The Woman of Fire

I The coasts of Brittany, undoubtedly jealous of the coasts of Normandy, have been adorned with new sea baths for some years now. It is no longer enough for them to oppose Pornic, Saint-Malo, and Le Croisic to Trouville, Dieppe, and Boulogne, they also want second-class beaches and they have created Pornichet, Piriac, and Le Pouliguen. These pretty Breton residences would deserve to share the fashion of their Norman rivals, but the Parisians find them to be too far and refuse them their consecration, so they remain the almost exclusive property of the inhabitants of Angers, Tours and especially Nantes. This last city is more than a departmental capital, it is the capital of the northwest of France and it has all the elegance of capitals. Men, after having made a large part of their business there, sacrifice for their pleasures; they have circles, theatres, horse races, and mistresses. Women are generally pretty, charming, sufficiently thin, without being too much so. They do not remain locked in their homes as in most other provincial cities; they sometimes show themselves, from three to five hours, in the Crébillon and du Calvaire streets, on Place Graslin, on Cours and Quai de la Fosse. Their walking is graceful, their toilet tasteful; it is the Parisian elegance reviewed and corrected by provincial austerity. They are as gossipy as in Paris, even much more than in Paris because they know each other better, they live in the same circle and their subjects of conversation are more restricted. They have a taste for the table and love pastry chefs and confectioners, whose industry in Nantes is among the most prosperous. In short, good people, the spirit not very cultivated, indolent and slightly sensual, charitable, very charitable, they proved it during the last war, devotees without real religion, filled with defects and excellent qualities, they take at the same time from the Parisian, the Creole, the Provincial, and from this mixture was born a type apart, which has its stamp and its originality and which one can call under this title: the Nantese. As June arrives, this kind female population, too tight in the narrow streets, dreams of emigrating. They move on the sides of the Erdre or the Sèvre, to Clisson or the lake of Grandlieu, or, faithful to the Loire, they follow its course and will settle down at Chantenay, Couëron, and Savenay. Others, more fearless and attracted by the sea, go down to Saint-Nazaire and choose, to spend a few weeks there, one of the previously named beaches. The Croisic was once fashionable; it seems to have lost popularity now. They prefer the Pouliguen, where the sea is calmer, and which has a fir wood, precious in this country, picturesque as much as possible but with little shade. Nothing is as charming as this small town that took its name from the bay at the end of which it can be seen rising (Pouliguen or Poull-guen, Baie Blanche). Its well-aligned one- or two-story houses, some surrounded by gardens, stretch along a harbor that is always full of fishing or pleasure boats in summer. If you follow the docks, you will soon reach the beach and enjoy a magical view. Behind you, facing the sea, are about twenty pretty villas with covered balconies. To the right, along the bay, is the small village of Painchâteau with its houses and gardens that the tide comes to bathe. Further on, and in the same direction, a line of rocks above which you can see the green countryside. On the left, over a width of four to five miles, the Escoublac dunes, which run in a semi-circle, and Pornichet surrounded by fir trees. Opposite, built on the rocks of the Odd, the Red Tower charged with indicating the entrance to the channel and the Even Islands, formidable pitfalls that all the large ships arriving from America come to recognize before heading for Saint-Nazaire. On the horizon, on a clear day, Pornic, Saint-Michel and Saint-Gildas, the extreme limit of the left bank of the Loire. In the first days of August 186…, two people, who got out of the car for a moment in front of Esgrigny's chalet, seemed to be admiring this magnificent landscape for the first time. One of them, a woman fifty-five or fifty-six years old, dressed in a very simple way, tall and a little overweight, still blond despite her age, with a keen eye, a fine smile and a pretty nose, reminded, for her aspect, her distinguished manners and her severe appearance, some women of the Court of Louis XIV. The other was a young man of twenty-five years old, her son undoubtedly, tall, distinguished, cold like her, blond, with very silky and long English favorites, a little pale, but of one of those accidental palenesses that sometimes occurs in study and under which one feels life moving. He had the look of the naval officer, the English gentleman, and the magistrate, without being possible to classify him exactly. His myopic eyes, adorned with a nose clip, were beautiful, his teeth pretty, his hand perfectly gloved, small and tapered, his foot in relation to his hand. Even if you found him too well suited for a traveler, you would not accuse him of a lack of taste and savoir vivre; one guessed that he must have imposed on himself, as a rule, this tie knot, this straight collar, this somewhat classic frock coat and all this severity of dress. The spectacle he was contemplating, admirable at all hours of the day and in all weathers, was surpassing itself, so to speak, at that moment. The sea, which had been rising imperceptibly for two hours, suddenly burst into the bay and invaded the sandbanks and rocks that the low tide had left exposed. Lobster, crabs and shrimp fishermen, surprised by the flow at the Red Tower, returned to the pier as quickly as the fishing gear they were carrying behind allowed them to. Young girls, walking on the rocks of Painchâteau, ran towards the beach and shouted in