"And it was the noblest and most honorable thing my father ever did in his life," interposed Gilberte, with much warmth.
"My children," said Monsieur Antoine, "you mustn't say that I lost the case; I didn't allow it to come to trial."
"To be sure, to be sure," said Janille; "for if you had, you would have won it. There was only one opinion on that point."
"But my father, recognizing that possession in fact is not possession of right," said Gilberte, addressing Emile with animation, "refused to take advantage of his position. You must know this story, Monsieur Cardonnet, for my father would never dream of telling it to you, and you have so recently arrived in the province that you cannot have heard it yet. My grandfather had contracted debts of honor during my father's minority. He died before circumstances enabled him or made it an urgent duty to pay them. The claims of the creditors were of no value in law; but my father, when he investigated his affairs, found a minute of one of these claims among my grandfather's papers. He might have destroyed it and no one would have known of its existence. On the contrary, he produced it and sold all of the family property to pay a sacred debt. My father has brought me up upon principles which do not permit me to think that he did any more than his duty; but many wealthy people thought differently. Some called him a fool and madman. I am very glad that, when you hear certain upstarts say that Monsieur Antoine de Châteaubrun was ruined by his own folly, which in their eyes is the greatest possible dishonor, you will know what to think about my father's dissipation and wrong-headedness."
"Ah! mademoiselle," cried Emile, overpowered by his emotion, "how fortunate you are to be his daughter, and how I envy you this noble poverty!"
"Don't make me out a hero, my dear child," said Monsieur Antoine, pressing Emile's hand. "There is always some truth at the bottom of the judgments pronounced by men, even when they are harsh and unjust for the most part. It is very certain that I was always a little extravagant, that I understood nothing about domestic economy, or business, and that I deserve less credit than another for sacrificing my fortune, because I regretted it less."
This modest apology inspired in Emile such a warm regard for Monsieur Antoine, that he stooped over the hand which held his and put his lips to it with a feeling of veneration with which Gilberte was not wholly unconnected. Gilberte was more moved than she was prepared to be by this sudden impulse on their young guest's part. She felt a tear trembling on her eyelid, and lowered her eyes to hide it; she tried to assume a serious bearing, and, suddenly carried away by an irresistible impulse of the heart, she almost held out her own hand to the young man; but she did not yield to this outburst of feeling and artlessly turned it aside by rising to take Emile's plate and give him another, with the grace and simplicity of a patriarch's daughter holding the pitcher to the wayfarer's lips.
Emile was surprised at first by this act of humble sympathy, so out of harmony with the conventionalities of the society in which he had lived. Then he understood it, and his breast was so agitated that he could find no words to thank the fair hostess of Châteaubrun, his charming servant.
"After all this," continued Monsieur Antoine, who saw nothing but the simplest courtesy in his daughter's action, "Janille must surely agree that there has been a little misfortune in my life; for that lawsuit had been going on for some time when I discovered the acknowledgment of his debt that my father had left behind him, in the drawer of an old abandoned desk. Until then I had not believed in the good faith of his creditors. It seemed improbable that they could have been unfortunate enough to lose their proofs, so I slept on both ears. My Gilberte was born and I had no suspicion that she was doomed to share with me a hand-to-mouth existence. The dear child's birth made the blow a little more severe than it would otherwise have been to my natural improvidence. Seeing that I was absolutely without resource, I resolved to work for my living, and I had some hard moments at first."
"Yes, monsieur, that is true," said Janille, "but you succeeded in buckling down to work, and you soon recovered your good humor and your open-hearted gayety, didn't you?"
"Thanks to you, good Janille, for you did not desert me. We went to Gargilesse to live with Jean Jappeloup, and the honest fellow found me something to do."
"What!" said Emile, "you have been a mechanic, monsieur le comte?"
"To be sure, my young friend. I was carpenter's apprentice, journeyman carpenter, and in a few years carpenter's assistant, and not more than two years ago you could have seen me with a blouse on my back and a hatchet over my shoulder, going out for my day's work with Jappeloup."
"That is the reason, then," said Emile, sorely embarrassed, "that——" He paused, not daring to finish.
"That is the reason, yes, I understand," rejoined Monsieur Antoine; "that is the reason that you have heard some one say: 'Old Antoine degenerated terribly during his poverty; he lived with workingmen; he was seen laughing and drinking with them in wineshops.' Well, that requires a little explanation, and I will not make myself out any stronger or purer than I am. According to the ideas of the nobles and the rich bourgeois of the province, I should have done better doubtless to remain melancholy and solemn, proudly crushed by my disgrace, working in silence, sighing in secret, blushing to receive wages,—I who had had wage-earners under my orders—and taking no part on Sundays in the merrymaking of the mechanics who permitted me to work beside them during the week. Well, I do not know if it would have been better so, but, I confess, that it would have been entirely foreign to my character. I am so constituted that it is impossible for me to be affected and horrified for long by anything under heaven. I had been brought up with Jappeloup and other peasant children of my own age. I had treated them as my equals in our childish games. Since then I had never played the master or the nobleman with them. They received me with open arms in my distress, and offered me their houses, their bread, their advice, their tools and their custom. How could I have helped being fond of them? How could their society seem to me to be unworthy of me? How could I help sharing my week's wages with them on Sunday? Bah! on the contrary, I suddenly found joy and pleasure in doing it, as a compensation for my hard work. Their songs, their meetings, under the trellised arbor where the holly-branch of the wineshop waved in the wind, their frank familiarity with me, and my indissoluble friendship with dear Jean, my foster-brother, my master in carpentry, my comforter, made a new life for me, which I could not but find very pleasant, especially when I had succeeded in acquiring enough skill at my trade not to be a burden to them."
"It is true enough that you worked hard," said Janille, "and that you were soon a very great help to poor Jean. Ah! I remember his fits of anger with you at the beginning, for he was never patient, the dear man, and you were so awkward! Really, Monsieur Emile, you'd have laughed to hear Jean swear after Monsieur le Comte, as he would after any little apprentice. And then, after it was over, they would make it up and shake hands, so that I used to feel like crying. But as we have actually set about telling you our whole history, instead of just quarrelling among ourselves, as I intended to do at first, I propose to tell you the rest of it; for if we let Monsieur Antoine do it, he'll never let me put in a word."
