THE next morning, when Theodore and Casimir entered their uncle's office to attend to the correspondence, they were amazed to see Perrine installed at her table as though she were a fixture there.
Talouel had taken care not to tell them, but he had contrived to be present when they entered so as to witness their discomfiture. The sight of their amazement gave him considerable enjoyment. Although he was furious at the way this little beggar girl had imposed, as he thought, upon the senile weakness of an old man, it was at least some compensation to know that the two nephews felt the same astonishment and indignation that he had.
Evidently they did not understand her presence in this sacred office, where they themselves only remained just the time necessary to report on the business of which they were in charge.
Theodore and Casimir looked in dismay at one another, but they did not dare ask questions. Talouel left the room the same time as they.
"You were surprised to see that girl in the boss' office, eh?" he said, when they got outside.
They did not deign to reply.
"If you had not come in late this morning, I should have let you know that she was there, and then you would not have looked so taken back. She noticed how surprised you were."
He had managed to give them two little knocks: First, there was a gentle scolding for them being late; secondly, he had let them see that he, a foreman, had noticed that they had been unable to hide their discomfiture and that the girl had noticed it, too. And they were M. Vulfran's nephews! Ah! ha!
"M. Vulfran told me yesterday that he had taken that girl to live at the chateau with him, and that in the future she would work in his office."
"But who is the girl?"
"That's what I'd like to know. I don't think your uncle knows either. He told me he wanted someone to be with him whom he could trust."
"Hasn't he got us?" asked Casimir.
"That is just what I said to him. I mentioned you both, and do you know what he replied?"
He wanted to pause to give more effect to his words, but he was afraid that they would turn their backs upon him before he had said what he wanted.
"'Oh, my nephews,' he said, 'and what are they?' From the tone in which he said those few words I thought it better not to reply," continued Talouel. "He told me then that he intended to have that girl up at the chateau with him because there was someone trying to tempt her to tell something that sheshould not tell. He said he knew that she could be trusted, but he said he didn't like others that he could not trust to put the girl in such a position. He said she had already proved to him that she could be trusted. I wonder who he meant had tried to tempt her?
"I thought it my duty to tell you this, because while M. Edmond is away you two take his place," added Talouel.
He had given them several thrusts, but he wanted to give them one last sharp knock.
"Of course, M. Edmond might return at any moment," he said. "I believe that your uncle is on the right track at last. He has been making inquiries, and from the looks of things I think we shall have him back soon."
"What have you heard? Anything?" asked Theodore, who could not restrain his curiosity.
"Oh, I keep my eyes open," said Talouel, "and I can tell you that that girl is doing a lot of translating in the way of letters and cables that come from India."
At that moment he looked from a window and saw a telegraph boy strolling up to the office.
"Here is another cable coming," he said. "This is a reply to one that has been sent to Dacca. It must be very annoying for you not to be able to speak English. You could be the first to announce to the boss that your cousin will be coming back. Now that little tramp will be the one to do it."
Talouel hurried forward to meet the telegraph boy.
"Say, you don't hurry yourself, do you?" he cried.
"Do you want me to kill myself?" asked the boy, insolently.
He hurried with the message to M. Vulfran's office.
"Shall I open it, sir?" he asked eagerly.
"Yes, do," said M. Vulfran.
"Oh, it is in English," replied Talouel, as he looked at the missive.
"Then Aurelie must attend to it," said M. Vulfran, and with a wave of his hand dismissed the manager.
As soon as the door had closed Perrine translated the cable.
It read: "Friend Leserre, a French merchant. Last news from Dehra five years. Wrote Father Makerness according to your wish."
"Five years," cried M. Vulfran. Then, as he was not the sort of man to waste time in regrets, he said to Perrine: "Write two cables, one to M. Leserre in French and one to Father Makerness in English."
She quickly wrote the cable that she had to translate into English, but she asked if she could get a dictionary from Bendit's office before she did the one in French.
"Are you not sure of your spelling?" asked M. Vulfran.
"No, I am not at all sure," she replied, "and I should not like them at the office to make fun of any message that is sent by you."
"Then you would not be able to write a letter without making mistakes?"
"No, I know I should make a lot of mistakes. I can spell French words all right at the commencement, but the endings I find very difficult. I find it much easier to write in English, and I think I ought to tell you so now."
"Have you never been to school?"
"No, never. I only know what my father and mother taught me. When we stopped on the roads they used to make me study, but I never studied very much."
"You are a good girl to tell me so frankly. We must see to that, but for the moment let us attend to what we have on hand."
It was not until the afternoon, when they were driving out, that he again referred to her spelling.
"Have you written to your relations yet?" he asked.
"No, sir."
"Why not?"
"Because I would like nothing better than to stay here with you, who are so kind to me," she said.
"Then you don't want to leave me?" asked the blind man.
"No, I want to help you all I can," said Perrine softly.
"Very well, then you must study so as to be able to act as a little secretary for me. Would you like to be educated?"
"Indeed I would! And I will work so hard," said Perrine.
"Well, the matter can be arranged without depriving myself of your services," said M. Vulfran; "there is a very good teacher here and I will ask her to give you lessons from six to eight in the evenings. She is a very nice woman; there are only two things against her; they are her height and her name; she is taller than I am, and her shoulders are much broader than mine. Her name is Mademoiselle Belhomme. She is indeed abel homme, for although she is only forty her shoulders and figure are more massive than any man's I know ... I must add that she has not a beard."