terror whenever the wave grazed their feet. At Pornichet, several pleasure boats, recognizable by their elegant hulls and white sails, were slowly advancing with the rising tide, and, towards the Even, a fleet of sardine fishermen, renouncing to return to the Croisic, Piriac or Turbale, their usual ports, were heading towards Le Pouliguen, all sails deployed. A magnificent sun lit up this landscape, silvered the rise and made the fine sand sparkle on the beach, scattered with small pearly scales and shells of all shades. “Well, then! Lucien, what do you think of this country?” suddenly asked his companion, the elderly lady whose portrait we have sketched out. “I think it's very handsome.” “Can't you find any other expression to paint your admiration?” “Who cares about the expression, mother? Why spend my enthusiasm on words? I admire it inside, and I admire it a lot, I assure you.” “So, would you like to spend your month of vacation here?” “How, here? So, we're not going to the Croisic?” “We don't have to if we like Le Pouliguen. Our car will drop our luggage in one of these houses and will gladly avoid the two leagues that still separate us from the Croisic.” “Probably. But will we find a place to stay in this village?” “Do you want me to look?” “Do whatever you want, mother.” “Doesn't my idea seduce you?” “I'm afraid you'll run out of distractions here.” “I never look for any, you know that. Since your father's death, I've been living for you and your pleasures are mine.” “I recognize it, my good mother. But you run the risk of living at Le Pouliguen in absolute solitude.” “You're mistaken. I will meet some very kind people there.” “Ah! Who is it?” “Mr. de Rioux, for example.” “The former first president?” “Yes, your father's friend.” “Is he alone?” “No, his niece must have accompanied him.” “Ah! Miss Marie is here!” “As you say! Are you upset?” “Not at all, my mother. Only...” “Explain yourself.” “Well, since you demand it, I'm beginning to understand...” “What? What?” “That you want to stay at Le Pouliguen.” She looked at him and said: “You think I'm an ulterior motive, don't you?” “I believe, mother, what you have allowed me to believe. You think I'm old enough to marry. Miss Marie de Rioux seems to suit me as a woman, and...” “And?” “You'd be happy to see me spend my month of vacation here with her.” “That's true. What objections can you make to my desire?” “Can I speak honestly?” “Please, please, please.” “I would not like to get married now.” “You are wrong. In your career, marriage is necessary, even indispensable. It gives weight, gravity. You are a little young for the position you occupy and which you owe above all to the memories left in the judiciary by our family. A d'Aubier could not stay a long time as a deputy in a small town; they understood this and sent you to Nantes. Ah! I know that, on your side, you have valiantly earned your rank. You worked at the point to be obliged today, by doctor's prescription, to take a month's rest. But you are no less than twenty-five years old and you don't seem to be more than that, despite all your efforts to get old. Get married; you will no longer have any concerns in this regard.” “So,” said Lucien laughing, “you want Miss de Rioux to stand in place of the straight collar and white tie.” “I want you to be happy, my son; I am convinced that you will find it in this marriage, and I try, by all possible means, to make you decide.” “Well, I see Mr. de Rioux and his niece there. Join them and look with them to find the right accommodation for you. I'm running away if you consent. I came to the sea baths to distract myself and your wedding ideas are making me feel a little unhappy.” He secretly took his mother's hand, respectfully kissed her fingertips and walked away in the direction of the beach. He must have had very serious preventions against marriage to escape the person he had just named and to whom Mrs. d'Aubier hastened to go when she was alone. Neither tall nor short, with a slim waist, rounded and perfectly shaped shoulders, a child's foot, very black hair, large almond-shaped eyes, lined with long eyelashes, a fine nose, with well-placed nostrils, red lips, fresh colors, Miss Marie de Rioux, barely eighteen years old, was a charming young girl. She had just seen Lucien's mother, and, leaving her uncle who could not walk fast enough, ran lively and lightly to meet Mrs. d'Aubier. “You here, Madam, by what chance! What a good fortune for us!” she cried out as she joined her and handed her forehead to kiss. “Will you come to live in Le Pouliguen?” “I would like to, my dear child, but I hesitate.” “Ah! Really! Why is that so? It's so pretty here.” And turning to a tall old man who had joined them: “My dear uncle,” she said, “help me, please, to convince Mrs. d'Aubier to stay with us.” “I couldn't ask for better,” said the former magistrate.” Don't you like this country, Madam?” “A lot, on the contrary; but my son prefers the Croisic.” “Oh! he is very wrong,” cried Miss Marie vividly,” and she added without reflection, with this petulance that seemed usual to her: “Does Mr. d'Aubier know we are here?” The question was embarrassing. Mrs. d'Aubier, as if she had not heard it, hastened to ask if, if she were to settle in Le Pouliguen, she would easily find a place to stay. “Easily is not the word,” said Mr. de Rioux, “but by searching with us who know the country...” “Oh! we will find it!” cried Miss Marie. She was still blushing; she had probably just told herself that she was too eager to keep the newcomers with her. Perhaps she was also afraid of having betrayed, in her liveliness, some secret thought, some hidden hope. “So, let us look, if you don't mind,” said Mrs. d'Aubier, and, as the first president was about to offer her the arm: “No, not at all,” she said, “I will walk alone, I don't want to deprive you of your dear support.”