"HE BROUGHT HIS GUN TO HIS SHOULDER.""HE BROUGHT HIS GUN TO HIS SHOULDER."
Receiving no response after waiting several seconds, and not supposing for one moment that his unknown enemy could have gotten here in advance of him, Raoul settled himself in his saddle again, saying to himself: "It was some startled deer leaping through the bushes;" after which the mother and son, silent, motionless, and locked in a firm embrace, heard the young man begin to whistle his hunting song again.
The sound grew fainter and fainter until it died away altogether in the profound silence that pervaded the forest.
MADAMEBASTIENcould no longer doubt Frederick's intentions, for she had seen him aim at Raoul de Pont Brillant, at the same time exclaiming, "I have you now, M. le marquis;" but this ambuscade seemed so cowardly and so atrocious to the unfortunate woman that, in spite of the conclusive evidence against her son, she still tried to close her eyes to the truth.
"Frederick, my child, what are you doing here?" asked Madame Bastien, tremulously.
"You do not answer me, my child," she continued. "Your eyes are haggard, you look so strangely. You have been suffering so much for some days past that it has brought on a sort of nervous fever. The fact that you do not even know where you are or how you come to be here is proof of that. You are like one who has just been suddenly awakened from a dream. Am I not right, Frederick?"
"I know where I am."
"Yes, you do now, but you did not a moment ago."
"On the contrary, I tell you that I do know perfectly well why I am hiding here with my gun."
"Then Jean François was right," said the poor mother, pretending to be reassured. "What he told me was true."
"What did he tell you?"
"That you were poaching in the Pont Brillant woods. You can judge of my anxiety when I heard that, so I hastened here at once with Jean François, for it is frightfully imprudent in you, my poor child. Don't you know that M. le marquis—"
The words M. le marquis startled Frederick out of his terrible calmness. He clenched his fists furiously and, confronting his mother with a ferocious expression upon his face, exclaimed:
"It was M. le marquis I was lying in wait for; do you hear me, mother?"
"No, Frederick, no," replied the poor mother, shuddering.
"I am determined to make myself understood, then," said Frederick, with a frightful smile. "Knowing that M. le marquis would pass here about nightfall on his way home, I loaded my gun and came and concealed myself behind this tree to kill M. le marquis as he passed. Do you understand me now, mother?"
On hearing this terrible confession, Madame Bastien's brain reeled for a moment; then she showed herself to be truly heroic.
Placing one of her hands on her son's shoulder, she laid the other on his forehead, saying in a calm, perfectly calm, voice, and as if talking to herself:
"How hot his poor head is, and he is still delirious with fever! My God, oh, my God, how can I induce him to follow me?"
Frederick, amazed by his mother's words and her apparent tranquillity after the terrible confession he had just made, exclaimed:
"I am perfectly sane, I tell you, mother. It is you as much as myself that I wish to avenge, and my hatred, you see—"
"Yes, yes, my child, I know," interrupted Madame Bastien, too much terrified to notice Frederick's last words.
Then, kissing him on the forehead, she said, soothingly:
"Yes, yes, of course you have your senses, so come home with me; for it is getting late and we have been out in these woods a long time."
"The place suits me well enough and I shall come back again," answered Frederick, sullenly.
"Of course we will come back again, my child, but in order to do that we shall first have to go away."
"Don't exasperate me too much, mother."
"Hush, hush, I implore you," whispered Marie, placing her hand upon her son's lips and listening breathlessly. "Don't you hear footsteps? My God, who is coming?"
Frederick caught up his gun.
"Ah, I know," murmured his mother, recovering from her alarm, after a moment's reflection, "it is Jean François. He was to search for you in one side of the grove while I searched in the other."
"Is that you, Jean François?" she called out, cautiously.
"Yes, Madame Bastien," replied the worthy farmer, who was not yet visible but who could be distinctly heard forcing his way through the branches. "I did not find M. Frederick."
"My son is here, Jean François."
"I am glad of it, Madame Bastien, for I just heard voices over by the lake and think some of the gamekeepers must be making their rounds," said the worthy farmer, stepping into the clearing.
Frederick, in spite of the violence of his animosity, dared not repeat the threats he had just uttered before his mother, so, taking his gun under his arm, he silently and gloomily prepared to follow Madame Bastien.
On reaching the farmer's cottage that worthy man insisted upon harnessing his horse to his cart and taking Marie and her son home, and she accepted his offer, being too much overcome with fatigue and emotion to be capable of walking such a distance.
They had reached home about nine o'clock in the evening and Frederick had scarcely entered the house before he tottered and fell unconscious upon the floor. This swoon was followed by a severe nervous spasm which terrified his mother beyond expression, but with old Marguerite's assistance she did everything she could for her son, who was carried into his own room and put to bed.
During this nervous spasm, though his eyes were closed, Frederick wept bitterly, and when he recovered consciousness and saw his mother leaning over him he held out his arms and pressed her tenderly to his breast. This crisis over, he seemed much more calm, and, remarking that he chiefly needed rest and quiet now, he turned his face toward the wall and did not utter another word.
With rare presence of mind, Marie had ordered all the outside shutters of her son's room closed before he was taken into it. There was no way of reaching the room except through hers, where she intended to watch all night, with the communicating door slightly ajar.
She was not one of those persons who are paralysed by misfortune. Terrible as the discovery she had just made was, as soon as she was alone she faced it resolutely, after vainly endeavouring to persuade herself that her son had not been sane when he premeditated such an execrable crime.
"I can no longer doubt that Frederick hates the young marquis with a mortal hatred," she said to herself, "and this long suppressed animosity is undoubtedly the cause of the great change which has taken place in him during the last few months. This hatred has attained such an intensity that my son, after having attempted to kill M. de Pont Brillant, cannot be induced to abandon that horrible idea even now. These are unquestionably the facts of the case. Now to what mysterious circumstance am I to impute the origin and the development of such a deadly animosity against a youth of his own age? How is it that my son, who has been so carefully reared, and who has heretofore made me the proudest and happiest of mothers, can have conceived such a horrible idea? All this is of secondary importance, so I will postpone the solution of these questions which puzzle my reason and make me doubt myself until some later day. What I must do now and without delay is to save my son from this terrible temptation, and thus prevent him from committing a murder."
And after having satisfied herself that her son was sleeping quietly, she seated herself at a table and wrote the following letter to her husband:
"To M. BASTIEN:—I wrote you only a few days ago in relation to Frederick's poor health and to the departure of the tutor you had authorised me to employ."My son's condition causes me great uneasiness, and I realise the urgent necessity of taking some decided action in the matter."I consulted our friend, Doctor Dufour, again yesterday. He feels certain that Frederick's age and rapid growth is the cause of his nervous and morbid condition, and advises me to divert his mind from himself as much as possible, or, better still, travel with him."This I am anxious to do, as in the seclusion in which we live it is almost impossible for me to give Frederick any diversion."It is hardly probable that your business will allow you to accompany us to Hyères, where I wish to take my son, but Marguerite will accompany us, and we may be absent five or six months, or a much shorter time, as that will depend upon the improvement in Frederick's health."For reasons which it would take too long to enumerate here, I have fixed upon next Monday as the date of my departure. I would have started to-morrow morning if I had had the necessary amount of money, but the small sum you sent me last month has been used for household expenses, and you know I have no other money."I send this letter to Blois by a messenger, so you will receive it day after to-morrow, and I implore you to answer by return mail, enclosing a draft on your banker in Blois. I have no idea what amount you will consider adequate. You know the simplicity of my habits. Calculate the amount that will be needed to transport us to Hyères by diligence, add to that the trifling expenses that cannot be exactly foreseen, and sufficient money to live upon for a short time. We will establish ourselves in the most economical manner, and I will afterward write you exactly how much it will cost us a month."Stress of business often prevents you from replying to my letters promptly or even at all, but you must realise the importance of this letter too much to permit any delay in this instance."I do not wish to alarm you, but I feel it my duty to tell you that Frederick shows symptoms of so grave a nature that this journey may, and I hope will, be the salvation of my son."I think I must have given you during the last seventeen years sufficient proofs of my strength of character and devoted affection for Frederick for you to feel satisfied that, sudden as this resolution on my part may appear to you, you will do everything in your power to aid me in carrying out a resolution dictated by the most urgent and imperative necessity."I shall leave old André here. He will take charge of the house, and perform any service you may require during your visits. He is a trusty man to whom I can safely confide the charge of everything in my absence."Good-bye. I end my letter rather abruptly so it can be mailed this evening."I hope to receive a reply on Monday, in which case I shall take the diligence that same evening for Paris, where we shall remain only twenty-four hours, and then leave for Lyons on our way southward."Once more adieu."MARIEBASTIEN."