Perrine smiled at this description of the teacher that she was to have.
After they had made a tour of the factories they stopped before a girl's school and Mlle. Belhomme ran out to greet M. Vulfran. He expressed a wish to get down and go into the school and speak with her. Perrine, who followed in their footsteps, was able to examine her. She was indeed a giant, but her manner seemed very womanly and dignified. At times her manner was almost timid and did not accord at all with her appearance.
Naturally she could not refuse anything the all-powerful master of Maraucourt asked, but even if she had had any reasons to refuse M. Vulfran'srequest the little girl with the beautiful eyes and hair pleased her very much.
"Yes," she said to M. Vulfran, "we will make her an educated girl. Do you know she has eyes like a gazelle. I have never seen a gazelle, but I should imagine their great brown eyes are like hers. They are wonderful...."
The next day when M. Vulfran returned to his home at the dinner hour he asked the governess what she thought of her new pupil. Mlle. Belhomme was most enthusiastic in her praise of Perrine.
"Does she show any intelligence?" asked M. Vulfran.
"Why she is wonderfully intelligent," replied Mlle. Belhomme; "it would have been such a calamity if she had remained without an education...."
M. Vulfran smiled at Mlle. Belhomme's words.
"What about her spelling?" he asked.
"Oh, that is very poor but she'll do better. Her writing is fairly good but, of course, she needs to study hard. She is so intelligent it is extraordinary. So as to know exactly what she knew in writing and spelling I asked her to write me an account of Maraucourt. In twenty to a hundred lines I asked her to describe the village to me. She sat down and wrote. Her pen flew over the paper; she did not hesitate for words; she wrote four long pages; she described the factories, the scenery, every thing clearly and in detail. She wrote about the birdsand the fishes over near the pond, and about the morning mists that cover the fields and the water. Then of the calm, quiet evenings. Had I not seen her writing it I should have thought that she had copied it from some good author. Unfortunately the spelling and writing is very poor but, as I said, that does not matter. That is merely a matter of a few months, whilst all the lessons in the world would not teach her how to write if she had not been gifted with the sense of feeling and seeing in such a remarkable manner; that she can convey to others what she feels and sees. If you have time to let me read it to you, you will see that I have not exaggerated."
The governess read Perrine's narrative to him. He was delighted. He had wondered once or twice if he had been wise in so promptly befriending this little girl and giving her a place in his home. It had appeared to him strange the sudden fancy that he had taken to her.
He told Mlle. Belhomme how her little pupil had lived in a cabin in one of the fields, and how, with nothing except what she found on hand, she contrived to make kitchen utensils and shoes, and how she had made her meals of the fish, herbs and fruit that she found.
Mlle. Belhomme's kind face beamed as the blind man talked. She was greatly interested in what he told her. When M. Vulfran stopped the governess remained silent, thinking.
"Don't you think," she said at last, "that toknow how to create the necessities that one needs is a master quality to be desired above all?"
"I certainly do, and it was precisely because that child could do that that I first took an interest in her. Ask her some time to tell you her story and you will see that it required some energy and courage for her to arrive where she is now."
"Well, she has received her reward since she has been able to interest you."
"Yes, I am interested, and already attached to her. I am glad that you like her, and I hope that you will do all that you can with her."
Perrine made great progress with her studies. She was interested in everything her governess had to tell her, but her beautiful eyes betrayed the greatest interest when Mlle. Belhomme talked of her grandfather. Many times Perrine had spoken of M. Vulfran's illness to Rosalie, but she had only received vague replies to her queries; now, from her governess, she learned all the details regarding his affliction.
Like everyone at Maraucourt, Mlle. Belhomme was concerned with M. Vulfran's health, and she had often spoken with Dr. Ruchon so she was in a position to satisfy Perrine's curiosity better than Rosalie could.
Her grandfather had a double cataract. It was not incurable; if he were operated upon he might recover his sight. The operation had not yet been attempted because his health would not allow it.... He was suffering from bronchial trouble,and if the operation was to be a success he would have to be in a perfect state of health. But M. Vulfran was imprudent. He was not careful enough in following the doctor's orders. How could he remain calm, as Dr. Ruchon recommended, when he was always worked up to a fever of anxiety over the continued absence of his son. So long as he was not sure of his son's fate, there was no chance for the operation and it was put off. But ... would it be possible to have it later? That the oculists could not decide. They were uncertain, so long as the blind man's health continued in this precarious state.
But when Mlle. Belhomme saw that Perrine was also anxious to talk about Talouel and the two nephews and their hopes regarding the business she was not so communicative. It was quite natural that the girl should show an interest in her benefactor, but that she should be interested in the village gossip was not permissible. Certainly it was not a conversation for a governess and her pupil.... It was not with talks of this kind that one should mould the character of a young girl.
Perrine would have had to renounce all hope of getting any information from her governess if Casimir's mother, Madame Bretoneux, had not decided to come to the chateau on a visit. This coming visit opened the lips of Mlle. Belhomme, which otherwise would certainly have remained closed.
As soon as the governess heard that Mme. Bretoneux was coming she had a very serious talk with her little pupil.
"My dear child," she said, lowering her voice, "I must give you some advice; I want you to be very reserved with this lady who is coming here tomorrow."
"Reserved, about what?" asked Perrine in surprise.
"Monsieur Vulfran did not only ask me to take charge of your education but to take a personal interest in you; that is why I give you this advice."
