Edouard drove the horse at a fast pace, and they reached the village in a short time. When they had passed through the main street, and turned in the direction of the country, they discovered the house which they were anxious to see; thereupon Adeline leaped for joy, and took off her hat so that she could see better; Edouard urged the horse more eagerly, and Madame Germeuil shrieked, saying that they would be overturned.
At last the cabriolet stopped in front of the gate which gave admission to the courtyard.
“This is the place, this is the very place,” said Edouard, leaping to the ground; “oh! there is no mistake. I recognize the gate, the courtyard, and even this bell. It’s the same one that was here in my time. And there is the sign saying that the house is for sale.”
While he was examining with emotion the outside of the house, Adeline assisted her mother from the carriage; they fastened the horse, and then entered the courtyard, for the gate was not locked.
“Oh! how I shall enjoy myself here!” said Adeline, glancing about with a satisfied expression; “isn’t this house fascinating, mamma?”
“But, one moment, my child; we have seen nothing as yet.”
A tall peasant came out of a room on the ground floor, followed by an enormous dog.
“What do you want?” he said, scrutinizing them surlily enough.
“We want to see this house,” Edouard replied.
“All right,” muttered the concierge between his teeth; “come with me, and I will take you to my master.”
Edouard, with his wife and Madame Germeuil, followed their conductor, who ascended a staircase and showed them into a dining-room on the first floor, where he left them, to go to summon his master.
Soon a shrill little voice arose in the room which the concierge had entered, and our travellers heard this colloquy:
“What do you want of me, Pierre?”
“Some one has come to buy the house, monsieur.”
“Have you come again to disturb me to no purpose, and to bring me some boorish fellow, as you did just now?”
“Oh! no, monsieur! these folks look like swells!”
“That devilish fellow put me into a terrible temper! I shall be sick, I am sure!”
“I tell you, monsieur, that these folks have a cabriolet.”
“Oh! that’s different! I’ll go and speak to them.”
Madame Germeuil and her children were wondering what they should think of what they had heard, when the door of the adjoining room opened, and a short, thin, yellow, wrinkled man, in dressing gown and nightcap appeared and saluted his visitors with an air which he tried in vain to make amiable.
“We wish to examine this house,” said Edouard; “not that I do not know it very well; but these ladies would be very glad to see it.”
“It is very strange,” said the little man, glancing at the concierge; “everybody knows my house!—And is it your purpose to buy it?”
“Why, to be sure, if the price suits us.”
“In that case, I will show you around myself.”
“What an original creature!” whispered Adeline to her husband; “I will bet that it is some old money-lender, who went into retirement here, and can’t resist the desire to do business in the capital again.”
They went over the house from the ground floor to the attic; the little man spared them nothing, and Edouard, who was very glad to see his former home once more, listened patiently to all the details which the old fellow gave them concerning the advantages of his abode.
From time to time, our young man glanced at his wife and smiled.
“Yes,” he said as he entered each room, “I recognize this room, this closet, these wardrobes.”
Thereupon the old gentleman would glance at his servant and smile in his turn: they seemed to understand each other.
“So you used to live here, did you, monsieur?” the master of the house asked him.
“Yes, monsieur, yes, I passed a large part of my youth here.”
“This is mighty queer!” muttered the concierge.
“This is surprising!” said the little proprietor to himself.
Madame Germeuil considered the house convenient and the air good. Adeline was enchanted. Edouard asked permission to inspect the garden; the little man apologized for not accompanying them, for he was tired already; he asked them to follow the concierge, and the young people were not at all sorry to be rid of him for a moment.
The peasant walked ahead; Madame Germeuil followed him, and Adeline and Edouard brought up the rear, hand in hand. Edouard called his wife’s attention to all the spots which reminded him of some period of his life.
“This is the place,” said Edouard, “where I used to read with my father; it was on this path that my Brother Jacques used to like to run about and climb these fine apricot trees.”
“Poor Brother Jacques! you have never heard from him?”
“No! Oh! he died in some foreign country! Otherwise he would have returned, he would have tried to see our parents again.”
“That,” said Madame Germeuil, “is what comes of not watching over children! Perhaps he came to a bad end.”
Edouard made no reply; the memory of his brother always made him sad and thoughtful; he was almost persuaded that poor Brother Jacques was no more, and perhaps his self-esteem preferred to nourish that idea,in order to banish those which suggested that Jacques might be wandering about, wretched and debased. It was especially since his marriage with Adeline that Edouard had often thought with dread of meeting his brother amid the multitude of unfortunate wretches; he thought that that might injure him in the estimation of Madame Germeuil; and whenever a beggar of about his brother’s age stopped in front of Edouard, he felt the blood rise to his cheeks and he walked rapidly away, without glancing at the poor devil who begged of him, for fear of recognizing his Brother Jacques in him. And yet Edouard was not heartless; he would have shrunk from turning his back upon his brother, and he dreaded to find him in a degraded condition. That is how men are constituted; their infernal self-esteem often stifles the most generous sentiments; a man blushes for his brother, or his sister! Indeed, there are some who blush for their father or mother; such people apparently think that they are not sufficiently estimable in themselves to do without a genealogical tree.
But let us return to our young bride and groom, who investigated every nook and corner of the garden, and smiled and squeezed each other’s hands as they passed a dark grotto, or a dense clump of shrubbery. The concierge stopped for a moment to buckle his dog’s collar; Madame Germeuil and her children walked on. They reached the end of the garden, on that side which adjoined the open country and was surrounded by a very high wall; but an opening had been made for the convenience of the tenants, and the gate which closed that opening was covered with boards, so that people who were passing could not look into the garden.
But these boards were half rotten and had fallen away in places; and when the visitors passed the gate, they sawa man’s face against the iron bars, gazing earnestly into the garden, through a place where the boards were broken.
Madame Germeuil could not restrain a cry of surprise; Adeline was conscious of a secret thrill of emotion, and Edouard himself was moved at the sight of that face which he did not expect to find there.
The features of the man who was gazing into the garden were in fact calculated to cause a sort of terror at a first glance; black eyes, an olive-brown complexion, heavy moustaches, and a scar which started from the left eyebrow and extended across the forehead, all these imparted to the face a savage aspect which did not prepossess one in favor of the man who bore it.