"Go on, Janille, go on!" cried Monsieur Antoine; "I ask your pardon for having kept you from talking so long!"
"According to Monsieur Antoine," said Janille, "we were entirely without means; but if that was the case, it didn't last long. After a few years, when the Châteaubrun estate had been sold in small lots, the debts paid, and all that rubbish cleared away, we found that monsieur still had a little capital left, which, if well invested, would bring him in about twelve hundred francs a year. Oh! that wasn't to be despised. But, with monsieur's kindness of heart and generosity, it would probably have disappeared a little fast. Then it was that my dear Janille, who is talking to you now, saw that she must take the reins into her hands. It was she who looked after the investment of the funds, and she didn't manage so very badly. Then what did she say to monsieur? Do you remember, monsieur, what I said to you at that time?"
"I remember very well, Janille, for you talked very wisely. Repeat it yourself."
"I said to you: 'Well, Monsieur Antoine, there's enough for you to live on with your arms folded. But that would be a burden to you, you've taken a liking to work. You are still young and well, so you can work for some years to come. You have a daughter, a real treasure, who bids fair to be as bright as she is pretty; you must think about giving her an education. We will take her to Paris, put her at boarding-school, and you will be a carpenter a few years longer.' Monsieur Antoine asked nothing better. Oh! I must do him the justice to say that he didn't complain of his work; but, by associating with these peasants, his ideas had become a little too countrified to suit me. He said that as he was destined to become a workingman in the country, it would be wiser to bring up his daughter in accordance with his position in life, to make an honest village lass of her, to teach her to read, sew, spin and keep house; but deuce take me if I looked at it in that light! Could I allow Mademoiselle de Châteaubrun to fall below her rank and not be brought up like the nobly-born maid she is? Monsieur yielded, and our Gilberte was educated at Paris, and nothing was spared to give her wit and talents. She made the most of it like a little angel, and when she was about seventeen years old I says one day to monsieur: 'I say, Monsieur Antoine, don't you want to come and take a little walk with me over Châteaubrun way?' Monsieur, let me bring him here, but, when we were in the middle of the ruins, he got very depressed.
"'Why did you bring me here, Janille?' he says with a deep sigh. 'I knew they had destroyed my poor family nest; I had seen that from a distance, but I have never had the heart to come in and see all this ruin close. I hadn't any feeling of pride about the château, but I was fond of it because I passed my youthful years here; because I was happy here and my parents died here. If anyone had bought it to live in, if I could see it in good repair and well kept, I should be half-consoled, for we love things as we ought to love persons—a little more on their account than our own. But what pleasure can it give you to show me what speculators have done to the house of my ancestors?'
"'Monsieur,' I answered, 'it was necessary for us to come and see what the damage is, so that we can tell how much we have to spend, and how we must go to work to repair it. Just imagine that your estate was ruined by a hurricane in one night; with such a character as I know yours to be, instead of crying over it, you would go right to work to rebuild it.'
"'But there's no rhyme nor reason in your comparison,' says Monsieur Antoine. 'I haven't the means to repair the château, and even if I had I should be no better off, for even this carcass no longer belongs to me.'
"'Wait a bit,' says I. 'How much did they ask you when you offered to buy back just the house and the little piece of land next to it, the orchard, the garden, the hill, and the little meadow on the bank of the river?'
"'I didn't ask it seriously, Janille, but simply to see how low the value of a fine estate had fallen. They told me ten thousand francs for what was left, and I retired, knowing well enough that ten thousand francs and I would never pass through the same door.'
"'Well, monsieur,' says I, 'it's no longer a matter of ten thousand francs, but only four thousand at this moment. They thought that you couldn't resist the temptation, and that you would spend what capital you had left in re-establishing yourself in the ruins of your domain. That's why they fixed the price at ten thousand francs on a place that isn't worth the half of it, and that no one but you would ever want; but since you gave up buying it back they have grown more modest. I have been bargaining secretly, without your knowledge and under an assumed name. Say the word, and to-morrow you shall be lord of Châteaubrun.'
"'But what good would it do me, my dear Janille? What could I do with this pile of stone and these three or four fragments of wall with no doors or windows?'"
"With that I pointed out to monsieur that the square pavilion was still in very good condition, that the arches were well preserved, the rooms perfectly dry inside, and that we should only have to cover it with tiles, repair the woodwork and furnish it simply—a matter of five hundred francs at most. At that monsieur cried out: 'Don't put such ideas into my head, Janille; I should think you were trying to disgust me with my present condition and feed me on illusions. I haven't ten, or five, or four thousand francs, and it would require ten more years of privation to save them. We had much better remain as we are.'"
"'And how do you know, monsieur,' says I, 'that you haven't six thousand francs, yes, sixty-five hundred? Do you know how much you have? I'll wager that you know nothing about it.'"
At this point Monsieur Antoine interrupted Janille. "It is true," he said, "that I knew nothing about it; that I know nothing about it yet; and that I never shall know how, with an income of twelve hundred francs, after paying for my daughter's schooling at Paris for six years, and living at Gargilesse, as a workingman to be sure, but very comfortably none the less, in a little house which Janille managed herself—and, I may add that, although she held the purse-strings, she allowed me to spend two or three francs on Sundays with my friends. No, I shall never understand how I could have saved six thousand francs! As it is altogether impossible, I am forced to explain this miracle to Monsieur Emile Cardonnet, unless he has already guessed its solution."
"Yes, monsieur le comte, I have guessed it," said Emile; "Mademoiselle Janille had saved money in your service when you were rich, or else she had some money of her own, and it was she who——"
"No, monsieur," interposed Janille hastily, "nothing of the sort; you forget that monsieur earned his living at his carpentering, and you can well believe that mademoiselle's boarding-school wasn't one of the dearest in Paris, although it was a good school, I flatter myself."
"Nonsense," said Gilberte, kissing her; "you lie very coolly, Mère Janille; but you will never make my father and me believe that Châteaubrun was not bought with your money, that it does not really belong to you, and that we are not living in your house, although you bought it in our name."
