"Janille," he said, "our child and our good old Jean can perform miracles between them. What would you say if you should see Boisguilbault come home with them?"
"Ah! that's like your crazy head!" retorted Janille. "You forget that is impossible, and that the old fox is more capable of wringing our daughter's neck than of listening to sound arguments. And, then, how can people who know nothing at all make use of pretexts?"
"That is just my point. All that Boisguilbault fears is that we have taken our people into our confidence; for it is wounded pride, quite as much as betrayed friendship, alas! that makes him so timid and so unhappy. Poor Boisguilbault! Perhaps our child's innocence and Jean's loyalty will touch him. May he find it possible to forgive me of what I can never forget!"
"How can you complain when you have a treasure like Gilberte? But don't expect her to tame him. He will no more come to Châteaubrun than Cardonnet's handsome son will, and our ruins will never see either of them again."
"Emile will return with his father's consent or not at all, Janille, I have promised you; but meanwhile his conduct is worthy of all praise; Jean proved it to us this morning."
"That is to say, that you didn't understand anything about it, any more than I did; but, because you are weak, you pretended to be persuaded! you never do anything different, and you don't see that by praising that young man's noble conduct you inflame your daughter's mind. You would do better to disgust her with him by proving to her that he's mad, or that he doesn't care for her."
Their discussion was interrupted by the sound of Lanterne's hoofs, which produced a familiar cadence as she trotted over the smooth rock. They ran to meet Gilberte, and when they had almost dragged her into the pavilion, amid the hurried questions on one side and the broken replies on the other, the package which the marquis had handed Gilberte and which she had not thought of opening, caught Janille's eye.
"What's all this?" she cried, unfolding a superb Indian cashmere, sky-blue, embroidered with gold thread; "why, it's a cloak fit for a queen!"
"Ah! great Heaven!" cried Monsieur Antoine, touching the shawl with a trembling hand and turning pale as death: "I recognize this."
"And what is this box?" said Janille, opening a jewel-case which fell from the shawl.
"Those are mineral specimens, I believe," replied Gilberte suddenly, "crystals from Mont-Blanc which he picked up himself."
"No, no, you are mistaken, these shine much brighter; just look at them!"
And Gilberte to her unbounded amazement saw that it was a necklace of huge diamonds of dazzling brilliancy.
"Mon Dieu! mon Dieu!I recognize that too," stammered Monsieur de Châteaubrun, overwhelmed by intense emotion.
"Hush, monsieur," said Janille, nudging him with her elbow; "you know diamonds and cashmere shawls when you see them, that's likely enough; you have been rich enough to have plenty of 'em. Is that any reason why you should talk so loud and prevent us from looking at them?Diantre! my girl, you didn't waste your time! They may be worth enough to rebuild our château, and Monsieur de Boisguilbault is no such skinflint as I thought."
Gilberte, who had seen very few diamonds in her life, persisted in believing that the necklace was of rock crystal cut like diamonds; but Monsieur de Châteaubrun, having examined the stones and the clasp, replaced them in the box, saying with a sort of pensive melancholy:
"Those diamonds are worth more than a hundred thousand francs. Monsieur de Boisguilbault has given you a marriage-portion, my child!"
"A hundred thousand francs!" cried Janille, "a hundred thousand francs! Think of what you are saying, monsieur! is it possible?"
"Those glistening little stones worth so much money!" exclaimed Jappeloup, in artless amazement entirely free from covetousness; "and they are kept like that in a little box, and not used for anything?"
"People wear them," said Janille, putting the necklace around Gilberte's neck, "and they make a woman look lovely, I should say. Put the shawl over your shoulders, my girl! Not like that! I have seen ladies wearing them in Paris; but I am blessed if I can remember how they fixed them."
"They are very fine, but very uncomfortable," said Gilberte, "and it seems to me as if I were disguised with this shawl and these jewels. Come, let us fold the shawl and put the stones in the box, to send back to Monsieur de Boisguilbault. He must have felt about in the dark and made a mistake. He meant to give me some trifle and he has given me the wedding presents he gave his wife."
"Yes," said the carpenter, "he made a mistake, for sure; for a man doesn't give his dead wife's things to a stranger. He was so excited, poor man! You're not the only man whose wits go wool gathering, Monsieur Antoine."
"No, he made no mistake," said Monsieur Antoine. "He knows what he is doing, and Gilberte can keep these presents."
"Yes, yes, of course," cried Janille. "They are hers, aren't they, Monsieur Antoine? They all belong to her rightfully—since Monsieur de Boisguilbault gives them to her!"
"But it's out of the question, father! I don't want them," said Gilberte; "what should I do with them? I should cut a ridiculous figure going out to drive in our barrow in my calico dress, covered with diamonds and a cashmere shawl!"
"Dame! you would rather make people laugh," said the carpenter; "the ladies of the province would burst with envy. And then, too, all the moths would come and flutter about your diamonds, for they plunge like idiots at everything that shines; in that they are like men. If Monsieur de Boisguilbault chooses to give you adot, to show that he is reconciled to Monsieur Antoine, he would do much better to give you one of his small farms with a half interest in eight oxen."
"That is all very fine," said Janille, "but with the little shining stones, we raise money, we make the pavilion larger, we redeem estates, we obtain an income of two or three thousand francs, and we find a husband who brings us as much more. Then we are in comfortable circumstances for the rest of our days and we snap our fingers at Messieurs Cardonnet, father and son!"
"True enough," said Monsieur Antoine, "with these your future is assured, my child. Ah! how nobly Monsieur de Boisguilbault revenges himself! I knew what I was saying when I stood up for him against you, Janille! Will you still claim that he's a cruel, unforgiving man?"