“Ah! mon Dieu! what on earth is that?” said Madame Germeuil, suddenly stopping.
“Why, it is a man who is amusing himself looking through this gate,” replied Edouard, gazing at the stranger, who did not move but continued to examine the garden.
“I am almost afraid,” said Adeline under her breath.
“Almost, my dear child! you are very lucky! For my own part, I admit that I do not feel comfortable yet.”
As Madame Germeuil spoke, she walked away from the gate and moved closer to her son-in-law.
“What children you are, mesdames! What is there surprising in the fact that a man as he passes a garden which looks like a fine one should amuse himself by examining it for a moment? We have done that twenty times!”
“Yes, no doubt. But we haven’t faces with moustaches like that, well calculated to make any one shudder! Just look! he doesn’t move in the least! He doesn’t seem to pay the slightest attention to us.”
At that moment the concierge joined the party. As he approached the gate opening into the fields, he saw the face which had frightened the ladies. Thereupon he made a very pronounced grimace, and muttered:
“Still here! so that infernal man won’t go away, it seems!”
The stranger looked up at the concierge, and the ladies read in the glance that he cast at the peasant an expression of wrath and contempt. Then, after examining for a moment the other persons in the garden, he drew back his head from the bars and disappeared.
“I would like right well to know who that man is,” said Adeline, looking at her husband.
“Faith! I augur no good for him,” said Madame Germeuil, who breathed more freely since the face had withdrawn from the gate.
“That man looked as if he had evil intentions, did he not, Edouard?”
“Oh! my dear mamma, I don’t go as far as you do! If we had seen the whole man, perhaps his face would have seemed less strange than it did above those old boards.”
“My husband is right, mamma; I think that the way in which we look at things depends upon the situation in which they strike our eyes at first. A man clothed in rags often arouses our suspicions; if he should appear before us well-dressed, we should have no feeling of dread at his aspect. Darkness, silence, moonlight, and the shadows thrown upon objects, all these conditions change our way of seeing things and make our imagination work very rapidly.”
“You may say whatever you please, my dear girl, but that face was not the face of a man looking into a garden from mere curiosity.”
“That may be, but I should have liked to see this stranger’s figure.”
“Parbleu!” said the concierge, “you wouldn’t have seen anything very fine, I assure you.”
“Do you know that man?” asked Adeline quickly.
“I don’t know him, but I have seen him once before this morning; he looks to me like a scamp who is prowling round about the village to commit some deviltry. But he better not come back here, or I will set my dog on him!”
“And you don’t know what he wants in the village?”
“Faith! I don’t care. So long as he don’t come to the house, that’s all I ask.”
As they were in front of the house at that moment, and as the proprietor was waiting for them in his doorway, Adeline did not prolong her conversation with the concierge.
“Well! what do you think of these gardens?” the old man asked Adeline.
“Oh! they are very pretty, monsieur; and they will suit us, will they not, mamma?”
“Yes, yes, perhaps they will suit us.”
Since Mamma Germeuil had seen at the end of the garden that face which seemed to her of ill augury, she did not find so many attractions about the house, and seemed less delighted with its situation. But as her children were so intensely eager to purchase it, and as she realized how childish her own repugnance was, she did not oppose the conclusion of the bargain.
The little man tried at first to impose upon the strangers; but when they proposed to pay cash, he consented to take off something from the price, and the bargain was concluded. In his delight, the proprietor invited the ladies to come in and rest, and even went so far as tooffer them a glass of wine and water. But they had no desire to become better acquainted with the old miser; moreover, the ladies were hungry, and they had only time to go to the notary’s office before dinner.
The little old man did not insist upon their stopping at his house; he took off his nightcap, sent the concierge to fetch an old, shabby, felt hat, which he carried under his arm in order to preserve it longer; he put on a coat once nut-colored, but of which no one could possibly divine the color now, and did not forget the bill-headed cane, upon which he leaned the more heavily, because he thought that by using a support for part of his weight, he would save the soles of his shoes.
They went to the office of the local notary; he received the details of the bargain, and promised to have the deed ready in due form in twenty-four hours. Edouard agreed to return to the village on the following day with the purchase money, and Monsieur Renâré,—such was the proprietor’s name,—agreed to be punctual and to turn over the keys of the house. Everything being settled, they separated, each party well pleased with his bargain.
“Now let us think about dinner,” said Edouard, as he and the ladies left the notary’s, “and let us try to find the best restaurant in the place.”
“We ought to have asked Monsieur Renâré that, my dear.”
“No indeed! I am sure that the old miser goes to the vilest wine-shop, in order to dine the cheaper. But I see yonder a very good-looking house—it is a wine-shop and restaurant,—theEpée Couronnée, ‘wedding and other parties.’—What do you say to that, mesdames?”
“Very good; let us go to the Epée Couronnée.”
They entered the country restaurant; the outer walls were adorned with hams, pies, turkeys, chickens, game, and bunches of asparagus; but as a rule the kitchen of a village restaurant never contains more than one fourth of what is painted on the front wall; and even so, the ovens are often cold.
When our Parisians entered the common room of the Epée Couronnée, the proprietor, who was also chief cook, was occupied in shaving, his little scullion was playing with a cup-and-ball, the mistress of the house was knitting, and the two girls who did the heavy work were washing and ironing.
“The deuce!” said Edouard in an undertone, “this doesn’t indicate a very well-heated oven! However, in war we must do as soldiers do!”
“Yes, my dear; besides, appetite is a very good cook.”
At sight of two fashionably-dressed ladies, escorted by a fine gentleman, and of a cabriolet in front of the door, everybody in the restaurant was up in arms. The proprietor threw razor and shaving-mug aside; he partly wiped his face, and came forward, half shaved, to meet the newcomers, to whom he made repeated bows. His wife hastily dropped her knitting and rolled it up, as she made a curtsy, and placed it on a table on which the girls were ironing; whereupon Goton, one of the servants, who then had in her hand a very hot iron, looked up to examine the fine ladies who were coming in, and placed the iron on her mistress’s hand, thinking that she was ironing an apron.
