EMILE ENTERTAINED BY MONSIEUR ANTOINE.But this time, her voice, which began to lisp in the passage-way outside the door, was drowned by other stronger voices, and the Comte de Châteaubrun and the peasant who had guided our traveller at last appeared before him, each carrying two large earthenware jugs which they placed on the table.
EMILE ENTERTAINED BY MONSIEUR ANTOINE.
But this time, her voice, which began to lisp in the passage-way outside the door, was drowned by other stronger voices, and the Comte de Châteaubrun and the peasant who had guided our traveller at last appeared before him, each carrying two large earthenware jugs which they placed on the table.
The two countrymen, however, seemed to enjoy it hugely. After a quarter of an hour, Janille, who could not live without moving about, left the table, took up her knitting and began to work in the chimney corner, constantly scratching her head with her needle, but never disturbing the thin bands of hair, still black as a crow's wing, which protruded from under her cap. That spruce little old woman might once have been pretty; her delicate profile did not lack distinction, and if she had been less affected, less intent upon appearing fashionable and knowing, our traveller would have been attracted to her as well.
The other persons, who, in the absence of theyoung lady, formed Monsieur Antoine's household, were a young peasant, of some fifteen years, wide-awake and light-footed, who performed the functions of factotum, and an old hunting-dog, with a lifeless eye, thin flanks and a melancholy, dreamy air; he lay beside his master and dropped asleep philosophically between every two mouthfuls that he gave him, calling him monsieur with a gravely jocose air.
They had been at table more than an hour, and Monsieur Antoine seemed in nowise weary of sitting there. He and his friend the peasant lingered over their little cheeses and their great tankards with the majestic indifference which is almost an art in the native Berrichon. Putting their knives alternately to that appetizing morsel, the odor of which was devoid of any agreeable quality, they cut it into small pieces, which they placed carefully on their earthenware plates and ate crumb by crumb on their rye bread. Between every two mouthfuls they took a swallow of the native wine, after touching their glasses and exchanging such compliments as: "Here's to you, comrade!" "Here's to you, Monsieur Antoine!" or: "Here's your good health, old fellow!" "The same to you, master!"
At that rate, the feast might well last all night, and the traveller, who had exhausted himself in efforts to appear to eat and drink, although he avoided doing it as far as possible, was beginning to find it difficult to contend against his drowsiness, when the conversation, which had thus far been concerned with the weather, the hay crop, the price of cattle and the new growth of the vines, gradually took a turn which interested him deeply.
"If this weather continues," said the peasant, listening to the rain which was falling in torrents, "the streams will fill up this month as they did in March. The Gargilesse is not in good humor and Monsieur Cardonnet may suffer some damage."
"So much the worse," rejoined Monsieur Antoine; "it would be a pity, for he has made some extensive and valuable improvements on that little stream."
"True, but the little stream snaps its fingers at them," replied the peasant, "and for my part I don't think it would be such a great pity."
"Yes it would, yes it would! that man has already spent more than two hundred thousand francs at Gargilesse, and it needs only a fit of temper on the part of the river, as we say, to ruin it all."
"Well, would that be such a great misfortune, Monsieur Antoine?"
"I don't say that it would be an irreparable misfortune for a man who is said to be worth a million," rejoined the châtelain, who in his sincerity persisted in misunderstanding his guest's hostile feeling toward Monsieur Cardonnet; "but it would be a pity none the less."
"And that is just why I should laugh in my sleeve if a little hard luck should make that hole in his purse."
"That's a wicked feeling to have, old fellow! Why should you have a grudge against this stranger? He has never benefited or injured you or me."
"He has injured you, Monsieur Antoine, and me and the whole province. Yes, I tell you that he has done it on purpose and that he will keep on doing it to everybody. Let the buzzard's beak grow and you'll see how he'll come down on your poultry-yard."
"Still your wrong-headed ideas, old fellow! for you have wrong-headed ideas, as I've told you a hundred times. You are down on the man because he's rich. Is that his fault?"
"Yes, monsieur, it is his fault. A man who started perhaps as low as I did, and who has gone ahead so fast, isn't an honest man."
"Nonsense! What are you talking about? Do you imagine that a man can't make a fortune without stealing?"
"I don't know anything about it, but I believe it. I know that you were born rich and that you are not rich now. I know that I was born poor and always shall be poor; and it's my opinion that if you'd gone off to some other country without paying your father's debts, and if I had made it my business to cheat and shave and scrape, we might both be riding in our carriages to-day. I beg your pardon, if I offend you!" added the peasant in a proud, uncompromising tone, addressing the young man, who gave very decided indications of painful excitement.
"Monsieur," said the châtelain, "it may be that you know Monsieur Cardonnet, that you are in his employ or are under some obligation to him. I beg you to pay no heed to what this worthy villager may say. He has exaggerated ideas on many subjects which he doesn't fully understand. You may be sure that he is neither malignant nor jealous at bottom, nor capable of inflicting the slightest injury on Monsieur Cardonnet."
"I attach little importance to his words," replied the young stranger. "I am simply astonished, monsieur le comte, that a man whom you honor with your esteem should take pleasure in blackening another man's reputation without having the slightest fact to allege against him and without knowing anything of his antecedents. I have already asked your guest for some information concerning this Monsieur Cardonnet, whom he seems to hate personally, and he refused to give me any explanation of his sentiments. I leave it to you: is it possible for one to base a just opinion on gratuitous imputations, and if you or I should form an opinion unfavorable to Monsieur Cardonnet, would not your guest have been guilty of an unworthy act?"
"You speak according to my heart and my mind, young man," replied Monsieur Antoine. "You," he added, turning to his rustic guest and striking the table angrily with his fist, while he looked at him with an expression in which affection and kindliness triumphed over displeasure, "you are wrong, and you will be good enough to tell us at once what grievance you have against the said Cardonnet, so that we can judge whether it has any force. If not, we shall consider that you have a soured mind and an evil tongue."
"I have nothing to say more than everybody knows," replied the peasant calmly, and with no sign of being intimidated by the sermon. "We see things and judge them as we see them; but as this young man doesn't know Monsieur Cardonnet," he added, with a penetrating glance at the traveller, "and since he is so anxious to know what sort of man he is, do you tell him yourself, Monsieur Antoine; and when you have given the main facts I will fill in the details. I will tell monsieur the cause and the effect, and he can judge for himself unless he has some better reason than mine for not saying what he thinks."
"All right, I agree," said Monsieur Antoine, who paid less attention than his companion to the young man's increasing agitation. "I will tell things as they are, and, if I go astray, I authorize Mère Janille, who has the memory and accuracy of an almanac, to interrupt and contradict me. As for you, you little rascal," he said, turning to the page in short jacket and wooden shoes, "try not to stare into the whites of my eyes so when I speak to you. Your fixed stare gives me the vertigo, and your wide-open mouth looks like a well that I may fall into. Well, what is it? what are you laughing at? Understand that a ne'er-do-well of your age should never presume to laugh in his master's presence. Stand behind me and behave as respectfully asMonsieur."
As he spoke, he pointed to his dog, and his manner was so serious and his voice so loud as he made the jest, that the traveller wondered if he were not subject to spasms of seignorial domination altogether out of keeping with his usual good-nature. But a glance at the boy's face was enough to convince him that it was simply a game to which he was well-used, for he cheerfully took his place beside the dog and began to play with him, without a trace of sulkiness or shame.