"Nenni, monsieur, nenni! he has a good heart, I agree. Come, tell us how it all came about, you two."
They talked until midnight, recalling the most trivial details, indulging in innumerable conjectures concerning the marquis's conduct toward Antoine in the future. As it was too late for Jean Jappeloup to return to his village, he slept in Châteaubrun. Monsieur Antoine fell asleep to dream of happiness; Janille, of wealth. She had forgotten Emile and her recent disappointment. "That will all pass by," she said, "and the hundred thousand francs will remain. We shall have no more to do with your Galuchets, when we are possessed of a tidy little fortune in the country." And she ran over in her mind all the young rustics in the neighborhood who might aspire to Gilberte's hand.
"If a mere plebeian offers himself," she thought, "he must have at least two hundred thousand francs' worth of land."—And she placed under her bolster the key to the cupboard in which she had locked Gilberte'spot au lait.
Gilberte, yielding to extreme fatigue, fell asleep at last, after forming a momentous resolution. The next morning she talked a long while with her father, without Janille's knowledge, then asked the latter to allow her to carry Monsieur de Boisguilbault's presents to her own room, so that she could look at them at her leisure. The good woman handed them to her unsuspectingly, for Gilberte felt obliged on this occasion to resort to dissimulation with her obstinate governess. Then she wrote a letter which she showed to her father.
"What you are doing is all right, my child," he said, with a profound sigh, "but look out for Janille when she finds it out!"
"Don't you be afraid, dear father," was the reply; "we won't tell her that I took you into my confidence, and all her anger will fall on me alone."
"Now," said Monsieur Antoine, "we must wait for our friend Jean, for we can't trust things of such value to a hare-brained chap like Master Charasson."
Gilberte awaited the carpenter's return with the more impatience because she expected to receive news of Emile from him. She had no idea that Emile was ill. But at the very thought of his mental suffering she was so beset by anxiety that she could not think of herself; and these days of separation, which she had thought that she could endure so courageously, seemed to her so long and so depressing that she asked herself in dismay how Emile could endure them. She flattered herself that he would find a way to write to her, although she would not authorize him to do it; or, at least, that the carpenter would repeat their conversation to her, to the most unimportant words.
But the carpenter did not appear, and evening came without bringing any relief to the girl's painful anxiety. Her secret grief was augmented by a real annoyance. Monsieur Antoine showed signs of weakening in regard to the resolution Gilberte had formed—and which he had at first approved—to refuse Monsieur de Boisguilbault's gifts. He threatened again and again to consult Janille, without whose advice he had taken no important step for twenty years, and Gilberte trembled lest her old nurse's imperative veto should block the proposed restitution.
Jean did not come on the following day either. Doubtless he was working for Monsieur de Boisguilbault, and Gilberte was surprised that, being within so short a distance, he did not divine her longing to talk with him, were it only for a moment. A vague uneasiness guided her in that direction. She set out for Mère Marlot's hut, and as usual put in her basket the modest delicacies which she took from her own dinner for her invalids. But fearing that Monsieur de Châteaubrun would open his heart to Janille in her absence and that the governess's seal would be affixed to the jewel-case, she wrapped it up in the shawl, and placed the whole at the bottom of her basket, determined not to part with them again except to despatch them to their destination.
Living in the country, in more than modest circumstances, Gilberte was accustomed to go about alone in the neighborhood of her home. Poverty dispenses with etiquette, and it would seem that the virtue of wealthy maidens is more fragile or more precious than that of their poorer sisters, as the former are never allowed to take a step without an escort.
Gilberte went about alone on foot with as much security as a young peasant girl, and she was in reality even less exposed, for she was known, loved and respected by all whom she was likely to meet.
She was afraid neither of dogs, nor cows, nor snakes, nor of a loose colt. Children brought up in the country know how to protect themselves from those trifling dangers, which a little presence of mind and coolness are sufficient to avert. So she did not take her rustic page, nor use the family vehicle, except when the weather was threatening or she was in a hurry. On this afternoon the sun was still shining in a clear sky, and she started off with a light foot on the path across the fields. Mère Marlot's hut was almost equidistant from Châteaubrun and Boisguilbault.
The poor woman's children were fairly convalescent, and Gilberte did not stay long with them. Mère Marlot told her that Monsieur de Boisguilbault had left her a hundred francs on the day of their meeting in her hovel, and that Jean Jappeloup was working at the wooden house in the park. She had seen him pass in the morning, carrying various tools.
Gilberte thereupon thought that she might hope to meet the carpenter as he returned to Gargilesse, and she determined to go to wait for him on the road. But, fearing that she might be seen and recognized loitering about the park, she borrowed a fustian cape from Mère Marlot, on the pretext that the air was a little cool and that she felt slightly indisposed. She put the hood over her fair hair, and, thus enveloped, walked in a straight line, gliding through the bushes like a fawn, to the park gate opening on the Gargilesse road. There she hid beneath the willows on the bank of the stream, not far from the spot where it ran along the edge of the park. She noticed that the gate was still open, a proof that Monsieur de Boisguilbault was not yet in the park; for as soon as he stepped inside all the gates were carefully closed and locked, and this uncivilized custom of the châtelain was well known throughout the neighborhood.
This circumstance emboldened her, and she walked as far as the gate, to try to see Jean Jappeloup. The roof of the chalet caught her eye; it was very near. The path was in shadow and deserted.
Stealing cautiously forward, Gilberte, who was as light as a bird, could fly in time, and, disguised as she was, need not fear being recognized. Jean would be there of course, and if she found him alone she would beckon to him and satisfy her frantic impatience to have news of Emile.