Her mistress uttered a piercing cry when she felt the burn; she jumped back and overturned the tub; the little scullion, in his fright, concealed his cup-and-ball in a saucepan, and the ladies recoiled, in order not to walk in soap-suds, with which the floor was flooded.
The host confounded himself in apologies, trying at the same time to pacify his wife.
“A thousand pardons, mesdames and monsieur; pray walk in.—Hush, wife! it won’t amount to anything; I do much worse things to myself every day.—We have everything that you can possibly desire, mesdames; the kitchen is well stocked.—It was that idiot of a Goton, who never looks to see what she is doing. Put some potato on it, wife.—But step in, mesdames, and select a bedroom or a private dining-room, whichever you please.”
The ladies were in no hurry to enter, because they did not want to wet their feet. At last one of the maids brought a long board, which they used as a bridge to pass into another room; they made the passage, laughing heartily, and looked forward to much enjoyment at aninn where their arrival had already caused such a sensation.
“Well, monsieur le traiteur, what can you give us?” Murville asked the cook, who followed them, boasting of his talent in serving a dinner promptly.
“Why, monsieur, I can give you a rabbit stew which will please you.”
“Parbleu! Rabbit stew is never missing in these places! But we don’t care much for it; have you any cutlets?”
“Yes, monsieur, I can easily get some.”
“And a fowl?”
“I have one which should be excellent.”
“Fresh eggs?”
“Oh! as to eggs, I don’t have any but fresh ones.”
“Well, that is all that we want; with lettuce and some of your best wine we shall dine very well, shall we not, mesdames?”
“Yes, but don’t keep us waiting, for we are positively starving.”
“Never fear, mesdames, it will take but a moment.”
Master Bonneau returned to his staff.
“Look alive,” he said, tying his handkerchief around his waist, which he only did on great occasions; “look alive, wife and girls, we have swells to feed, and we have nothing except the regulation rabbit stew, which unfortunately they don’t want, and that infernal fowl which I roasted a week ago for a Jew who ate nothing but fresh pork, and which I haven’t been able to do anything with since; I hope that it is going to be eaten at last. Goton, put it on the spit again; that will be the fifth time, I believe; but never mind, I will make a gravy with the juice of that beefà la mode, and it will be delicious.”
“Mon Dieu! what a horrible burn! This is the seventh potato that I have scraped on it.”
“Parbleu! you give me a happy idea: these grated potatoes are all cooked, put ’em aside, wife, and I will make a soufflé for our guests. You, Fanfan, run to the butcher and get some cutlets, and you, Marianne, go and buy some eggs, and come back and pick some lettuce. By the way, light me a candle, as quick as possible, and give me some wax, so that I can put seals on my bottles; that makes people think that the wine is better.”
Everyone set about executing Master Bonneau’s orders, while he lighted his fires and turned up his sleeves with an important air, in order to heat water for the eggs; Goton put the unlucky fowl on the spit, praying heaven that it might be the last time; Marianne brought eggs and went out into the garden to pluck lettuce; and Madame Bonneau grated potato after potato, which she placed upon her burn, and then carefully collected in a plate, as her husband had directed, because a clever cook makes use of everything.
But Fanfan returned from the butcher’s with sad news: “there were no cutlets, because the mayor had bought the last that morning; but if they could wait a while, the shop-boy, who had gone to sharpen his knives, would come back, and they would kill a sheep.”
“The devil! this is mighty unpleasant,” said Master Bonneau, as he put his eggs in the water; “well, I must go and consult with the company.”
The host entered the room where the ladies and the young man were beginning to get impatient for their dinner, while they laughed over the scene which their unexpected arrival had caused.
“Well, are we going to dine?” said Edouard when he caught sight of their host.
“Instantly, monsieur.”
“Your instants are very long, monsieur le traiteur.”
“I came to get your opinion on the cutlets.”
“What’s that?”
“There aren’t any just now at the butcher’s; but the man is coming back, and he is going to kill a sheep; so if you will take a turn in the garden until they are cooked——”
“Parbleu! we should have to wait a long while! A pleasant suggestion that! We didn’t come here to inspect your bed of lettuce.”
“Come, come, my dear, don’t get excited,” said Adeline, laughing at the placidity of their host, and the irritation of Edouard, “we will do without cutlets.”
“May I replace that dish with an excellent rabbit stew?”
“Give us whatever you please, but give us something at least.”
“You shall be served instantly.”
Master Bonneau was well pleased to give them rabbit stew; it was the dish in which he most excelled, for he had had twenty years’ practice in making good ones. He seized the saucepan containing the remnants of two rabbits, and placed it over the fire; then after covering it, he instructed Fanfan to watch it, and went to carry the fresh eggs to his guests.
“You see, mesdames, that I am prompt,” he said as he gracefully placed the eggs on the table. “By the way, I thought that a soufflé of potatoes and orange blossoms would not displease the company.”
“What, monsieur, do you make soufflés at the Epée Couronnée?”
“Yes, monsieur, and a good sort too, I flatter myself.”
“Then you are an expert?”
“Why, monsieur, when one has learned the profession at Paris, at the Boisseau Fleuri, one is equal to anything.”
“Oho! that makes a difference! If you are a graduate of the Boisseau Fleuri, we are surprised at nothing, and we await your soufflés with confidence.”
Bonneau retired, all puffed up with the compliments they had paid him. The ladies tried to crumble their bread into their eggs, but it was impossible; they were cooked so hard that they had to make up their minds to remove the shells and eat them from their hands. Adeline shouted with laughter, Madame Germeuil shook her head, and Edouard announced that to cap the climax the eggs smelled of straw.
“This does not give me a very pleasant anticipation of the soufflés,” said the mother, placing her egg on the table.
“Well, madame, let us still hope! Great men, you know, pay no heed to small matters, and the pupil of the Boisseau Fleuri may well not know how to cook eggs.”
Bonneau entered the room, carrying in his two hands an enormous dish of rabbit stew, which he placed in front of Edouard.
“Monsieur le traiteur, for a man equal to anything, you made rather a failure of our eggs; they are boiled hard and smell of straw.”
“As for the straw, monsieur, you must know that I don’t make the eggs myself, that depends entirely on the hens; as for the way they were cooked, that is entirely the fault of the water; I leave the eggs in the water five minutes; if the watch loses time while the eggs are in the water, the best cook might be deceived.”
