowed to herself that she would die rather than yield, and how all that had been dissipated by a single word of mine, a glance, an incident; and with every confession a kiss.
Wearied by this harangue, in order to conceal my rising disgust, I sat down on the grass and began to play with the goat. Mercanson turned on me his dull and lifeless eye: "The celebrated Vergniand," said he, "was afflicted with that mania of sitting on the ground and playing with animals." "It is a mania," I replied, very innocently.
"Monsieur, I am afraid of no one, and I have told you what you ought to know." "You have told me what you think I ought to know, but not what you know. Madame Pierson is not sick; I am sure of it." "How do you know?" "The servant told me so. Why has she closed her door against me, and why did she send you to tell me of it?" Mercanson saw a peasant passing.
Wearied by this harangue, in order to conceal my rising disgust, I sat down on the grass and began to play with the goat. Mercanson turned on me his dull and lifeless eye: "The celebrated Vergniaud," said he, "was afflicted with the habit of sitting on the ground and playing with animals." "It is a habit that is innocent enough," I replied.
I waited until the following day and then presented myself at her door; the servant who met me said that her mistress was indeed very ill and could not see me; she refused to accept the money I offered her, and would not answer my questions. As I was passing through the village on my return, I saw Mercanson; he was surrounded by a number of schoolchildren, his uncle's pupils.
Mercanson appeared to be astonished. I was somewhat astonished myself; but who knows his own mind? At his first words I saw that the priest understood what I wanted to know and had decided not to satisfy me. But, doubtless, you have some reason unknown to me for inquiring about him to-day.
If Mercanson was not a bad man, he was either a fool or very shrewd, I have never known which; it is certain that he had reason to hate me and that he treated me as meanly as possible. Madame Pierson, who had the greatest friendship for the cure, had almost come to think equally well of the nephew. He was proud of it, and consequently jealous.
When we reached the end of the garden walk, a large young man with a pale face, clad in a kind of black cassock, suddenly appeared at the railing. He entered without knocking and bowed to Madame Pierson; it seemed to me that his face, which I considered a bad omen, darkened a little when he saw me. He was a priest I had often seen in the village, and his name was Mercanson; he came from St.
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