The chÂlet hired at Vichy by the families of Miranda and Gonzalvo bore the poetic name of “ChÂlet of the Roses.” In justification of its name, along its open-work balusters had been trained the airy festoons of a wilderness of climbing roses, at the extremities of whose branches languidly drooped the last roses of the season. Roses of a pale yellow contrasted with flame-hued Bengal roses; and dwarf-roses, of a warm flesh-tint, looked like diminutive faces, curiously peeping in at the windows of the chÂlet. In the peristyle grew in graceful confusion roses of all sorts and colors. Pink Malmaison roses lifted themselves proudly on their stems; tea-roses dropped their leaves languidly; roses of Alexandria, beautiful and stately, poured from their cups their intoxicating perfume; moss-roses smiled ironically, with their carmine lips half hidden by their luxuriant green mustaches; white roses rivaled the snow with their cold pure beauty, their modest primness like that of artificial flowers. And among her lovely sisters the exotic viridiflora hid her sea-green buds, as if ashamed of the strange lizard-like hue of her flowers, of her ugliness as a monstrosity, interesting only to the botanist.

The chÂlet had the usual two stories,—the entresol, consisting of a dining-room, kitchen, small parlor, and reception-room; the main floor being reserved for the bedrooms and dressing-rooms. Along the main story ran a balcony protected by a railing of lace-like delicacy, and along the entresol ran a similar balcony, which was almost completely covered by trailing vines. A delicate iron railing separated the chÂlet from the public road—an avenue bordered with trees; low walls performed the same office with respect to the adjoining houses and gardens. At either side of the entrance stood, on a massive gray column, a bronze figure of a boy, holding up in his chubby arms a ground glass globe, which protected a gas-jet. It was evident at a glance that the chÂlet, with its thin wooden walls, could afford but slight protection to its inhabitants against the cold of winter or the heat of summer; but in the mild and genial autumn weather this fanciful building, with its light and delicate ornamentation, carved like a drawing-room toy, adorned with blooming rose-garlands, was the most coquettish and delightful of abodes; the most appropriate nest possible to imagine for a pair of loving turtle-doves. I regret to have to give these charming dwellings, which abound in Vichy, the foreign name of chÂlet, but how is it to be avoided if there is no corresponding term in our own tongue? What we call cabin, cottage, or country house is not at all what is understood by the word chÂlet, which is an architectural conception peculiar to the Helvetian valleys, where art, deriving its inspiration from nature, reproduced the forms of the larches and spruce trees and the delicate arabesques of the ice and the hoar-frost, as the Egyptians copied the capitals of their columns from the lotus-flower. The chÂlets of Vichy are built solely for the purpose of being rented to foreigners. The wife of the concierge undertakes the management of the house, the marketing, and even the cooking; the concierge himself attends to the cleaning of the house, prunes the plants in the little garden, trains the vines, sweeps the sanded walks, waits at table, and opens the door. The Mirandas and the Gonzalvos, then, installed themselves in the chÂlet without further trouble than giving the concierge their wraps and taking their places at the dining-room table.

Although LucÍa, and still more Pilar, felt fatigued after the long railway journey, they could not help admiring the beauty of the abode which fate had allotted them. The balcony, especially, they thought delightful for sewing or reading. It brought to Pilar’s mind the many water-color scenes, landscapes painted on fans, and sentimental pictures that she had seen representing the now hackneyed subject of a young girl with her head framed in foliage. LucÍa, on her side, compared her house in Leon, antique, massive, bare and gloomy, with this dwelling, where all was neat and bright, from the shining waxed floors to the curtains of blue cretonne adorned with clusters of pink bell-flowers. When LucÍa sprang out of bed on the day following that of their arrival, her first impulse was to go out into the balcony; from thence she went down into the garden, fastening up her morning gown with pins, to keep it from being wet by the damp grass. She looked at the roses, fresh from their bath of dew, lifting themselves proudly on their stems, each with its necklace of pearls or diamonds. She inhaled the odor of each in turn, passing her fingers over their leaves without daring to pluck them. At this hour the roses had scarcely any perfume; what she perceived was, rather, the aroma of the general freshness and moistness that rose from the beds of flowers and from the surrounding trees. In Vichy there are trees everywhere; in the afternoon, when LucÍa and Pilar went out to see something of the town, they uttered exclamations of delight at every turn at the sight of some tree, some alley, or some park. Pilar thought Vichy had an elegant aspect; LucÍa, less well-informed in matters of elegance and fashion, enjoyed simply the spectacle of so much verdure, so much nature, which rested her eyes, making her think at times that, notwithstanding its crowded streets and its brilliant shops, Vichy was a village, exactly suited to gratify her secret desire and need for solitude. A village of palaces, with all the adornments and refinements of comfort and luxury characteristic of our age, but a village after all.