“True, you are right; luckily there are no eggs in a rabbit stew, and it isn’t cooked by the minute.”
“So you must tell me what you think of it; I will go now and make sure that your fowl is cooked to a turn.”
Bonneau left the room, carrying his hard boiled eggs, which no one had touched, and which he proceeded to cut up and place on the salad, so that they would be paid for twice over; that was a clear gain; and in order that there might not be any further complaint of their smelling of the straw, the host took from his sideboard a certain oil, the taste of which was bound to predominate.
“Well,” said Edouard, as he prepared to serve the ladies, “as we absolutely must eat rabbit stew, let us see if this one does our host credit. But what the deuce is there in it? It is a string. Can it be that the pupil of the Boisseau Fleuri puts whole rabbits into his stew? This is attached to something, and I don’t see the end of it. Parbleu! we shall get the pieces that are tied, later. But what is this I see? Look, mesdames—is it a thigh, or a head? These rabbits are most peculiarly constructed.”
“Oh! bless my soul!” said Adeline, examining what Edouard had on his fork, “it’s a cup-and-ball!”
The young woman dropped her fork, laughing like mad; Edouard did the same, and even Madame Germeuil could not keep a straight face, at sight of the toy which her son-in-law had found in the stew.
The reader will remember that at the time of the arrival of the fashionable guests from Paris, everything was in confusion in the restaurant; the scullion was playing with a cup-and-ball; when his mistress burned herself and upset the tub of water, Fanfan was alarmed, and fearing to be scolded by his master and mistress, had thrust his cup-and-ball into the first saucepan that he saw. It happened to be the one containing the rabbit stew, into which the scullion had put his toy. When Master Bonneau took the saucepan later, he covered it without looking in; then the little fellow had watched and stirred the stew, without a suspicion of what was init; he was very far from thinking that he was cooking his own cup-and-ball.
“Aha!” said the host, “it seems that our friends are satisfied; I was sure that that rabbit stew would restore their good humor. So much the better! the result will be that the fowl will pass the more readily. We must make haste and serve it with the salad. Goton, give me the bottle of oil. That’s it. Have you put the eggs on yet? on the top of the salad? Good! that’s very good. This meal will bring us in enough to last a week.”
Our man returned to the dining-room, where they had made up their minds to laugh instead of dining. He placed the fowl on the table and stood silent, with the air of a man who expects a compliment.
“On my word, monsieur le traiteur,” said Edouard, trying to keep a sober face, “you treat us very strangely! What kind of a thing is a fricassée of cup-and-ball?”
“What do you mean, monsieur?”
“That we never had such a thing before, Monsieur Bonneau, and that we don’t like it.”
“But what does it mean?”
“Look, monsieur, is this rabbit?”
Master Bonneau was thunderstruck when he saw the cup-and-ball covered with gravy.
“Here,” said Adeline, “take away your rabbit stew; what we found in it has taken away all desire to taste it.”
“Madame, I am really distressed at what I see! But you must realize that it is not my fault. If rabbits eat cups-and-balls——”
“Ah! this is too much; and if your fowl is no better than the rest, we shall have to go elsewhere to dine.”
The host left the room, without waiting to hear any more; he rushed back to the kitchen, crimson with rage,and began to pull Fanfan’s ears, to teach him to put cups-and-balls in his stews.
“What on earth is the matter, my dear?” Madame Bonneau asked her husband, as she brought him the plate containing the remedy for burns.
“What’s the matter? What’s the matter? This little scamp is forever doing foolish things! He stuffs all sorts of trash into my stews; the other day I found two corks in a chowder; luckily it was for drunkards who took them for mushrooms; but to-day we have some people who are very particular, and he is responsible for their not tasting my rabbit stew; and that too, just at the moment when I carried them that unlucky fowl! The little scamp is as dirty as if he were employed in some low cook-shop! Wife, scrape your burn carefully, you still have some potato on it. Well! I must repair my reputation with the soufflé.”
While Bonneau labored over the soufflé, Edouard was trying to carve the fowl, and Madame Germeuil seasoned the salad. But in vain did the young man turn and return the old turkey; it was all dried up, because it had been on the fire so much, and the knife was powerless to pierce it.
“I must give it up,” said Edouard, pushing the dish away.
“It is impossible to eat this oil,” said Madame Germeuil, who had just tasted the salad.
“Evidently we shan’t dine to-day,” said Adeline.
“Faith, mesdames,” said Edouard, rising from the table, “I don’t think it worth while to wait for the potato soufflé, in which we should undoubtedly find pieces of fish. Put on your shawls and bonnets while I go and say a word to the restaurant keeper, who really seems to have intended to make sport of us.”
“But pray don’t lose your temper, my dear! Remember that the wisest way is to laugh at everything that has happened; is it not, mamma?”
“Yes, my daughter; but still we ought not to pay for such a dinner as this.”
Edouard left the room and went toward the kitchen. As he was about to enter the common room, the voice of one of the servants reached his ear; he heard the word soufflé, and stopped by the glass door, curious to learn the subject of their discussion; there he overheard the following conversation:
“I tell you, Marianne, I wouldn’t eat that stuff that our master’s making now, not even if he would pay me for doing it.”
“Then you’re very hard to suit! That’s a delicacy that he’s making.”
“A pretty kind of delicacy! and it will taste nice!”
“Oh! you mustn’t be so particular as that! If you should see the bread now, why that’s different! They often have the dough in other places than in their hands! But it cooks all the same! And the wine! Bless my soul! An uncle of mine is a wine dresser, and he has boils on his rump, but that don’t prevent him from getting into the vats as naked as God made him, and his wine is good, too.”
“You can say whatever you please, Goton, I don’t see wine made nor bread either; but I did see the potatoes grated on the mistress’s hands, and she don’t wash them every day; and I say that a cake made with them wouldn’t take my fancy at all.”
Edouard knew enough; he entered the room abruptly; the two servants were struck dumb, and allowed him to go on to the kitchen, where he found Master Bonneau thickening his soufflé with molasses.
Our young man gave the portable oven a kick and sent the entremets into the garden for the pigeons to eat. The proprietor stared at him with an air of dismay.