However, as Monsieur Antoine's manners were marked by an originality which could hardly be understood at the first meeting, the young man believed that he was beginning to grow light-headed by dint of much drinking, and he determined not to attach the least importance to what he was about to say. But it very rarely happened that the count lost his head, even after he had lost his legs, and he had resorted to his favorite pastime of bantering his neighbors only to divert the painful impression to which this discussion had given rise as between his guests.
"Monsieur," he began.
But he was at once interrupted by his dog, who, being also accustomed to his habit of jesting, concluded that he was the person addressed and walked up to his master and touched his arm, capering as friskily as his age would permit.
"Well,Monsieur," he continued, looking down at him with a playful stare, "what does this mean? Since when have you been as ill-bred as a human being? Go to sleep at once, and don't you ever make me spill wine on the tablecloth again, or you'll have Dame Janille about your ears. It was on a fine spring day last year, young man——" continued Monsieur Antoine.
"Excuse me, monsieur," interposed Janille, "it was only the 19th of March, so it was still winter."
"Is it worth while haggling over a difference of two days? What is certain is that it was magnificent weather, as warm as it is in June, and quite dry too."
"That's true enough," exclaimed the little groom, "for I couldn't water monsieur's horse at the little fountain."
"That has nothing to do with it," said Monsieur Antoine, tapping the floor with his foot; "hold your tongue, boy. You may speak when you're spoken to; just open your ears in order to improve your mind and your heart, if there's room for improvement. I was saying, then, that I was returning from a country fair one beautiful day, and walking quietly along on foot, when I met a tall man, very handsome although he was little if any younger than I, and his black eyes and pale, almost yellow complexion gave him a somewhat harsh and forbidding look. He was in a cabriolet, driving down a steep hill, strewn with loose stones as our fathers used to build roads, and was urging his horse forward, apparently unconscious of the danger. I could not help warning him. 'Monsieur,' said I, 'no four-wheeled, three-wheeled or two-wheeled carriage has ever gone down this hill, in the memory of man. In my opinion it is likely to result in breaking your neck, even if it is not impossible, and if you prefer a road that is a little longer but much safer, I'll show you the way.'
"'Much obliged,' he replied with just a suspicion of surliness, 'this road seems to me practicable enough and I promise you that my horse will come out all right.'
"'That's your business,' said I, 'and what I said was said from purely human motives.'
"'I thank you, monsieur, and as you are so courteous, I shall be glad to reciprocate. You are on foot, going in the same direction that I am; if you will get in with me, you will reach the valley sooner and I shall have the pleasure of your company.'"
"All that is true," said Janille; "you told it just like that the same evening except that you said that the gentleman had on a long blue overcoat."
"Excuse me, Ma'mselle Janille," said the child, "monsieur said black."
"Blue, I tell you, master upstart!"
"No, Mère Janille, black."
"Blue, I am sure of it!"
"I could swear it was black."
"Come, come, stop your quarrelling, it was green!" cried Monsieur Antoine. "Don't interrupt again, Mère Janille; and you, you naughty varlet, go to the kitchen and see if I am there, or put your tongue in your pocket; take your choice."
"I would rather listen, monsieur; I won't speak again."
"Now then," continued the châtelain, "I hesitated a moment between the fear of breaking my bones if I accepted and of being considered a coward if I refused. 'After all,' I said to myself, 'this fellow doesn't look like a lunatic, and seems to have no reason for risking his life. I have no doubt he has a wonderful horse and an excellent wagon.' I took my place beside him, and we began to descend the precipice at a fast trot, without a single false step on the part of the horse, or a moment's loss of resolution and self-possession on the part of the master. He talked to me about this thing and that and asked me many questions about the province; and I confess that I answered a little crookedly, for I was not altogether easy in my mind. 'So far so good,' I said to him when we reached the bank of the Gargilesse without accident; 'we have come safely down the break-neck, but we can't cross the water here; it's as low as possible, but even so, it is not fordable at this point; we must go up a little way to the left.'
"'Do you call this water?' said he, shrugging his shoulders; 'for my part I see nothing but stones and rushes. Nonsense! the idea of turning aside for a dry stream!'
"'As you choose,' I rejoined, a little mortified. His scornful audacity stung me; I knew that he was going straight into a veritable gulf, and yet, as I am not naturally a coward, and as I did not like the idea of being called one, I declined his offer to allow me to get down. I would have liked him to be punished by having reason to be well frightened, even at the expense of having a dip in the river myself, although I don't like water.
"But I had neither the satisfaction nor the mortification: the cabriolet did not founder. In the centre of the stream, which has dug out a channel with beveled edges, so to speak, in that spot, the horse was in up to his nostrils; the carriage was lifted up by the current. The gentleman in the green overcoat—for it was green, Janille—lashed the horse; she lost her footing, floundered, swam, and by a miracle landed us on the bank, with no other injury than a rather cool foot-bath. I did not lose my wits, I can swim as well as any man, but my companion admitted that he knew no more about it than a stick of wood; and yet he had neither faltered, nor swore, nor changed color. He's a plucky fellow, I thought, and his self-possession did not displease me, although there was something scornful in his perfect tranquillity as there is in the devil's laugh.
"'If you are going to Gargilesse, we can go on together, for I am going there too,' I said.
"'Very good,' he replied. 'Where is Gargilesse?'
"'Oh! then you are not going there?'
"'I am not going anywhere to-day,' said he, 'and I am ready to go anywhere.'
"I am not superstitious, monsieur, and yet my old nurse's stories came into my mind, I don't know why, and I had a moment of idiotic distrust, as if I were sitting beside Satan in a cabriolet. I glanced furtively at this individual who travelled thus across mountains and rivers, with no end in view, apparently just for the pleasure of exposing himself or me with him to danger; and I, like a booby, had let him persuade me to get into his infernal gig!
"Seeing that I did not speak, he thought it advisable to reassure me.
"'My way of travelling about the country surprises you, I see,' he said; 'the fact is that I propose to set up a manufacturing establishment in whatever place seems to me the most suitable. I have some money to invest—whether for myself or for other people is of little consequence to you, I suppose; but you can help me, with a few hints, to attain my object.'
"'Very good,' I said, my confidence being fully restored when I found that he talked sensibly; 'but, before advising you, I must know what sort of an establishment you propose to set up.'
"'If you will answer all the questions I ask you, that will be enough,' he said, evading my question. 'For example, what is the maximum force of this little stream we have just crossed, between this spot and the point where it empties into the Creuse?'
"'It is very irregular; you have just seen it at its minimum; but freshets are frequent and tremendous; and if you choose to inspect the principal mill, formerly the property of the religious community of Gargilesse, you will be convinced of the havoc wrought by the torrent, of the constant damage suffered by that poor old building, and of the utter folly of laying out much money on it.'
"'But by laying out money, monsieur, the unruly forces of nature can be confined! Where the poor, rustic mill goes under, the powerful, solidly built factory will triumph!'
"'True,' I replied, 'in every river the big fish eat the little ones.'