Pilar and Miranda began to take the waters simultaneously, although with the difference of method required by the different natures of their maladies. Miranda drank the powerful water of the Grande Grille, undergoing at the same time a complicated course of treatment of local effusions, baths and douches, while the anÆmic girl drank in small doses the pungent, gaseous, and ferruginous water of the Source des Dames. From this time forth a constant struggle went on between Pilar and those who had charge of her. It was necessary to use heroic efforts to prevent her leading the same life as the fashionable visitors, who spent the entire day in displaying their toilets and amusing themselves. From this point of view the presence in Vichy of some six or eight Spanish ladies, acquaintances of the Gonzalvos, who intended to remain till the end of the season, was pernicious to Pilar. The best and most brilliant part of the season was over; the races, the pigeon-shooting, the public excursions in chaise and omnibus to the Bourbonese, beginning in August, had ended in the early part of September. But there still remained the concerts in the Park, the promenade on the asphalt-paved avenue, the nightly entertainments in the Casino; the theater, which, now soon to close, was more and more crowded every night. Pilar was dying to join the dozen or so of her fashionable compatriots who were participating in the short-lived round of watering-place gayeties. The physician at Vichy who attended Pilar, while he recommended amusements for Miranda, prohibited strictly to the anÆmic girl every species of excitement, advising her strongly to avail herself of the semi-rural character of the town to lead a country life as far as was possible, going to bed with the chickens and rising with the sun. This regimen required a great deal of perseverance on the part of the patient, and, more than this, to have some one constantly at her side who should oblige her to follow strictly the doctor’s orders. Neither Miranda nor Perico was calculated for this office. Miranda complied with the social requirements, exhorting Pilar to “take care of herself,” and “not to be imprudent,” with that fictitious interest which egotists display when the health of another is in question. Perico grew angry at seeing his sister pay so little heed to the advice of the doctor, a neglect that might delay the cure, and consequently prolong their stay in Vichy; but he was incapable of watching over her and seeing that she carried out the orders she had received. He would say to her at times:

“I hope the devil will fly away with you, fly away with you, and that you may be as yellow as a lemon this winter. You will have it so, so let it be.”

The only person, then, who devoted herself to the task of making Pilar observe the regimen prescribed by the doctor, was LucÍa. She did so, moved by that need of self-sacrifice experienced by young and vigorous natures, who must have an outlet for their superabundant energy, and by the instinct which impels such natures to feed the animal neglected by every one else, or to protect the child abandoned in the street. There was no one within LucÍa’s reach but Pilar, and on Pilar LucÍa placed her affections. Perico Gonzalvo did not sympathize with LucÍa, whom he thought very provincial and very little womanly, as far as the art of pleasing was concerned. Miranda, now somewhat rejuvenated by the favorable effects of the first week of the waters, went with Perico to the Casino and to the Park, holding himself erect and twisting his mustache once more. The two women, then, were thrown upon each other’s society. LucÍa subjected herself in everything to the mode of life of the patient. At six she softly rose and went to awaken the sick girl, so that prolonged sleep might not induce debilitating sweats. Then she would take her out on the balcony on the ground floor to breathe the pure air of morning, and both enjoyed the country sunrise, which seemed to electrify Vichy, causing it to thrill with a sort of matutinal expectancy.

The business of the day began very early in the town, for almost all of the inhabitants kept boarders during the season, and were obliged to do their marketing and be ready to give breakfast to their guests by the time these should have returned from drinking their morning glass of water. Usually the mornings were rather cloudy, and the summits of the tall trees rustled as the breeze played through them. Now and then some workman would pass by with long beard, ill-washed and shy face, shuffling his feet, only half awake, unable to shake off fully the leaden sleep which had overpowered him, exhausted by fatigue, the night before. The domestic servants, with their baskets of coal on their arms, their large aprons of gray or blue cloth, and their smoothly combed hair—like that of a woman who has but ten minutes in the day for her toilet, and who makes good use of them—walked with quick step, fearing to be late. From a neighboring barracks came the soldiers, holding themselves erect, their uniforms tightly buttoned across their chests, their ears red from the vigorous rubbing they had given them during the matutinal ablutions, the backs of their heads close shaven, their hands in their trousers’ pockets, and whistling an air. An old woman, with a clean white cap, her gown turned up, carefully swept up the dead leaves which strewed the asphalt pavement, followed by a lap-dog that sniffed, as if trying to recover the scent, at each heap of leaves swept up by the diligent broom. There were vehicles in great number, and of various forms and sizes, and LucÍa amused herself by watching them and noting the different styles and shapes to be seen. Some, mounted on enormous wheels, were drawn by little donkeys with pricked-up ears, driven by women with harsh and weather-beaten countenances, who wore the classic Bourbonese hat, a species of straw basket with two black velvet ribbons crossing each other over the crown; these were milk-wagons; at the back of the wagon was a row of tin cans containing the milk. The carts employed in the transport of earth and lime were more clumsy than these and were drawn by strong percherons, with harnesses adorned by tassels of red wool. Going for their load, they rolled along with a certain carelessness; while, returning laden, the driver cracked his whip, the horse trotted along spiritedly and the bells of the harness tinkled. When the weather was fine, LucÍa and Pilar would go down into the little garden and stand with their faces pressed to the iron railing, looking out into the avenue; but on rainy mornings they remained on the balcony, sheltered by the carved projections of the chÂlet, and listening to the noise of the raindrops plashing fast, fast on the leaves of the plane trees that rustled with a silky murmur.