"To M. BASTIEN:—I wrote you only a few days ago in relation to Frederick's poor health and to the departure of the tutor you had authorised me to employ.
"My son's condition causes me great uneasiness, and I realise the urgent necessity of taking some decided action in the matter.
"I consulted our friend, Doctor Dufour, again yesterday. He feels certain that Frederick's age and rapid growth is the cause of his nervous and morbid condition, and advises me to divert his mind from himself as much as possible, or, better still, travel with him.
"This I am anxious to do, as in the seclusion in which we live it is almost impossible for me to give Frederick any diversion.
"It is hardly probable that your business will allow you to accompany us to Hyères, where I wish to take my son, but Marguerite will accompany us, and we may be absent five or six months, or a much shorter time, as that will depend upon the improvement in Frederick's health.
"For reasons which it would take too long to enumerate here, I have fixed upon next Monday as the date of my departure. I would have started to-morrow morning if I had had the necessary amount of money, but the small sum you sent me last month has been used for household expenses, and you know I have no other money.
"I send this letter to Blois by a messenger, so you will receive it day after to-morrow, and I implore you to answer by return mail, enclosing a draft on your banker in Blois. I have no idea what amount you will consider adequate. You know the simplicity of my habits. Calculate the amount that will be needed to transport us to Hyères by diligence, add to that the trifling expenses that cannot be exactly foreseen, and sufficient money to live upon for a short time. We will establish ourselves in the most economical manner, and I will afterward write you exactly how much it will cost us a month.
"Stress of business often prevents you from replying to my letters promptly or even at all, but you must realise the importance of this letter too much to permit any delay in this instance.
"I do not wish to alarm you, but I feel it my duty to tell you that Frederick shows symptoms of so grave a nature that this journey may, and I hope will, be the salvation of my son.
"I think I must have given you during the last seventeen years sufficient proofs of my strength of character and devoted affection for Frederick for you to feel satisfied that, sudden as this resolution on my part may appear to you, you will do everything in your power to aid me in carrying out a resolution dictated by the most urgent and imperative necessity.
"I shall leave old André here. He will take charge of the house, and perform any service you may require during your visits. He is a trusty man to whom I can safely confide the charge of everything in my absence.
"Good-bye. I end my letter rather abruptly so it can be mailed this evening.
"I hope to receive a reply on Monday, in which case I shall take the diligence that same evening for Paris, where we shall remain only twenty-four hours, and then leave for Lyons on our way southward.
"Once more adieu.
"MARIEBASTIEN."
Her letter concluded, Madame Bastien ordered the horse harnessed so the letter could be taken to Blois at once.
After satisfying herself several times in regard to the condition of her son, who seemed to be resting more quietly, Madame Bastien sat down and began to reflect upon the determination to travel that she had just announced to her husband, and found it more and more opportune, though she asked herself anxiously how she should manage to prevent Frederick from getting out of her sight for a moment until the time appointed for their departure. The little clock on the mantel had just struck twelve, and the young mother was still absorbed in the same sorrowful reflections, when she fancied she heard the quick ring of a horse's hoofs in the distance, and the sound came nearer and nearer, until the animal paused at the door of the farmhouse.
A few minutes afterward an unwonted bustle pervaded the dwelling and some one rapped at the door of Madame Bastien's chamber.
"Who is there?" she asked.
"I, Marguerite, madame."
"What do you want?"
"Doctor Dufour is here, madame. He just arrived on horseback."
"Light a fire in the sitting-room and ask the doctor to wait for me there. I will be down in a moment."
Then, recollecting that she would be obliged to leave her son, Madame Bastien recalled the servant, and said:
"I have changed my mind. I will see the doctor here in my room. Show him up at once."
Almost immediately the doctor appeared, preceded by Marguerite.
"Good Heavens! what is the matter with you?" exclaimed M. Dufour on seeing Marie.
"Nothing, doctor—"
"Nothing!" repeated the physician, scrutinising Marie with evident surprise, so terrible was the change which the events of the previous evening had wrought in her appearance. "Nothing?"
"Ah, yes, I know," replied Madame Bastien, with a heart-broken smile, reading the doctor's thoughts from the expression of his face.
Then placing a finger on her lips, she added, in a low tone, with a meaning glance toward the door of Frederick's chamber:
"We must be very careful, my dear doctor, my son is in there asleep. He has had a terrible experience this evening. I was about to write to you and ask you to come to-morrow. It was Heaven that sent you."
"As my coming seems so opportune, I shall not have to apologise for coming at such an unseasonable hour. I wished to talk with you about a matter that would brook no delay, so I ventured to come almost in the middle of the night and at the risk of disturbing you."
"My God! what is it?"
"Your son is asleep, is he not?"
"I think so."
"But he might hear us if he is not, so let us go to the other end of the room and speak low, for it is a matter that concerns him."
"IWISHto speak to you in regard to the mental and physical change which you have noticed in your son, and which is giving you such grave uneasiness."
"Grave indeed, doctor."
"There is a possibility of curing him, I think."
"You really think you can, my dear doctor."
"I? No."
"What do you mean?"
"Have the goodness to read this, madame," said the doctor, drawing a letter from his pocket and handing it to Madame Bastien, who, greatly astonished, took it, and read as follows:
"'MYDEARPIERRE:—The diligence stops here for an hour and I take advantage of the opportunity thus afforded to write to you."'After leaving you last evening the subject of our last conversation engrossed my thoughts to the exclusion of all other subjects, for what I had seen and heard could not fail to make a deep impression upon me."'Last night, and this morning as well, I have been unable to drive that poor boy of Madame Bastien's out of my mind. You know, Pierre, that I am rarely deceived in the deductions I draw from certain physiognomies, and what I saw yesterday and what occurred during the passing of the hunting party alike convince me that Madame Bastien's son feels a deadly hatred for the young Marquis de Pont Brillant.'"
"'MYDEARPIERRE:—The diligence stops here for an hour and I take advantage of the opportunity thus afforded to write to you.
"'After leaving you last evening the subject of our last conversation engrossed my thoughts to the exclusion of all other subjects, for what I had seen and heard could not fail to make a deep impression upon me.
"'Last night, and this morning as well, I have been unable to drive that poor boy of Madame Bastien's out of my mind. You know, Pierre, that I am rarely deceived in the deductions I draw from certain physiognomies, and what I saw yesterday and what occurred during the passing of the hunting party alike convince me that Madame Bastien's son feels a deadly hatred for the young Marquis de Pont Brillant.'"
Marie, astonished by the justice of this observation, and overcome by her recollection of the terrors of the evening, buried her face in her hands, and began to sob wildly.
"Great Heavens! what is the matter?" cried the doctor.
"Ah, that is only too true. It is hatred, an implacable hatred, that he feels. But who wrote this letter?"
"My best friend, the most generous and noble-hearted man in the world. You remember meeting a stranger at my house on St. Hubert's Day, do you not?"
"The gentleman my son treated so rudely?"
"The same; but pray go on with the letter."
"'I have not endeavoured to discover the cause of this animosity, but daily association with Frederick would undoubtedly enable a patient and sagacious person to make a discovery which is indispensable if he would effect a cure. Confident that an implacable animosity has already taken deep root in Frederick's heart, I ask myself by what strange anomaly he can be a prey to such a deplorable weakness.'"