The chalet was open; there was no one inside; carpenter's tools were lying about on the floor. Profound silence reigned everywhere. Gilberte walked forward on tiptoe and placed on the table the package and the letter she had brought. Then, as she reflected that objects of value might be too much exposed in a place so ill guarded, she looked about, placed her hand on a door which seemed to open into a closet, and, noticing that the lock was removed, said to herself justly enough that Jean was probably repairing it and would doubtless come and replace it, and that there was nothing better for her to do than to place her treasure in the hands of the most faithful of friends. But as she opened the supposed closet to put the package inside, she found herself on the threshold of a study, wherein everything was in disorder, facing a large portrait of a woman.
Gilberte did not need to look long at the portrait to recognize the original of a miniature which she had seen in her father's hands and had always supposed to be that of theunknownmother who had brought her into the world. If the resemblance had not been most striking, at the first glance, because of the difference in size of the two portraits, yet the attitude, the costume, the very blue shawl which Gilberte had in her hand at that moment, would have convinced her that the miniature had been made at the same time as the large portrait, or rather that it was a reduced copy of it. She stifled a cry of surprise, and, as her chaste imagination refused to grasp the possibility of an adulterous connection, she persuaded herself that, as the result of a secret marriage, of the sort we read about in novels, she was perhaps a near kinswoman, the niece or grand-niece, of Monsieur de Boisguilbault. At that moment she thought that she heard footsteps on the floor above, and, terror-stricken, she threw the package on the mantel and fled with the swiftness of an arrow.
A few moments after Gilberte's flight, Jean returned to replace the lock of the study, followed by Monsieur de Boisguilbault, who awaited his departure to order the park to be closed. The carpenter had noticed the marquis's uneasiness and how closely he watched all his movements while he was at work at that door; annoyed by his employer's evident distrust of his curiosity, he raised his head and said with his accustomed outspokenness:
"Pardieu! Monsieur de Boisguilbault, you are terribly afraid that I will look at what you have hidden in there! Just remember that I might have looked at it an hour ago if I had chosen; but I care nothing about it, and I should prefer to have you say: 'Shut your eyes,' instead of watching me as you do."
Monsieur de Boisguilbault's expression changed and he frowned. He glanced into the study and saw that the wind had blown down a piece of green cloth with which he had covered the portrait awkwardly enough, and that Jean must have seen it unless he was blind. Thereupon, he formed a sudden resolution, threw the door wide open, and said with forced calmness:
"I am hiding nothing here; you can look, if you choose."
"Oh! I am not at all curious to see your big books," laughed the carpenter; "I know nothing about them and I can't understand why it was necessary to write so many words just to know how to do what's right. But there's the portrait of your deceased wife! I recognize her, it is her sure enough. How came you to put it here? in my time it was in the château."
"I had it put here so that I could see it all the time," said the marquis sadly; "and, since it has been here, I have hardly looked at it. I come into this study as little as I can, and if I dreaded to have you see it, it was because I dreaded to see it myself. It makes me ill. Close that door, if you don't need to have it open any longer."
"And then you are afraid that some one will speak of your sorrow, eh? I can understand that, and after what you have just said, I'll wager that you have never got over your wife's death! Well, it's the same way with me, and you needn't be ashamed of it before me, Monsieur de Boisguilbault; for old as I am, I tell you something seems to cut my heart in two when I think that I am alone in the world! And yet I am naturally of a cheerful disposition and I wasn't always happy in my home; but what difference does it make? my feelings are stronger than I am, for I loved that woman! The devil couldn't have prevented me from loving her."
"My friend," said Monsieur de Boisguilbault, visibly touched, and making a painful effort to restrain his emotion, "she loved you, so do not complain too bitterly; and, then, you were a father. What became of your son? Where is he?"
"He is underground with my wife, Monsieur de Boisguilbault."
"I didn't know it. I knew only that you were a widower. Poor Jean! forgive me for reminding you of your sorrows! Oh! I pity you from the bottom of my heart! To have a child and lose it!"
The marquis placed his hand on the carpenter's shoulder as he leaned over his work, and all his kindness of heart appeared on his face. Jean dropped his tools and said impulsively, with one knee on the floor:
"Do you know, Monsieur de Boisguilbault, I have been unhappier than you. You can't imagine half of what I have suffered!"
"Tell me about it, if it's a relief to you. I shall understand it."
"Well, I will tell you, for you are a man of learning and judge things in this world better than anyone I know, when your mind is calm. I will tell you something that many people in my village know, but that I have never been willing to talk about with anybody. My life has been a strange one, I tell you! I was loved and I wasn't; I had a son and I wasn't sure that I was his father."
"What do you say? No! don't say that; you must never tell about such things!" said the marquis, in sore distress.
"You are right, while the thing is going on; but at our ages a man can talk of anything, and you are not like the idiots who can see nothing but a cause for laughter in the greatest misfortune with which their neighbor can be afflicted. You are neither sneering nor unkind, and I want you to tell me whether I behaved badly, whether I acted like a man or a brute—in short, whether you would have done as I did; for everybody blamed me more or less at the time, and if I had not had a strong arm and a sharp tongue at the end of it, everybody would have laughed in my face. You are to judge! My wife, my poor Nannie, loved one of my friends, a handsome fellow—yes, and a good fellow—and yet she loved me too. I don't know how the devil it came about, but I discovered one fine morning that my son looked more like Pierre than like Jean. Anybody could see it, monsieur! and there were times when I longed to beat Nannie, to strangle the child and knock out Pierre's brains. And then—and then—I said nothing at all. I wept and prayed. Oh! how I suffered! I beat my wife on the pretext that she didn't keep the house in order; I pulled the little one's ears on the pretext that he made too much noise in mine; I picked a quarrel with Pierre over a game of tenpins, and I nearly broke both his legs with the ball. And then, when everybody else wept, I wept, too, and looked on myself as a villain. I brought up the child and I wept for him; I buried my wife and I still weep for her; I kept the friend and I still love him. And that's how matters ended with me. What do you say to it?"