"He did not take up that suggestion but continued to question me as we drove along. I, being obliging as a matter of duty, and something of an idler by nature, took him everywhere. We went into several mills, he talked with the millers, examined everything with great care, and returned to Gargilesse, where he talked with the mayor and the principal men of the town, requesting me to introduce him to them at once. He accepted the curé's invitation to dinner, allowed himself to be made much of without ceremony, and hinted that he was in a position to render greater services than he received. He talked little, but listened eagerly and asked questions about all manner of things, including some that seemed to have little connection with business: for instance, whether the people in this neighborhood were sincerely pious or only superstitious; whether the bourgeois were fond of luxuries or sacrificed them to economy; whether the prevailing opinion was liberal or democratic; of what sort of men the general council of the department was made up—and Heaven knows what else! At night he hired a guide and went to Le Pin to sleep, and I did not see him again for three days. Then he drove by Châteaubrun and stopped at my door, to thank me, he said, for the courtesy I had shown him; but in reality I think to ask me some more questions. 'I shall return in a month,' he said, as he took leave of me, 'and I think that I shall decide on Gargilesse. It is central, and I like the place, and I have an idea that your little stream, to which you give such a bad name, will not be very difficult to subdue. It will cost me less to control it than the Creuse; and, moreover, the little risk that we ran in crossing it and that we overcame, makes me think that it is my destiny to conquer in this spot.'
"And with that he left me. That man was Monsieur Cardonnet.
"Less than three weeks after, he returned with an English mill engineer and several mechanics of the same nation; and since then he has kept earth and stone and iron constantly in commotion at Gargilesse. Being entirely absorbed by his work, he rises before daybreak and is the last to go to bed. No matter what the weather may be, he is in the mud up to his knees; not a movement on the part of his workmen escapes him; he knows the why and how of everything, and is pushing forward the construction of an enormous mill, a dwelling-house, with garden and buildings, sheds, dams, roads and bridges—in a word, a magnificent establishment. During his absence, his agents had managed the purchase of the property without allowing his name to appear. He paid a high price, but people thought at first that he didn't understand business and that he had come here totake it easy. They laughed at him still more when he increased the wages of his workmen, and when, to induce the municipal council to allow him to divert the course of the stream as he chose, he agreed to build a road, which cost him an enormous sum. They said: 'He's a fool; the extravagance of his plans will ruin him.' But after all is said, I believe he's as shrewd as most men, and I will wager that he will prove to be successful in his choice of a location and in the investment of his money. The stream troubled him a good deal last autumn, but luckily it has been very quiet this spring, and he will have time to finish his buildings before the rains come again, if we have no unusual storms during the summer. He does things on a large scale, and puts in more money than is necessary, that's the truth; but if he has a passion for finishing quickly what he has begun, and has the means and the inclination to pay a high price for the sweat of the poor laboring man's brow, where is the harm? It seems to me that it's an extremely good thing, on the contrary, and that, instead of calling the man a hare-brained fool, as some do, or a crafty speculator, as others do, we ought to thank him for bestowing on our province the advantage of industrial activity, I have said! Now let the other side take its turn."
Before the peasant, who had continued to nibble at his bread with a thoughtful expression, was prepared to begin, the young man thanked Monsieur Antoine warmly for his narrative and for his generous interpretation of Monsieur Cardonnet's course. Without admitting that he was in any way connected with that gentleman, he seemed to be deeply touched by the judgment of his character which the Comte de Châteaubrun expressed, and he added:
"Yes, monsieur, I believe that by seeking the best side of things one goes astray less often than by doing the opposite. A determined speculator would be parsimonious in the details of his undertaking, and then one would be justified in suspecting his rectitude. But when we see an intelligent and active man pay handsomely for labor——"
"One moment, if you please," interposed the peasant. "You are upright men and noble hearts; I am glad to believe it of this young gentleman, as I am sure of it in your case, Monsieur Antoine. But, meaning no offence, I will venture to tell you that you see no farther than the end of your nose. Look you. I will suppose that I have a large sum of money to invest, and that my purpose is not to obtain simply a fair and legitimate return from it, as it is right for everybody to do, but to double or treble my capital in a few years. I am not foolish enough to announce my purpose to the people I am forced to ruin. I begin by wheedling them, by making a show of generosity, and, to remove all distrust, by making myself appear, if need be, a brainless prodigal. That done, I have my dupes where I want them. I have sacrificed a hundred thousand francs, I will say, on those little wiles. A hundred thousand francs is a deal of money for the province! but, so far as I am concerned, if I have several millions, it's simply the bonus that I pay. Everybody likes me; although some laugh at my simplicity, the greater number pity me and esteem me. No one takes any precautions. Time flies fast and my brain still faster; I have cast the net and all the fish are nibbling. First the little ones—the small fry that you swallow without anyone noticing it; then the big ones, until they have all disappeared."
"What do you mean by all your metaphors?" said Monsieur Antoine, shrugging his shoulders. "If you go on talking figuratively, I am going to sleep. Come, hurry, it's getting late."
"What I mean is plain enough," continued the peasant. "When I have once ruined all the small concerns that competed with me I become a more powerful lord than your ancestors were before the Revolution, Monsieur Antoine! I govern over the head of the laws, and while I have a poor devil locked up for the slightest peccadillo, I take the liberty to do whatever pleases me or suits my convenience. I take everybody's property—with their daughters and wives thrown in, if they take my fancy—I control the business and supplies of a whole department. By my skill I have forced down the price of crops; but, when everything is in my hands, I raise prices to suit myself, and, as soon as I can safely do it, I obtain a monopoly and starve the people. And then it's a small matter to kill off competition; I soon get control of the money, which is the key to everything. I do a banking business on the sly, wholesale and retail. I oblige so many people, that I am everybody's creditor and everybody belongs to me. People find out that they no longer like me; but they see that I am to be feared, and the most powerful handle me carefully, while the small fry tremble and sigh all about me. However, as I have some intelligence and cunning, I play the great man from time to time. I rescue a few families, I contribute to some charitable organization. It is a method of greasing the wheel of my fortune, which rolls on the more rapidly for it; for people begin again to have a little esteem for me. I am no longer considered kind-hearted and foolish, but just and great. From the prefect of the department to the village curé and from the curé to the beggar, everyone is in the hollow of my hand; but the whole province suffers and no one detects the cause. No other fortune than mine will increase, and every modest competence will shrink, because I shall have dried up all the springs of wealth, raised the price of the necessaries of life and lowered that of the superfluities—just the reverse of what should be. The dealer will find himself in trouble and the consumer too. But I shall prosper because I shall be, by virtue of my wealth, the only resource of dealer and consumer alike. And at last people will say, 'What in heaven's name is happening? the small tradesmen are stripped and the small buyers are stripped. We have more pretty houses and more fine clothes staring us in the face than we used to have, and all those things cost less, so they say; but we haven't a sou in our pockets. We have all been frantic to make a show and now we are consumed by debts. But Monsieur Cardonnet isn't responsible for it all, for he does good and, if it weren't for him, we should all be ruined. Let us make haste and do something for Monsieur Cardonnet; let him be mayor, prefect, deputy, minister, king, if possible, and the province is saved!'
"That, messieurs, is the way I would make other people carry me on their backs if I were Monsieur Cardonnet, and it is what I am very sure Monsieur Cardonnet intends to do. Now, tell me that I am wrong to look askance at him; that I am a prophet of evil, and that nothing of what I predict will happen. God grant that you may be right! but for my part I can feel the hail coming in the distance, and there is only one hope that sustains me; it is that the stream will be less foolish than men; that it will not allow itself to be bridled by the fine machines they put between its teeth, and that some fine morning it will give Monsieur Cardonnet's mills a body blow that will sicken him of playing with it, and will induce him to take his capital and its consequences and carry it somewhere else. Now, I have said my say. If I have formed a hasty judgment, may God who has heard me forgive me!"