"'I have not endeavoured to discover the cause of this animosity, but daily association with Frederick would undoubtedly enable a patient and sagacious person to make a discovery which is indispensable if he would effect a cure. Confident that an implacable animosity has already taken deep root in Frederick's heart, I ask myself by what strange anomaly he can be a prey to such a deplorable weakness.'"
"But who is this man who seems to know my son better than I do myself,—this man whose penetration frightens me; for it has proved more correct, much more correct than you suppose."
"This man," replied the doctor, sadly, "is a man who has suffered much, seen much, and observed much. That is the secret of his remarkable penetration."
Madame Bastien resumed her reading of the letter.
"'You have told me, my friend, that Frederick has arrived at what you call the transition period, an epoch of life which is often extremely critical and accompanied with grave physical disturbances."'Frederick may be strongly affected by these conditions and consequently a prey to feelings which are the more powerful by reason of their very novelty, on account of his mother's close supervision and the salutary influence she has exerted over him up to this time. And how could even Madame Bastien's affection and prudence guard against a danger which neither she nor her son apprehended? She must have been quite as unprepared as her son for the violent passion which seems to have taken possession of him. No, even this judicious and devoted mother has no more cause for regret than if her child had been attacked with measles or some other childish disease.'"
"'You have told me, my friend, that Frederick has arrived at what you call the transition period, an epoch of life which is often extremely critical and accompanied with grave physical disturbances.
"'Frederick may be strongly affected by these conditions and consequently a prey to feelings which are the more powerful by reason of their very novelty, on account of his mother's close supervision and the salutary influence she has exerted over him up to this time. And how could even Madame Bastien's affection and prudence guard against a danger which neither she nor her son apprehended? She must have been quite as unprepared as her son for the violent passion which seems to have taken possession of him. No, even this judicious and devoted mother has no more cause for regret than if her child had been attacked with measles or some other childish disease.'"
"Don't you entirely agree with my friend in this?" inquired the doctor, "I mean in relation to not blaming yourself for the present state of affairs."
"Yes," replied Madame Bastien, thoughtfully, "I shall show no mock modesty with you, my dear doctor. I am conscious of having performed my duties as a mother to the very best of my ability, and I recognise the fact that it was not within the limits of human possibility for any one to foresee or prevent the misfortune which has overtaken my son."
"One word more, my dear doctor," continued Marie, after a moment's silence. "Your friend saw Frederick for only a few minutes, but long enough, alas! to be treated with inexcusable rudeness. A generous-minded person feels only indulgence and compassion for a poor sick child, I know, but there is a wide difference between this compassion and the profound interest which your friend manifests in Frederick. What has my son done to deserve this interest?"
"The latter part of this letter will explain, I think, but I will say this much by way of explanation. My friend had a brother very much younger than himself, of whom he had entire charge after his father's death. My friend idolised this brother, who was about Frederick's age. Like him, he was extremely handsome; like him, he was passionately loved, not by a mother, but by the tenderest of brothers."
"And what became of him?" inquired Marie, with interest.
"My friend lost this brother six years ago."
"Ah, now I understand," cried Marie, deeply moved. Then even more thoughtfully she resumed the reading of the letter:
"'I am almost positive that Frederick has never evinced any lack of confidence in his mother up to this time because he has had nothing to hide from her, but the more reprehensible the secret he is concealing from his mother is now at this present time, the more impenetrable he is likely to be."'But now the malady is known to us, what are the best means or the chances of a cure?"'The first thing to be done is to discover the cause of Frederick's animosity. How is this discovery to be effected? Frederick loves his mother devotedly, nevertheless he has remained deaf to her entreaties, so it is almost certain that he will never tell her his unhappy secret now, partly from a fear of forfeiting the respect of his friends, partly from a fear of imperilling his prospect of vengeance, the inevitable consequence of hatred when it is as energetic and intense as Frederick's seems to be.'"
"'I am almost positive that Frederick has never evinced any lack of confidence in his mother up to this time because he has had nothing to hide from her, but the more reprehensible the secret he is concealing from his mother is now at this present time, the more impenetrable he is likely to be.
"'But now the malady is known to us, what are the best means or the chances of a cure?
"'The first thing to be done is to discover the cause of Frederick's animosity. How is this discovery to be effected? Frederick loves his mother devotedly, nevertheless he has remained deaf to her entreaties, so it is almost certain that he will never tell her his unhappy secret now, partly from a fear of forfeiting the respect of his friends, partly from a fear of imperilling his prospect of vengeance, the inevitable consequence of hatred when it is as energetic and intense as Frederick's seems to be.'"
Madame Bastien trembled violently as she read this prophecy which the scene she had lately witnessed in the forest verified but too well, and it was in a voice full of emotion she continued:
"'Consequently it seems almost certain that Madame Bastien must renounce all hope of gaining her son's confidence. That being the case, shall she resort to penetration, that compound of watchfulness, dissimulation, and trickery? for to ferret out a secret, at least a jealously guarded secret, one must employ all sorts of cunning expedients."'Can a woman like Madame Bastien play such a difficult rôle even if she desire to do so, a rôle which requires so much cool calculation and dissimulation?"'No, the poor mother would blush and pale by turn, and in spite of her resolution she would hesitate at every step, even though she felt such a course might effect her son's salvation.'"
"'Consequently it seems almost certain that Madame Bastien must renounce all hope of gaining her son's confidence. That being the case, shall she resort to penetration, that compound of watchfulness, dissimulation, and trickery? for to ferret out a secret, at least a jealously guarded secret, one must employ all sorts of cunning expedients.
"'Can a woman like Madame Bastien play such a difficult rôle even if she desire to do so, a rôle which requires so much cool calculation and dissimulation?
"'No, the poor mother would blush and pale by turn, and in spite of her resolution she would hesitate at every step, even though she felt such a course might effect her son's salvation.'"
Madame Bastien's head drooped, two big tears rolled slowly down her cheeks, her hands fell inertly upon her knees, and she murmured, with a deep sigh:
"What he says is only too true. I recognise my utter powerlessness."
"Don't despair, I beseech you," cried the doctor, earnestly. "Do you suppose I would ever have brought you this letter, or that my friend would ever have written it, if he had not felt sure he had found a means of remedying this evil? Go on, I beg of you."
"'In my opinion,'" Marie continued, "'Frederick has reached an age when the most devoted and intelligent maternal tenderness will no longer suffice for his guidance."'Some knowledge of and experience in a man's life is needed to arm him against the many temptations of which a woman is entirely ignorant, and against which it is consequently well-nigh impossible for her to protect her son."'An intelligent and devoted father might accomplish this difficult task successfully, but as M. Bastien's business keeps him so much from home, Frederick needs a man of feeling, honour, integrity, and experience,—a man who understands the full importance of the task of fashioning a youth into a man."'Such a person, aided by the information Madame Bastien could give him, and, above all, by the influence she must still possess over her son, such a person could, I feel sure, by patient study and observation eventually discover Frederick's secret, and assist his mother in combating and finally destroying this animosity in the heart of this unfortunate youth, and then continue the education which Madame Bastien has so admirably begun.'"
"'In my opinion,'" Marie continued, "'Frederick has reached an age when the most devoted and intelligent maternal tenderness will no longer suffice for his guidance.
"'Some knowledge of and experience in a man's life is needed to arm him against the many temptations of which a woman is entirely ignorant, and against which it is consequently well-nigh impossible for her to protect her son.
"'An intelligent and devoted father might accomplish this difficult task successfully, but as M. Bastien's business keeps him so much from home, Frederick needs a man of feeling, honour, integrity, and experience,—a man who understands the full importance of the task of fashioning a youth into a man.
"'Such a person, aided by the information Madame Bastien could give him, and, above all, by the influence she must still possess over her son, such a person could, I feel sure, by patient study and observation eventually discover Frederick's secret, and assist his mother in combating and finally destroying this animosity in the heart of this unfortunate youth, and then continue the education which Madame Bastien has so admirably begun.'"