"Please, Mademoiselle, explain to me what I ought to do," said Perrine; "I don't understand at all what this advice means, and I am very nervous."
"Although you have not been very long at Maraucourt," said Mlle. Belhomme, "you must know that M. Vulfran's illness and the continued absence of his son is a cause of anxiety to all this part of the country."
"Yes, I have heard that," answered Perrine.
"What would become of all those employed in the works, seven thousand, and all those who are dependent on these seven thousand if Monsieur Vulfran should die and his son not return? Will he leave his fortune and works to his nephews, of which he has no more confidence in one than the other, or to one who for twenty years has been his right hand and who, having managed the works with him is, perhaps more than anyone else, in a position to keep his hold on them?
"When M. Vulfran took his nephew Theodoreinto the business everyone thought that he intended to make him his heir. But later, when Monsieur Casimir left college and his uncle sent for him, they saw that they had made a mistake and that M. Vulfran had not decided to leave his business to these two boys. His only wish was to have his son back for, although they had been parted for ten years, he still loved him. Now no one knew whether the son was dead or alive. But there were those who wished that he was dead so that they themselves could take M. Vulfran's place when he died.
"Now, my dear child," said the governess, "you understand you live here in the home of M. Vulfran and you must be very discreet in this matter and not talk about it to Casimir's mother. She is working all she can for her son's interest and she will push anyone aside who stands in his way. Now, if you were on too good terms with her you would be on bad terms with Theodore's mother, and the other way about. Then, on the other hand, should you gain the good graces of both of them you would perhaps have reason to fear one from another direction. That is why I give you this little advice. Talk as little as possible. And if you are questioned, be careful to make replies as vague as possible. It is better sometimes to be looked upon rather as too stupid than too intelligent. This is so in your case ... the less intelligent you appear, the more intelligent you will really be."
THIS advice, given with every kindness, did not tend to lessen Perrine's anxiety. She was dreading Madame Bretoneux's visit on the morrow.
Her governess had not exaggerated the situation. The two mothers were struggling and scheming in every possible way, each to have her son alone inherit one day or another the great works of Maraucourt and the fortune which it was rumored would be more than a hundred million francs.
The one, Mme. Stanislaus Paindavoine, was the wife of M. Vulfran's eldest brother, a big linen merchant. Her husband had not been able to give her the position in society which she believed to be hers, and now she hoped that, through her son inheriting his uncle's great fortune, she would at last be able to take the place in the Parisian world which she knew she could grace.
The other, Madame Bretoneux was M. Vulfran's married sister who had married a Boulogne merchant, who in turn had been a cement and coal merchant, insurance agent and maritime agent, but with all his trades had never acquired riches. She wanted her brother's wealth as much for love ofthe money as to get it away from her sister-in-law, whom she hated.
While their brother and his only son had lived on good terms, they had had to content themselves with borrowing all they could from him in loans which they never intended to pay back; but the day when Edmond had been packed off to India, ostensibly to buy jute but in reality as a punishment for being too extravagant and getting into debt, the two women had schemed to take advantage of the situation. On each side they had made every preparation so that each could have her son alone, at any moment, take the place of the exile.
In spite of all their endeavors the uncle had never consented to let the boys live with him at the chateau. There was room enough for them all and he was sad and lonely, but he had made a firm stand against having them with him in his home.
"I don't want any quarrels or jealousy around me," he had always replied to the suggestions made.
He had then given Theodore the house he had lived in before he built the chateau and another to Casimir that had belonged to the late head of the counting house whom Mombleux had replaced.
So their surprise and indignation had been intense when a stranger, a poor girl, almost a child, had been installed in the chateau where they themselves had only been admitted as guests.
What did it mean?
Who was this little girl?
What had they to fear from her?
Madame Bretoneux had put these questions to her son but his replies had not satisfied her. She decided to find out for herself, hence her visit.
Very uneasy when she arrived, it was not long before she felt quite at ease again so well did Perrine play the part that mademoiselle had advised her.
Although M. Vulfran had no wish to have his nephews living with him he was very hospitable and cordial to their parents when they came to visit him. On these occasions the beautiful mansion put on its most festive appearance; fires were lighted everywhere; the servants put on their best liveries; the best carriages and horses were brought from the stables, and in the evening the villagers could see the great chateau lighted up from ground floor to roof.
The victoria, with the coachman and footman, had met Mme. Bretoneux at the railway station. Upon her getting out of the carriage Bastien had been on hand to show her to the apartment which was also reserved for her on the first floor.
M. Vulfran never made any change in his habits when his relations came to Maraucourt. He saw them at meal times, spent the evenings with them, but no more of his time did he give them. With him business came before everything; his nephew, the son of whichever one happened to be visiting there, came to luncheon and dinner and remained the evening as late as he wished, but that was all.
M. Vulfran spent his hours at the office just thesame and Perrine was always with him, so Madame Bretoneux was not able to follow up her investigations on the "little tramp" as she had wished.
She had questioned Bastien and the maids; she had made a call on Mother Françoise and had questioned her carefully, also Aunt Zenobie and Rosalie, and she had obtained all the information that they could give her; that is, all they knew from the moment of her arrival in the village until she went to live in the great house as a companion to the millionaire. All this, it seemed, was due exclusively to her knowledge of English.