Monsieur de Boisguilbault did not reply. He was pacing the room and making the floor creak under his feet.
"You think me a great coward and a great fool, I'll be bound," said the carpenter, rising; "but, at all events, you see that your troubles are nothing like mine."
The marquis dropped into a chair and said nothing. Tears rolled slowly down his cheeks.
"Well, well, Monsieur de Boisguilbault, why are you weeping?" continued Jean, with artless candor. "Are you trying to make me weep too? You can't do it, I promise you! I shed so many tears of anger and grief in those days that there wasn't a single one left in my body, I'll be bound. Come, come! think of your past with patience and offer your present to God; for there are people more badly treated than you, as you see. You had for your wife a beautiful woman, virtuous, well educated and quiet. Perhaps she didn't give you quite so many kisses and caresses as I received from mine, but, at all events, she didn't deceive you, and you proved that you had no fears of her by letting her go to Paris without you whenever she wanted to. You were not jealous, and had no reason to be; while I had a thousand devils in my brain every hour of the day and night. I watched, I played the spy, I hid, because I was jealous; I blushed for it, but I suffered martyrdom; and the more I watched, the more I was convinced that she was very cunning about deceiving me. I never was able to take her by surprise. Nannie was shrewder than I was; and, when I had wasted my time watching her, she would make a scene because I suspected her. When the child was old enough to resemble anybody—and I saw that I wasn't the one—what could you expect? I thought that I should go mad; but I got accustomed to loving him, petting him, working to support him, trembling when he bumped his head, seeing him caper round my bench, ride horseback on my timber and amuse himself dulling my tools. I had only that one! I had thought he was mine—no others came—and I couldn't get along without a child, you see. And he loved me so dearly, the little rascal! He was so bright! and, when I scolded him, he wept as if his heart would break. At last I set about forgetting my suspicions, and I succeeded so well in persuading myself that I was his father, that when he was shot in the war, I longed to shoot myself. He was handsome and brave, a good workman and as good a soldier, and it wasn't his fault if he wasn't my son! He would have made my life happy; he would have helped me with my work, and I shouldn't have had to grow old all alone. I should have had some one to keep me company, to talk with me in the evening after my day's work, to take care of me when I am sick, to put me to bed when I am tipsy, to talk to me about his mother, whom I never dare to mention to anybody, because everybody except him knew all about my unhappiness. I tell you, Monsieur de Boisguilbault, you haven't had so much to bear! You didn't have a contraband heir given you; and if you haven't had the pleasure, neither have you had the shame!"
"And I should not have had the courage you had," said the marquis. "Open that door again, Jean, and let me look at the marchioness's portrait. You have given me courage. I was insane the day I turned you out of my house. You would have saved me from becoming weak and mad. I thought that I was getting rid of an enemy, and I deprived myself of a friend."
"But why in the devil did you take me for your enemy?"
"Have you no idea?" replied the marquis, fixing his eyes upon him in a piercing glance.
"Not the least," said the carpenter emphatically.
"On your honor?" added Monsieur de Boisguilbault, wringing his hand fiercely.
"On my everlasting salvation!" replied Jean, raising his hand above his head with dignity. "I hope that you are going to tell me at last."
The marquis seemed not to hear this direct and sincere appeal. He felt that Jean told the truth, and he had resumed his seat. Turning his chair toward the study door, which Jean had opened, he gazed with profound sadness at his wife's features.
"I can understand that you continued to love your wife, that you forgave the innocent child," he said; "but how you could endure and continue to meet the friend who betrayed you—that is what passes my comprehension!"
"Ah! Monsieur de Boisguilbault, that was in fact the most difficult thing of all! especially as it was not my duty, and everybody would have applauded me if I had broken every bone in his body. But I tell you what disarmed me: I saw that he was terribly remorseful and really unhappy. So long as the fever of love had hold of him, he would have walked over my body to join his mistress. She was as lovely as a rose in May; I don't know whether you ever saw her, or remember her, but I know that Nannie was as beautiful in her way as Madame de Boisguilbault. I was mad over her, and so was he! He would have turned heathen for her, and I turned idiot. But when the youthful ardor began to die away I saw well enough that they no longer loved each other and that they were ashamed of their sin. My wife began to love me again, seeing that I was kind and generous to her, and as for him, his sin was so heavy on his heart, that, when we drank together, he always wanted to confess to me; but I wouldn't have it, and sometimes, when he was drunk, he would kneel at my feet, yelling:
"'Kill me, Jean, kill me! I deserve it and I shall be satisfied!'
"When he was sober, he forgot about that, but he would have let himself be chopped to pieces for me; and at this moment he's my best friend, next to Monsieur Antoine. The subject of our suffering no longer exists, and our friendship has endured. It was on his account that I had my trouble with the excise people and became a vagabond for a while. Well, he worked for my customers, so as to keep them for me; he brought me money, and when I was free again gave my customers back to me; he has nothing that doesn't belong to me, and as he is younger than I am, I trust that he will close my eyes. He owes me that much; but after all, it seems to me that I love him on account of the injury he did me and the courage it required to forgive him!"