"This is only too true," commented Madame Bastien. "I have felt the necessity of providing a tutor for my son for some time, as you know, my dear doctor. The tutor I engaged did not fulfil all my requirements by any means, but he was fairly competent, and endowed with an unusual amount of patience and amiability. Unfortunately, my son's irascibility of temper drove him away. Now, in the seclusion in which I live, and for the very limited amount of money my husband has consented to expend for this purpose, how can I hope to find such a tutor as your friend describes? Besides, how can I induce Frederick to accept a tutor in his present irritated state of mind? Besides, the more conscious a tutor is of his value, his devotion, and his dignity, the less inclined he will be to submit to my son's violence. Alas! you see I shall be obliged to renounce this means, valuable as I know it to be."
The young mother resumed her reading.
"'If Madame Bastien for any special reason does not desire to employ a tutor, there is another course which may not prove equally beneficial, but which will at least serve to divert his mind from the idea which seems to be dominating it,—that is for his mother to start with him on a long journey.'"
"'If Madame Bastien for any special reason does not desire to employ a tutor, there is another course which may not prove equally beneficial, but which will at least serve to divert his mind from the idea which seems to be dominating it,—that is for his mother to start with him on a long journey.'"
"I had made up my mind to do that very thing," said Marie. "This very evening I wrote to my husband informing him of my decision. I cannot be wrong this time, as I agree with your friend on this point, so—"
"Yes, but in my friend's opinion, as you will see if you read on a little further, this journey is only a palliative measure."
Madame Bastien read as follows:
"'I do not doubt the beneficial effects of such a journey on Frederick's mind, but unhappily it will only divert his mind from this unfortunate idea, not destroy it. A journey may, I repeat, serve to ameliorate Frederick's mental condition and enable his mother to gain time, a very important consideration, for I know there will necessarily be considerable difficulty in immediately finding a person capable of undertaking this mission. In fact, I am so conscious of the many difficulties that, if I thought my offer would be acceptable and above all seemly, I should be glad to offer myself to Madame Bastien as Frederick's tutor.'"
"'I do not doubt the beneficial effects of such a journey on Frederick's mind, but unhappily it will only divert his mind from this unfortunate idea, not destroy it. A journey may, I repeat, serve to ameliorate Frederick's mental condition and enable his mother to gain time, a very important consideration, for I know there will necessarily be considerable difficulty in immediately finding a person capable of undertaking this mission. In fact, I am so conscious of the many difficulties that, if I thought my offer would be acceptable and above all seemly, I should be glad to offer myself to Madame Bastien as Frederick's tutor.'"
Marie's astonishment was so intense that she paused suddenly, and thinking she could not have read the letter aright, she read the line over again aloud in order to satisfy herself that her eyes had not played her false.
"'I should be glad to offer myself to Madame Bastien as Frederick's tutor.'"
"'I should be glad to offer myself to Madame Bastien as Frederick's tutor.'"
"Yes," said the doctor, "and if he says it he means it."
"Pardon me, doctor," stammered the young mother, overwhelmed with astonishment, "but the amazement this—this unexpected, incomprehensible offer causes me—"
"Incomprehensible, no. When you know the person who makes this offer better, you are the very person to understand and appreciate the feeling that prompted it."
"But without knowing me, doctor—"
"In the first place he does know you, for I admitted, did I not? that I had been very indiscreet; besides, would any other tutor that offered himself be any better acquainted with you?"
"But—but your friend has never been a tutor?"
"No; yet from his letter can you not see that he is a just, generous, and judicious person? As to his capabilities, I can vouch for them. But read on, please."
"'This proposition will doubtless astonish you, my dear friend, as I left you last evening for Nantes, from which place I was to embark for a long voyage. Moreover, I have never been a tutor, the modest fortune at my disposal preventing the necessity of following any regular avocation; last but not least, Madame Bastien does not know me, though I ask her to give me the greatest proof of confidence that it is in her power to grant, that is, to allow me to share the oversight of Frederick with her."'The first moment of surprise over, my friend, you will recollect that, though I have endeavoured to impart a useful aim to my travels, I adopted this roving life in the hope of finding distraction from the intense grief the loss of my poor brother caused me. Now after several hours of reflection, I am not only willing but anxious to attempt Frederick's cure. A very extraordinary desire this will doubtless appear to those who do not know me, but perfectly natural to those who do know me intimately. Since Fernand's death all boys of his age inspire me with a profound interest; and since I have reflected long and carefully upon the seriousness of Frederick's mental condition and his mother's increasing anxiety, as well as the obstacles she must overcome in order to ensure her son's recovery, I think I have devised a way of effecting a cure. It seems to me, too, that I should be paying the greatest possible tribute of affection and respect to my poor Fernand's memory by doing for Frederick precisely what I had hoped to do for my own brother, and that this would not only be a wholesome distraction, but the only possible consolation in my grief."'Now you have heard my reasons I feel sure my decision will no longer astonish you; and if my offer is accepted I shall fulfil my duties conscientiously."'From what I know of Madame Bastien, I feel sure that she will understand my motives perfectly; so, on reflection, I think it would be advisable for you to show her this letter, though it was really written for your eye alone. You are in a position to answer any inquiries Madame Bastien may desire to make concerning me. You know me and my life; so say whatever you think you are justified in saying to satisfy Madame Bastien that I am worthy of her confidence."'Write me at Nantes. It is absolutely necessary that I should have an answer this day week, as theEndymion, on which I have engaged passage, sails on the fourteenth, wind permitting; so desiring to give Madame Bastien the longest possible time for reflection, I seize this opportunity to write so my letter may reach you twenty-four hours earlier."'If my offer is refused I shall take my intended journey."'The diligence is about to start, so I must bid you a hasty farewell, my dear Pierre. I have only time to address this letter and assure you once more of my devoted affection."'HENRIDAVID.'"
"'This proposition will doubtless astonish you, my dear friend, as I left you last evening for Nantes, from which place I was to embark for a long voyage. Moreover, I have never been a tutor, the modest fortune at my disposal preventing the necessity of following any regular avocation; last but not least, Madame Bastien does not know me, though I ask her to give me the greatest proof of confidence that it is in her power to grant, that is, to allow me to share the oversight of Frederick with her.
"'The first moment of surprise over, my friend, you will recollect that, though I have endeavoured to impart a useful aim to my travels, I adopted this roving life in the hope of finding distraction from the intense grief the loss of my poor brother caused me. Now after several hours of reflection, I am not only willing but anxious to attempt Frederick's cure. A very extraordinary desire this will doubtless appear to those who do not know me, but perfectly natural to those who do know me intimately. Since Fernand's death all boys of his age inspire me with a profound interest; and since I have reflected long and carefully upon the seriousness of Frederick's mental condition and his mother's increasing anxiety, as well as the obstacles she must overcome in order to ensure her son's recovery, I think I have devised a way of effecting a cure. It seems to me, too, that I should be paying the greatest possible tribute of affection and respect to my poor Fernand's memory by doing for Frederick precisely what I had hoped to do for my own brother, and that this would not only be a wholesome distraction, but the only possible consolation in my grief.
"'Now you have heard my reasons I feel sure my decision will no longer astonish you; and if my offer is accepted I shall fulfil my duties conscientiously.
"'From what I know of Madame Bastien, I feel sure that she will understand my motives perfectly; so, on reflection, I think it would be advisable for you to show her this letter, though it was really written for your eye alone. You are in a position to answer any inquiries Madame Bastien may desire to make concerning me. You know me and my life; so say whatever you think you are justified in saying to satisfy Madame Bastien that I am worthy of her confidence.
"'Write me at Nantes. It is absolutely necessary that I should have an answer this day week, as theEndymion, on which I have engaged passage, sails on the fourteenth, wind permitting; so desiring to give Madame Bastien the longest possible time for reflection, I seize this opportunity to write so my letter may reach you twenty-four hours earlier.
"'If my offer is refused I shall take my intended journey.
"'The diligence is about to start, so I must bid you a hasty farewell, my dear Pierre. I have only time to address this letter and assure you once more of my devoted affection.