She found it a difficult matter, however, to talk to Perrine alone, who never left M. Vulfran's side unless it was to go to her own room. Madame Bretoneux was in a fever of anxiety to see what was in the girl and discover some reason for her sudden success.
At table Perrine said absolutely nothing. In the morning she went off with M. Vulfran; after she had finished luncheon she went at once to her own room. When they returned from the tour of the factories she went at once to her lessons with her governess; in the evening, upon leaving the table, she went up again to her own room. Madame Bretoneux could not get the girl alone to talk with her. Finally, on the eve of her departure, she decided to go to Perrine's own room. Perrine, who thought that she had got rid of her, was sleeping peacefully.
A few knocks on the door awoke her. She sat up in bed and listened. Another knock.
She got up and went to the door.
"Who is there?" she asked, without opening it.
"Open the door, it is I ... Madame Bretoneux," said a voice.
Perrine turned the lock. Madame Bretoneux slipped into the room while Perrine turned on the light.
"Get into bed again," said Madame Bretoneux, "we can talk just as well."
She took a chair and sat at the foot of the bed so that she was full face with Perrine.
"I want to talk with you about my brother," she began. "You have taken William's place and I want to tell you a few things that you should do; for William, in spite of his faults, was very careful of his master's health. You seem a nice little girl and very willing, and I am sure if you wish you could do as much as William. I assure you that we shall appreciate it."
At the first words Perrine was reassured; if it was only of M. Vulfran's health that she wanted to speak she had nothing to fear.
"I think you are a very intelligent girl," said Mme. Bretoneux with a flattering, ingratiating smile.
At these words and the look which accompanied them Perrine's suspicions were aroused at once.
"Thank you," she said, exaggerating her simple child-like smile, "all I ask is to give as good service as William."
"Ah, I was sure we could count on you," said Mme. Bretoneux.
"You have only to say what you wish, Madame," said little Perrine, looking up at the intruder with her big innocent eyes.
"First of all you must be very attentive about his health; you must watch him carefully and see that he does not take cold. A cold might be fateful; he would have pulmonary congestion and that would aggravate his bronchitis. Do you know if they could cure him of his bronchial trouble they could operate upon him and give him back his sight? Think what happiness that would be for all of us."
"I also would be happy," replied Perrine.
"Those words prove that you are grateful for what he has done for you, but, then, you are not of the family."
Perrine assumed her most innocent air.
"Yes, but that does not prevent me from being attached to M. Vulfran," she said, "believe me, I am."
"Of course," answered Mme. Bretoneux, "and you can prove your devotion by giving him the care which I am telling you to give him. My brother must not only be protected from catching cold, but he must be guarded against sudden emotions which might, in his state of health, kill him. He is trying to find our dear Edmond, his only son. He is making inquiries in India...."
She paused, but Perrine made no reply.
"I am told," she went on, "that my brother getsyou to translate the letters and cables that he receives from India. Well, it is most important that if there be bad news that my son should be informed first. Then he will send me a telegram, and as it is not far from here to Boulogne I will come at once to comfort my poor brother. The sympathy of a sister is deeper than that of a sister-in-law, you understand."
"Certainly, Madame, I understand; at least I think so," said Perrine.
"Then we can count on you?"
Perrine hesitated for a moment, but as she was forced to give a reply she said:
"I shall do all that I can for M. Vulfran."
"Yes, and what you do for him will be for us," continued Mme. Bretoneux, "the same as what you do for us will be for him. And I am going to show you that I am not ungrateful. What would you say if I gave you a very nice dress?"
Perrine did not want to say anything, but as she had to make some reply to the question she put it into a smile.
"A very beautiful dress to wear in the evening," said Mme. Bretoneux.
"But I am in mourning," answered Perrine.
"But being in black does not prevent you from wearing a lovely dress. You are not dressed well enough to dine at my brother's table. You are very badly dressed—dressed up like a clever little dog."
Perrine replied that she knew she was not well dressed but she was somewhat humiliated to becompared with a clever little dog, and the way the comparison was made was an evident intention to lower her.
"I took what I could find at Mme. Lachaise's shop," she said in self-defense.
"It was all right for Mme. Lachaise to dress you when you were a little factory girl, but now, that it pleases my brother to have you sit at the table with him, we do not wish to blush for you. You must not mind us making fun of you, but you have no idea how you amused us in that dreadful waist you have been wearing...."
Mme. Bretoneux smiled as though she could still see Perrine in the hideous waist.
"But there," she said brightly, "all that can be remedied; you are a beautiful girl, there is no denying that, and I shall see that you have a dinner dress to set off your beauty and a smart little tailored costume to wear in the carriage, and when you see yourself in it you will remember who gave it you. I expect your underwear is no better than your waist. Let me see it...."
Thereupon, with an air of authority, she opened first one drawer, then another, then shut them again disdainfully with a shrug of her shoulders.
"I thought so," she said, "it is dreadful; not good enough for you."
Perrine felt suffocated; she could not speak.
"It's lucky," continued Mme. Bretoneux, "that I came here, for I intend to look after you."
Perrine wanted to refuse everything and tell thiswoman that she did not wish her to take care of her, but remembered the part she had to play. After all, Mme. Bretoneux's intentions were most generous; it was her words, her manner, that seemed so hard.
"I'll tell my brother," she continued, "that he must order from a dressmaker at Amiens, whose address I will give him, the dinner dress and the tailor suit which is absolutely necessary, and in addition some good underwear. In fact, a whole outfit. Trust in me and you shall have some pretty things, and I hope that they'll remind you of me all the time. Now don't forget what I have told you."