But the weather seemed determined to favor the travelers, and shortly after their arrival in Vichy began a series of days as brilliant and serene as it was possible for days to be in autumn, that season so peculiarly serene, especially in its early part.

The sky was clear and cloudless, the air genial, vegetation in all the plenitude of its splendor of coloring and growth; the afternoons were long, the mornings were bright, and LucÍa availed herself of this conjunction of favorable circumstances to persuade Pilar to take a trip into the country in accordance with the doctor’s advice. It was a part of the treatment that Pilar should take rides on a donkey in order that the uneven trot of the animal might serve her as exercise, setting her blood in motion without fatiguing her; and although the sick girl cordially detested this species of conveyance, and, until they emerged from the town, persisted in going on foot, dragging herself laboriously along rather than mount it, yet she consented to do so when they were outside the town. The exercise excited her, and imparted a faint color to her cheeks. LucÍa would joke with her about her appearance.

“You see how beneficial it is to ride a spirited steed,” she would say. “You look splendid; you look like a different person; see, to make a conquest, all you have to do is to take a turn up and down as you are now, before the Casino, when the band is playing.”

“Horrors!” exclaimed the sick girl, with a little cry. “What if the AmÉzegas were to see me—they who never ride except in a jaunting car or a brougham!”

The two friends would go sometimes to the Montagne Verte, sometimes to the Source des Dames, sometimes to the intermittent spring of Vesse. The Montagne Verte is the highest point in the neighborhood of Vichy. The hill is covered with vegetation, but scrubby vegetation, scarcely rising above the surface of the earth, so that from a distance it looked to them like the head of a giant covered with short and very thick hair. When they reached the summit, they ascended to the mirador, and looked through the great field-glass, examining the immense panorama that lay spread before them. The gentle slopes, clad with vines, descended to the Allier, which wound in the distance like an enormous blue snake. Far away the chain of the Fonez raised its snow-capped hills, the giants of Auvergne, vaporous and gray, looked like cloud-phantoms; the castle of Borbon Busset emerged from the mists, its seignorial towers casting into the shade the peaceful palace of Randan, with all the disdain of a legitimate Bourbon for the degenerate branch of Orleans. LucÍa’s favorite excursion was to the Source des Dames; a narrow footpath, shaded by leafy trees, gently followed the course of the Sichon, pausing, when the river paused to form a shallow lake, and then continuing its winding course along the border of the tranquil stream. At every step some picturesque accident broke the monotony of the rows of poplars and elms,—now a lavatory, now a little house standing on the river’s brink, now a dam, now a mill, now a duck pond. The mill, in particular, seemed as if it might have been placed there by some landscape painter for artistic effect. Ancient and moss-grown, it rested on wooden posts that were slowly decaying in the water; in the center of the structure the wheel gleamed like an enormous eye shining in the brown and wrinkled forehead of a Cyclops. The drops of liquid silver that leaped from spoke to spoke with every revolution one might fancy tears dropping from the immense eye, and the groan to which the massive wheel gave utterance as it turned completed the resemblance, imitating the breathing of the monster. Through the ill-joined planks of a bridge, boldly thrown across the very bend of the cataract which formed the dam, could be caught glimpses of the water foaming and roaring below. In the dam some half-dozen ducks were lazily paddling, and innumerable sparrows flew hither and thither under the irregular eaves of the roof, while in the dark aperture of one of the irregularly placed windows grew a pot of petunias. LucÍa loved to sit and watch the mill from the bank opposite, lulled by the monotonous snore of the wheel and the gentle plash of the water. Pilar preferred the intermittent spring, which procured her the emotions of which her sickly organization was so avid. The spring was reached by a pleasant path, and from the bridge could be obtained a fine view of the surrounding country.