"Not at all, not at all, mademoiselle," replied the noble-hearted Janille, that strange little woman who liked to boast on every occasion and to make herself heard on every subject, but who, to maintain the dignity of her masters' rank, of which she was more careful than they were themselves, energetically denied the noblest action of her whole life;—"not at all, I tell you, I had nothing to do with it. Is it my fault if your papa doesn't know how to count five and if you are as careless as he? Bah! A lot you know about your receipts and your expenses, both of you! Leave you to yourselves, and we'll see what will become of you! I tell you that you are in your own house, and that if there is anything for me to boast of, it is that I managed your affairs with so much good sense and economy that monsieur found himself one fine morning richer than he thought.
"Now," continued Janille, "I will go on and finish our story for Monsieur Emile. We bought back the château. Jean Jappeloup and Monsieur Antoine themselves did all the carpentering and cabinet making in this pavilion, and while they were finishing the work, which lasted hardly six months, I went to Paris to fetch our child, and happy and proud I was to bring her back to the château of her ancestors, which she hardly remembered that she had lived in when she was a baby, poor child! Since then we have been very happy here, and when I hear Monsieur Antoine complain of anything, I can't help blaming him; for what man was ever more blessed than he after all?"
"But I don't complain of anything," rejoined Monsieur Antoine, "and your reproach is unjust."
"Oh! you sometimes look as if you'd like to say that you don't cut as good a figure here as you used to do, and in that you are wrong. Come, were you really any richer when you had thirty thousand francs a year? People robbed you and cheated you and you knew nothing about it. To-day you have the necessaries of life, and you need have no fear of thieves; everybody knows that you have no rolls of gold pieces hidden in your straw bed. You had ten servants, each a greater glutton and sot and sluggard than the rest; Parisian servants, that tells the whole story. To-day you have Monsieur Sylvain Charasson, also a glutton and a sluggard, I agree." As she said this, Janille raised her voice, so that Sylvain could hear in the kitchen; then added in a lower tone: "But his stupidity makes you laugh, and when he breaks something, you are not sorry to find that you're not the most awkward member of the household. You had ten horses, always badly kept, and unfit to be used because they weren't properly taken care of; to-day you have your oldLanterne, the best animal in the world, always well-groomed, full of courage and sober—you should see her eat dry leaves and rushes, just like a goat! And speaking of goats, where will you find finer ones? Just like two deer, excellent milkers, and always amusing you with their pretty antics, climbing over the ruins for your evening entertainment! And what about your cellar? You had one that was well supplied, but your rascally flunkeys baptized themselves with wine as they pleased, and you drank only what was left. Now you drink your light native wine, which you have always liked, and which is healthy and refreshing. When I take a hand in making it, it's as clear as water from the rock and doesn't heat your stomach. And aren't you satisfied with your clothes? You used to have a wardrobe that was eaten up by the moths, and your waistcoats went out of fashion before you had worn them; for you never cared for dress. To-day you have just what you need to keep cool in summer and warm in winter; the village tailor fits you beautifully and doesn't make your clothes too tight at the joints. Come, monsieur, confess that everything is for the best, that you never had less care, and that you are the luckiest of men; for I have said nothing yet of the privilege of having a lovely daughter who is happy with you——-"
"And an incomparable Janille who is intent wholly upon other people's happiness!" cried Monsieur Antoine with deep emotion mingled with gayety. "Well! you are right, Janille, and I was persuaded of it beforehand.Vive Dieu! you insult me by doubting it, for I feel that I am in very truth the spoiled child of Providence, and except for a secret trouble, of which you are well aware and which you did well not to mention, there is absolutely nothing which I would change. I drink to your health, Janille! you have talked like a book! Your health too, Monsieur Emile! You are young and rich, you are well educated and a thinking man; therefore you have no reason to envy other people; but I wish you as pleasant an old age as mine and as tender affections in your heart. But we have talked enough of ourselves," he added, putting his glass on the table, "and we mustn't forget our other friends. Let us talk about the best of them all, after Janille; let us talk about old Jean Jappeloup and his affairs."
"Yes, let us talk about him!" cried a loud voice which made everybody start; and Monsieur Antoine, turning his head, saw Jean Jappeloup in the doorway.
"What! Jean in broad daylight!" he cried, in utter amazement.
"Yes, I have come in broad daylight and through the main gateway too," replied the carpenter wiping his forehead. "Oh! but I have run! Give me a glass of wine, Mère Janille, for I am choked with the heat."
"Poor Jean!" cried Gilberte, running to the door to close it; "were you pursued? We'll see about hiding you. Perhaps they will come and look for you here."
"No, no," said Jean, "no, my good girl, leave the doors open, nobody is following me. I bring you good news and that is why I hurried so. I am free, I am happy, I am saved!"
"Mon Dieu!" cried Gilberte, taking the old peasant's dusty head in her lovely hands, "so my prayer has been granted! I prayed so earnestly for you last night!"
"Dear soul from heaven, you brought me good luck," replied Jean, who was quite unable to return the caresses and answer the questions of Antoine and Janille.
"But tell us who has given you back your liberty and peace of mind?" continued Gilberte, when the carpenter had swallowed a large glassful of wine.
"Oh! some one whom you would never guess, who became my surety at once, and will pay my fines. Come, I give you a hundred guesses."
"Perhaps it's the curé of Cuzion?" said Janille. "He's such a good man, although his sermons are a little confused! but he isn't rich enough."
"Who do you think it is, Gilberte?" said Jean.
"I would guess the good curé's sister, Madame Rose, who has such a big heart—except that she is no richer than her brother."
"No, no! that wouldn't be possible! Your turn, Monsieur Antoine."
"I can't imagine," replied the châtelain. "Tell us quickly; you're torturing us."
"But I will wager that I have guessed," said Emile; "I guess my father! for I have talked with him, and I know that he intended——"
"Excuse me, young man," said the carpenter, interrupting him; "I don't know what your father intended, but I know well enough what I never intend, and that is to owe him anything, to accept any favor from the man who began by having me put in prison to force me to accept his pretended benefactions and his hard terms. Thanks! I esteem you, but as to your father, let's say no more about him; let's never talk about him again. Come, come, haven't any of you guessed? Well, what would you say if I should tell you it was Monsieur de Boisguilbault?"
