RESULTS OF THE LOTTERY
A glance at the winners of the first and second prizes reassured him. He drew a breath of satisfaction, saying gratefully; "Ah, what luck! God be praised! I'll never do that again!"
Then, remembering with only an idle curiosity the one hundred and forty-three mediocre prizes on the list, he returned to the perusal. Suddenly the print swam before his eyes, and the great esplanade seemed to rise. Number 77,707 had won the fourth prize of one hundred thousand francs; number 200,013, a prize of ten thousand francs.
The emotion which overwhelmed Napoleon at Waterloo as he beheld his triumphant squadrons go down into the sunken road was not a whit more complete than the despair of the Comte de Bonzag when he realized that the one hundred and ten thousand francs which the laws of probability had finally produced was now the property of Francine, the cook.
One hundred and ten thousand francs! It was colossal! Five generations of Bonzags had never touched as much as that. One hundred and ten thousand francs meant the rehabilitation of the ancient name, the restoration of the Château de Keragouil, half the year at Paris, in the Cercle Royale, in the regions of art, and among the great minds that were still young in the Quartier—and all that was in the possession of a plump Gascony peasant, whose ideas of comfort and pleasure were satisfied by one hundred and twenty francs a year.
"What am I going to do?" he cried, rising in an outburst of anger. Then he sat down in despair. There was nothing to do. The fact was obvious that Francine was an heiress, possessed of the greatest fortune in the memory of Keragouil. There was nothing to do, or rather, there was manifestly but one way open, and the Comte resolved on the spot to take it. He must have back the lottery tickets, though it meant a Comtesse de Bonzag.
Fortunately for him, Francine knew nothing of the arrival of the paper. Though it was necessary to make haste, there was still time for a compatriot of D'Artagnan. There was, of course, Andoche, the Sapeur-Pompier; but a Bonzag who had had three months' experience with the feminine heart of Paris was not the man to trouble himself over a Sapeur-Pompier. That evening, in the dim dining-room, when Francine arrived with the steaming soup, the Comte, who had waited with a spoon in his fist and a napkin knotted to his neck, plunged valiantly to the issue.
"Ah, what a good smell!" he said, elevating his nose. "Francine, you are the queen of cooks."
"Oh, M'sieur le Comte," Francine stammered, stopping in amazement. "Oh, M'sieur le Comte, thanks."
"Don't thank me; it is I who am grateful."
"Oh, M'sieur!"
"Yes, yes, yes! Francine—"
"What is it, M'sieur le Comte?"
"To-night you may set another cover—opposite me."
"Set another cover?"
"Exactly."
Francine, more and more astonished, proceeded to place on the table a plate, a knife and a fork.
"M'sieur le Curé is coming?" she said, drawing up a chair.
"No, Francine."
"Not M'sieur le Curé? Who, then?"
"It is for you, Francine. Sit down."
"I? I, M'sieur le Comte?"
"Sit down. I wish it."
Francine took three steps backward and so as to command the exit, stopped and stared at her master, with mingled amazement and distrust.
"My dear Francine," continued the Comte, "I am tired of eating alone. It is bad for the digestion. And I am bored. I have need of society. So sit down."
"M'sieur orders it?"
"I ask it as a favor, Francine."
Francine, with open eyes, advanced doubtfully, seating herself nicely on the chair, more astonished than complimented, and more alarmed than pleased.
"Ah, that is nicer!" said the Comte, with an approving nod. "How have I endured it all these years! Francine, you may help yourself to the wine."
The astonished maid-of-all-work, who had swallowed a spoon of soup with great discomfort, sprang up, all in a tremble, stammering with defiant virtue:
"M'sieur le Comte does not forget that I am an honest woman!"
"No, my dear Francine; I am certain of it. So sit down in peace. I will tell you the situation."
Francine hesitated, then, reassured by the devotion he gave to his soup, settled once more in her chair.
"Francine, I have made up my mind to one thing," said the Comte, filling his glass with such energy that a red circle appeared on the cloth. "This life I lead is all wrong. A man is a sociable being. He needs society. Isolation sends him back to the brute."
"Oh, yes, M'sieur le Comte," said Francine, who understood nothing.
"So I am resolved to marry."
"M'sieur will marry!" cried Francine, who spilled half her soup with the shock.
"Perfectly. It is for that I have asked you to keep me company."