The Allier is a broad and deep stream, but at this season of the year its waters are greatly diminished by the summer draughts, the channel being almost dry, except in the deepest parts, leaving the sandy bed of the river exposed to view in broad white bands. In places, dark rocks intercepted the current, forming eddies where the water foamed angrily and then went on its way, calm and placid as before. Beyond stretched an open plain. Wide meadows, with here and there cows grazing and sheep browsing, were bounded on the horizon line by pale green poplars, straight, with pointed tops, like the artificial trees of the toy sets. The osiers, on the contrary, were squat and round, looking like balls of somber verdure dotting the meadow. In the distance could be seen the summit of the Montagne Verte, outlined in pure dark green against the sky with a certain hardness and distinctness, that reminded one of a Flemish landscape. On the river bank the right arms of the washerwomen, rising and falling like the arms of marionettes could be seen, and the monotonous sound of the bat beating the linen could be heard. Carts laden with sand and gravel slowly ascended the rough slope of the bank, and then as slowly crossed the bridge, the team bathed in sweat, the bells tinkling at rare intervals. Auvergnese peasant women walked along, dressed in dull-colored garments, wearing the straw panier above the white coif, guarding their cows, whose udders, swelling with milk, swung as they went, and which, looking with melancholy gaze at the passers-by, would suddenly start on an oblique run, lasting some ten seconds, after which they resumed their former slow and resigned pace. At the corner of the bridge a poor man, decently clad, and with the air of a soldier, begged for charity with only a supplicating inflexion of the voice and a sorrowful contraction of the brow.

In proportion as they left the bridge behind them, penetrating more deeply into the shade of the road leading to Vesse, the heart of LucÍa, who felt herself now really in the country, would grow lighter. The trees here were wilder, less straight and symmetrical than in Vichy; the path less even and more natural; the grass borders less trim, and the villas and houses on either side of the road less neatly kept and handsome. No zealous hand removed the dry leaves that formed a natural carpet for the ground. At intervals was to be seen some shed, in whose dark shadow gleamed the agricultural implements, and the rural and pungent odor of the turned-up earth penetrated the lungs, healthy and strengthening as the wholesome vegetables growing in the neighboring gardens. The distance from the bridge to the spring was short. Arrived there they crossed the hall of the little house, entered the garden, and directed their steps toward the vine-covered arbor containing the fountain. They found the basin empty; from the brass tube of the jet not a drop of water flowed. But Pilar knew beforehand the precise time at which the singular phenomenon would occur, and made her calculations with exactness. During the interval before the water made its appearance, she would remain leaning over the basin, her heart palpitating, silently listening, with her right hand held like an ear-trumpet to her ear.

“He is coming; I hear him hissing,” LucÍa would say, as if they were speaking of some monster.

“You will see that he won’t come for five minutes yet,” Pilar would answer in a tone of conviction.

“I tell you he is coming, my dear; he is sputtering now.”

“Let me listen. No, no! It is the noise of the wind shaking the trees. You are dreaming.”

Then a short pause of complete silence would follow—a tragic interval.

“Hist! now, now!” the sick girl would cry, clapping her hands; “now it is coming, and in earnest!”

In effect, a strange gurgling noise was heard, followed by a shrill whistle, and then a jet of boiling water, which emitted an intolerable odor of sulphur, rose straight, swift, and foaming to the very roof of the high arbor. A thick steam enveloped the basin, and diffused itself through the atmosphere, now filled with the sickening odor of the sulphur. Thus the stream rose impetuously until the force below began to diminish when, with the fury of impotence, it issued in wild leaps, like the convulsions of an epileptic, writhing in anger, sputtering with desperate articulation; at last it would fall down, vanquished and powerless, sending forth only at rare intervals a thin stream, like the last flashes of a dying taper. Its agony ended with two or three hiccoughs from the tube at whose orifice the stream would appear, but without sufficient force to emerge. The spring would not now flow again for ten hours at least.

LucÍa and Pilar would often dispute together about the termination of the phenomenon as they had done about its beginning.

“It has stopped. He is going to sleep. Good-night, sir,” LucÍa would exclaim with a wave of the hand.

“No, child. He will make his appearance three or four times yet before he goes to rest.”

“He can’t.”

“He can. You shall see; he will give a few little spits more, as the servant of a cousin of mine, an artillery officer says. Hush, listen, listen to him still snoring! One, two, three, now he is spitting!”

“Four, five, six! There, he won’t come back again. The poor fellow is tired out.”

“No, he won’t come again now; he has given his last gasp.”