"Alas! alas!" said Monsieur de Boisguilbault, "we are sublime when we are not afraid of being ridiculous!"
He closed the study door gently and walked back toward the fireplace, when his eye fell at last on the package and a letter addressed to him.
"MONSIEUR LE MARQUIS:"I promised you that you should hear no more of me; but you yourself compel me to remind you that I exist, and I am going to do it for the last time."Either you made a mistake in handing me certain objects of great value, or you intended to bestow alms on me."I should not blush to accept your charity if I were reduced to the necessity of imploring it; but you are mistaken, monsieur le marquis, if you think I am in want."Our circumstances are comfortable, considering our necessities and tastes, which are modest and simple. You are rich and generous; I should be blameworthy to accept benefactions which you might bestow on so many others; it would be robbing the poor."The one thing which it would have been very sweet to me to carry away from your house, and which I would have given all my blood to obtain, is a word of forgiveness, a friendly word for my father. Ah! monsieur, you cannot conceive what a child's heart suffers when she sees her father unjustly accused and knows not how to set him right. You did not furnish me with the means to do so, for you persisted in keeping silent as to the cause of your resentment; but how could you fail to understand that, under the present circumstances, I could not accept your gifts and take advantage of your kindness!"I retain, however, a small cornelian ring which you placed on my finger when I entered your house under an assumed name. It is an object of trifling value, you told me, a souvenir of your travels. It is very precious to me, although it was not as a pledge of reconciliation that you chose to give it to me: but it will remind me of a very sweet yet very painful moment, when I felt all my heart go out toward you, with vain hopes that vanished instantly. I ought to hate you, for you hate a father whom I adore! I know not how it is I esteem your gifts with no feeling of wounded pride, and that I renounce your friendship with profound grief."Accept, monsieur le marquis, the deep respect of"GILBERTE DE CHÂTEAUBRUN."
"MONSIEUR LE MARQUIS:
"I promised you that you should hear no more of me; but you yourself compel me to remind you that I exist, and I am going to do it for the last time.
"Either you made a mistake in handing me certain objects of great value, or you intended to bestow alms on me.
"I should not blush to accept your charity if I were reduced to the necessity of imploring it; but you are mistaken, monsieur le marquis, if you think I am in want.
"Our circumstances are comfortable, considering our necessities and tastes, which are modest and simple. You are rich and generous; I should be blameworthy to accept benefactions which you might bestow on so many others; it would be robbing the poor.
"The one thing which it would have been very sweet to me to carry away from your house, and which I would have given all my blood to obtain, is a word of forgiveness, a friendly word for my father. Ah! monsieur, you cannot conceive what a child's heart suffers when she sees her father unjustly accused and knows not how to set him right. You did not furnish me with the means to do so, for you persisted in keeping silent as to the cause of your resentment; but how could you fail to understand that, under the present circumstances, I could not accept your gifts and take advantage of your kindness!
"I retain, however, a small cornelian ring which you placed on my finger when I entered your house under an assumed name. It is an object of trifling value, you told me, a souvenir of your travels. It is very precious to me, although it was not as a pledge of reconciliation that you chose to give it to me: but it will remind me of a very sweet yet very painful moment, when I felt all my heart go out toward you, with vain hopes that vanished instantly. I ought to hate you, for you hate a father whom I adore! I know not how it is I esteem your gifts with no feeling of wounded pride, and that I renounce your friendship with profound grief.
"Accept, monsieur le marquis, the deep respect of
"GILBERTE DE CHÂTEAUBRUN."
"Was it you who brought this package and letter, Jean?" queried Monsieur de Boisguilbault.
"No, monsieur, I brought nothing at all, and I don't know what they are," replied the carpenter, with the accent of truth.
"How am I to believe you?" rejoined the marquis, "when you lied to me so coolly the day before yesterday, when you introduced one person to me under the name of another?"
"The day before yesterday I lied, but I wouldn't have sworn to what I said; to-day, I swear that I saw no one come in and I do not know who brought those things. But, as you choose to mention what happened the day before yesterday, let me tell you something that I wouldn't have dared to speak of otherwise: that the poor child cried all the way home, thinking of you, and that——"
"I beg you, Jean, don't talk to me about that young woman or her father! I promised you that I would mention them when it was necessary, and on that condition you agreed not to torment me. Wait till I question you."
"All right! but suppose you keep me waiting too long and I lose patience?"
"Perhaps I shall never mention them to you and you will hold your tongue forever," said the marquis in a tone of very marked ill-humor.
"The deuce you say!" retorted the carpenter, "that wasn't our agreement."
"Off with you!" said Monsieur de Boisguilbault tartly. "Your day's work is finished, you refuse to take supper here, and no doubt Emile is waiting for you impatiently. Tell him to have courage and that I will come and see him soon—to-morrow perhaps."
"If you treat him as you do me, if you refuse to talk to him or let him talk about Gilberte, what good do you suppose a visit from you will do him? That's not the kind of thing that will cure him."
"Jean, you wear out my patience, you make me ill! Be off, I say!"
"Oho! the wind has changed," thought the carpenter. "I must wait till the sun comes out again."
He put on his jacket and walked across the park. Monsieur de Boisguilbault accompanied him, to close the gate after him. It was still light. The marquis noticed on the recently raked gravel the prints of a woman's tiny foot going to and coming from the chalet. He did not call the attention of the carpenter, who failed to notice the marks.