"M'sieur—you—M'sieur wants to marry me!"
"Parbleu!"
"M'sieur—M'sieur wants to marry me!"
"I ask you formally to be my wife."
"I?"
"M'sieur wants—wants me to be Comtesse de Bonzag?"
"Immediately."
"Oh!"
Springing up, Francine stood a moment gazing at him in frightened alarm; then, with a cry, she vanished heavily through the door.
"She has gone to Andoche," said the Comte, angrily to himself. "She loves him!"
In great perturbation he left the room promenading on the esplanade, in the midst of his hounds, talking uneasily to himself.
"Peste, I put it to her a little too suddenly! It was a blunder. If she loves that Sapeur-Pompier, eh? A Sapeur-Pompier, to rival a Comte de Bonzag—faugh!"
Suddenly, below in the moonlight, he beheld Andoche tearing himself from the embrace of Francine, and, not to be seen, he returned nervously to the dining-room.
Shortly after, the maid-of-all-work returned, calm, but with telltale eyes.
"Well, Francine, did I frighten you?" said the Comte, genially.
"Oh, yes, M'sieur le Comte—"
"Well, what do you want to say?"
"M'sieur was in real earnest?"
"Never more so."
"M'sieur really wants to make me the Comtesse de Bonzag?"
"Dame!I tell you my intentions are honorable."
"M'sieur will let me ask him one question?"
"A dozen even."
"M'sieur remembers that I am a widow—"
"With one child, yes."
"M'sieur, pardon me; I have been thinking much, and I have been thinking of my little girl. What would M'sieur want me to do?"
The Comte reflected, and said generously: "I do not adopt her; but, if you like, she shall live here."
"Then, M'sieur," said Francine, dropping on her knees, "I thank M'sieur very much. M'sieur is too kind, too good—"
"So, it is decided then," said the Comte, rising joyfully.
"Oh, yes, M'sieur."
"Then we shall go to-morrow," said the Comte. "It is my manner; I like to do things instantly. Stand up, I beg you, Madame."
"To-morrow, M'sieur?"
"Yes, Madame. Have you any objections?"
"Oh, no, M'sieur le Comte; on the contrary," said Francine, blushing with pleasure at the twice-repeated "Madame." Then she added carefully: "M'sieur is quite right; it would be better. People talk so."
The return of the married couple was the sensation of Keragouil, for the Comte de Bonzag, after the fashion of his ancestors, had placed his bride behind him on the broad back of Quatre Diables, who proceeded with unaltered equanimity. Along the journey the peasants, who held the Comte in loyal terror, greeted the procession with a respectful silence, congregating in the road to stare and chatter only when the amiable Quatre Diables had disappeared in the distance.
Disdaining to notice the commotion he produced, the Comte headed straight for the courtyard, where Quatre Diables, recognizing the foot block, dropped his head and began to crop the grass. The new Comtesse, fatigued by the novel position, started gratefully to descend by the most natural way, that is, by slipping easily over the rear anatomy of the good-natured Quatre Diables. But the Comte, feeling the commotion behind, stopped her with a word, and, flinging his left leg over the neck of his charger, descended gracefully to the block, where, bowing profoundly, he said in gallant style:
"Madame, permit me to offer you my hand."
The Comtesse, with the best intentions in the world, had considerable difficulty in executing the movement by which her husband had extricated himself. Luckily, the Comte received her without yielding ground, drew her hand under his arm, and escorted her ceremoniously into the château, while Quatre Diables, liberated from the unusual burden, rolled gratefully to earth, and scratched his back against the cobblestones.
"Madame, be so kind as to enter your home."
With studied elegance, the Comte put his hat to his breast, or thereabout, and bowed as he held open the door.
"Oh, M'sieur le Comte; after you," said Francine, in confusion.
"Pass, Madame, and enter the dining-room. We have certain ceremonies to observe."
Francine dutifully advanced, but kept an eye on the movements of her consort. When he entered the dining-room and went to the sideboard, she took an equal number of steps in the same direction. When, having brought out a bottle and glasses, he turned and came toward her, she retreated. When he stopped, she stopped, and sat down with the same exact movement.
"Madame, I offer you a glass of the famous Keragouil Burgundy," began the Comte, filling her glass. "It is a wine that we De Bonzags have always kept to welcome our wives and to greet our children. Madame, I have the honor to drink to the Comtesse de Bonzag."