The peasant had spoken with great animation. The fire of keen insight darted from his blue eyes, and a smile of sorrowful indignation played about his mobile lips. The traveller examined that strongly-marked face, shaded by a heavy grizzly beard, wrinkled by fatigue, by exposure to the air, perhaps by disappointment as well; and, despite the pain that his language caused, he could not help thinking him handsome, and admiring, in the facility with which he bluntly expressed his thoughts, a sort of natural eloquence instinct with sincerity and love of justice; for, although his words, of which we have failed to express all the rustic homeliness, were simple and sometimes vulgar, his gestures were emphatic and the tone of his voice commanded attention. A feeling of profound depression had taken possession of his hearers, while he drew without any artifice, and unsparingly, the portrait of the pitiless and persevering rich man. The wine had had no effect upon him, and every time that he raised his eyes to the young man's face, he seemed to look into his very soul and sternly question him. Monsieur Antoine, although slightly affected by the weight of the wine he was carrying, had lost nothing of his harangue, and submitting as usual to the ascendancy of that mind, of stouter temper than his own, he heaved a deep sigh from time to time.
When the peasant had finished, "May God forgive you, indeed, my friend, if your judgment is at fault," he said, raising his glass as an offering to the Deity: "and if you are right, may Providence avert such a scourge from the heads of the poor and weak!"
"Listen to me, Monsieur de Châteaubrun, and you too, my friend," cried the young man, taking a hand of each of his companions in his own, "God, who hears all the words of man, and who reads their real sentiments in the depths of their hearts, knows that these evils are not to be dreaded, and that your apprehensions are only chimeras. I know the man of whom you speak; I know him well; and, although his face is cold, his character obstinate, his intellect active and strong, I will answer to you for the loyalty of his purposes and the noble use he will make of his fortune. There is something alarming, I agree, in the firmness of his will, and I am not surprised that his inflexible manner has caused a sort of vertigo here, as if a supernatural being had appeared in the midst of your peaceful fields. But that strength of purpose is based upon moral and religious principles, which make him, if not the mildest and most affable of men, the most rigidly just and the most royally generous."
"So much the better, deuce take it!" rejoined the châtelain, clinking his glass against the peasant's. "I drink to your health, and I am happy to have reason to esteem a man when I am on the point of cursing him. Come, don't be obstinate, old fellow, but believe this young man, who talks like a book and knows more about the subject than you and I do. Why, he says that he knows Cardonnet! that he knows him well! what more do you want? He will answer for him. So we need not worry any more. And now, friends, let us go to bed," continued the châtelain, delighted to accept the guaranty of a man of whom he knew nothing at all, not even his name, for a man of whom he knew little; "the clock is striking eleven, and that's an undue hour."
"I am going to take my leave of you," said the traveller, "and continue my journey, asking your permission to come soon to thank you for your kindness."
"You shall not go away to-night," cried Monsieur Antoine; "it is impossible, it rains bucketfuls, the roads are drowned, and you couldn't see your own feet. If you persist in going, I never want to see you again."
He was so urgent and the storm was in fact so fierce that the young man was fain to accept the proffered hospitality.
Sylvain Charasson—that was the name of the page—brought a lantern, and Monsieur Antoine, taking the traveller's arm, guided him among the ruins of the manor-house in search of a bedroom.
All the floors of the square pavilion were occupied by the Châteaubrun family; but, in addition to that small wing which was intact and recently restored, there was an enormous tower on the other side of the courtyard, the oldest part, the highest, the thickest, the most impervious of the whole pile, the rooms which it contained, one above another, being arched with stone and even more solidly constructed than the square pavilion. The band of speculators who had purchased the château several years before for purposes of demolition, and had carried away all the wood and iron to the last door-hinge, had found nothing to demolish on the lower floors, and Monsieur Antoine had had one floor cleaned and closed, for use on the rare occasions when he had an opportunity to entertain a guest. It had been a great display of magnificence on the poor fellow's part to replace the doors and windows and put a bed and a few chairs in that apartment, which was not necessary for the accommodation of his family. He had made the effort cheerfully, saying to Janille: "It isn't everything to be comfortable yourself; you must think about being able to give your neighbor shelter." And yet, when the young man entered that dismal feudal donjon, and found himself, as it were, confined in a jail, his heart sank, and he would gladly have followed the peasant, who went, as his custom was, to lie on the fresh straw with Sylvain Charasson. But Monsieur Antoine was so pleased and so proud to be able to do the honors of aguest chamber, despite his poverty, that his young guest felt bound to accept for his lodgings one of the frowning prisons of the Middle Ages.
However, there was a good fire in the huge fireplace, and the bed, which consisted of a mattress of oat-chaff with a thick quilt spread upon it, was not to be despised. Everything was cheap and clean. The young man soon drove away the melancholy thoughts that assail every traveller quartered in such a place, and, despite the rumbling of the thunder, the cries of the night-birds and the roar of the wind and rain, which shook his windows, while the rats made furious assaults upon his door, he was soon sound asleep.
His sleep, however, was disturbed by strange dreams, and he had a sort of nightmare just before dawn, as if it were impossible to pass the night in a place stained with the mysterious crimes of feudal days without being made the victim of painful visions. He dreamed that Monsieur Cardonnet entered the room, and as he struggled to get out of bed and run to meet him, he made an imperative sign to him not to stir; then, coming to him with an impassive air, he climbed on his chest, paying no heed to his groans and giving no indication upon his stony face that he was aware of the agony he caused him.
Crushed beneath that terrible weight, the sleeper struggled in vain for a space that seemed to him more than a century, and he had the death-rattle in his throat when he succeeded in rousing himself. But, although the day was beginning to break, and he could see everything in the tower distinctly, he remained so completely under the influence of his dream that he fancied that he still saw that inflexible face before his eyes and felt the weight of a body as heavy as a mountain of brass on his crushed and sunken chest. He arose and walked around the room several times before returning to bed, for, although he was anxious to make an early start, he was overcome by an unconquerable feeling of prostration. But his eyes were no sooner closed than the spectre recurred to his determination to stifle him, until, feeling that he was at the point of death, the young man cried out in a broken voice: "Father! father! what have I done to you, and why have you determined to murder your own son?"
The sound of his own voice woke him, and, finding that he was still pursued by the apparition, he ran to the window and opened it. As soon as the cool outer air entered that low room, in the atmosphere of which there was something lethargic, the hallucination vanished, and he dressed in haste, in order to leave the place where he had been the plaything of such a cruel fancy. But, notwithstanding all his efforts to think of something else, he could not shake off a feeling of painful disquietude, and theguest-chamberof Châteaubrun seemed to him even more dismal than on the night before.
The dull, gray light enabled him at last to see the whole of the château from his window.