"'HENRIDAVID.'"
ASMadame Bastien returned the letter with a hand that trembled with emotion, Doctor Dufour said:
"One word, please. I do not know what your decision may be, but before you announce it I ought to give you some information about Henri David, so you may know all about him before you either accept or refuse his offer. Do you not think so?"
"No, my dear doctor, I do not," replied Madame Bastien, after a moment's reflection.
"What?"
"I shall be obliged to do one of two things, that is to say, I shall either have to accept or decline M. David's offer. If I accept it, a desire to know anything further in relation to him would show a distrust of him and of you. This letter is to my mind convincing proof of his high sense of honour and his generosity of heart. If, on the contrary, I cannot or should not accept M. David's offer, there would be a sort of indelicate curiosity on my part in encouraging your revelations concerning the past of a person who would remain a stranger to me, though the nobility of his offer merits my eternal gratitude."
"I thank you both on David's behalf and my own for the confidence you manifest in us, my dear Madame Bastien. Now reflect, and let me know your decision as soon as your mind is fully made up. In compliance with my friend's request, I lost no time in acquainting you with the contents of his letter, and that is why I came at this late hour of the night, even at the risk of disturbing you, instead of waiting until to-morrow, and—"
The doctor did not finish the sentence, for a shrill, spasmodic laugh resounded from Frederick's room, and made Madame Bastien spring from her seat.
Pale and terrified, she seized the lamp and ran into her son's room, followed by the doctor.
The unfortunate youth, with distorted features, livid complexion, and lips contracted in a sardonic smile, had been seized with a fit of delirium, due, doubtless, to a reaction after the events of the evening, and his frenzied outburst of laughter was followed by incoherent exclamations, in which the following recurred incessantly:
"I missed him, but patience, patience!"
These words, which were only too significant to Madame Bastien, showed how persistently the idea of vengeance still clung to Frederick. Thanks to Doctor Dufour's almost providential presence, the promptest and most efficacious attentions were lavished upon Frederick, and the physician spent the remainder of the night and the morning of the next day with the sick youth. Toward evening there was a decided change for the better in his condition. The delirium ceased, and it was with unusual effusiveness that the poor boy thanked his mother for her devotion, weeping freely the while.
Madame Bastien's relief was so great that she deluded herself with the idea that the violence of this crisis had effected a salutary change in the condition of her son's mind, and that he was saved, so about ten o'clock in the evening she yielded to the doctor's persuasions, and consented to lie down and rest while old Marguerite watched over her son.
When she returned to her son's bedside she found him sleeping soundly, so motioning Marguerite to follow her, she asked:
"Has he rested well?"
"Very well, madame. He woke only twice, and talked very sensibly, I assure you."
"What did he say?"
"Oh, he talked about different things. Among others he asked me where his gun was, and when I told him madame had made me put it away, he said: 'That's all right, Marguerite, but don't tell my mother I've been asking for my gun. It might worry her if she thought I had any idea of hunting again, weak as I am.'"
So he had hardly recovered from this attack before Frederick's mind was again engrossed with thoughts of vengeance. Marie had only just made this deplorable discovery when a letter was handed to her. Madame Bastien recognised her husband's handwriting, consequently this was the reply to the letter in which she had announced her intention of travelling with Frederick.
"BOURGES, November 5, 1846.
"I answer by return mail as you request, to ask, first, if you have gone mad, and, secondly, if you really think me ass enough to accede to the most absurd whim that ever visited a woman's brain.
"So, madame, on the plea that Frederick's health requires it, you are planning a pleasure trip to the sunny south with your retinue like some great lady! It strikes me that you have taken it into your head to play the part of a woman rather late in the day!
"'We shall remain in Paris only twenty-four hours at the longest,' you say, but I see through your little game.
"You are dying to see the capital, like all provincials, and your excuse would be a pretty good one if I was such an egregious fool as you seem to think. Once in Paris, you would write: My son is too much fatigued with the journey to go on at once, or, we could secure no places in the diligence, or, I am not feeling well myself, until a week or two weeks or even a month had passed.
"If monsieur, my son, needs diversion on account of his health, send him out fishing,—he has three ponds at his disposal,—or let him go hunting. If he needs change, let him walk from Herbiers to the Grand Pré mill half a dozen times a day, and I'll wager that in three months he'll be strong enough to make the journey from Pont Brillant to Hyères on foot.
"You excite my pity, upon my word! To have such absurd ideas at your age, think of it, and, above all, to suppose me capable of consenting to anything so ridiculous!
"All this confirms me in the opinion that you are bringing up your son to be a perfect nincompoop. I shall hear of his having the blues and nervous attacks next, I suppose. He'll soon get over all this nonsense when I take him in hand, I promise you. I consented to leave him with you until he was seventeen, and even to let him have a tutor, as if he were a young duke or a marquis. I shall keep my word, so you can have your son and a tutor exactly five months longer, after which M. Frederick will enter the office of my friend Bridou, the notary, where he will stain his slender white fingers copying documents as his father and grandfather did before him.
"I write to my banker in Blois by this same mail, telling him not to advance you a centime. I shall also write to my friend Bossard, the notary at Pont Brillant, who is as good as a town crier, to proclaim it from the housetops that, in case you try to borrow any money, no one is to loan you a sou, for any debts contracted by a wife without the husband's consent, or rather when he has given due notice that he has no intention of paying them, are null and void.
"Besides, I warn you that I shall instruct Bridou, in case you have the audacity to undertake this journey on borrowed money, to set the police on your track and bring you back to the conjugal domicile, as I have an undoubted right to do, for no wife can leave her husband's roof without the consent of her lord and master. You know me too well to fancy for one moment that I shall hesitate to carry my threat into execution. You have a will of your own, as you have proved. Very well, you will find that I have one, too.
"Don't take the trouble to answer this letter. I leave Bourges this evening for the Netherlands, where I shall probably remain until the middle of January, returning to the farm in March, to give you and my son the blowing up you so richly deserve.
"It is in this hope that I sign myself your deeply incensed husband,
"BASTIEN.
"P.S.—You wrote me in a previous letter that the tutor had taken his departure. If you want another ass to take the place of the one that has gone, you can employ one, provided you can get him for one hundred francs a month, board and lodging—but no washing—included. Above all, don't forget that I won't have him eating at the table with me. When I am at home he will eat in his room, or in the kitchen if he wants company.
"Ask Huebin to let me know how the brood sows are looking, for I want to get the premium for my hogs this fall. It is a matter of pride with me."
A quarter of an hour after this coarse effusion from her lord and master had been received, Madame Bastien wrote the following letters, which were despatched to Pont Brillant at once.
"TODOCTORDUFOUR:—Dear doctor, will you have the goodness to forward the enclosed letter to Nantes, after having first read and sealed it. My son had a comfortable night."Try to give me a few minutes to-day or to-morrow, so I can tell you what I have not time to write."Hoping to see you very soon, I remain,"Your sincere friend,"MARIEBASTIEN."
"TODOCTORDUFOUR:—Dear doctor, will you have the goodness to forward the enclosed letter to Nantes, after having first read and sealed it. My son had a comfortable night.
"Try to give me a few minutes to-day or to-morrow, so I can tell you what I have not time to write.
"Hoping to see you very soon, I remain,
"Your sincere friend,"MARIEBASTIEN."
The letter enclosed read as follows:
"MONSIEUR:—I accept your generous offer with profound gratitude. My son's age and mental condition, the anxiety I feel concerning his future are my only claims upon your interest, yet I believe that in your eyes these claims are sacred."Increase my obligations by hastening the date of your arrival here as much as possible. Your predictions in relation to my unfortunate child are more than verified."My only hope is in you, monsieur, and every hour and minute adds to my anxiety. I am terrified at the thought of what may occur at any moment in spite of my solicitude and untiring vigilance. It is needless to say that I await your assistance with the utmost impatience."May Heaven bless you, for the compassion you have shown to a mother who lives only in her son."MARIEBASTIEN."