“What is the matter with monsieur? Why is he so angry?”
“Ah! you miserable pothouse keeper! You make soufflé of potatoes that have been put on your wife’s burned hands!”
“What do you mean, monsieur?”
“You understand me perfectly; you deserve to have me give you a thrashing.”
“Monsieur, I haven’t an idea——”
“We are going now, but I shall return to this neighborhood; and I shall remember Master Bonneau, pupil of the Boisseau Fleuri, who supplies wedding and other parties at the Epée Couronnée.”
With that, Edouard left his host and rejoined the ladies, who were prepared to leave the dining-room.
“Let us go, mesdames,” said Edouard, “let us leave this house at once! and consider yourselves fortunate that you did not eat the soufflé.”
“Why, what was the matter with it?”
“I will tell you about it later; the most important thing now is to leave the house of this infernal poisoner.”
Edouard took Adeline’s hand, Madame Germeuil followed them, and they were about to leave the inn, when the proprietor ran after them and stopped them.
“One moment, mesdames and monsieur,” said Master Bonneau, pushing his cotton cap to the back of his head, “one moment, if you please; it seems to me that before leaving a restaurant you ought to pay for your dinner.”
“Our dinner! Parbleu! monsieur le traiteur, you will be decidedly clever if you prove to us that we have dined!”
“I served all that you ordered, monsieur; if you didn’t eat it, that’s none of my business!”
“You are laughing at us, Monsieur Bonneau, when you say that you served all that we ordered; we ordered soft boiled eggs, you gave them to us hard; we ordered cutlets, you served us a rabbit stew with a cup-and-ball in it; for wine you gave us vinegar, lamp oil to dress the salad, a fowl which I would defy an Englishman to carve, and a soufflé made of—Ah! take my advice, monsieur le traiteur, and don’t be ugly, or I will have you punished for a dangerous man, and have your restaurant closed.”
“My restaurant!” said Bonneau, bursting with rage; “indeed! we will see about that! Pay me at once the amount of this bill, forty francs and fifteen centimes, or I will take you before the mayor.”
Edouard’s only reply was to take the bill and throw it into the wine-dealer’s face. Thereupon he made a terrible uproar and the whole village flocked to the spot.
“These folks from Paris refuse to pay for their dinner,” said the rabble, always ready to take sides against people from the city; “they come in a cabriolet, and they haven’t got a sou in their pockets!”
Our young bride and groom laughed at what they heard and made ready to go before the mayor. Mamma Germeuil followed them into the cabriolet; all the peasants surrounded Master Bonneau, who marched at their head, with Fanfan beside him, carrying the famous fowl on a platter, because Edouard had insisted that it should be submitted to the examination of experts. The procession passed through the village thus, and on its way to the mayor’s office, was momentarily increased by the curious folk of the village, to whom that event was a piece of good fortune.
At last they reached the mayor’s house and requested to speak with him.
“He hasn’t time to listen to you now,” said the servant; “he is just going to sit down to dinner.”
“But he must judge our dispute,” said Bonneau.
“And he must judge this fowl,” said Edouard with a laugh.
“Oho! there’s a fowl in it, is there?” said the servant; “oh, well! that makes a difference; I will go and tell monsieur that it is about a fowl, and that he must attend to it.”
The servant went to her master, and explained the matter so fully that the mayor, understanding nothing about it, decided at last to leave his guests for a moment, and to go to his audience room.
In those days, the mayor of the village was not a genius; he had just had a summer-house built at the foot of his garden; and as he was delighted with that little building, the idea of which he himself had conceived, and which he seemed to fear that people would think that he had seen somewhere else, he had caused to be written over the door: “This Summer-House was Built Here.”
Profound silence reigned in the assemblage when the mayor appeared.
“Where is the fowl which is the subject of dispute?” he asked gravely.
“Monsieur le maire, it isn’t a fowl simply, it is a dinner that they refuse to pay me for,” said Master Bonneau, stepping forward.
“A dinner! That’s a matter of some consequence! Did they eat it?”
“No, monsieur,” said Edouard, “and you see in this fowl a specimen of it.”
“Examine the bill, monsieur le maire, and you will see that it is perfectly fair.”
“Let us see the bill—fresh eggs——”
“They were hard.”
“Never mind, he who breaks the glasses pays for them; consequently he who breaks the eggs ought to pay for them.”
“Rabbit stew——”
“We found a cup-and-ball in it.”
“That doesn’t concern the rabbits. Besides, cup-and-ball isn’t capable of turning the sauce sour.—Let us go on: a capon——”
“Here it is, monsieur le maire; just feel it and smell it.”
The mayor motioned to Fanfan to approach; but the little scullion, abashed at the sight of so many people, held the plate forward with a trembling hand, and the fowl rolled on the floor.
The so-called capon made a sound like that of a child’s drum when it falls to the ground.
“Oho! it seems a little dry,” said the mayor, examining it.
“That’s because it was brought here in the sun,” said Bonneau; “that burned it just a bit.”
“Pardieu! I have my friend the notary here, who is a connoisseur in capons, so his wife tells me. I will get him to give me his opinion.”
The mayor opened the door, and called the notary, who was dining with him, to come and pass judgment on the capon. Edouard and his wife were beginning to lose patience; they divined from what the judge had already said to them that they would have to pay the rascally inn-keeper; and that worthy also anticipated a victory; he stared at them insolently, then turned with a smiletoward the peasants, who were eagerly awaiting the moment when they could make sport of the fine gentleman and fine ladies from Paris, which is a great source of enjoyment to peasants.
But the notary appeared; he looked at Edouard and his wife, and recognized them as the purchasers of Monsieur Renâré’s house; and instead of looking at the fowl which Bonneau thrust under his nose, he saluted Murville and his companion most humbly.
“What! do you know monsieur and madame?” asked the mayor in amazement.
“I have that honor; monsieur has bought my neighbor Renâré’s estate, and pays cash for it. The deeds are being made in my office.”
The notary’s words changed the whole aspect of the affair. The mayor became extremely polite to Edouard and his wife; he begged them to come into his salon a moment and rest; and then, turning with a stern expression toward Master Bonneau, who did not know which way to turn, he cried angrily:
“You are a scoundrel! You are a knave! You dare to demand payment for a dinner which was not eaten! You serve dried-up fowls, rotten eggs, and ask forty francs for them.”