That name, which Emile had heard before, for somebody had mentioned it in his presence at Gargilesse as that of one of the richest landed proprietors in the neighborhood, produced the effect of an electric shock on the inhabitants of Châteaubrun: Gilberte jumped; Antoine and Janille stared at each other, unable to utter a word.
"That surprises you a little, does it?" continued the carpenter.
"It seems impossible," replied Janille. "Are you joking? Monsieur de Boisguilbault, the enemy of all of us?"
"Why say so?" said Monsieur Antoine. "That man is nobody's enemy intentionally; he has always done good, never harm."
"For my part," said Gilberte, "I was sure that he was capable of a good action. What did I tell you, dear little mother? he's an unhappy man, anybody can see that on his face; but——"
"But you don't know him," rejoined Janille, "and you can't say anything about him. Come, Jean, tell us by what miracle you succeeded in approaching that cold, stern, haughty man."
"Chance, or rather the good Lord did it all," replied the carpenter. "I was going through the little wood that skirts his park, and is separated from it at that point only by a hedge and a narrow ditch. I glanced over the hedge to see how beautiful and neat and well-kept everything was. I was thinking, a little sadly, that I had once been perfectly at home in that park and that château; that I had worked there for twenty years, and that I had been fond of monsieur le marquis, although he was never very amiable. Still he had his kind days in those times; and yet, for another twenty years I hadn't put my foot on his land, and I shouldn't dare to ask him for shelter after what had taken place between him and me.
"As I was thinking of all this, I heard two horses trotting, and the next moment I saw two gendarmes riding straight toward me. They hadn't seen me then; but if I crossed their road they couldn't fail to see me, and they knew my face so well! I had no time for reflection. I plunged into the hedge, ran through it like a fox, and found myself in Boisguilbault park, where I quietly lay down against the fence, while my friends the gendarmes rode by without so much as turning their heads in my direction. When they had gone some little distance, I stood up and was preparing to go out as I had come, when suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned, to find myself face to face with Monsieur de Boisguilbault, who said to me with his sad face and his sepulchral voice: 'What are you doing here?'
"'Faith, as you see, monsieur le marquis, I am hiding.'
"'Why are you hiding?'
"'Because there are gendarmes within two yards.'
"'Have you committed a crime, then?'
"'Yes, I snared two rabbits and killed a hare.'
"Thereupon, as I saw that he would not ask me many more questions, I hastily told him my misfortunes in as few words as possible, for you know that he's a man who always has something in his mind different from what you're talking about. You never know whether he hears you; he always looks as if he wasn't bothering himself to listen to you. It's many a year since I saw him close, for he lives shut up in his park like a mole in its hole, and I no longer have access to his house. He seemed to me to have grown very old and very feeble, although he is still as straight as a poplar; but he is so thin you can see through him, and his beard is as white as an old goat's. It made me feel badly, and yet, I was even more vexed than sorry when I saw him all the time I was talking to him walk along digging up all the weeds in the path with the little hoe he always has in his hand. I followed him step by step, talking all the time, telling him about my troubles, not to beg for his help—I never thought of such a thing—but to see if he still had a little friendship for me.
"At last he turned toward me and said, without looking at me: 'Why didn't you ask some rich man at your village to be your surety?'
"'The devil!' said I; 'there aren't many rich men in Gargilesse.'
"'Isn't there a Monsieur Cardonnet who has come there recently?'
"'Yes, but he's mayor, and it was he who tried to have me arrested.'
"He didn't say anything more for two or three minutes. I thought he had forgotten that I was there, and I was just going away, when he said: 'Why didn't you come to me?'
"'Why!' said I, 'you know very well why I didn't.'
"'No!'
"'What, no? Why, don't you remember that, after employing me a long while and never once finding fault with me—I don't think I deserved to be found fault with, by the way,—you called me into your study one fine morning and said: "Here's your pay for these last days; off with you!" And when I asked you when I should come again, your answer wasnever! And when I was dissatisfied with that kind of treatment, and asked you wherein I had failed to do my duty to you, you pointed to the door, without condescending to open your lips? That was twenty years ago, and it may be that you have forgotten it. But it has always remained on my heart, and I consider that you were very hard and unjust to a poor mechanic who worked as he could and was no more awkward than the average. I thought at first that you had a mad fit and would get over it; but I waited in vain, you have never sent for me since. I was too proud to come and ask you for work; besides I had no lack of it, I have always had all that I wanted; and at this moment, if I wasn't driven to hide in the woods, I should have plenty of customers; but what hurt me, you see, was being turned out like a dog—worse than that, like an idler or a thief, and your not even giving me a chance to justify myself. I thought that I must have some enemy in your house and that they had told you lies about me. But I could never guess who it could be, for I have never known any other enemies than constables and excisemen. I held my tongue; I never complained of you, but I pitied you for being quick to believe evil, and as I was somewhat attached to you, I was sorry to find that you had faults.'"
"Monsieur de Boisguilbault seemed all the time not to be listening to me, but when I had finished, he asked me in an indifferent tone:
"'How much is your fine?'
"'The whole business amounts to a thousand francs, besides the costs.'
"'Very well; go and tell the mayor of your village—Monsieur Cardonnet, isn't it?—to send some trustworthy person to me with whom I can settle your affairs. Tell him that my health is bad and I don't go out, and that I request him to do me this favor.'
"'Do you offer to be my surety?'
"'No, I will pay your fine. You can go.'
"'And when shall I come and work for you to pay off my debt?'
"'I have no work; don't come at all.'
"'Do you propose to give me alms?'
"'No, but to do you a very small favor, which costs me little. That's enough, leave me.'
"'And suppose I don't choose to accept it?'
"'You will make a mistake.'
"'And you don't want me to thank you?'
"'It's useless.'
"Thereupon he fairly turned his back on me and went away for good and all; but I followed him, and, knowing that long-winded compliments were not to his taste, I said like this: 'Monsieur de Boisguilbault, shake hands, if you please!'"
"What! you dared to say that to him?" cried Janille.