"Oh, M'sieur le Comte," said Francine, who, watching his manner, emptied the goblet in one swallow.
"To the health of my ancestors!" continued the Comte, draining the bottle into the two goblets. "And now throw your glass on the floor!"
"Yes, M'sieur," said Francine, who obeyed regretfully, with the new instinct of a housewife.
"Now, Madame, as wife and mistress of Keragouil, I think it is well that you understand your position and what I expect of you," said the Comte, waving her to a seat and occupying a fauteuil in magisterial fashion. "I expect that you will learn in a willing spirit what I shall teach you, that you may become worthy of the noble position you occupy."
"Oh, M'sieur may be sure I'll do my best," said Francine, quite overcome.
"I expect you to show me the deference and obedience that I demand as head of the house of Bonzag."
"Oh, M'sieur le Comte, how could you think—"
"To be economical and amiable."
"Yes, indeed, M'sieur."
"To listen when I speak, to forget you were a peasant, to give me three desserts a week, and never, madame, to show me the slightest infidelity."
At these last words, Francine, already overcome by the rapid whirl of fortune, as well as by the overcharged spirits of the potent Burgundy, burst into tears.
"And no tears!" said De Bonzag, withdrawing sternly.
"No, M'sieur; no," Francine cried, hastily drying her eyes. Then dropping on her knees, she managed to say: "Oh, M'sieur—pardon, pardon."
"What do you mean?" cried the Comte, furiously.
"Oh, M'sieur forgive me—I will tell you all!"
"Madame—Madame, I don't understand," said the Comte, mastering himself with difficulty. "Proceed; I am listening."
"Oh, M'sieur le Comte, I'll tell you all. I swear it on the image of St. Jacques d'Acquin."
"You have not lied to me about your child?" cried Bonzag in horror.
"No, no, M'sieur; not that," said Francine. Then, hiding her face, she said: "M'sieur, I hid something from you: I loved Andoche."
"Ah!" said the Comte, with a sigh of relief. He sat down, adding sympathetically: "My poor Francine, I know it. Alas! That's what life is."
"Oh, M'sieur, it's all over; I swear it!" Francine cried in protest. "But I loved him well, and he loved me—oh, how he loved me, M'sieur le Comte! Pardon, M'sieur, but at that time I didn't think of being a comtesse, M'sieur le Comte. And when M'sieur spoke to me, I didn't know what to do. My heart was all given to Andoche, but—well, M'sieur, the truth is, I began to think of my little girl, and I said to myself, I must think of her, because, M'sieur, I thought of the position it would give her, if I were a Comtesse. What a step in the world, eh? And I said, you must do it for her! So I went to Andoche, and I told him all—yes, all, M'sieur—that my heart was his, but that my duty was to her. And Andoche, ah, what a good heart, M'sieur—he understood—we wept together." She choked a minute, put her handkerchief hastily to her eyes, "Pardon, M'sieur; and he said it was right, and I kissed him—I hide nothing, M'sieur will pardon me that,—and he went away!" She took a step toward him, twisting her handkerchief, adding in a timid appeal: "M'sieur understands why I tell him that? M'sieur will believe me. I have killed all that. It is no more in my heart. I swear it by the image of St. Jacques d'Acquin."
"Madame, I knew it before," said the Comte, rising; "still, I thank you."
"Oh, M'sieur, I have put it all away—I swear it!"
"I believe you," interrupted the Comte, "and now no more of it! I also am going to be frank with you." He went with a smile to a corner where stood the little box, done up in rope, which held the trousseau of the Comtesse de Bonzag. "Open that, and give me the lottery-tickets I gave you."
"Hanh? You—M'sieur says?"
"The lottery-tickets—"
"Oh, M'sieur, but they're not there—"
"Then where are they?"
"Oh, M'sieur, wait; I'll tell you," said Francine, simply. "When Andoche went off—"
"You gave him—the tickets! The lottery-tickets!"
"You gave him—the tickets! The lottery-tickets!"
"What!" cried the Comte, like a cannon.
"He was so broken up, M'sieur, I was so afraid for him, so just to console him, M'sieur—to give him something—I gave him the tickets."
"You gave him—the tickets! The lottery-tickets!"
"Just to console him—yes, M'sieur."
The lank form of the Comte de Bonzag wavered, and then, as though the body had suddenly deserted the clothes, collapsed in a heap on the floor.