“But, monsieur le maire——”
“Hold your tongue, or I will make you pay a fine; I know that you mix drugs with your wine, and that you steal all the cats to make rabbit stew; but take care, Master Bonneau,—you will be held responsible for the first plump cat that disappears.”
The inn-keeper retired, covered with confusion, and storming under his breath at the arrival of the notary, who had made the mayor turn about like a weathercock. He drove Fanfan before him, returned to the inn withthe wretched fowl in his hand, and in order that everyone might share his ill-humor, he announced that they would have the capon for supper.
The mayor, learning that Edouard and his wife had not dined, absolutely insisted that they should dine with him; he, himself, offered to fetch Madame Germeuil, who had remained in the cabriolet; but the young people declined, declaring that they were expected in Paris early and that they could not delay their departure any longer.
So they separated, the mayor protesting that he should have great pleasure in becoming better acquainted with his constituents, and our young people thanking him for the zeal he had shown in their behalf after the notary’s arrival.
The peasants were still in front of the mayor’s house when Edouard and Adeline came out; they stood aside to let them pass; some even ran to the carriage to tell Madame Germeuil; and one and all bowed most humbly when they drove away. And yet they were the very same persons upon whom the clowns had heaped insolent epithets, and at whom they had been poking fun a moment before; but they did not know then that the mayor would treat them courteously. Men are the same everywhere.
They reached Paris famished, as you may imagine. They ordered dinner at once. The servants made all possible haste, jostled one another in order to move faster, and by jostling and colliding with one another, took one thing instead of something else, overturned the sauces, let one dish burn, and served another cold; in a word, they did everything wrong, which often happens when people try to make too much haste.
The servants had ceased to expect their masters to dinner; old Raymond could not understand why they returned hungry; it gave him a very bad impression of the place where they had been, and the cook was very sorry that she had not divined their condition. But our travellers found everything delicious; Master Bonneau’s cooking was still foremost in their thoughts.
On the day following this memorable excursion, Adeline was too tired to accompany Edouard to Villeneuve-Saint-Georges, and as they had given their word to Monsieur Renâré, the young wife was obliged to consent to let her husband go alone.
Murville promised to be absent only a short time; he intended to return to dinner.
“Take care,” said Madame Germeuil, “and don’t have any unpleasant experiences.”
“I will wager, mamma, that you are still thinking of that face with the moustaches that we saw at the end of the garden.”
“Yes, I don’t deny it; indeed I will confess, my children, that I dreamed of it all night.”
“That is not surprising; when something has excited us intensely during the day, our imagination sees the same thing in a dream. But that does not mean that we should conceive dismal presentiments from the fact.”
“Really, mamma, you will make me unhappy,” said Adeline; “I begin to wish already that Edouard were home again.”
“And yet one must be very childish to be afraid without any reason! Come, off with you, my dear, and return quickly; above all things, do not dine at the Epée Couronnée!”
Edouard kissed Madame Germeuil’s hand; he embraced his wife, as people embrace on the day after their wedding, when they have found the first night all that they hoped, or when they think that they have found it so, which is the same thing, and which happens to many people who know nothing about it, and who consider themselves very shrewd.
He arrived in Villeneuve-Saint-Georges, and alighted from the carriage in front of the house which was soon to belong to him.
“Is Monsieur Renâré in?” he asked the concierge.
“He is already at the notary’s, monsieur.”
“The deuce! what promptitude! I must not keep him waiting.”
Murville left the cabriolet in the courtyard, and walked to the notary’s. The deeds were ready, and Monsieur Renâré was impatiently awaiting the arrival of the purchaser; for, having learned the night before of theepisode at the Epée Couronnée, he had begun to feel some anxiety concerning the bargain; but Edouard’s presence, and especially the sight of a wallet stuffed with good bank notes, restored all his tranquillity.
The deeds were signed, the price paid, and Monsieur Renâré smilingly presented the keys of the house to Edouard.
“You are the owner now, monsieur; from this moment you can do as you please with your house and everything that it contains, as I have sold it to you furnished.”
“I thank you, monsieur, but you may take all the time that you please to make your preparations for departure. I do not wish to embarrass you in any way.”
“Oh! my preparations will very soon be made, monsieur. I simply have a little bundle to pack, and I can carry it under my arm.”
“Then you already have another house in view?”
“Why,” said the notary, “Monsieur Renâré has six houses in Paris, and three more in the suburbs; so he is not likely to be at a loss.”
“Six houses in Paris,” thought Edouard, “and he wears a patched coat and a broken hat! And he is a bachelor, too! and he has no heirs! Does the man think that he is never going to die?”
Our young man bowed to the old miser and left the notary’s office. He returned to his newly-acquired property. The concierge was waiting in the courtyard, and seemed to have some question to ask him. Edouard guessed the cause of his embarrassment.
“This house is now mine,” he said to the peasant; “here is the deed stating that I am the owner of it. However, Monsieur Renâré will soon inform you of it himself.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it, monsieur.”
“Are you attached to Monsieur Renâré?”
“No, monsieur, I ain’t attached to anything but the house, and if monsieur doesn’t keep me, I shall be out of work.”
“Very well, I will keep you! I do not mean to discharge anybody; from this moment you are in my employ.”
“Very good, monsieur, I will try to satisfy you.”
Edouard was not greatly pleased with the peasant. He seemed brusque and rough, and had lived so long with Renâré that he had acquired an air of distrust, that made itself manifest in all his acts. But Edouard did not desire, on returning to occupy the home of his parents, to create a bad impression on the people in the village.
As it was still early, and Edouard had finished his business at the notary’s sooner than he expected, he could not resist the temptation to inspect his property; he ordered the concierge to give him the key of the gate at the end of the garden, and left him beside his cabriolet.
When we know that an estate belongs to us, we are likely to scrutinize every part of it closely. Edouard noticed that Monsieur Renâré had planted cabbages and lettuces in all the beds intended for flowers; he had cut down the beautiful acacias, which, to be sure, produced nothing but shade, and had replaced them by fruit trees. Instead of box as a border for the paths, he had planted parsley and nasturtiums; and as he entered a clump of shrubbery, which formerly was bright with lilacs and roses, Edouard smelled nothing but the odor of chevril and onion.