Meanwhile Gilberte had waited longer than she intended. The sun had set ten minutes before and the time seemed mortally long to her. As the approach of night and the fear of meeting some one from the château who might recognize her, increased her uneasiness and impatience, she ventured to leave the place where she was hiding and go down a little way toward the stream, so that she would still be near enough to recognize the carpenter. But she had not taken three steps in the open when she heard footsteps behind her, and, turning hurriedly, she saw Constant Galuchet, armed with his fishing-pole, going toward Gargilesse.
She pulled her hood over her face, but not so quickly that the angler for gudgeons did not see a lock of golden hair, a blue eye and a rosy cheek. Moreover, it would have been very difficult for Gilberte to deceive anyone who was following her so closely. There was nothing of the peasant in her carriage, and the fustian cape was not long enough to hide the hem of a light dress and a pretty foot encased in a shapely and tight-fitting little gaiter. Constant Galuchet's curiosity was keenly aroused by this meeting. He had too much contempt for the peasant girls to make love to them on his excursions; but the sight of a young lady in disguise gave a fillip to his aristocratic curiosity, and a vague, instinctive feeling that those golden locks so difficult of concealment were Gilberte's, induced him to follow her and frighten her.
So he plodded along in her wake, sometimes walking immediately behind her, sometimes beside her, moderating or quickening his pace to defeat the little ruses to which she resorted to let him pass her and to fall behind; stopping when she stopped, leaning toward her as he brushed by, and darting inquisitive and insolent glances under her hood.
Gilberte, terrified beyond measure, looked about for some house in which she could take refuge; and seeing none she kept on in the direction of Gargilesse, hoping that the carpenter would overtake her and rid her of her troublesome escort.
But hearing no footsteps and unable to endure being followed thus, she stooped as if to look in her basket, to make her tormenter think that she had forgotten or lost something; then turned back toward the park, thinking that Galuchet, having no excuse for following her in that direction, would not have the audacity to do it.
It was too late; Constant had recognized her and an impulse of base vindictiveness took possession of him.
"Oho! my fair villager," he said, darting to her side, "what are you looking for with so much mystery? Can't I help you to find it? You don't answer! I understand: you have a nice little assignation hereabout, and I interfere with it. So much the worse for girls who wander about the country alone at night! they run the risk of meeting one gallant instead of another, and the absent are always in the wrong. Come, come, don't look at me so hard; all cats are gray in the dark, so take my arm. If we don't find the man you want, we must try to fill his place so that you won't miss him too much."
Gilberte, alarmed by this coarse talk, began to run. Being more adroit and more slender than Galuchet, she plunged in among the trees where they were thickest, and soon thought herself out of danger; but a sort of frenzy had taken possession of him when he saw her escape him so easily. In three bounds, after bumping and scratching himself a little among the branches, he was by her side once more, opposite the gate of Boisguilbault park.
Thereupon he seized her cape, saying:
"I propose to see if you are worth the trouble of chasing you in this way! If you are ugly, you have no need to run, my love, for I shall not run myself into a perspiration for you; but if you are young and pretty, you'll find yourself in difficulty, my dear!"
Gilberte struggled bravely, striking Galuchet's face and breast with her basket; but the battle was too one-sided: at the risk of wounding her with the buckle of her cape, he fiercely tore off her hood.
At this moment two men appeared at the park gate, and Gilberte, tearing herself free with a desperate effort, rushed toward them and sought protection from the one who was nearest to her. She was received in Monsieur de Boisguilbault's arms.
As she was almost fainting with fear and indignation, she hid her face on the old man's breast, and neither he nor the carpenter had time to recognize her; but when he saw Galuchet running away, all Jean's rancor against him awoke, and he rushed after him.
Monsieur Cardonnet's clerk was short and stout, and Jean, despite his age, had the advantage in build and activity. Seeing that he was on the point of being overtaken, Galuchet turned to meet him, relying on his strength.
Thereupon a struggle took place between them, and Galuchet, who was a sturdy fellow, sustained the first attack not unsuccessfully; but Jean was an athlete, and he soon brought him to the ground on the bank of the stream.
"Ah! so you are not content to play the trade of spy!" he said, putting his knees on his chest and clutching his throat so tight that the poor devil was forced to relax his hold, "but you needs must insult women, you miserable cur! I ought to crush such a venomous beast as you are; but you are such a coward that you would prosecute me for it. Well! you shan't have that pleasure; you shall leave my hands without a scratch that you can show; I will content myself with a shave that's just fit for you."
Whereupon the carpenter picked up a handful of black mud on the bank of the stream and rubbed Galuchet's face and shirt and cravat with it; then he let him go and said, standing in front of him:
"Just try to touch me, and see if I won't make you eat some of it!"
Galuchet had had altogether too rough a demonstration of the power of the carpenter's arm to expose himself to it again. He longed to throw a stone at his head when he calmly turned his back on him. But it occurred to him that it might turn out a serious matter, and that he would have to pay dear for it, if he failed to lay him low at the first blow.
So he beat a retreat, not without pouring forth insults and threats against him and the hussy who had claimed his protection; but he dared not mention Gilberte's name or let it be known that he had recognized her. He was not perfectly sure that she would not eventually become his employer's daughter-in-law, for Monsieur Cardonnet had seemed terribly anxious and irresolute since Emile had been sick.