AFTER the talk his mother had had with Perrine, Casimir, by his looks and manner, gave her every opportunity to confide in him. But she had no intention of telling him about the researches that his uncle was having made both in India and in England. True, they had no positive news of the exile; it was all vague and contradictory, but the blind man still hoped on. He left no stone unturned to find his beloved son.
Mme. Bretoneux's advice had some good effect. Until then Perrine had not taken the liberty of having the hood of the phaeton pulled up, if she thought the day was chilly, nor had she dared advise M. Vulfran to put on an overcoat nor suggest that he have a scarf around his neck; neither did she dare close the window in the study if the evening was too cool, but from the moment that Mme. Bretoneux had warned her that the damp mists and rain would be bad for him she put aside all timidity.
Now, no matter what the weather was like, she never got into the carriage without looking to see that his overcoat was in its place and a silk scarfin the pocket; if a slight breeze came up she put the scarf around his neck or helped him into his coat. If a drop of rain began to fall she stopped at once and put up the hood. When she first walked out with him, she had gone her usual pace and he had followed without a word of complaint. But now that she realized that a brisk walk hurt him and usually made him cough or breathe with difficulty, she walked slowly; in every way she devised means of going about their usual day's routine so that he should feel the least fatigue possible.
Day by day the blind man's affection for little Perrine grew. He was never effusive, but one day while she was carefully attending to his wants he told her that she was like a little daughter to him. She was touched. She took his hand and kissed it.
"Yes," he said, "you are a good girl." Putting his hand on her head, he added: "Even when my son returns you shall not leave us; he will be grateful to you for what you are to me."
"I am so little, and I want to be so much," she said.
"I will tell him what you have been," said the blind man, "and besides he will see for himself; for my son has a good kind heart."
HE TOLD HER THAT SHE WAS LIKE A LITTLE DAUGHTER TO HIM.HE TOLD HER THAT SHE WAS LIKE A LITTLE DAUGHTER TO HIM.
Often he would speak in these terms, and Perrine always wanted to ask him how, if these were his sentiments, he could have been so unforgiving and severe with him, but every time she tried to speak the words would not come, for her throat was closedwith emotion. It was a serious matter for her to broach such a subject, but on that particular evening she felt encouraged by what had happened. There could not have been a more opportune moment; she was alone with him in his study where no one came unless summoned. She was seated near him under the lamplight. Ought she to hesitate longer?
She thought not.
"Do you mind," she said, in a little trembling voice, "if I ask you something that I do not understand? I think of it all the time, and yet I have been afraid to speak."
"Speak out," he said.
"What I cannot understand," she said timidly, "is that loving your son as you do, you could be parted from him."
"It is because you are so young you do not understand," he said, "that there is duty as well as love. As a father, it was my duty to send him away; that was to teach him a lesson. I had to show him that my will was stronger than his. That is why I sent him to India where I intended to keep him but a short while. I gave him a position befitting my son and heir. He was the representative of my house. Did I know that he would marry that miserable creature? He was mad!"
"But Father Fields said that she was not a miserable creature," insisted Perrine.
"She was or she would not have contracted a marriage that was not valid in France," retortedthe blind man, "and I will not recognize her as my daughter."
He said this in a tone that made Perrine feel suddenly cold. Then he continued abruptly: "You wonder why I am trying to get my son back now, if I did not want him back after he had married. Things have changed. Conditions are not the same now as then. After fourteen years of this so-called marriage my son ought to be tired of this woman and of the miserable life that he has been forced to live on account of her. Besides conditions for me have also changed. My health is not what it was, and I am blind. I cannot recover my sight unless I am operated upon and I must be in a calm state favorable to the success of this operation. When my son learns this do you think he will hesitate to leave this woman? I am willing to support her and her daughter also. I am sure many times he has thought of Maraucourt and wanted to return. If I love him I know that he also loves me. When he learns the truth he will come back at once, you will see."
"Then he would have to leave his wife and daughter?"
"He has no wife nor has he a daughter," said the old man sternly.
"Father Fields says that he was married at the Mission House by Father Leclerc," said Perrine.
"This marriage was contracted contrary to the French law," said M. Vulfran.
"But was it not lawful in India?" asked Perrine.
"I will have it annulled in Rome," said the blind man.
"But the daughter?"
"The law would not recognize that child."
"Is the law everything?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that it is not the law that makes one love or not love one's parents or children. It was not the law that made me love my poor father. I loved him because he was good and kind and he loved me. I was happy when he kissed me, and smiled at me. I loved him and there was nothing that I liked better than to be with him. He loved me because I was his little girl and needed his affection; he loved me because he knew that I loved him with all my heart. The law had nothing to do with that. I did not ask if it was the law that made him my father. It was our love that made us so much to each other."
"What are you driving at?" asked M. Vulfran.
"I beg your pardon if I have said anything I should not say, but I speak as I think and as I feel."
"And that is why I am listening to you," said the blind man; "what you say is not quite reasonable, but you speak as a good girl would."
"Well, sir, what I am trying to say is this," said Perrine boldly; "if you love your son and want to have him back with you, he also loves his daughter and wants to have her with him."
"He should not hesitate between his father and his daughter," said the old man; "besides, if themarriage is annulled, she will be nothing to him. He could soon marry that woman off again with the dowry that I would give her. Everything is changed since he went away. My fortune is much larger.... He will have riches, honor and position. Surely it isn't a little half-caste that can keep him back."