Returning, the friends would find the bridge more animated than they had found it on going to the spring. This was the hour at which the townspeople and the bathers returned from their expeditions into the country, and many equestrians were to be seen hastening to the town, displaying their riding-trousers and buttoned gaiters, against which gleamed brightly stirrup and spur. An occasional sociable, looking like a light canoe, proceeded on its way, drawn by its handsome pair of well-matched ponies, with lustrous coats and clean hoofs, proud of their elegant burden. Hasty glimpses could be caught of wide straw hats, profusely adorned with lilacs and poppies; of light gowns, laces, and ribbons; light-colored muslin parasols; gay countenances, gay with the gayety of good society, which is always set in a lower key than, the gayety of common people. This latter was enjoyed by the pedestrians, for the most part happy family parties, who wore contentedly the livery of golden mediocrity or even of plain poverty; the father, obese, gray-haired, red-faced, with gray or maroon coat, carrying on his shoulder the long fishing pole; the daughter wearing a dark woolen gown, a little black straw hat adorned with a single flower, carrying on her left arm the little basket containing the flies and other piscatorial appurtenances, and leading by the right hand the little brother who had outgrown his trousers and jacket and who showed the ankles of his boots, proudly holding the pail in which floated the foolish fishes, victims of the death-dealing pastime of his father.

LucÍa took such delight in the view of the bridge and the river that she retarded her steps in passing them in order to prolong the pleasure. The green curtain of the new park stretched before her view. The whole of this beautiful garden was a marsh, until the massive dykes erected by Napoleon III to prevent the inundations following the rise of the Allier, and the draining of the ground, transformed it into a paradise. The choice trees growing in the fertile soil had for the most part tones intense and soft, like green plush; but some of them, now turning yellow, shone, in the light of the setting sun, like pyramids of golden filagree work. Others were reddish with a brick-like red, that, where the sun fell, showed carmine. The sick girl, as they returned to the town, liked to sit and rest awhile on one of the benches of the park. There were generally visitors there at this hour, and sometimes they would meet members of the Spanish colony, acquaintances of Perico or Miranda, with whom they would exchange salutations and the trivial phrases current in society. Sometimes, too, the rich Cubans, the de AmÉzegas, would flash like comets on their sight, with their extraordinary hats, their enormous parasols, and their fanciful adornments, always in the height of the fashion. Pilar could distinguish them a league away by their famous hats, impossible to confound with any other head-covering whatsoever. They resembled two large pudding dishes, completely covered with small, fine, red feathers and adorned each with a natural bird, a species of pheasant, artistically mounted with outspread wing, and head turned gracefully to one side. This strange semi-Indian ornament suited well the tropical pallor and flashing eyes of the two young Cubans. When they drew near, LucÍa would give Pilar a push with her elbow, saying, with a touch of malice:

“See, there come the wonderful foreign birds of those friends of yours.”

The meeting with “the AmÉzegas,” as Perico called them, always produced a slight degree of fever in Pilar, which left her prostrate for a couple of hours afterward. When she descried them in the distance she instinctively arranged her hair, put forward her foot covered with a little Louis XV shoe of Morocco leather, and nervously passed her hand over the brown lace of her wrap, bringing into full view the turquoise arrow that fastened it. They would enter into conversation, the de AmÉzegas speaking in languid or disdainful accents, looking at the sky or at the passers-by and striking the ground with the knobs of their parasols as they spoke. Short answers, lazily given—“What would you have, child?” “It was magnificent,” “More people there than ever,” “Of course the Swede was there,” “Cream-colored satin and grenadine the color of heliotrope, combined,” “As usual, devoted to her,” “Yes, yes, it is warm,” “Well, I am glad you are better, child,”—responded to the eager questions of Pilar. Then the Cubans would continue on their way with titters politely suppressed, half-finished phrases, and a rustle of new fabrics, planting their heels firmly on the ground as they walked. For at least a quarter of an hour afterward, Pilar did nothing but criticise the belles, and others, also.

“They are getting to be more and more extravagant and loud every day. Now, do you like that odd gown with the head of a bird, to match the bird on the hat, fastening every pleat? They look like a glass case in the Museum of Natural History. Even on the fan a bird’s head! It is not credible that Worth should have conceived that grotesque style. I believe they make them at home themselves with the help of the maid and then say they were ordered from Worth.”

“But it is said for a fact that their father is a very wealthy banker in Havana.”

“Yes, yes; they have more tricks than trapiches,”[A] said Pilar, repeating a jest that had been going the rounds of Madrid all the winter, À-propos of the AmÉzegas.

[A] A sugar plantation in Cuba.