Gilberte and the marquis did not witness this scene. The girl was suffocating with excitement, and, hardly conscious of her surroundings, allowed herself to be led toward the chalet. Monsieur de Boisguilbault, sorely embarrassed by the adventure, but resolved to lend his aid like a loyal gentleman to an insulted female, dared not speak to her or let her know that he had recognized her. His distrust returned; he wondered if this scene had not been prearranged to throw the fluttering dove into his bosom: but when she fell fainting at the door of the chalet, and he saw her pallor, her glazed eyes and purple lips, he was seized with affectionate sympathy and with fierce indignation against the man who was capable of insulting a defenceless woman. Thereupon he said to himself that the noble girl had incurred that danger in order to prove to him her pride and disinterestedness. He lifted her, carried her to a chair, and said as he rubbed her icy hands:
"Have courage, Mademoiselle de Châteaubrun; be calm, I implore you! you are safe here and you are welcome."
"Gilberte!" cried the carpenter, as he entered the room and recognized Monsieur Antoine's daughter; "my Gilberte! God in heaven! is it possible? Ah! if I had known this I wouldn't have spared the villain! but he isn't far away and I must catch him and kill him!"
Frantic with rage, he was about to go in pursuit of Galuchet, but the marquis and Gilberte, who had partly recovered consciousness, detained him. They had some difficulty, for Jean was beside himself. At last the marquis made him understand that in the interest of Mademoiselle de Châteaubrun's reputation, he should pursue his vengeance no farther.
Meanwhile the marquis continued to be exceedingly embarrassed in Gilberte's presence. She wished to go, he longed, in his heart, to have her stay, but he could not make up his mind to tell her so, except by insisting upon the necessity of her taking a little time to rest and recover from her emotion. But Gilberte was afraid of making her father and Janille anxious again, and declared that she felt quite strong enough to go. The marquis offered her his carriage; he offered ether; he looked for a phial and could not find it; he hovered about her; he tried to think of something to say to her in reply to her action and her letter; and although he lacked neither good manners nor ease of manner when his mind was once made up, he was more awkward and embarrassed than a young student making his début in society, when he was struggling with the pitiful irresolution of his character.
Finally, as Gilberte rose to take her leave with Jean, who was to escort her to Châteaubrun, he also rose, took his hat and grasped his new cane with a determined air which made the carpenter smile.
"You will allow me to accompany you too," he said. "That scoundrel may be in ambush somewhere, and two champions are better than one."
"Let him come!" Jean whispered to Gilberte, who was on the point of declining his offer.
They left the park, and at first the marquis walked some distance behind or in front, as if to act as a guard. At last he found himself beside Gilberte, and, observing that she seemed prostrated and could hardly walk, he decided to offer her his arm. Little by little he fell into conversation with her and gradually felt more at ease. He talked at first on general subjects, then of herself more particularly. He questioned her concerning her tastes, her occupations, her reading; and although she was very modest and reserved, he soon discovered that she was endowed with superior intelligence, and that she had a very solid foundation of useful knowledge.
Impressed by this discovery, he sought to ascertain where and how she had learned so many serious things, and she admitted that she had derived the larger part of her knowledge from the library at Boisguilbault.
"I am proud and delighted to hear it," said the marquis, "and I place all my books at your disposal. I trust that you will send and ask for what you want, unless you will consent to trust me to select for you and to send you a parcel every week. Jean will consent to be our messenger until Emile can take his place again."
Gilberte sighed; she could hardly believe, in view of Emile's alarming silence, that happy time would ever come.
"Pray lean on my arm," said the marquis; "you seem ill and you are not willing that I should assist you."
When they reached the foot of the hill of Châteaubrun, Monsieur de Boisguilbault, who seemed to have forgotten his whereabouts, began to show signs of excitement, like a restive horse. Suddenly he stopped and gently withdrew Gilberte's arm from his and placed it in the carpenter's.
"I leave you at your door and with a devoted friend," he said. "You have no further need of me, but I carry away your promise to make use of my books."
"If only I could carry you farther with me!" said Gilberte in a supplicating tone; "I would agree never to open a book in my life, although it would be a great deprivation to me."
"Unfortunately it is impossible!" he replied with a sigh; "but time and chance bring about unexpected meetings. I hope, mademoiselle, that I do not say adieu to you forever; for that thought would be very painful to me."
He bowed and returned to his chalet, where he locked himself in and passed a portion of the night writing, arranging papers and gazing at the marchioness's portrait.
The next day, at noon, Monsieur de Boisguilbault donned his green coat, cut in the style of the Empire, his lightest wig, doe-skin breeches, gloves, and half-boots armed with short swan's-neck silver spurs. A servant, in the full dress livery of an esquire, brought him the finest horse in his stables, and, mounting himself a beast almost as perfect, followed him at a slow trot along the Gargilesse road, carrying a small casket slung over his arm by a strap.
Great was the surprise of the village folk when they saw the marquis ride within their walls, erect and stiff on his white horse, like a teacher of horsemanship of the olden time, in ceremonious costume, with gold spectacles and a gold-headed hunting-crop, which he carried somewhat like a taper. It was at least ten years since Monsieur de Boisguilbault had entered a town or a village. The children followed him, dazzled by the magnificence of his equipment, the women rushed to their door-steps, and the men carrying burdens halted in stupefaction in the middle of the street.
He rode slowly up the precipitous thoroughfare and down on the other side to Monsieur Cardonnet's factory, being too good a horseman to indulge in imprudent antics; and, resuming the trot à la Française as he rode into the factory yard, he regulated his horse's gait so perfectly that his hoof-beats sounded like the ticking of a clock in perfect order. Certainly he still made a gallant appearance, and the women said: "You see that he is a sorcerer, for he hasn't grown a day older in the ten years since we last saw him here."
He asked for Monsieur Emile Cardonnet and found the young man in his bedroom, sitting on a sofa, with his father at his right and the doctor at his left. Madame Cardonnet was sitting opposite him, gazing anxiously into his face.
