Country life -- Fiction; France -- Fiction; Love stories
"So, Joseph," continued the innkeeper, "you can and ought to love and
respect your mother, just as I love and respect her. I take my oath
here and now that she is the bravest and most helpful Christian woman
that ever a sick man had about him; and I have never had a moment's
hesitation in my resolve to declare sooner or later what I have
declared to-day. We are now very well off in our worldly affairs,
thank God, and as I swore to her and to God that I would replace the
father you lost, I will agree, if you will live here with us, to take
you into partnership and to give you a good share of the profits.' So
you needn't fling yourself into bagpiping, in which your mother sees
all sorts of ills for you and anxieties for her. Your notion was to
get her a home. That's my affair now, and I even offer to make hers
yours. Come, you'll listen to us, won't you, and give up that damned
music? Why can't you live in your own country and stay at home? You
needn't blush at having an honest innkeeper for a step-father."
"You are my step-father, that's very certain," replied Joseph, not
showing either pleasure or displeasure, but remaining coldly on the
defensive; "you are an honest man, I know, and rich, I see, and if my
mother is happy with you--"
"Yes, yes, Joseph, as happy as possible; above all to-day," cried
Mariton, kissing him, "for I hope you will never leave me again."
"You are mistaken, mother," answered Joseph; "you no longer have any
need of me, and you are contented. All is well. You were the only
thing that brought me back into this part of the country; you were
all I had to love, for Brulette--and it is well that all present
should hear this from my own mouth--for Brulette never had any
feeling but that of a sister for me. Now I am free to follow my
destiny; which is not a very kindly one, but it is so plainly mine
that I prefer it to all the money of innkeeping and the comfort of
family life. Farewell, mother, God bless those who make you happy;
as for me, I want nothing in these parts, not even admission to the
guild which evil-intentioned fools are trying to deny me. My inward
thoughts and my bagpipe go with me wherever I am; and I know I can
always earn my living, for wherever my music is heard I shall be
welcome."
As he spoke the door to the staircase opened and the whole company of
bagpipers entered in silence. Père Carnat requested the attention of
those present, and in a firm and cheerful manner, which surprised
everybody, he said:--
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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