It was literally nothing but a heap of ruins, the still magnificent ruins of a seignorial abode built at different periods. The courtyard, overgrown with weeds, through which the infrequent going and coming of a family reduced to the strict necessaries of life had worn only two or three narrow paths, from the large tower to the small one, and from the well to the main entrance, was surrounded opposite his window by crumbling walls which could be recognized as the foundations and lower courses of several buildings, among others a dainty chapel, of which the pediment, with a pretty rose-window surrounded by festoons of ivy, was still standing. At the end of the courtyard, in the centre of which was a large well, rose the dismantled skeleton of what had once been the principal abiding-place of the lords of Châteaubrun from the time of François I. to the Revolution. This once sumptuous edifice was now naught but a shapeless skeleton, open on all sides, a strange mass of ruins to which the crumbling away of the interior partitions imparted an appearance of enormous height. Neither the towers in which the graceful spiral staircases were enclosed, nor the great frescoed rooms, nor the beautiful mantels of carved stone had been respected by the hammer of the demolisher, and some few vestiges of this splendor, which they had been unable to reach, some fragments of richly decorated friezes, some garlands of leaves carved by the skilful craftsmen of the Renaissance, and an escutcheon bearing the arms of France crossed by the baton of bastardy—all of fine white stone, which time had not yet been able to darken—presented the melancholy spectacle of a work of art remorselessly sacrificed to the brutal law of necessity.
When young Cardonnet turned his eyes toward the small pavilion occupied by the last scion of a once wealthy and illustrious family, he felt a thrill of compassion as he reflected that there was in that pavilion a young woman whose ancestresses had had pages, vassals, fine horses and packs of hounds, whereas this inheritress of a ghastly ruin was destined perhaps, like the Princess Nausicaa, to wash her own linen at the fountain.
As he made this reflection he saw a little round window on the upper floor of the square pavilion open gently, and a woman's head, supported by the loveliest neck imaginable, lean forward as if to speak to some one in the courtyard. Emile Cardonnet, although he belonged to a generation of myopes, had excellent sight, and the distance was not so great that he could not distinguish the features belonging to that graceful blond head, whose hair the wind tossed about in some confusion. It seemed to him what in fact it was, an angel's head, arrayed in all the bloom of youth, sweet and noble at the same time. The tone of the voice was fascinating and the pronunciation was remarkably elegant.
"So it rained all night, did it, Jean?" she said. "See how full of water the courtyard is! All the fields I can see from my window are like ponds."
"It's a regular deluge, my dear child," the peasant, who seemed to be an intimate friend of the family, replied from below, "a genuine water-spout! I don't know whether the worst of the storm broke here or somewhere else, but I never saw the fountain so full."
"The roads must be all washed out, Jean, and you had better stay here. Is father awake?"
"Not yet, Gilberte, but Mère Janille is up and about."
"Will you ask her to come up to my room, my old Jean? I have something to ask her."
"I will go at once."
The girl closed the window without apparently noticing that the traveller's window was open and that he was standing there looking at her.
A moment later he was in the courtyard, where the rain had transformed the paths into little torrents, and he found Sylvain Charasson in the stable, cleaning his horse and Monsieur Antoine's, and discussing the effects of such a terrible night with the peasant whose Christian name Emile Cardonnet had learned at last. The night before, this man had caused him a sort of indefinable uneasiness, as if there were something mysterious and fateful about him. He had noticed that Monsieur Antoine had not once called him by name, and that, on several occasions when Janille had been on the point of doing so, he had warned her with a glance to be careful. They called him onlyfriend,comradeorold fellow, and it seemed that his name was a secret which they did not choose to divulge. Who could this man be, who had the outward aspect and the language of a peasant and who, nevertheless, carried his gloomy anticipations so far, and his severe criticism to such a point.
Emile strove to enter into conversation with him, but to no purpose; he was even more reserved than on the preceding day, and when he was questioned concerning the damage done by the storm, he replied simply:
"I advise you to lose no time in starting for Gargilesse if you want to find any bridges across the stream, for in less than two hours there'll be a most infernaldribethere."
"What do you mean by that? I don't understand that word."
"You don't know what adribeis? Well, you will see one to-day and you'll never forget it. Good-day, monsieur; be off at once for your friend Cardonnet will be in trouble before long."
And he turned away without another word.
Impelled by a vague feeling of alarm, Emile hastily saddled his horse himself, and said to Charasson, tossing him a piece of money:
"Tell your master, my boy, that I have gone without taking leave of him, but that I shall come again soon to thank him for his kindness to me."
He was riding through the gateway when Janille came running up to detain him. She insisted on waking Monsieur Antoine; mademoiselle was dressing; breakfast would be ready in a moment; the roads were too wet; it was going to rain again. The young man, with many thanks, succeeded in escaping from her hospitable attentions, and made her also a present, which she seemed very glad to accept. But he had not reached the foot of the hill when he heard a horse trotting behind him, his great, heavy feet just razing the ground. It was Sylvain Charasson, mounted on Monsieur Antoine's mare, with no other bridle than a rope halter passed between the animal's teeth, riding hastily after him. "I am going to guide you, monsieur," he cried, as he passed him; "Mademoiselle Janille says you'll kill yourself, as you don't know the roads, and that's the truth too."
"All right, but take the shortest road," replied the young man.
"Never fear," rejoined the rustic page, and, plying his clogs, he urged the hollow-backed mare into a fast trot, her huge stomach, stuffed with hay unmixed with oats, presenting a striking contrast to her thin flanks and bony chest.
The slopes crowned by Châteaubrun were so steep that the young man and his new guide were delayed by no torrent of any size and soon reached the valley. But as they rode rapidly by a small pond full to the brim, the boy exclaimed, with a glance of amazement: "TheFont-Margotfull! That means a lot of damage in the low lands. We shall have trouble crossing the river. Let's hurry, monsieur!"—He urged the mare to a gallop; and despite her ungainly build and her broad, flat feet embellished with a fringe of long hair that trailed on the ground, she picked her way over the uneven ground with remarkable skill and sureness of foot.
The extensive plains of this region form great plateaus broken by ravines, which, with their abrupt and deep declivities, make veritable mountains to ascend and descend. After riding about an hour, our travellers found themselves opposite the valley of Gargilesse, and a fascinating landscape was spread out before them. The village of Gargilesse, built like a sugar-loaf on a steep knoll, and overlooked by its pretty church and its ancient monastery, seemed to rise from the depths of the precipices; and the boy pointed out to Emile a number of enormous buildings, entirely new and of fine appearance, at the bottom of the steepest of those precipices, saying:
"Look, monsieur, there are Monsieur Cardonnet's buildings."
It was the first time that Emile, who was a law-student at Poitiers and passed his vacations at Paris, had visited the region where his father had been engaged for a year past in an important undertaking. The natural aspect of the spot seemed to him beautiful, and he was grateful to his parents for having happened upon a location where industry could flourish without banishing the influences of poesy.
They had still some distance to ride across the plateau before reaching the slope, where all the details of the landscape could be embraced in a single glance. As Emile approached the edge he discovered new beauties, and the convent-château of Gargilesse, planted proudly on the rock over the Cardonnet factories, seemed a decoration placed there designedly to crown the whole picture. The sides of the ravine, into which the little stream flowed swiftly, were covered with hardy vegetation, and the young man, who involuntarily allowed his attention to be absorbed by the external aspect of his new inheritance, observed with satisfaction that, amid the clearing away that had to be done to install the establishment in such a thickly-wooded spot, they had spared some magnificent old trees, which were the noblest ornament of the dwelling-house.