"Perhaps she is not so dreadful as you imagine," said Perrine.
"A Hindu."
"In the books that I read to you it says that the Hindus are more beautiful than the Europeans," said Perrine.
"Travelers' exaggerations," said the old man scoffingly.
"They have graceful figures, faces of pure oval, deep eyes with a proud look. They are patient, courageous, industrious; they are studious...."
"You have a memory!"
"One should always remember what one reads, should not one?" asked Perrine. "It does not seem that the Hindu is such a horrible creature as you say."
"Well, what does all that matter to me as I do not know her?"
"But if you knew her you might perhaps get interested in her and learn to love her."
"Never! I can't bear to think of her and her mother!..."
"But if you knew her you might not feel so angry towards her."
He clenched his fist as though unable to control his fury, but he did not stop her.
"I don't suppose that she is at all like you suppose," said Perrine; "Father Fields is a good priest and he would not say what was not true, and he says that her mother was good and kind and a lady...."
"He never knew her; it is hearsay."
"But it seems that everyone holds this opinion. If she came to your house would you not be as kind to her as you have been to me, ... a stranger?"
"Don't say anything against yourself."
"I do not speak for or against myself, but what I ask is for justice. I know if that daughter, your granddaughter, came here she would love you with all her heart."
She clasped her hands together and looked up at him as though he could see her; her voice shook with emotion.
"Wouldn't you like to be loved by your granddaughter?" she asked pleadingly.
The blind man rose impatiently.
"I tell you she can never be anything to me," he cried. "I hate her as I hate her mother. The woman took my son from me and she keeps him from me. If she had not bewitched him he would have been back long before this. She has been everything to him while I, his father, have been nothing."
He strode back and forth, carried away with hisanger. She had never seen him like this. Suddenly he stopped before her.
"Go to your room," he said almost harshly, "and never speak of those creatures to me again; besides, what right have you to mix up in this? Who told you to speak to me in such a manner?"
For a moment she was dumbfounded, then she said:
"Oh, no one, sir, I assure you. I just put myself into your little granddaughter's place, that is all."
He softened somewhat, but he continued still in a severe voice: "In the future do not speak on this subject; you see it is painful for me and you must not annoy me."
"I beg your pardon," she said, her voice full of tears; "certainly I ought not to have spoken so."
MONSIEUR VULFRAN advertised in the principal newspapers of Calcutta, Dacca, Bombay and London for his son. He offered a reward of forty pounds to anyone who could furnish any information, however slight it might be, about Edmond Paindavoine. The information must, however, be authentic. Not wishing to give his own address, which might have brought to him all sorts of correspondence more or less dishonest, he put the matter into the hands of his banker at Amiens.
Numerous letters were received, but very few were serious; the greater number came from detectives who guaranteed to find the person they were searching for if the expenses for the first steps necessary could be sent them. Other letters promised everything without any foundation whatever upon which they based their promises. Others related events that had occurred five, ten, twelve years previous; no one kept to the time stated in the advertisement, that was the last three years.
Perrine read or translated all these letters for the blind man. He would not be discouraged at the meagre indications sent him.
"It is only by continued advertising that we shallget results," he said always. Then again he advertised.
Finally, one day a letter from Bosnia gave them some information which might lead to something. It was written in bad English, and stated that if the advertiser would place the forty pounds promised with a banker at Serajevo the writer would furnish authentic information concerning M. Edmond Paindavoine going back to the month of November of the preceding year. If this proposition was acceptable, the reply was to be sent to N. 917, General Delivery, Serajevo.
This letter seemed to give M. Vulfran so much relief and joy that it was a confession of what his fears had been.
For the first time since he had commenced his investigations, he spoke of his son to his two nephews and Talouel.
"I am delighted to tell you that at last I have news of my son," he said. "He was in Bosnia last November."
There was great excitement as the news was spread through the various towns and villages. As usual under such circumstances, it was exaggerated.
"M. Edmond is coming back. He'll be home shortly," went from one to another.
"It's not possible!" cried some.
"If you don't believe it," they were told, "you've only to look at Talouel's face and M. Vulfran's nephews."
Yet there were some who would not believe thatthe exile would return. The old man had been too hard on him. He had not deserved to be sent away to India because he had made a few debts. His own family had cast him aside, so he had a little family of his own out in India. Why should he come back? And then, even if he was in Bosnia or Turkey, that was not to say that he was on his way to Maraucourt. Coming from India to France, why should he have to go to Bosnia? It was not on the route.
This remark came from Bendit, who, with his English coolheadedness, looked at things only from a practical standpoint, in which sentiment played no part. He thought that just because everyone wished for the son and heir to return, it was not enough to bring him back. The French could wish a thing and believe it, but he was English, he was, and he would not believe that he was coming back until he saw him there with his own eyes!
Day by day the blind man grew more impatient to see his son. Perrine could not bear to hear him talk of his return as a certainty. Many times she tried to tell him that he might be disappointed. One day, when she could bear it no longer, she begged him in her sweet voice not to count too much upon seeing his son for fear something might still keep him away.
The blind man asked her what she meant.
"It is so terrible to hear the worst when one has been expecting the best," she said brokenly. "If I say this it is because that is just what happened tome. We had thought and hoped so much when my father was ill that he would get better, but we lost him, and poor mama and I did not know how to bear it. We would not think that he might die."