"Well, why shouldn't I dare? what more straightforward thing can you say to a man?"
"And what answer did he make? what did he do?" queried Gilberte.
"He took my hand abruptly, without hesitation; and he pressed it quite hard, although his hand was as cold and stiff as a piece of ice."
"And what did he say?" inquired Monsieur Antoine, who had listened to this tale with repressed excitement.
"He said 'be off,'" replied the carpenter; "apparently that phrase denotes friendship with him, and he almost ran away to avoid me, as far as his poor thin long legs would enable him to run. And I, for my part, ran here to tell you all this."
"And I," said Emile, "will run to my father to tell him of Monsieur de Boisguilbault's intentions, so that he may send some one to him at once, as he requests."
"That hardly sets my mind at rest," replied the carpenter. "Your father has a grudge against me; he cannot help recognizing the fact that I am clear of my fine; but he won't want to let me off without the imprisonment; for he can punish me for being a vagabond and shut me up, if it's only for a few days—and that would be too much for me."
"Oh!" cried Gilberte, "I know that Jean could never submit to being taken to prison by the gendarmes: he would do some other mad thing. Don't let him be exposed to it, Monsieur Emile; speak to monsieur your father, entreat him, tell him that——"
"Oh! mademoiselle," replied Emile warmly, "do not share Jean's bad opinion of my father: it is unjust. I am sure that my father would have done for him to-night or to-morrow what Monsieur de Boisguilbault has done. And as for prosecuting him as a vagabond, I will answer for it with my head that——"
"If you will answer for it with your head," interposed Jean, "why not go at once to Monsieur de Boisguilbault? his house is close at hand. When you have arranged matters with him, I shall feel more at ease, for I have confidence in you, and I confess that a single night in prison would drive me mad. The good Lord's child told you so," he said, looking at Gilberte, "and she knows me!"
"I will go at once," rejoined Emile, rising, and bestowing upon Gilberte a glance alight with zeal and devotion. "Will you show me the way?"
"Come," said the carpenter.
"Yes, yes, go!" cried Gilberte, her father and Janille with one breath. Emile saw that Gilberte was pleased with him, and he ran to get his horse.
But as he was descending the path on foot with the carpenter, Monsieur Châteaubrun ran after him and said with some embarrassment:
"My dear boy, you have a generous heart and great delicacy of feeling, and I can safely confide in you; I must warn you of one thing—of small importance perhaps, but which it is essential for you to know. It is this, that for some reason or other—in short, that I am on bad terms with Monsieur de Boisguilbault, so that there is no use of your mentioning me to him. Avoid mentioning my name before him or telling him that you come from my house; if you do, it may irritate him and cool his kindly disposition toward our poor Jean."
Emile promised to say nothing and followed his guide in the direction of Boisguilbault, absorbed by his thoughts, and thinking more of the fair Gilberte than of his companion and his mission.
However, as they approached the manor of Boisguilbault, Emile began to wonder what sort of man, whether of superior parts or simply eccentric, he was to deal with, and he was compelled to attend to the information which the carpenter, with his rustic good sense, tried to give him concerning that enigmatical personage. From all that Emile could gather from this somewhat contradictory information, strewn as it was with conjectures, he concluded that the Marquis de Boisguilbault was immensely rich, not at all avaricious, although far from extravagant; generous so far as his shyness and indifference permitted him to practise benevolence, that is to say assisting all the poor people who applied to him, but never taking the trouble to investigate their sufferings or their needs, and giving every one such a cold and depressing welcome, that only the most imperative necessity could induce any one to go near him. And yet he was not a hard and unfeeling man; he never refused to listen to a complaint or questioned the propriety of alms-giving. But he was so absent-minded and seemed so indifferent to everything, that one's heart contracted and congealed in his presence. He rarely scolded and never punished. Jappeloup was almost the only man he had ever treated harshly, and the way in which he had now made it up to him led the carpenter to think that if he had been less proud himself and had shown himself to the marquis sooner, the latter would not have remembered the whim that had led him to banish him.
"However," continued Jean, "there's another person whom Monsieur de Boisguilbault dislikes even more than he does me, although he has never tried to injure him. But they will never be on good terms again; and as Monsieur Antoine mentioned the subject to you, I may venture to tell you, monsieur, that in that matter Monsieur de Boisguilbault made many people think that there was a screw loose in his brain. Just fancy that after he had been for twenty years the friend and adviser, almost a father to his neighbor Monsieur Antoine de Châteaubrun, he suddenly turned his back on him and shut his door in his face, without anybody, not even Monsieur Antoine himself, knowing what it was all about. At least the pretext was so absurd that you can't explain it except by thinking that he was cracked. It was for some offence that Monsieur Antoine committed while hunting over the marquis's land. And observe that, ever since he came into the world, Monsieur Antoine had always hunted over Monsieur de Boisguilbault's estates as if they were his own, as they were comrades and good friends; that Monsieur de Boisguilbault, had never in his life touched a gun or shot a piece of game, had never made any objection to his neighbors shooting his game; and lastly that he had never notified Monsieur Antoine that he didn't want him to hunt over his land. The result has been that since that time, that is to say, about twenty years, the two neighbors have never met, never exchanged a word, and Monsieur de Boisguilbault can't bear to hear the name of Châteaubrun. For his part Monsieur Antoine, although it touches him more than he is willing to admit, has persisted in making no advances, and seems to avoid Monsieur de Boisguilbault as carefully as he is avoided by him. As my dismissal from Boisguilbault took place about the same time, I believe that the marquis's anger overflowed on me, or else that, knowing that I was much attached to Monsieur Antoine, he was afraid that I would be bold enough to broach the subject to him and reprove him for his whim. In that respect he made no mistake, for my tongue isn't sluggish and it is certain that I should have made monsieur le marquis hear what I had to say. He preferred to take the initiative; I can't explain his harshness to me in any other way."
"Has this man a family?" Emile inquired.