This house, situated a little behind the factory, was convenient, tasteful, simple in its richness, and the fact that there were curtains at almost all the windows indicated that it was already occupied. It was surrounded by a fine garden, terraced along the stream, and from afar he could distinguish the bright colors of the blooming plants which had been substituted as if by enchantment for the willow stumps and pools of stagnant water with which the banks were formerly bordered. The young man's heart beat fast when he saw a woman descend the steps of this modern château and walk slowly among her favorite flowers; for it was his mother. He threw up his arms and waved his cap to attract her attention, but without success. Madame Cardonnet was intent upon examining her horticultural pets; she did not expect her son until evening.
On a more open space Emile saw the complicated, scientifically-constructed buildings of the factory; and fifty or more busy workmen moving amid the medley of materials of all sorts—some cutting stone, others preparing the mortar, others trimming rafters, others loading carts drawn by enormous horses. As it was absolutely necessary to descend the steep road at a foot-pace, little Charasson found opportunity to speak.
"This is a bad place, isn't it, monsieur? Keep a tight rein on your horse! It would be a good thing if Monsieur Cardonnet would build a road to take people from our house to his factory. See what fine roads he's built in other directions! and the pretty bridges! all of stone, you see! Before he came you had to wet your feet crossing the river in summer, and in winter you didn't cross at all. He's the kind of man that everybody ought to kiss the ground he walks on."
"So you don't agree with your friend Jean who says so much ill of him?"
"Oh! Jean! Jean! you needn't pay much attention to his croaking. He's a man who hasennuis, and he sees everything crooked lately, although he isn't an unkind man, not at all. But he's the only man hereabout who talks like that; everybody else is all in favor of Monsieur Cardonnet. He isn't stingy, I tell you. He talks a little hard, he pushes his workmen a little, but bless me! he pays; you ought to see the wages he pays! and if you do break your back working, if you're well paid you ought to be satisfied, eh, monsieur?"
The young man stifled a sigh. He did not absolutely agree with Monsieur Sylvain Charasson's theory of economic compensations, and, however much he might desire to approve his father's course, he could not see very clearly how wages could replace the loss of health and life.
"I'm surprised not to see him on his workmen's backs," added the page of Châteaubrun ingenuously and with no malicious intent, "for he isn't in the habit of giving them much time to breathe. Ah, indeed! he's a man to push work ahead! He isn't like Mère Janille at our house, who's always making a noise and never lets other people do anything. He doesn't seem to move about, but anyone would say he did the work with his eyes. When a workman speaks or puts down his pick to light his pipe, or just takes a little bit of a nap at noon in the heat of the day, he'll say, without losing his temper: 'Look here, you can't smoke or sleep comfortably here; go home, you'll be more comfortable.'—And that's all. He won't employ him again for a week, and the second time it's a month, and the third he's done for good."
Emile sighed again: he recognized his father's inflexible severity in these details, and he had to turn his thoughts toward the presumed object of his efforts in order to be reconciled to his methods.
"Ah!pardine! there he is," cried the boy, pointing to Monsieur Cardonnet, whose tall figure and dark clothes were discernible on the other bank. "He's looking at the water; perhaps he's afraid of thedribe, although he usually says it's all nonsense."
"So thedribeis a freshet, is it?" queried Emile, beginning to understand the word, a corruption ofdérive.
"Yes, monsieur, it's like a waterspout, that comes with great storms. But the storm has passed and thedribehasn't come, and I believe Jean was all wrong in his prophesying. And yet, monsieur, look at the water, how low it is! it's almost dried up since yesterday and that's a bad sign. Let's hurry across, it may come any minute."
They quickened their pace and easily forded the first arm of the stream. But in the effort that Emile's horse made to climb the somewhat steep bank of the little island, he broke his girths, and his rider had to dismount and try to fix his saddle. It was not an easy task, and in his haste to join his parents Emile bungled over it; the knot that he had made slipped when he put his foot in the stirrup, and Charasson was obliged to cut off a piece of the rope he was using for a bridle in order to make the necessary repairs. All this took some time, during which their attention was wholly diverted from the disaster Sylvain dreaded. The island was covered with a dense growth of willows which made it impossible for them to look ten yards in any direction.
Suddenly a noise like the prolonged rumble of thunder reached their ears. Emile, mistaking the cause of the noise, looked up at the sky, which was perfectly clear overhead. But the child turned pale as death.
"Thedribe!" he cried, "thedribe! we must run for it, monsieur!"
They crossed the island at a gallop; but before they were clear of the willow scrub, they were met by waves of yellowish water covered with foam. It was already up to their horses' breasts when they found themselves face to face with the swollen torrent, which was spreading furiously over the surrounding country.
Emile would have attempted to cross; but his guide clung to him.
"No, monsieur, no," he cried; "it's too late. See the force of the stream and the logs it's bringing down! No man or beast could go through that. Let us leave the horses, monsieur, let us leave the horses; perhaps they will have sense enough to save themselves; but it's too much of a risk for Christians! Look, there's the footbridge gone! Do as I do, monsieur, do as I do, or you're a dead man!"
And Charasson, who already had the water up to his shoulders, began to run nimbly up a tree. Emile, judging from the fury of the torrent, which increased a foot in depth every second, that courage would be sheer folly, and thinking of his mother, decided to follow the little peasant's example.
"Not that one, monsieur, not that one!" cried the boy, seeing him start to climb an aspen. "That's too weak, it will be carried away like a straw. Come up here, by me; for the love of God, climb my tree!"
Emile, recognizing the wisdom of Sylvain's suggestion,—for the child, in the midst of his terror, lost neither his presence of mind nor the commendable desire to save his neighbor,—ran to the old oak to which he was clinging and soon succeeded in reaching a position not far from him, on a stout branch several feet above the water. But they had soon to abandon that post to the angry element, which continued to rise; and, ascending in their turn from branch to branch, they succeeded in saving their lives.
When the inundation had reached its highest point, Emile was far enough from the ground to see what was taking place in the valley. He concealed himself as well as he could in the foliage, to avoid being seen from the house, and imposed silence on Sylvain, who wished to call for help; for he was afraid that his parents, especially his mother, would be terribly frightened if they should discover his presence and his perilous situation. He could see his father, who was watching the effects of thedribeand retreating slowly as the water rose in his garden and invaded the whole factory. He seemed to give ground regretfully before that scourge of the valley, which he had contemned, and which he pretended to contemn still. At last, he saw him distinctly, standing at one of the windows of his house with Madame Cardonnet, while the workmen scattered and fled to the high land, leaving their jackets and implements in the mud. Some, taken by surprise by the deluge in the lower floors of the factory, had gone up hastily to the roof; and, although the more far-sighted may have rejoiced secretly because that disaster promised a prolongation of their lucrative employment, the majority yielded to a natural feeling of consternation when they found the result of their labors lost or endangered.
The stones, the newly rough-cast walls, the freshly-hewn timbers, everything that did not offer much resistance, was floating about at random amid eddying masses of foam. The bridges, barely finished, were swept away, being torn from the newly-built piers, which were unequal to the task of supporting them. The garden was half under water, and the sashes of the greenhouse, the boxes of flowers and the gardener's wheelbarrows could be seen sailing swiftly away among the trees.
Suddenly, loud cries were heard in the factory. A huge piece of timber had been driven violently against the underpinning of the principal machine, and the building seemed on the point of falling in under the violent shock. There were at least twelve persons, men, women and children, on the roof. They all shrieked and wept. Emile felt a cold perspiration start out all over him. Heedless of the perils to which he himself was exposed, if the oak should be uprooted, he was horrified at the impending fate of those families whom he saw running wildly about in their distress. He was on the point of jumping into the water to fly to their assistance. But he heard his father's powerful voice shouting to them from the stoop, with the aid of a speaking-trumpet.