"MONSIEUR:—I accept your generous offer with profound gratitude. My son's age and mental condition, the anxiety I feel concerning his future are my only claims upon your interest, yet I believe that in your eyes these claims are sacred.
"Increase my obligations by hastening the date of your arrival here as much as possible. Your predictions in relation to my unfortunate child are more than verified.
"My only hope is in you, monsieur, and every hour and minute adds to my anxiety. I am terrified at the thought of what may occur at any moment in spite of my solicitude and untiring vigilance. It is needless to say that I await your assistance with the utmost impatience.
"May Heaven bless you, for the compassion you have shown to a mother who lives only in her son.
"MARIEBASTIEN."
DURINGthe brief time which preceded Henri David's arrival the condition of physical weakness which followed Frederick's attack of nervous fever prevented him from leaving the house, especially as the weather was very unpleasant, an unusually early snow having covered the ground, while a heavy fog obscured the atmosphere.
Since the scene in the forest there had been no explanation between the mother and son, nor even any allusion to the distressing incident. Remembering the offensive manner in which her son had treated M. David on Saint Hubert's Day, Madame Bastien felt no little anxiety with regard to the future relations between her son and his new tutor, whose intended coming was as yet a secret to Frederick.
At last came a note from Doctor Dufour, enclosing the following:
"I am travelling by post to make a few hours, my dear Pierre, so I shall arrive very soon after you receive these few lines, and we will go together to Madame Bastien's house."
"I am travelling by post to make a few hours, my dear Pierre, so I shall arrive very soon after you receive these few lines, and we will go together to Madame Bastien's house."
M. David's arrival being only a matter of a few hours, Marie could defer the revelation of her plans no longer, so she went to the study in search of him. She found him seated at a table, apparently engaged in translating a French exercise into English.
"Lay aside your books a moment, Frederick, and come and sit down by me. There is something I wish to say to you."
Frederick took a seat beside his mother on a sofa near the fireplace, and his mother, taking her son's hands in hers, said to him, with the tenderest solicitude:
"How cold your hands are, my son. Your writing-table is too far from the fire. You ought to move your table to this part of the room."
"I will, mother, if you wish it."
"I wish you would do so presently, but first we must have a little talk."
"About what?"
"About a very important matter, my son."
"I am listening."
"The reasons that decided me to employ a tutor for you still exist, though he has left us. There are branches in which you need instruction which I am unfortunately not able to give."
"I seem to have lost all taste for study now, you know, mother."
"You must make some effort to overcome this languor. It worries me very much."
"I will try, mother."
"But it seems to me that if you had some one to encourage you in your good resolutions, and assist your studies, it would be much better for you, don't you think so?"
"Your encouragement suffices for me."
"I may encourage you, but as I said before, I am unable to render you any assistance, so I have thought it would be advisable to replace the tutor who just left us."
"Replace him? It is not worth while to think of that, mother. I don't want any tutor."
"But you need one, nevertheless, so I have engaged a new one for you."
"You must be joking, mother."
"You and I seem to have gotten sadly out of the habit of jesting, my dear boy. The jolly times you and I used to have together seem almost like a dream when I think of them now. But to return to the subject I was speaking of. Your new tutor will probably arrive—"
"Arrive! When?"
"To-day."
Frederick's face turned scarlet, and, springing up abruptly, he stamped angrily upon the floor, exclaiming:
"I will not have any tutor, mother; do you hear me?"
"But listen, my child, I beg of you."
"I will not have a tutor, I tell you. Send him away; it is useless to take him. I will serve him exactly as I did the other."
Up to this time Madame Bastien's manner toward her son had always been tender, almost entreating, but realising that she must show no weakness now, she replied, in a firm though affectionate tone:
"I have decided that it will be for your interest to have a tutor, my son, so I feel sure you will respect my wishes."
"You will see if I do."
"If you mean by that, that you hope to wear your new tutor out by your obstinacy and ill-temper, you will make a great mistake; first, because you will grieve me very much, and, secondly, because M. David, for that is his name, is not a person who will be easily disheartened. This is sufficiently proven by the fact that your anger and impertinence only served to arouse his commiseration."
"What do you mean? Who are you talking about?"
"The gentleman you met at Doctor Dufour's house."
"What! that man—"
"Is the tutor I have selected for you."
"Is that so?" responded Frederick, with a bitter smile. "After all, what difference does it make? I had just as soon contend with one as with the other."
Though convinced that Henri David was fully prepared for all the tribulations of the difficult task he wished to undertake, Marie was naturally desirous of sparing the generous-hearted man an ungracious reception, so she resolved to appeal to her son's affection, which had never failed her heretofore.
"My dear son, I feel sure of being understood when I tell you that it is in the name of my tenderness and devotion for you that I implore you to treat M. David with the respectful deference due to his character and merits. That is all I ask. Affection and confidence are sure to come later. But if you do not treat him as you ought, I shall think, yes, I shall think that you have ceased to love me, Frederick. You make no reply. I understand why, my son. You think I am exaggerating, do you not, when I say that I shall think you have ceased to love me if you treat your new tutor rudely? But, my son, the coming of this new tutor means your salvation and mine, for I truly believe it will prove the beginning of a new era of hope and happiness for us both, and that being the case, you would not grieve and disappoint me by receiving M. David rudely, for no son who loved his mother would wish to make me miserable; so you see I do not exaggerate, after all, my child. But, Frederick, you turn away your head. You refuse to look at me. What I say about your having ceased to love me is true, then! You do not say so much as a word to reassure me, you who used to be so loving and affectionate. Why are you angry with me? What have I done?"
"You feel better now, doubtless, since you have summoned a stranger to your aid, mother."
"What else could I do? Be just, I beg of you. What am I to think when I see you utterly unmoved by all I say to you? Is it true that in a few brief months I have lost all influence over you, that my tears and entreaties are alike powerless to move you? And when I see only too plainly that this is the case, you are angry because I summon some one to my aid. Is it possible that you are no longer able to distinguish good from evil, that all that is good and generous and noble is dead within you? In that case my last hope has indeed fled. I must bring myself face to face with the hideous reality, and as you force me, absolutely force me, to do it," added Marie, in a voice almost inaudible from horror, "I must remind you of that horrible scene, the other night, in the forest—in the forest—when you—when you tried—tried to kill—in the most cowardly manner— Oh, my God! my son,my son, anassassin!"
The last word was accompanied with such an outburst of despairing sobs that Frederick turned pale and trembled from head to foot.
On hearing the word "assassin" applied to him by his own mother, Frederick realised for the first time the enormity of the crime he had tried to commit, and noticing her son's gloomy silence, and the expression of profound despair that had succeeded his strained and sarcastic smile, Madame Bastien asked herself, with increasing anxiety, whether the result of this cruel scene would be disastrous or salutary for Frederick; but just then Marguerite entered hurriedly, and said to her mistress:
"The doctor has just arrived with another gentleman, madame. They wish to see you."
"Frederick," exclaimed the young mother, hastily wiping away her tears, "my son, it is your new tutor, M. David. I implore you—"
But she could not finish the sentence, for Doctor Dufour entered, accompanied by Henri David.
The latter bowed low to Madame Bastien, but as he raised his head he saw traces of recent tears on the lady's face. He noticed, too, Frederick's livid pallor and his gloomy and defiant air, so he would have had no trouble in divining what had just taken place, even if an imploring look from Madame Bastien had not still further enlightened him.
"Madame, I have the honour to present my friend, M. Henri David," began the doctor.
Madame Bastien was so overwhelmed with emotion, that she could only rise from her chair, into which she sank back again after bowing to David, who said:
"I shall endeavour to be worthy of the confidence you have manifested in me, madame."
"My son," said Marie Bastien, in a voice she tried hard to steady, "I hope you will not disappoint the expectations of M. David, who has kindly consented to assume the direction of your studies."
"Monsieur," said Frederick, looking his new tutor full in the face, "you come here in spite of me. You will leave here on account of me."