"Not any, monsieur. He married a very pretty young lady, a poor relation, much too young for him. It resembled a love marriage on his part, but his conduct didn't show it; for he was neither more cheerful, nor more approachable, nor more amiable after it. He made no change in his way of living like a bear, saving the respect I owe him. Monsieur Antoine continued to be almost the only intimate friend of the house, and madame was so bored there that one day she went to Paris to live, and her husband never thought of joining her there or of bringing her back. She died when she was still very young, without bearing him any children, and since then, whether because a secret grief has turned his brain, or because the pleasure of being alone consoles him for everything, he has lived absolutely secluded in his château, with no companion, not even a poor dog. His family is almost extinct, he is not known to have any heirs or any friends; so no one can imagine who will be enriched by his death."
"Evidently, he's a monomaniac," said Emile.
"What's that?" queried the carpenter.
"I mean that his mind is absorbed by a fixed idea."
"Yes, I believe that you are right; but what is that idea? that is what no one can say. He is known to have only one attachment. That is for the park you see yonder, which he laid out and planted himself, and which he almost never leaves. Indeed I think he sleeps there, on his feet, walking about; for he has been seen walking in the paths like a ghost at two o'clock in the morning, and he frightened some people who had crept in there to purloin a little fruit or firewood."
As they had reached a point opposite the park, and from the high path they were following could look over into it and see a part of it, Emile was charmed by the beauty of that pleasure-ground, the magnificence of the trees, the happy arrangement of the shrubbery, the freshness of the turf and the graceful shape of the different levels, which descended gradually to the bank of a small stream, one of the bubbling affluents of the Gargilesse. He thought that no idiot could have created that species of earthly paradise and turned the charms of nature to account so successfully. It seemed to him, on the contrary, that a poetic mind must have guided that arrangement; but the aspect of the château soon gave the lie to these conjectures. One can imagine nothing uglier, colder, more unpleasant to the eye than the manor-house of Boisguilbault. Additions to the original structure had deprived it of something of its antique character, and the excellent state of repair in which it was kept made its surroundings all the more repellent.
Jean stopped at the end of the path where it entered the park, and his young friend, having given him some of his best cigars to encourage him to be patient, rode toward the house along a path of discouraging neatness. Not a blade of grass, not a twig of ivy covered the nakedness of those high walls, painted an iron-gray, and the only architectural bit that caught his eye was an escutcheon over the iron gate, bearing the arms of Boisguilbault, which had been scraped and retouched more recently than the rest, perhaps at the time of the return of the Bourbons; at all events there was a marked difference between this crest and its ponderous framework. Emile drew the inference that the marquis set much store by his titles and ancient privileges.
He rang a long while at an enormous gate before it opened; at last a spring was pressed somewhere in the distance that made it turn on its hinges, although nobody appeared; and, the young man having passed through after tying his horse, the gate closed behind him with little noise, as if an invisible hand had caught him in a trap. A feeling of depression, almost of terror, took possession of him when he found himself imprisoned as it were in a large, bare, gravelled courtyard, surrounded by buildings of uniform size, and as silent as the graveyard of a convent. A number of yews, trimmed to a point and planted in front of the main doorways, added to the resemblance. For the rest, not a flower, not a breath of fragrance from a plant, not a sprig of vine about the windows, not a spider's-web on the panes, not a broken pane, not a human sound, not even the crowing of a cock or the bark of a dog; not a pigeon, not a patch of moss on the roofs; I verily believe that not even an insect ventured to fly or buzz in the courtyard of Boisguilbault.
Emile was looking about for some one to speak to, seeing not even a footprint on the freshly raked gravel, when he heard a shrill, cracked voice call to him in a far from pleasing tone:
"What does monsieur want?"
After turning about several times to see where the voice came from, Emile finally discovered at an air-hole of a basement kitchen, an old, well-powdered white head, with light, expressionless eyes; and, drawing nearer, he tried to make himself heard. But the old butler's hearing was as weak as his sight, and he answered the visitor's questions at random.
"The park can't be seen except on Sunday," he said; "take the trouble to come again Sunday."
Emile handed him his card, and the old man, slowly taking his spectacles from his pocket, without leaving his subterranean air-hole, slowly examined it; after which he disappeared to reappear at a door just above his hole.
"Very good, monsieur," he said; "monsieur le marquis ordered me to admit the person who came from Monsieur Cardonnet; Monsieur Cardonnet of Gargilesse, isn't it?"
Emile bowed in assent.
"Very good, monsieur," continued the old servant, bowing courteously, evidently very glad of an opportunity to be polite and hospitable without violating his orders. "Monsieur le marquis did not think that you would come so soon; he did not expect you before to-morrow at the earliest. He is in his park,I will runand tell him. But first I shall have the honor to escort you to the salon."
When he talked of running, the old man uttered a strange boast; he had the gait and the agility of a centenarian. He led Emile to the low, narrow doorway of a stairway turret, and slowly selecting a key from his bunch preceded him upstairs to another door studded with great nails and locked like the first. Another key; and, after passing through a long corridor, a third key to open the apartments. Emile was taken through several rooms, where the contrast to the bright sunlight was so great that he seemed to be in utter darkness. At last he entered a vast salon and the valet waved him to a chair, saying:
"Does monsieur wish me to open the blinds?"
Emile made him understand by signs that it was useless, and the old man left him alone.
When his eyes became accustomed to the dim grayish light that crept into that room, he was struck by the sumptuous character of the furniture. Everything dated from the time of Louis XIII. and one would have said that a connoisseur had guided the selection of even the least important articles. Nothing was lacking; from the frames of the mirrors to the tiniest nail in the hangings, there was not the slightest departure from the prevailing style. And it was all authentic, partly worn, still in good condition, although somewhat tarnished, at once rich and simple. Emile admired Monsieur de Boisguilbault's good taste and knowledge. He learned later that the disinclination to move and the horror of change, which seemed hereditary in that family, were alone responsible for the marvellous preservation and transmission from father to son of these treasures, which it is the present fashion to collect at great expense inbric-à-bracshops, which are to-day the most sumptuous and interesting places imaginable.