"Don't stir; the raft is nearly finished; there is no danger where you are."
Such was the master's ascendancy that they became calm, and Emile himself instinctively yielded to it.
On the other side of the island there was a far more desolating spectacle. The villagers were running after their cattle, the women after their children. Piercing shrieks directed Emile's attention more particularly toward a point which the vegetation concealed from his eyes; but he soon saw a powerful man near the opposite bank, swimming and carrying a child. The current was less strong on that side than it was at the factory, and yet the swimmer seemed to be making his way through the water with extraordinary difficulty, and several times the water covered him completely.
"I will go and help him!" cried Emile, moved even to tears, and preparing once more to jump from the tree.
"No, monsieur, no!" cried Charasson, holding him back. "See, he's out of the current now, he's safe; he isn't swimming now, he's walking in the mud. Poor man! what a hard time he had. But the child isn't dead, he's crying and yelling like a little devil. Poor little fellow! don't cry any more, you're safe! But look, will you! may the devil fly away with me if it wasn't old Jean who pulled him out of the water! Yes, monsieur, yes, it's Jean. He's a brave fellow, I tell you! Ah! see how the father thanks him, how the mother hugs his legs, and yet they're not very clean, those poor legs of his! Ah! monsieur, Jean has a big heart, and there's not his like in the world. If he knew we were here, he'd come and help us out of the scrape. I have a mind to call him."
"Do nothing of the kind. We are safe and he would risk his life again. Yes, I see that he's a fine fellow. Is he any relative to the child and to those people."
"No, monsieur, no. They are the Michauds, and they're nothing to him or to me either; but when anything goes wrong anywhere, Jean is sure to turn up, and where no one else would dare to take the risk, he'll go ahead, even when there's nothing at all, not even a glass of wine to be made by it. But the good Lord knows that this country isn't healthy for Jean, and that this is hardly the place for him."
"Why, is he exposed to any other danger at Gargilesse than that of being drowned like everybody else?"
Sylvain did not reply, and seemed to blame himself for having said too much.
"The water is falling a little," he said, to divert Emile's attention; "in a couple of hours, perhaps we can go back the way we came; but it will be six hours at least before we can cross over to Monsieur Cardonnet's."
This prospect was not very attractive; however Emile, who was determined not to alarm his parents at any price, resigned himself to it as best he could. But a fresh incident caused him to change his mind before half an hour had passed. The water receded rapidly from the highest points it had flooded; and on the other side of the lake it had formed between him and his father's abode, he saw some workmen leading two horses toward the house, one entirely bare, the other saddled and bridled.
"Our beasts, monsieur," said Sylvain Charasson; "God bless me! both our beasts have come out safe! I supposed my poor mare was in the Creuse before this! Ah! Monsieur Antoine will be glad enough when I bring back hisLanterne! She'll have earned her oats, and perhaps Janille won't refuse to give her a peck. And your black, monsieur—you're not sorry to see him on his feet, are you? He must know how to swim a little!"
Emile rapidly considered what would happen. Monsieur Cardonnet did not know his horse, to be sure, for he had bought himen route; but they would open the valise, they would soon discover that it belonged to him, and their first thought would be that he was dead. He speedily decided to show himself, and after many attempts to make his voice heard above that of the torrent, whose fury was only slightly abated, he succeeded in making the people on the roof of the factory understand that he was there and that Monsieur and Madame Cardonnet must be so informed at once. The news passed from mouth to mouth, through the various places of refuge, as quickly as he could wish, and he soon espied his mother at the window, waving her handkerchief, and his father in person on a raft propelled by two strong men, who were pushing out into the current with dogged determination. Emile succeeded in turning them back, by shouting to them, not without many words lost and repeated again and again, that he was safe, that they must wait a while longer before coming to him, and that the most important thing was to set free the persons who were imprisoned in the factory. Everything was done as he desired, and when there was no longer any danger for any one, he climbed down from the tree, stepped in the water up to his middle, and walked to meet the raft, holding little Charasson under the arms and helping him to keep his footing. Three hours after the passage of thedribe, Emile and his guide were in front of a good fire, Madame Cardonnet was covering her child with kisses and tears; and the page of Châteaubrun, no less petted than he, was describing eloquently the perils they had overcome.
Emile adored his mother. His love for her was still the most fervent passion of his life. He had not seen her since the vacation, which they had passed together in Paris, free from the constant and frequent reproofs of their common master, Monsieur Cardonnet. They both suffered from the yoke they were compelled to wear, and they understood each other on that point, although they had never mentioned it. Madame Cardonnet, a gentle, affectionate, weak creature, felt that her son had a good share of her husband's mental energy and firmness, combined with a generous and sensitive heart which would expose him to great sorrow when those two masterful characters should come in collision on those points as to which their ideas differed. So she had swallowed all the disappointments of her life, taking care not to reveal them to her son, who was her only joy and her most dearly cherished consolation. Although she was not fully convinced of her husband's right to wound her and oppress her without remission, she had always seemed to accept her position as if in obedience to a law of nature and a religious precept. Passive obedience, thus taught by example, had become an instinctive habit in young Emile; but had it been otherwise, sound reasoning would long since have led him to adopt a different course. But when he saw that everybody bowed at the slightest indication of the paternal will, his mother first of all, it had not occurred to him that things might and should be different. Meanwhile the weight of the despotic atmosphere in which he lived had induced in him, from childhood, a sort of melancholy, of nameless unhappiness, of which he rarely sought the cause. It is a law of nature that children shall reverse the lessons that they do not like; and so Emile, early in life, had received from external facts an impulsion directly contrary to that which his father would fain have given him.
The consequences of this natural and inevitable antagonism will be sufficiently developed by the progress of this narrative, so that it is unnecessary to describe them here.
After giving his mother time to recover in some measure from the emotion she had experienced, Emile followed his father, who called him to come and investigate the effects of the disaster. Monsieur Cardonnet displayed a tranquillity superior to all reverses of fortune, and whatever annoyance he may have felt he showed nothing of it. He walked silently through a double line of peasants who had flocked together to gratify their curiosity and to witness the spectacle of his misfortune, some with indifference, a few with sincere interest, the majority with that unavowed but irresistible satisfaction which the poor man prudently keeps out of sight but which he infallibly feels when he sees the wrath of the elements visited on the rich man and himself alike. All these villagers had lost something by the inundation, one a small crop of hay, another a bit of kitchen garden, a third a lamb, a hen or two, or a pile of fire-wood; very trivial losses in reality, but comparatively as severe as the wealthy manufacturer's. But when they saw the wreck of that fine property, but yesterday so prosperous, they could not forbear a thrill of consternation, as if wealth had something worthy of respect in itself, despite the jealousy it arouses.
Monsieur Cardonnet did not wait until the water had entirely receded before resuming work. He sent men to scour the surrounding fields for the materials carried away by the current. He armed the others with spades and pickaxes to clear away the mud and débris which obstructed the approaches to the factory, and when it was possible to enter, he entered first of all, in order to avoid any waste of emotion because of the exaggerations that the first feeling of amazement might extort from others.
