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Awakening & Selected Short Stories-Part27_Kate Chopin(1851-1904)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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his daughter dwelt. The laughter of young people was heard out

under the trees, and within the house where La Petite was playing



upon the piano. With the enthusiasm of a young artist she drew

from the keys strains that seemed marvelously beautiful to



Mam'selle Pauline, who stood enraptured near her. Mam'selle

Pauline had been touched by the re-creation of Valmet. Her cheek



was as full and almost as flushed as La Petite's. The years were

falling away from her.



Ma'ame Pelagie had been conversing with her brother and his

friends. Then she turned and walked away; stopping to listen



awhile to the music which La Petite was making. But it was only

for a moment. She went on around the curve of the veranda, where



she found herself alone. She stayed there, erect, holding to the

banister rail and looking out calmly in the distance across the



fields.

She was dressed in black, with the white kerchief she always wore



folded across her bosom. Her thick, glossy hair rose like a silver

diadem from her brow. In her deep, dark eyes smouldered the light



of fires that would never flame. She had grown very old.

Years instead of months seemed to have passed over her



since the night she bade farewell to her visions.

Poor Ma'ame Pelagie! How could it be different! While the



outward pressure of a young and joyousexistence had forced her

footsteps into the light, her soul had stayed in the shadow of the



ruin.

Desiree's Baby



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 prevailingbelief 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.

The young mother was recovering slowly, and lay full length,






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