But the pleasure which the young man experienced in examining these curiosities was succeeded by a feeling of extraordinary frigidity and depression. In addition to the icy atmosphere of a house closed at all seasons to the generous rays of the sun, in addition to the silence without, there was something funereal in the regularity of that interior arrangement, which no one ever disturbed, and in that artistic and noble luxury which no one was invited to enjoy. It was evident from those tight-locked doors of which the servant kept the keys, from the cleanliness unmarred by the slightest speck of dust, from the heavy closed curtains, that the master never entered the salon, and that the only constant visitors were a broom and a duster. Emile thought with horror of the life that the dead and gone Marquise de Boisguilbault, young and lovely as she was, must have led in that house, dumb and dead for centuries, and he forgave her with all his heart for having gone elsewhere for a breath of fresh air before she died. "Who knows," he thought, "that she did not contract in this tomb one of those slow, deep-seated maladies which cannot be cured when the remedy is sought too late?"
He was confirmed in that idea when the door slowly opened and the châtelain in person appeared before him. Save for the coat it was the statue of theCommandercome down from his pedestal; the same measured gait, the same pallor, the same absence of expression, the same solemn and petrified face.
Monsieur de Boisguilbault was barely seventy years of age, but his was one of those organizations which have not, which have never had any age. He had not originally a bad figure nor an ugly face. His features were quite regular; his figure was still erect and his step firm, so long as he did not hurry. But excessive thinness had done away with all pretence of shape, and his clothes seemed to be hung upon a man of wood. His face neither repelled by disdain, nor inspired aversion; but as it expressed absolutely nothing, as one would have sought in vain at the first glance to detect upon it any trace of a thought or emotion referable to any known type of humanity, it inspired fear; and Emile involuntarily thought of the German legend, in which a very well-dressed individual appears at the door of the château and apologizes for being unable to enter in the state in which he is, for fear of disturbing the company. "Why, you seem to me to be very decently dressed," says the hospitable châtelain. "Come in, I beg you." "No, no," the other replies, "it is impossible, and you would blame me if I did. Be good enough to listen to me in the doorway; I bring you news from the other world." "What do you mean by that? Come in; it rains, and the storm will soon burst." "Look at me carefully," says the mysterious visitor, "and you will see that I cannot sit at your table without violating all the laws of hospitality. Can it be that you don't see that I am dead?" The châtelain looks at him closely and sees that he is, in very truth, dead. He closes the door between him and the dead man and returns to the banquet hall, where he swoons.
Emile did not swoon when Monsieur de Boisguilbault greeted him; but if, instead of saying, "Excuse me for keeping you waiting, I was in my park," he had said, "I was just being buried," the young man would not have been greatly surprised.
The marquis's superannuated costume heightened the ghost-like aspect of his face. He had been fashionably dressed once in his life, on his wedding-day. Since then it had never occurred to him to make any change in his dress, and he had invariably given his tailor for a model the coat he had just worn out, on the pretext that he was accustomed to it and that he was afraid he should be uncomfortable in one of a different cut. He was dressed therefore in the costume of a dandy of the Empire, which formed a most extraordinary contrast to his withered, melancholy face. A very short green coat, nankeen breeches, a very stiff shirt-frill, heart-shaped boots, and, to remain true to his habits, a little flaxen wig of the color that his hair used to be, gathered up in a bunch over the middle of his forehead. A very high starched collar, which raised his long snow-white whiskers to the level of his eyes, gave to his long face the shape of a triangle. He was scrupulously clean, and yet a few bits of dry moss on his clothes showed that he had not made his toilet expressly to receive his guest, but that he was accustomed to walk alone in his park in that invariable dress.
He sat down without speaking, bowed without speaking, and looked at Emile without speaking. At first the young man was embarrassed by this silence, and wondered if he should not attribute it to disdain. But when he saw that the marquis was awkwardly twisting a twig of honeysuckle in his hands as if to keep himself in countenance, he realized that the old man was as timid as a child, whether by nature or because of his long-continued and persistent abandonment of all social relations.
He determined therefore to begin the conversation, and, wishing to make himself agreeable to his host, in order to encourage him in his kindly impulse toward the carpenter, he did not hesitate to be-marquis him at every word, indulging in secret, it may be, in a feeling of contempt for his pride of birth.
But this ironical deference seemed as indifferent to the marquis as the object of Emile's visit. He answered in monosyllables to thank him for his promptness and to reiterate his undertaking to pay the delinquent's fines.
"This is a noble and praiseworthy act of yours, monsieur le marquis," said Emile, "and your protégé, in whom I am very deeply interested, is as grateful as he is worthy. You probably do not know that at the time of the recent inundation he jumped into the river to save a child, and succeeded in doing it by incurring great risk."
"He saved a child—his own?" asked Monsieur de Boisguilbault, who had not seemed to hear Emile's words, his manner was so indifferent and preoccupied.
"No, somebody's else; he didn't know whose. I asked the same question, and was told that the child's parents were almost strangers to him."
"And he saved him?" the marquis repeated, after a moment's silence, during which another imaginary world seemed to have passed before his brain. "He is very lucky."
The marquis's voice and accent were even more repellent than his bearing and features. He spoke slowly; the words seemed to come from his mouth with an extreme effort, a dull monotone, without the slightest inflection. "Evidently he never goes out and sees no one because he knows that he is dead," said Emile to himself, still thinking of his German legend.
"Now, monsieur le marquis, will you kindly tell me why you wished my father to send you an envoy? I am here to receive your instructions."
"Because"—replied Monsieur de Boisguilbault, a little disturbed at having to make a direct answer and trying to collect his ideas, "because—I'll tell you. This man you speak of would not like to go to jail, and we must prevent it. Tell your father to prevent it."
"That doesn't concern my father at all, monsieur le marquis; he certainly will not invoke the rigor of the law against poor Jean, but he cannot prevent the law's taking its course."
"I beg your pardon," replied the marquis, "he can speak or send someone to speak to the local authorities. He has influence or should have."
"But why shouldn't you do this yourself, monsieur le marquis? You have been in the province longer than my father, and if you believe in influence, you must rate your privileges in that regard higher than ours."
"The privileges of birth are no longer fashionable," replied Monsieur de Boisguilbault, with no indication of vexation or regret. "Your father, being a manufacturer, is sure to be more highly considered than I am. And then nobody knows me now, I am too old; I don't even know whom to apply to; I have forgotten all about it. If Monsieur Cardonnet will take the trouble to speak, that man will not be prosecuted for vagabondage."