"Ah, but my boy is alive, and he will be here soon. He will come back to me very soon," said the old man in a firm voice.
The next day the banker from Amiens called at the factory. He was met at the steps by Talouel, who did all in his power to get the first information which he knew the banker was bringing. At first his attitude was very obsequious, but when he saw that his advances were repulsed, and that the visitor insisted upon seeing his employer at once, he pointed rudely in the direction of M. Vulfran's office and said:
"You will find him over there in that room," and then turned and went off with his hands in his pockets.
The banker knocked on the door indicated.
"Come in," called out M. Vulfran, in answer to his knock.
"What, you ... you at Maraucourt!" he exclaimed when he saw his visitor.
"Yes, I had some business to attend to at Picquigny, and I came on here to bring you some news received from Bosnia."
Perrine sat at her little table. She had gone very white; she seemed like one struck dumb.
"Well?" asked M. Vulfran.
"It is not what you hoped, what we all hoped," said the banker quietly.
"You mean that that fellow who wrote just wanted to get hold of the forty pounds."
"Oh, no; he seems an honest man...."
"Then he knows nothing?"
"He does, but unfortunately his information is only too true."
"Unfortunately!" gasped the blind man. This was the first word of doubt that he had uttered. "You mean," he added, "that they have no more news of him since last November?"
"There is no news since then. The French Consul at Serajevo, Bosnia, has sent me this information:
"'Last November your son arrived at Serajevo practising the trade of a strolling photographer....'"
"What do you mean?" exclaimed M. Vulfran. "A strolling photographer!... My son?"
"He had a wagon," continued the banker, "a sort of caravan in which he traveled with his wife and child. He used to take pictures on the market squares where they stopped...."
The banker paused and glanced at some papers he held in his hand.
"Oh, you have something to read, haven't you?" said the blind man as he heard the paper rustle. "Read, it will be quicker."
"He plied the trade of a photographer," continued the banker, consulting his notes, "and at thebeginning of November he left Serajevo for Travnik, where he fell ill. He became very ill...."
"My God!" cried the blind man. "Oh, God...."
M. Vulfran had clasped his hands; he was trembling from head to foot, as though a vision of his son was standing before him.
"You must have courage," said the banker, gently. "You need all your courage. Your son...."
"He is dead!" said the blind man.
"That is only too true," replied the banker. "All the papers are authentic. I did not want to have any doubt upon the matter, and that was why I cabled to our Consul at Serajevo. Here is his reply; it leaves no doubt."
But the old man did not appear to be listening. He sat huddled up in his big chair, his head drooped forward on his chest. He gave no sign of life. Perrine, terrified, wondered if he were dead.
Then suddenly he pulled himself together and the tears began to run down his wrinkled cheeks. He brushed them aside quickly and touched the electric bell which communicated with Talouel's and his nephew's offices.
The call was so imperative that they all ran to the office together.
"You are there?" asked the blind man; "Talouel, Theodore and Casimir?"
All three replied together.
"I have just learned of the death of my son," said their employer. "Stop work in all the factories immediately. Tomorrow the funeral services will be held in the churches at Maraucourt, Saint-Pipoy and all the other villages."
"Oh, uncle!" cried both the nephews.
He stopped them with uplifted hand.
"I wish to be alone ... leave me," was all he said.
Everyone left the room but Perrine. She alone remained.
"Aurelie, are you there?" asked the blind man.
She replied with a sob.
"Let us go home," he said.
As was his habit, he placed his hand on her shoulder, and it was like this that they passed through the crowd of workers who streamed from the factory. As they stood aside for him to pass, all who saw him wondered if he would survive this blow. He, who usually walked so upright, was bent like a tree that the storm has broken.
Could he survive this shock? Perrine asked herself this question with even greater agony, for it was she and she alone who knew how his great frame was trembling. His shaking hands grasped her shoulder convulsively, and without him uttering one word little Perrine knew how deeply her grandfather was smitten.
After she had guided him into his study he sent her away.
"Explain why I wish to be left alone. No one is to come in here. No one is to speak to me....
"And I refused to believe you," he murmured as she was leaving him.
"Oh, please; if you will let me...."
"Leave me," he said roughly.
Perrine closed the door softly.
THERE was considerable bustle and excitement at the chateau all that evening. First M. and Mme. Stanislas Paindavoine, who had received a telegram from Theodore, arrived. Then M. and Mme. Bretoneux, sent for by Casimir, came. After that came Mme. Bretoneux's two daughters, their husbands and children. No one wished to miss the funeral service for poor dear Edmond.
Besides, this was the decisive moment for clever manoeuvring. What a disaster if this big industry should fall into the hands of one so incapable as Theodore! What a misfortune if Casimir took charge! Neither side thought that a partnership could be possible, and the two cousins share alike. Each wanted all for himself.
Both Mme. Bretoneux and Mme. Paindavoine had ignored Perrine since their arrival. They had given her to understand that they did not require her services any longer.
She sat in her room hoping that M. Vulfran would send for her so that she could help him into the church, as she had done every Sunday since William had gone. But she waited in vain. Whenthe bells, which had been tolling since the evening before, announced mass, she saw him get up into his carriage leaning on his brother's arm, while his sister and sister-in-law, with the members of their families, took their places in other carriages.
She had no time to lose, for she had to walk. She hurried off.