“We shall have to make many changes,” said Edouard to himself, laughing at the former owner’s parsimony; “but in a week everything will be as it was, with theexception of the acacias, on which I used to have a swing; but I have passed the age when I could enjoy it so much.”
He was then at the end of the garden; he approached the gate, saying to himself:
“It seems that that appalling face which frightened the ladies so does not show itself every day;” and he was on the point of putting the key into the lock, when the face with moustaches appeared above the broken plank, exactly on a level with the eyes.
Edouard stopped; he felt that his heart was beating violently; but he soon recovered himself.
“What do you want?” he asked the stranger; “and why are you continually behind this gate, with your eyes fixed upon the garden?”
“I want nothing,” the stranger replied, in a loud voice and with an abrupt manner. “I am looking at this garden because I choose to, and I look at it through this gate, because they would not permit me to walk about inside.”
“If that is what you wish, you may gratify yourself now. Come in, monsieur; there is nothing now to prevent you.”
As he spoke, Edouard, who was curious to see the whole of the stranger’s face, opened the gate leading into the fields.
The stranger seemed surprised at Edouard’s invitation; however, as soon as the gate was opened, he did not wait to be asked a second time, but entered the garden. Murville was then able to contemplate him at his ease. He saw a man of tall stature, dressed in an old blue frock-coat, buttoned to the chin, who wore black gaiters and a dilapidated three-cornered hat, which he carried in his hand.
As he examined this singular individual, whose pale face, long beard and neglected dress seemed to indicate misfortune and want, Edouard remembered his mother-in-law’s suspicions, and a feeling of distrust entered his mind.
The stranger walked about the garden, pausing from time to time in front of a clump of shrubs or an old tree, and apparently forgetting that there was some one with him.
“Parbleu!” said Edouard to himself, “I propose to have something to show for my good-nature; I must find out who this man is, and why he planted himself behind the little gate. I must take the first step, and as he says nothing, I must begin the conversation; he will have to answer me.”
The stranger had seated himself upon a mound of turf, from which the front of the house could be seen. Edouard approached and sat down beside him.
“Oh! I beg your pardon, monsieur,” said the stranger, as if suddenly arousing himself from his abstraction, “I have not thought yet to thank you for your kindness. But I was in such a hurry to see this place again!”
“Oh! there is no harm done.”
“Are you the son of the owner of this house?”
“No.”
“So much the better for you.”
“Why so?”
“Because he is an old money-lender, an impertinent fellow; and so is his concierge, to whom I was strongly tempted to administer a thrashing, in order to teach him how to behave!”
“What have they done to you?”
“I came to this village for the express purpose of seeing this house. I arrived here yesterday, utterly tiredout; I entered the courtyard, and sat down on a stone bench to rest. The concierge came to me, and asked me what I was there for. I told him that I wanted to see the garden. He asked me if I intended to buy the house. That question was an impertinence in itself, for I don’t look like a person with money to invest.”
“That is true,” thought Edouard.
“When he learned that I had come here for another reason, he ordered me to leave; I asked him again to let me walk about this garden for a moment; he called his master; an old Jew appeared, and the two together tried to turn me out! Ten thousand thunders! Turn me out! me—a—But, no! I forgot that I am one no longer! All the same, if it hadn’t been that my memories restrained me, I would have thrashed master and servant. I didn’t do it, however, and as I was able only to look at the place from a distance, I took my stand behind that gate where you saw me yesterday.”
“I am very glad that I have been able to atone for the discourtesy of the concierge, and that I found you again to-day at the same place.”
“Faith! it’s a mere chance! If I were not waiting for a comrade, whom I agreed to meet in this village, I certainly should not have stayed here.”
“Ah! you are waiting for a comrade?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
Edouard was silent for a moment; he seemed to be reflecting upon what the stranger had said; the latter resumed the conversation.
“Excuse me, monsieur, if I question you in my turn; but how does it happen that the old villain of a proprietor has intrusted the keys of his garden to you?”
“This house no longer belongs to Monsieur Renâré; he has sold it to me this very day.”
“Sold it! Pardieu! I am delighted to hear that. I was distressed to see this house in the clutches of that Arab!”
“You seem to be very fond of this house?”
“I well may be, as I passed a large part of my youth here.”
“You?”
“I.”
Edouard looked more closely at the stranger; vague suspicions, a secret presentiment made his heart leap. He observed that the stranger was young and that it seemed to be fatigue simply that had wasted his sun-burned features; he desired, yet dreaded to learn more.
“Yes, monsieur,” continued the stranger after a moment’s silence, “I have lived in this house. Indeed I was partly brought up here. At that time I was with my parents, and the future looked very bright to me. I had a kind father, I had a brother! I left them all! And I well deserve what is happening to me now!”
“Are your parents dead?” asked Edouard in a broken voice, gazing at the man whom he already feared that he recognized.
“Yes, monsieur, they are dead,—perhaps of the sorrow that I caused them! My mother did not love me very much; but my father was devoted to me! And I shall never see him again! Oh! this accursed temper of mine, that has made me do so many foolish things!”
“And your brother?”
“My brother is still alive, so I learned at Paris; he has just married, I was told. The person who told me was not then able to give me his address, but is to give it to me to-morrow; then I shall go to see him. Poor Edouard, he will be greatly surprised to see me! I will bet that he thinks that I am dead!”
Edouard did not reply; he lowered his eyes, uncertain as to what course he ought to adopt, and not daring to admit to himself that it was his brother whom he had found.
Jacques,—for it was he in very truth,—Jacques had relapsed into meditation; with one hand he fondled his long moustaches, and with the other rubbed his forehead as if he wished to clear up his ideas. Edouard stood motionless and silent; his eyes turned sometimes upon the friend of his childhood, but the shabby coat, the old gaiters, and above all, the long beard, checked the impulse of his heart which bade him throw himself into his brother’s arms without stopping to consider his dress, or without wondering what his position might be.
Suddenly an idea seemed to strike Jacques’s mind, and he turned to Edouard, and said abruptly:
“It isn’t impossible that you may know my brother; you seem to belong to fashionable society, and you usually live in Paris, do you not?”