After this long speech, Monsieur de Boisguilbault heaved a great sigh as if he were thoroughly exhausted. But Emile had already noticed his strange habit of sighing, which was not precisely the choking of a victim of asthma nor an expression of mental pain. It was more like a nervous trick, which did not change the impassibility of his face but which was so frequent that it acted upon the nerves of his auditor and eventually produced a most painful impression upon Emile.
"I think, monsieur le marquis," he said, wishing to sound him a little, "that you would have a poor opinion of a social system wherein any privilege, either of birth or fortune, was the only protection of the poor or the weak against too vigorous laws. I prefer to think that moral force and influence are on the side of the man who can most successfully invoke the laws of clemency and humanity."
"In that case, monsieur, do you act in my place," the marquis replied.
There was something of humility and something of flattery in that laconic reply, and yet there was perhaps a touch of irony in it as well.
"Who knows," said Emile to himself, "that this old misanthrope isn't a pitiless satirist? Very well; I will defend myself."
"I am ready to do all that is in my power to do for your protégé," he replied; "and if I fail, it will be for lack of ability, not for lack of energy and good-will."
Perhaps the marquis did not understand this rebuke. He seemed impressed only by one word which Emile then used for the second time, and he repeated it in a sort of dazed reverie.
"Protégé," said he, sighing after his wont.
"I should have said your debtor," rejoined Emile, who already regretted his precipitation and feared that he might have injured the carpenter. "By whatever name you would have me call him, monsieur le marquis, the man is overflowing with gratitude for your kindness to him, and, if he had dared, he would have come with me to thank you again."
A slight flush tinged Monsieur de Boisguilbault's cheeks for an instant, and he replied in a less hesitating tone:
"I hope he will leave me in peace hereafter."
Emile was wounded by this rebuff and he could not resist the impulse to manifest his feeling.
"If I were in his place," he said with some warmth, "I should be greatly distressed to be burdened by an obligation which my devotion, my gratitude and my services could never remove. You would be even more generous than you are, monsieur le marquis, if you would allow honest Jean Jappeloup to offer you his thanks and his services."
"Monsieur," said Monsieur de Boisguilbault, picking up a pin and sticking it into his sleeve, whether to avoid manifesting a sort of confusion which overcame him, or from an inveterate habit of orderliness, "I warn you that I am irascible—very irascible."
His voice was so calm and his utterance so slow as he gave Emile this advice, that he nearly laughed in his face.
"Upon my word," he thought, "we are a littlecracked, as Jean says. If I have been so unfortunate as to offend you, monsieur le marquis," he said, rising, "I will take my leave in order not to aggravate my offence, for I might perhaps make the mistake of asking you to be perfect, and it would be your own fault."
"How so?" said the marquis, twisting his sprig of honeysuckle with an agitation which seemed not to extend beyond the ends of his fingers.
"We are apt to be exacting with those whom we esteem, I would venture to say with those whom we admire, if I did not fear to offend your modesty."
"Are you really going?" said the marquis after a moment of problematical silence and in a still more problematical tone.
"Yes, monsieur le marquis, I offer you my compliments."
"Why will you not dine with me?"
"That is impossible," Emile replied, bewildered and appalled by such a suggestion.
"You would be terribly bored!" said the marquis, with a sigh which found, I know not how, the road to Emile's heart.
"Monsieur," he replied, with spontaneous cordiality, "I will come again and dine with you when you choose."
"To-morrow, then!" said Monsieur de Boisguilbault in a melancholy tone, which seemed desirous to contradict the heartiness of his invitation.
"To-morrow, so be it," rejoined the young man.
"Oh no! not to-morrow," said the marquis; "to-morrow will be Monday, a bad day for me. But Tuesday; will that suit you?"
Emile accepted with very good grace, but in his heart he was dismayed at the idea of a tête-à-tête of some hours with that dead man, and he regretted an outburst of compassion which he had been unable to resist.
Monsieur de Boisguilbault meanwhile seemed to lay aside his fear; he insisted upon escorting his visitor to the gate where he had tied his horse. "You have a pretty little animal there," he said, examining Corbeau with the eye of a connoisseur. "He's aBrenne, well-bred, strong and quiet. Are you a good horseman?"
"I have more experience and courage than skill," replied Emile; "I have never had time to learn equestrianism by rule, but I intend to do so as soon as I have a favorable opportunity."
"It is a noble and useful exercise," said the marquis; "if you care to come and see me now and then, I will place what little I know at your service."
Emile accepted the offer courteously, but he could not forbear a significant glance at the slender individual who put himself forward as a professor.
"Is this fellow well trained?" Monsieur de Boisguilbault inquired, as he patted Corbeau's neck.
"He is docile and willing, but otherwise he's as ignorant as his master."
"I don't care very much for animals," said the marquis; "however, I sometimes give a little attention to horses and I will show you some very good pupils of mine. Will you allow me to try the qualities of yours?"
Emile made haste to turn his courser for the marquis to mount; but he was so afraid of an accident when he saw how slowly and painfully the old man hoisted himself into the saddle, that he could not refrain from warning him, even at the risk of insulting him, that Corbeau was a little restive and mettlesome.
The marquis received the warning without taking offence, but persisted none the less in his plan, with comical gravity. Emile trembled for his venerable host, and Corbeau quivered with anger and dread under that strange hand. He even tried to rebel, and from the marquis's gentle manner of dealing with his rebellion, you would have said that he was rather ill at ease himself. "There, there, my boy," he said, patting his neck, "let's not get excited."
But that was only a consequence of his theories, which forbade the maltreatment of a horse as the crime oflèse-science. He gradually quieted his steed without punishing him, and riding him about his great bare gravelled courtyard as if it were a riding-school, he tried him at all his gaits, and with extraordinary ease made him go through all the various evolutions and changes of foot which he would have required from a well-schooled horse. Corbeau seemed to submit without effort; but when the marquis turned him over to Emile his distended nostrils and his quarters, dripping with sweat, revealed the mysterious power to which that firm hand and those long legs had subjected him.