"Take a pencil, Emile," said the manufacturer to his son, who followed him, fearing that he might meet with some accident; "make no mistake in the figures I am going to call off to you.—One, two, three wheels broken here.—The staircase carried away.—The large engine damaged—three thousand, five, seven or eight—Let us take the highest figure; that's the safest way in business.—Put down eight thousand francs.—What! the dam broken? that's strange! Put down fifteen thousand. We must rebuild it all in Roman cement. There's a corner that has given way.—Write, Emile.—Emile, have you written that?"
For an hour Monsieur Cardonnet continued thus to estimate his losses and the necessary outlay; and when he called upon his son to foot up the figures, he shrugged his shoulders impatiently because the young man, whether from distraction or because he was out of practice, did not perform that task as rapidly as he wished.
"Have you done it?" he asked, after two or three moments of restrained impatience.
"Yes, father; it amounts to about eighty thousand francs."
"About?" repeated Monsieur Cardonnet with a frown. "What sort of a word is that? Well, well," he added, glancing at him with a penetrating, mocking expression, "I see that you are a little confused from being perched up in a tree. I have made the calculation in my head, and I regret that I am obliged to tell you that it was done before you had sharpened your pencil. There'll be eighty-one thousand five hundred francs to be laid out all over again."
"That's a good deal," said Emile, striving to conceal his impatience beneath a serious air.
"I wouldn't have believed that this little water-course could have so much force," observed Monsieur Cardonnet, as calmly as if he were making an expert estimate of a loss in which he was not interested; "but it won't take long to repair. Holà! you fellows.—There's a beam caught between two of the large wheels, and there's just enough water left to keep it banging. Take it out of there at once or my wheels will be broken."
They made haste to obey, but the task was more difficult than it seemed. All the weight of the machinery seemed to rest on that obstacle, which bade fair not to be the first to give way. Several men rubbed the skin off their hands to no purpose.
"Look out and not hurt yourselves!" cried Emile instinctively, taking a hand himself to lessen their difficulty.
But Monsieur Cardonnet shouted in his turn:
"Pull there! push!—Bah! your arms are made of flax!"
The perspiration was rolling down their faces, but they made no headway.
"Get away from there, all of you," suddenly exclaimed a voice that Emile instantly recognized, "and let me try it—I prefer to do it alone."
And Jean, armed with a crow-bar, quickly pried out a large stone which no one had noticed. Then, with wonderful dexterity, he gave the beam a powerful push.
"Gently, deuce take it!" cried Monsieur Cardonnet, "you'll smash everything."
"If I smash anything, I'll pay for it," retorted the peasant, with playful bluntness. "Now, two of you boys come here. All together now! Courage, little Pierre, that's good!—Another bit, my old Guillaume!—Oh! the clever fellows!—Softly! softly! let me take my foot away, or you'll crush it for me, son of the devil!—Now she goes!—push—don't be afraid—I have it!"
And in less than two minutes Jean, whose presence and voice seemed to electrify the other workmen, relieved the machinery of the extraneous object which endangered it.
"Come with me, Jean," said Monsieur Cardonnet, thereupon.
"What for?" rejoined the peasant. "I have done enough of that sort of work for to-day, monsieur."
"That is why I want you to come and drink a glass of my best wine. Come, I say, I have something to say to you. My son, go and tell your mother to put some Malaga on my table."
"Your son?" said Jean, looking at Emile with some signs of emotion. "If he is your son, I will go with you, for he seems to me like a good fellow."
"Yes, my son is a good fellow, Jean," said Monsieur Cardonnet to the peasant, when the latter accepted a full glass from Emile's hand. "And you are a good fellow, too, and it's high time that you should show it a little better than you have been doing for two months past."
"I beg your pardon, monsieur," replied Jean, looking about him with a suspicious air, "but I am too old to go to school, and I didn't come here all in a sweat to listen to moral preaching as cold as hoar-frost. Here's your health, Monsieur Cardonnet; and I thank you, young man, whose feelings I must have hurt last night. You bear me no grudge, do you?"
"Wait a moment," said Monsieur Cardonnet; "before you go back to your fox's hole, take thispour-boire."
And he handed him a piece of gold.
"Keep it, keep it," said Jean testily, pushing away the proffered gratuity with a movement of his elbow. "I am not self-seeking, as you must know, and it wasn't to please you that I helped your carpenters. It was simply to keep them from breaking their backs for nothing. And then when a man knows his trade it irritates him to see people go about it wrong end to. My blood's a little quick, and in spite of myself I meddled in something that didn't concern me."
"Just as you happened to be where you had no business to be," rejoined Monsieur Cardonnet sternly, and with an evident purpose to awe the audacious peasant. "Jean, this is the last opportunity for us to come to an understanding and make each other's acquaintance; make the most of it or you'll be sorry. When I came here last year, I observed your activity, your intelligence, and the affection with which all the workmen and all the people of this village regarded you. I received most satisfactory accounts of your probity, and I resolved to put you in charge of my carpentering work; I offered to pay you double wages, by the day or by the job as you chose. You made me nonsensical answers as if you did not consider me a serious-minded man."
"That was not the trouble, monsieur, begging your pardon. I told you that I didn't need your work because I had more work in the village than I could do."
"A mere pretext and a lie! Your affairs were in bad shape then and now they're in worse shape than ever! Being prosecuted for debt, you have been obliged to leave your house, to abandon your workshop, and to hide in the mountains, like game pursued by hunters."
"When you undertake to argue," rejoined Jean, haughtily, "you should tell the truth. I am not prosecuted for debt, as you say, monsieur. I have always been an honest, well-behaved man, and if I owe a sou in the village or the neighborhood, let some one come forward and say so and raise his hand against me. Search and you will find no one!"
"None the less, there are three warrants out against you, and the gendarmes have been chasing you for two months and can't succeed in apprehending you."
"And so it will be as long as I choose! The great difficulty is that the worthy gendarmes ride their horses along one bank of the Creuse, while I ply my legs along the other! They are very sick, poor fellows! being paid to take the air and make reports as to what they don't do. Don't pity them so deeply, Monsieur Cardonnet, the government pays them, and the government is rich enough for me to dodge the payment of a thousand francs—for it's the truth that I am sentenced to pay a thousand francs or go to prison! It surprises you, doesn't it, young man, that a poor devil who has always obliged his neighbor instead of injuring him should be hunted like an escaped convict? You haven't a bad heart yet, although you are rich, because you are young. Let me tell you what my crime was. For sending three bottles of wine from my vineyard to a friend who was sick, I was arrested by the excisemen for selling wine without paying the taxes on it; and as I could not lie and humiliate myself for the sake of compromising, as I told the truth, which is that I did not sell a drop of wine, and consequently could not be punished, I was sentenced to pay what they call the minimum fine, five hundred francs. The minimum, if you please! five hundred francs, my year's wages, for a gift of three bottles of wine! To say nothing of the fact that my poor comrade was sentenced too, and that was what made me angriest. And as I could not pay such an amount, they seized everything, ransacked everything, sold everything I had, even my carpentering tools. After that, where was the use of paying for a license to carry on a trade that wouldn't support me? I stopped doing it; and one day, when I was working as a journeyman away from home, there was another prosecution and a quarrel with the deputy, when I almost forgot myself and struck him. What was to become of me? There was no bread in my chest, so I took my gun and went out into the furze and killed a hare. Formerly, in this country, poaching had become a custom and a privilege. The nobles in the old days didn't keep such close watch, just after the Revolution; they even poached with us when they had a fancy to do so."