“I do.”
“Perhaps you may have heard of Edouard Murville?”
“Yes—I—I know him.”
“You know my brother?”
“I am Edouard Murville.”
Edouard said these words in such a low tone that no one but Jacques could have heard them; but he was listening closely, and before his brother had finished his sentence, he had thrown himself on his neck, and pressed him in his arms.
Edouard submitted to the embrace with very good grace; but the infernal moustaches still disturbed him; he did not feel at his ease, and he did not know whether he ought to rejoice or to be sorry that he had found his brother.
“I say, why didn’t you tell me your name sooner?” said Jacques, after embracing Edouard again; “didn’t you guess who I was?”
“Yes, but I wanted to be certain.”
“And you—you seem to be rich and happy?”
“I—yes.”
“You are married; and where is your wife? I shall be delighted to know her.”
“My wife——”
Edouard paused; the thought of Adeline, of Madame Germeuil, the suspicions which the latter had conceived the night before, when she saw the face with moustaches; the brusque manners, and the more than careless garb of Jacques, which was in such striking contrast to his own, all this tormented the spirit of the young bridegroom, who, at the best weak and irresolute, tried in vain to harmonize his self-esteem and the sentiments which the sight of his brother awoke in him.
“What the devil are you thinking about?” asked Jacques, taking Edouard’s arm.
“Oh! I was reflecting; it is late, and I must go back to Paris. Important business demands my presence there.”
Jacques made no reply, but his brow darkened, and he walked a few steps away from his brother.
“What are you doing now, Jacques?”
“Nothing,” said Jacques, as he scrutinized Edouard with more attention.
“Nothing? Then what are your means of existence?”
“Up to this time I have never asked anyone for anything.”
“However, you do not seem to be very well off.”
“I am not, that is a fact!”
“What an idea, to wear such moustaches! You don’t expect to see my wife, with those on your face, I fancy?”
“My moustaches will stay where they are; if your wife is a prude and the sight of me frightens her, never fear! she won’t see me very often!”
“You misunderstand me, that isn’t what I meant. But I must leave you; I am expected in Paris; I do not ask you to come with me now—indeed you are expecting to meet someone in this village, I believe.”
“Yes, I am expecting a comrade, afriend.”
Jacques emphasized the last word and cast a meaning glance at his brother.
“Well, I must leave you,” said Edouard, after a moment’s hesitation; “we shall meet again soon, I hope. Meanwhile, here, take this.”
As he spoke, Edouard drew from his pocket his purse, which contained about ten louis, and offered it with a trembling hand to his brother; but Jacques proudly pushed Edouard’s hand away, pulled his hat over his eyes, put his hand quickly to the collar of his coat, and seemed to contemplate baring his breast; but he checked himself and said to Edouard in a cold tone:
“Keep your money; I didn’t come here to ask alms of you, and I do not propose to become an object of your compassion; I thought that I had found a brother, but I made a mistake. I do not seem to you worthy to be received into your house; my dress and my face frighten you; that is enough; adieu, you will see me no more.”
Jacques cast an angry glance at his brother, and strode from the garden through the little barred gate, that had remained open.
Edouard, like all irresolute people, stood for a moment without moving, with his eyes fixed upon the gate through which his brother had left the garden. At last his natural feelings carried the day, he ran to the gate, went into the fields, and shouted at the top of his voice:
“Jacques, Brother Jacques!”
But it was too late; Jacques had disappeared, he was already far away, and his brother’s shouts did not reach his ears.
Edouard returned sadly to the garden; he paused in the gateway, and looked out into the fields once more, and as he could see no one, decided at last to close the gate.
“Oh! he will come again,” he said to himself; “he is a hot-headed fellow, who loses his temper in an instant. However, I didn’t mean to insult him; I offered him money, because he seemed in great need of it, and I don’t see why he took offence at that. I gave him to understand that his dress, his aspect, would be out of place in a salon. Was I so very wrong? Can I conscientiously present to my wife and my mother-in-law a man who looks like an escaped convict, at the best? It would be enough to make a man die of shame—and that too on the very morrow of my marriage! With the money I offered him he might have dressed decently; but no! he will not shave his moustaches! Faith, he may do as he pleases; I did what it was my duty to do.”
Edouard strove to convince himself that he had not done wrong; he did not admit that his cold and constrained manner might well have humiliated his brother; but a secret voice arose in the depths of his heart and reproached him for his unkindness. Dissatisfied with himself and disturbed concerning the outcome of that adventure, Edouard returned to his cabriolet and drove away from the village, without giving the concierge any orders.
When he entered Paris, he was still uncertain as to what he should do. At last he decided not to mention the encounter to his wife and his mother-in-law, thinkingthat it would be time enough to introduce them to his brother when he should call. When he arrived, his Adeline ran to meet him, scolded him fondly because he had been away so long, and asked him about his journey.
“It is all finished,” said Edouard; “the deeds are passed and the pretty house is ours now.”
“And you had no unpleasant meetings?” asked Adeline with a smile.
“I—no—as you see.”
“And you did not see that terrible face with the moustaches again?” asked Madame Germeuil.
“No, I did not see him again.”
“I am glad of it, for that man really looked like the leader of a band of robbers, and for my part I have no sort of desire to see him again, I assure you.”
Edouard blushed; his brother had the appearance of a highwayman! That thought troubled him; he believed that they would guess his secret, and he dared not raise his eyes. But his wife’s caresses dispelled his disquietude to some extent.
“What on earth is the matter, my dear?” asked Adeline; “you seem very pensive and preoccupied to-night.”
“Nothing is the matter, my dear love; the bore of being away from you so long has been my only unhappiness.”
“Dear Edouard! May you always think the same, for then you will never leave me.—By the way, when do we start for our country house?”
“Oh! in a week.”
“A week! That is a very long while!”
“We must give the former owner time to pack up.”
“Ah, yes! that is true, my dear.”
Edouard did not tell the truth; another reason caused him to delay his return to Villeneuve-Saint-Georges.That reason he dared not communicate to Adeline; and after forty-eight hours of married life, after their mutual promises of absolute and reciprocal confidence, behold he already had a secret from his wife!