After she had left the house over which Death had spread its shroud, she was surprised to notice as she hastened through the village that the taverns had taken on their Sunday air. The men drank and laughed and the women chatted at their doors, while the children played in the street. Perrine wondered if none of them were going to attend the service.
Upon entering the church, where she had been afraid that she would not find room, she saw that it was almost empty. The bereaved family sat in the choir; here and there was some village authority, a tradesman and the heads of the factories. Very few of the working men and women were present; they had not thought to come and join their prayers to those of their employer.
Perrine took a seat beside Rosalie and her grandmother, who was in deep mourning.
"Alas! my poor little Edmond," murmured the old nurse, wiping her eyes. "What did M. Vulfran say?"
But Perrine was too overcome to reply. The services commenced.
As she left the church, Mlle. Belhomme came upto her, and, like Françoise, wanted to question her about M. Vulfran. Perrine told her that he had not spoken to her since the evening before.
"As I saw him kneeling there so crushed and broken for the first time, I was pleased that he was blind," said the governess sadly.
"Why?" asked Perrine.
"Because he could not see how few people came to the church. What indifference his men have shown! If he could have seen that empty church it would have added to his grief."
"I think he must have known how few there were there," said Perrine. "His ears take the place of his eyes, and that empty silence could not deceive him."
"Poor man," murmured Mlle. Belhomme; "and yet...."
She paused. Then, as she was not in the habit of holding anything back, she went on: "And yet it will be a great lesson to him. You know, my child, you cannot expect others to share your sorrows if you are not willing to share theirs.
"M. Vulfran gives his men what he considers their due," she continued, in a lower voice. "He is just, but that is all. He has never been a father to his men. He is all for business, business only. What a lot of good he could have done, however, not only here, but everywhere, if he had wished, by setting an example. Had he been more to his men you may be sure that the church would not have been as empty as it was today."
Perhaps that was true, but how it hurt Perrine to hear this from the lips of her governess, of whom she was so fond. If anyone else had said so she might not have felt it so deeply. Yes, undoubtedly it was too true.
They had been walking as they talked, and had now reached the schools where Mlle. Belhomme lived.
"Come in and we'll have luncheon together," she said. She was thinking that her pupil would not be allowed to take her accustomed place at the family table.
"Oh, thank you," said Perrine; "but M. Vulfran might need me."
"Well, in that case you had better go back," said Mlle. Belhomme.
When she reached the chateau she saw that M. Vulfran had no need of her, that he was not even thinking of her. Bastien, whom she met on the stairs, told her that when he came back from the church he had gone to his own room and locked himself in, forbidding anyone to enter.
"He won't even sit down on a day like this with his family," said Bastien, "and they are all going after luncheon. I don't think he even wants to say goodbye to them. Lord help us! What will become of us? Oh, poor master!"
"What can I do?" asked Perrine.
"You can do a great deal. The master believes in you, and he's mighty fond of you."
"Mighty fond of me?" echoed Perrine.
"Yes, and it's I as says it," said the butler. "He likes you a whole lot."
As Bastien had said, all the family left after luncheon. Perrine stayed in her room, but M. Vulfran did not send for her. Just before she went to bed, Bastien came to tell her that his master wished her to accompany him the next morning at the usual hour.
"He wants to get back to work, but will he be able?" said the old butler. "It will be better for him if he can. Work means life for him."
The next day at the usual hour Perrine was waiting for M. Vulfran. With bent back he came forward, guided by Bastien. The butler made a sign to her that his master had passed a bad night.
"Is Aurelie there?" asked the blind man in a changed voice, a voice low and weak, like that of a sick child.
Perrine went forward quickly.
"I am here, M. Vulfran," she said.
"Let us get into the carriage, Aurelie," he said.
As soon as he had taken his place beside Perrine his head drooped on his chest. He said not a word.
At the foot of the office steps Talouel was there ready to receive him and help him to alight.
"I suppose you felt strong enough to come?" he said, in a sympathetic voice which contrasted with the flash in his eyes.
"I did not feel at all strong, but I came because I thought that I ought to come," said his employer.
"That is what I meant ... I...."
M. Vulfran stopped him and told Perrine to guide him to his office.
The mail, which had accumulated in two days, was read, but the blind man made no comments on the correspondence. It was as though he were deaf or asleep. The heads of the factory then came in to discuss an important question that had to be settled that day. When the immediate business was settled Perrine was left alone with the blind man. He was silent.
Time passed; he did not move. She had often seen him sit still, but on such occasions, from the expression on his face, she had known that he was following his work as though he were watching with his eyes. He listened to the whistle of the engines, the rolling of the trucks; he was attentive to every sound and seemed to know exactly what was going on, but now he seemed as though he were turned into a statue. There was no expression in his face and he was so silent. He did not seem to be breathing. Perrine was overcome by a sort of terror. She moved uneasily in her chair; she did not dare speak to him.
Suddenly he put his two hands over his face and, as though unaware that anyone was present, he cried: "My God! my God! you have forsaken me! Oh, Lord, what have I done that you should forsake me!"
Then the heavy silence fell again. Perrine trembled when she heard his cry, although she could not grasp the depth of his despair.
Everything that this man had attempted had been a success; he had triumphed over his rivals; but now, with one blow, that which he wanted most had been snatched from him. He had been waiting for his son; their meeting, after so many years of absence, he had pictured to himself, and then....
Then what?
"My God," cried the blind man again, "why have you taken him from me?"