"Mon Dieu!" murmured Madame Bastien, with a despairing sob, and, overcome with shame and confusion, she dared not even lift her eyes to Henri David's face.
"You will regret those words when you learn to know me better," said Henri David, with a look of infinite compassion.
Frederick burst into a shrill, sardonic laugh, and rushed out of the room.
"Don't leave him alone, doctor, I implore you," exclaimed the mother.
But this entreaty had not passed her lips before M. Dufour started after Frederick.
LEFTalone with Madame Bastien, Henri David remained silent for several minutes as if to collect his thoughts, then, turning to his companion, he said, earnestly:
"I wish, madame, that you could see in me a physician who is devoting himself to a dangerous but by no means hopeless case. I should like to receive from you a full account of all the events which have taken place since you first noticed the change in your son's character which distresses you so much. Our friend, Doctor Dufour, has already given me some information on the subject. But what you can tell me, madame, will doubtless enlighten me still more."
Marie complied with his request, but when she came to the description of the scene in the forest, she hesitated and turned pale, and her distress was so apparent that Henri David exclaimed:
"What is the matter, madame? This emotion, these tears—"
"Ah, monsieur, I should be unworthy of your generous aid if I concealed any portion of the truth from you, no matter how terrible it may be."
"What do you mean, madame?"
"Ah, monsieur," murmured Madame Bastien, with eyes downcast, "in a paroxysm of fever, or delirium, or I know not what, he lost his senses completely and went at night—"
"At night?"
"To the forest."
And as Madame Bastien again paused with a shudder, David repeated:
"To the forest?"
"Yes, to the forest, where he concealed himself behind a tree to shoot M. de Pont Brillant."
"A murderer!" exclaimed David, turning pale, "a murderer at sixteen."
"Have pity, monsieur, have pity," cried Marie, stretching out her hands imploringly.
"Do not forsake him," cried the unhappy woman, as if fearing this revelation would cause David to renounce his generous undertaking. "Alas, monsieur, the greater my misfortune, the more desperate my straits, the more you should pity me! Once more I beseech you not to forsake my son. My only hope is in you. What will become of me? What will become of him if you do? Besides, I tell you he was not in his right mind. He was delirious; he was mad!"
"You need have no fears of my abandoning your son, madame. Difficulties do not discourage me; they only impel me to renewed efforts. But you are mistaken in supposing that Frederick was insane. The deed was the inevitable result of the hatred that is consuming him."
"Oh, no, no, I cannot believe—"
"On the contrary, the conviction should reassure instead of alarming you. Frederick's animosity reached its highest pitch at that time, and we now know the full extent of the malady. The cause of this hatred is still shrouded in mystery, but I feel confident that we shall soon fathom it, and then the cure will be comparatively easy. We have many things in our favour. Frederick's tender years, his antecedents, your tender solicitude, my constant vigilance. All that is noble and generous in your son is paralysed temporarily, but rest assured that, purified by the very ordeal through which he is now passing, your son will some day not only realise but even surpass your most sanguine hopes."
Henri David's tone was so earnest and convincing, there was such an expression of deep interest on his manly face, that Madame Bastien felt hope once more spring up in her heart, and she exclaimed, with profound emotion:
"The only thanks, monsieur, that I can give you—"
"Thanks, you owe me no thanks, madame," interrupted Henri David. "Our friend showed you my letter, and you know that in the work I am about to undertake I hope to find distraction from cruel grief, and that I also regard it as a sacred tribute to the memory of a deeply lamented brother."
"I shall not insist, monsieur, particularly as my words would so inadequately express my feelings, but I must say one word in relation to a rather painful subject," added Madame Bastien, lowering her eyes and blushing deeply. "I must ask your pardon in advance for the modest life you will be obliged to lead here, and I—"
"Permit me to interrupt you, here and now, madame," interposed David, smiling. "I have travelled a great deal, through uncivilised as well as civilised countries, so I am half sailor, half soldier, in the simplicity of my habits."
"But this is not all, monsieur," continued Madame Bastien, with increasing embarrassment. "I live alone most of the time. My husband's business keeps him away from home a great deal, but sometimes he spends several days here."
"Permit me to interrupt you once more, madame," said David, touched by Madame Bastien's evident embarrassment, particularly as he divined what she was about to say to him. "Our mutual friend, the doctor, has told me something of M. Bastien's habits, and you will find me anxious to do everything possible to prevent my presence here from disturbing that gentleman's habits. I shall also do everything in my power to win his toleration, if not his regard; for, my work once begun, it would distress me very much to see it suddenly interrupted. In short, as I cannot remain here without M. Bastien's permission, I shall do my best to win his toleration, and any concessions which my self-respect will permit of will, I assure you, be cheerfully made."
Madame Bastien was deeply impressed by M. David's delicacy. She could not doubt that Doctor Dufour had told his friend of M. Bastien's habitual coarseness, and that the generous man who was consecrating himself to Frederick's salvation with such disinterested devotion had made up his mind in advance to many disagreeable and even humiliating experiences, though his pecuniary independence and his nobility of character made him superior.
Marie was the first to break the silence that ensued.
"M. David," she said, with gentle dignity, "will you let me show you to the room I must beg you to occupy here?"
David bowed, and followed her in silence.
ITwas nearly dark.
Madame Bastien took a lamp, and, passing through the little dining-room where Marguerite was laying the table for the frugal evening meal, led the way to the garret, which was divided into three rooms, one occupied by Marguerite, another by the gardener, while the third was allotted to the tutor.
This was M. Bastien's arrangement. His wife had vainly endeavoured to convince him of the impropriety of lodging a tutor in this fashion, and had begged him to allow her to fit up a room on the floor below for his use, but he had flown into a violent passion, and declared that, if his wife disobeyed him, he would send the spouter of Latin up to the garret where he belonged as soon as he found it out.
Madame Bastien knew he was quite capable of carrying this threat into execution, so, to spare the new tutor such a humiliation, she had resigned herself to seeing her son's preceptor occupy a room so little in harmony with the importance of his functions.
If the young woman had taken so much to heart what she regarded as an insult to the dignity of her son's former tutor, one can judge of her feelings when it was inflicted upon Henri David, whose disinterestedness merited such heartfelt gratitude. Consequently, it was with painful confusion that she opened the door of the garret room which she had done her best to make cosy and inviting. A small blue and white china vase containing a bouquet of chrysanthemums and late roses stood on the walnut table, the floor was of spotless whiteness, the white curtains were tied back with ribbons, in short, a desire to make the plainness of the apartment forgotten by dint of assiduous care and good-will was everywhere apparent.
"It is with deep regret, I assure you, that I am compelled to offer you this room," said Madame Bastien, "but my utter inability to place a more suitable apartment at your disposal must be my excuse."
Henri David could not repress a slight movement of surprise as he glanced around him, and, after a brief silence, he said, with a melancholy smile:
"By a singular chance, madame, this room strongly resembles one I occupied in boyhood beneath my father's roof, and it is pleasant to be thus reminded of the happiest years of my life."
When they went down-stairs they found supper ready.
"I am very much afraid that Frederick will refuse to come to the table this evening. Excuse me a moment, monsieur, while I go and call him."
Having learned from Marguerite that Frederick was in his room, Madame Bastien hastened there, and found her son thoughtfully pacing the room.
"Supper is ready, my son," his mother said. "Won't you come?"
"Thanks, I am not hungry, mother. I intend to go to bed almost immediately."
"You are not feeling ill, I trust?"
"No; only tired. I seem to need rest."
"I hope, my son, that you will consider how your words would have pained M. David, who already feels the tenderest interest in you, if he had not felt certain that he would soon overcome your prejudice by his kindness. He will be to you not a master, but a friend; I would say a brother but for the disparity in your ages."
Frederick made no reply. His mouth contracted slightly, and he hung his head, and Madame Bastien, who had made a careful study of her son's face for some time past, saw that he was resolved to maintain an obstinate silence, so she insisted no further, but rejoined M. David.
