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Let her marry her Brusson, who does not deserve such a treasure, and then they must both leave Paris. This is my will." La Martinière came to meet her mistress with eager steps, followed by Baptiste, their faces beaming with joy, and both crying out, "He is here! he is free! Oh, the dear young couple!" The happy pair fell at Mademoiselle Scuderi's feet, and Madelon cried, "Ah!
Crowds of people, in threatening temper, often collected before La Regnie's Palais, crying, "Give us out Olivier Brusson! he is innocent!" even throwing stones at the windows, so that La Regnie had to seek the protection of the Marechaussée. Many days elapsed without Mademoiselle Scuderi's hearing anything on the subject of Olivier Brusson.
Immediately after the wedding he started with his young wife for Geneva, sped on his way by Mademoiselle Scuderi's blessings. Handsomely provided with Madelon's portion, his own skill at his calling, and every civic virtue, he there led a happy life, without a care. The hopes, whose frustration had sent the father to his grave, were fulfilled to the son.
The dwarf imparted to his youthful companion a volume similar to that which formed his own studies, and which proved to be a tome of one of Scuderi's now forgotten romances, of which Geoffrey Hudson was a great admirer, and which were then very fashionable both at the French and English Courts; although they contrive to unite in their immense folios all the improbabilities and absurdities of the old romances of chivalry, without that tone of imagination which pervades them, and all the metaphysical absurdities which Cowley and the poets of the age had heaped upon the passion of love, like so many load of small coal upon a slender fire, which it smothers instead of aiding.
In addition to this came home-sickness for his beautiful native Geneva; so the little household went there, spite of Mademoiselle Scuderi's dissuasions and promises of all needful assistance. Anne wrote once or twice to her foster-mother, and then ceased; so that Mademoiselle Scuderi thought she was forgotten in the happiness of the Brusson's life.
No; the beloved of my soul shall mourn me as an innocent victim. Time will mitigate her sorrow for me, but her grief for her father's terrible crimes nothing would ever assuage." Olivier ceased, and then a torrent of tears fell down his cheeks. He threw himself at Mademoiselle Scuderi's feet, saying imploringly, "You are convinced that I am innocent; I know you are. Be merciful to me.
This young man, gazing fixedly upon them, vigorously fought his way to them by help of fists and elbows, till he reached the carriage-door, threw it open with much violence, and flung a note into Mademoiselle Scuderi's lap; after which, he disappeared as he had come, distributing and receiving blows and fisticuffs.
So La Scuderi's poem was reckoned the very wittiest that ever was written. Several months had elapsed, when chance so willed it that Mlle. Scuderi was crossing the Pont Neuf in the glass coach of the Duchesse de Montpensier.
But Madelon's pious, absolute, childlike confidence, the inspired manner in which she spoke of her lover, soon to be free, and to take her to his heart as his wife, restored Mademoiselle Scuderi's hopes to some extent.
It is not romance in the sense of D'Urfe's or Scuderi's; it is very far from coming within the scope of Fielding's "romances"; and it is entirely unconnected with the tales of the German Romantic school.
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