After a frugal supper, Henri, wishing to divert his companion's thoughts, begged her to let him see Frederick's note-books and exercises, as well as some of the essays he had written in happier days, hoping he might find in these last some clue to the origin of the unfortunate ideas which seemed to have taken such entire possession of his mind.
While the new tutor was thus engaged the young mother watched him closely, in order that she might judge of the effect these specimens of Frederick's work produced upon him. Soon he took up an essay Frederick had written upon a theme suggested by his mother, and at first the young mother felt doubtful of its success, for M. David's features remained grave and thoughtful, but suddenly he smiled, and the smile was followed by several approving nods of the head, and two or three times he even murmured, "Good, very good." Then something seemed to displease him, for he crumpled one of the sheets of manuscript impatiently, and his features became impassible again as he continued his reading.
Marie's face reflected each shade of feeling depicted on David's face; but soon, and for the first time in a long while, the happy mother, forgetting her anxieties at least temporarily, could once more rejoice in Frederick's triumphs, for the signs of approbation on the new tutor's part became more frequent. He not only appeared to take a deep interest, but likewise a personal pride and delight in what he was reading, and at last he exclaimed, suddenly:
"No, no; it is impossible that the author of sentiments as noble and generous as these should not listen sooner or later to the voice of justice and reason. May I ask, madame, if this was written very long before the time at which you first began to notice the change in your son's character?"
After a moment's reflection, Madame Bastien replied:
"As nearly as I can recollect, this was written just before a visit we paid to the Château de Pont Brillant the latter part of June. It was not until about a month afterward that I began to feel uneasy about Frederick."
After a moment's thought, David asked:
"Have you anything that Frederick has written since you noticed this marked change in his nature? If you have, it might aid us in solving this mystery."
"The idea is a good one," replied Madame Bastien, and, struck by a sudden recollection, she selected one of her son's books. She handed it to M. David, saying as she did so:
"Several pages are lacking here, as you see. I asked Frederick why he had mutilated it in this fashion, and he replied that he was dissatisfied with what he had written and did not want me to read it. This occurred just as I was beginning to feel really anxious about him."
"And you noticed nothing significant in the remaining pages, madame?"
"You can see for yourself, monsieur. Since that time Frederick has written little or nothing, his distaste for work becoming more and more marked from that time on. In vain I have suggested themes of divers kinds; he would write a few lines, then drop his pen, and, burying his face in his hands, sit for hours together, deaf alike to all my questions and entreaties."
While Madame Bastien was speaking David was hastily glancing over the fragmentary writings his hostess had just handed to him.
"It is strange," he remarked, after several minutes, "these incoherent lines show none of the nobility of feeling that characterise your son's other writings. His mind seems to have become clouded, and the lassitude and ennui his work caused him is everywhere apparent. But here are a few words which seem to have been carefully erased," added David, trying to decipher them.
Marie approached her guest with the intention of assisting him, if possible, and as she bent over the table her arm lightly grazed David's.
The pressure was so slight that Marie did not even notice it, but it sent a sort of electric thrill through David; but so great was his self-control that he remained perfectly impassive, though he realised for the first time since he made his generous offer that the woman with whom he was to live on such terms of intimacy was young and wonderfully beautiful, as well as endowed with the most admirable traits of character.
He gave no sign of all this, however, but with Marie's assistance continued his efforts to decipher the words Frederick had erased, and after patient study they succeeded in making out here and there the following phrases which seemed to have no connection whatever with what preceded or followed them, but had apparently been jotted down almost involuntarily under the influence of some strong emotion. For instance, one leaf bore this fragmentary sentence:
" ...for persons doomed to a humiliating obscurity of lot, the inability to lift oneself from it is—"
Two or three words at the beginning of the sentence had been entirely obliterated.
Farther on, upon another page were these two words, but slightly blurred, as if their laconicism was sufficient protection against interpretation:
"Why? By what right—"
And lastly, this more complete sentence was deciphered with great difficulty:
"Through you, great and holy Revolution, the weak became the strong. The hour of vengeance came at last, terrible indeed, but grand and far-reaching in its—"
As David was slowly perusing these words a second time as if to gather their hidden significance, the clock on the mantel struck twelve.
"Twelve!" exclaimed Madame Bastien, in surprise, "twelve o'clock already!"
David rose at once, and, taking the book, said:
"With your permission, madame, I will take this with me. What we have deciphered is very vague, but it may give us a clue to the truth. Good night, madame."
"Good night, M. David. I gladly accept all the encouragement you hold out to me. I need it more than I can tell you. To-morrow will be a momentous day to us. God grant it may prove a propitious one."
"God grant it, madame."
ASsoon as his mother's words brought a full realisation of the crime he had tried to commit, Frederick experienced the keenest remorse; but though he was conscientious enough to feel appalled by his attempt at homicide, he was far from being cured of his hatred and envy.
During the night that immediately followed Henri David's arrival at the farm, Frederick underwent a new transformation that very naturally disconcerted both his mother and M. David. Both were instantly struck by the change in the lad's expression. It was no longer haughty, sarcastic, and defiant, but embarrassed and crestfallen. Madame Bastien and David had anticipated a fresh ebullition of temper when Frederick's second interview with his tutor took place, but nothing of the kind occurred.
David questioned the lad in relation to his studies; he replied promptly and definitely, but in regard to all extraneous subjects he maintained a determined silence.
Marie proposed that he take a walk with David, and Frederick consented without the slightest demur. During the long walk the new tutor, whose stock of information was as extensive as it was varied, tried to call Frederick's attention to some of the most interesting phenomena of nature, a bit of rock serving as the starting-point for a dissertation on the most curious of the different ages of the earth and the successive transformation of its inhabitants, while an old ruin near the farmhouse led to a series of interesting comments on the warlike habits of the middle ages and the narration of a number of quaint old legends, to which his youthful companion listened politely but replied only in monosyllables.
As soon as they returned Frederick picked up a book and read until dinner-time, after which he asked to be excused for the rest of the evening.
On being left alone, David and Marie exchanged discontented glances, for both felt that the first day had proved a failure.
"I am almost tempted to regret the change I notice in him," remarked David, thoughtfully. "Pronounced as his asperity of manner was, it nevertheless gave one a sort of hold, but what can one do confronted with a surface as hard and polished as glass?"
"But what do you think of this sudden change?"
"Is it the calm that follows the subsidence of the tempest or the treacherous calm which often precedes another storm? We shall know by and by. This change may be due to my arrival."
"How is that, M. David?"
"Perhaps he feels that our double surveillance will make another attempt at vengeance impossible; perhaps he fears that my penetration, united with yours, madame, would ferret out his secret, so he increases his constraint and reserve."
"And the book you took to your room last night?"
"Has given me a slight clue, perhaps, madame, but it is such a very weak and feeble one that I must ask you to pardon me for not even mentioning it. Ours is such a difficult and extremely delicate task that the merest trifle may make or mar us. So once more I implore you to forgive my reticence."
"You ask my pardon, M. David, when your very reserve is a proof of your generous solicitude for the person I hold nearest and dearest on earth."
As Madame Bastien was preparing for bed that same night, old Marguerite came in and said:
"You have been so occupied with M. David since you returned from your walk that I have had no chance to tell you about something very remarkable that happened to-day."
"What was it, pray?"
"Why, you had been gone about an hour when I heard a great noise at the gate of the courtyard, and what should I see there but a grand carriage drawn by four splendid horses, and who should be in the carriage but the Marquise de Pont Brillant, and she said she wanted to speak to you!"
"To me!" exclaimed Marie, turning pale as the idea that Frederick's attempt had been discovered occurred to her. "You must be mistaken, Marguerite. I do not know the marquise."
"It was you that the dear good lady wished to see, madame. She even said to me that she was terribly disappointed not to find you at home, as she came to make a neighbourly call. She intended to come again some day soon, with her grandson, but that must not hinder you from coming to the castle soon, very soon, to return her visit."
"What can this mean?" Madame Bastien said to herself, greatly puzzled, and shuddering at the mere thought of a meeting between Frederick and Raoul de Pont Brillant. "She told you she was coming again soon, with—"