Emile was very pale, but his condition was in no wise alarming. He rose and went to meet Monsieur de Boisguilbault, who, after embracing him affectionately, bowed low to Madame Cardonnet and with less warmth to Monsieur Cardonnet. For a few moments there was no talk of aught save the invalid's health. He had had a sharp attack of fever and had been bled the night before; he had passed a comfortable night, and in the morning the fever had entirely disappeared. They were urging him to go for a drive in the cabriolet, and he was contemplating making a call upon Monsieur de Boisguilbault when that gentleman entered.
The marquis had learned all the details of his illness from the carpenter, who had carefully concealed them from Gilberte. There was no longer any ground for fear. The doctor observed that his patient needed a good dinner, and took his leave with the remark that he should come the next day only to satisfy his conscience.
Monsieur de Boisguilbault meanwhile kept a close watch on Monsieur Cardonnet's face. He detected there an expression of triumph rather than of joy. Doubtless the manufacturer had trembled at the idea of losing his son, but, that fear being dissipated, the victory was won: Emile could endure grief.
For his part Monsieur Cardonnet examined the marquis's strange figure and considered it supremely ridiculous. His gravity and his moderation in speaking were the more annoying to him because Monsieur de Boisguilbault, being in reality more embarrassed than he chose to appear, simply made commonplace remarks in a most sententious tone. The manufacturer, after a few moments, bowed to him again and left the room to return to his business. Thereupon, Madame Cardonnet, divining from Emile's restlessness that he desired to talk with his old friend in private, left them together, after urging her son not to talk too much.
"Well," said Emile when they were alone, "you can bring me the martyr's crown! I have passed through the ordeal of fire; but God protects those who call upon him, and I have come out of it with clean hands and with no apparent burns: a little used up, to be sure, but calm and full of faith in the future. This morning, in full possession of my reasoning power and in perfect tranquillity of mind, I told my father what I had told him in the excitement, perhaps the delirium, of fever. He knows now that I shall never renounce my opinions, and that no fooling with my passion can procure him that triumph. He seems quite satisfied; for he thinks that he has succeeded in disgusting me with a marriage which he dreaded more than the fervor of my principles. He talked this morning about distracting my thoughts, sending me abroad, to Italy. I told him that I did not wish to leave France, nor this neighborhood even, unless he turned me out of his house. He smiled, and would not contradict me, because I was bled yesterday; but to-morrow he will talk to me in the character of the stern friend, the day after to-morrow as the irritated father, and the next day as the imperious master. Don't be alarmed about me, my friend; I shall be brave, calm and patient. Whether he condemns me to exile, or keeps me with him to torture me, I will show him that love is very strong when it is inspired by enthusiasm for the true, and sustained by the ideal."
"Emile," said the marquis, "I know through your friend Jean all that has taken place between your father and yourself, also the great victory that your heart has won. My mind was at rest before I came here."
"I knew, my friend, that you had become reconciled with that simple-hearted but admirable man. He told me that you were coming to see me; I was expecting you."
"Did he tell you nothing more?" said the marquis, gazing intently at Emile.
"No, nothing more, I assure you," Emile replied, with the emphasis of perfect sincerity.
"He did well to keep his promise," rejoined Monsieur de Boisguilbault; "you were too much excited by fever to endure fresh emotion. I have undergone violent emotions myself since we last met, but I am satisfied with the result, and I will tell you what it is. But not yet, Emile; you are too pale, and I am not sure enough of myself as yet. Don't come and see me to-day; I have other places to go to, and perhaps I will see you again when I return this way to-night. Will you promise me to eat some dinner and take care of yourself—in a word, to get well?"
"I promise, my friend. If I only could send word to the woman I love that, on resuming the free exercise of my life and my faculties, I find my love more ardent and more absolute than ever in the depths of my heart."
"Very well, Emile, write a few lines; not enough to tire you. I will come again to-night, and, if she doesn't live too far away, I will undertake to send your letter to her."
"Alas! my friend, I cannot tell you her name; but if the carpenter would take charge of it, now that I have recovered my strength and am no longer watched every moment, I could write."
"Write then, seal your letter, and do not address it The carpenter is working for me, and he shall have the letter before night."
While the young man was writing, Monsieur de Boisguilbault left the room and asked to speak with Monsieur Cardonnet. He was told that he had just driven away in his cabriolet.
"Do you know where I can find him?" asked the marquis, half convinced by this hurried departure.
He had not said where he was going, but they thought to Châteaubrun, as he had taken that road, and as he had been there the week before.
Upon receiving this reply, Monsieur de Boisguilbault displayed surprising activity. He returned to Emile's room, took the letter, felt his pulse, found that he was a little excited, mounted his horse, and rode out of the village quietly as he had come. But he urged his horse to a gallop as soon as he was on level ground.
Meanwhile Monsieur Cardonnet had arrived at Châteaubrun, and was in presence of Gilberte, her father and Janille.
"Monsieur de Châteaubrun," he said, taking a seat with perfect self-possession amid those three persons, who were filled with consternation by a visit which boded fresh unhappiness, "you know doubtless all that has taken place between my son and myself with regard to mademoiselle your daughter. My son has had the good taste and the good sense to choose her for his wife. Mademoiselle, and you, monsieur, have had the extreme kindness to accept his attentions, without any very definite knowledge as to whether I approve them."
At this point Janille made an angry gesture, Gilberte lowered her eyes and turned pale, and Monsieur Antoine flushed and opened his mouth to interrupt Monsieur Cardonnet. But he, giving him no time to do so, continued thus:
"I did not approve of this union at first, I agree: but I came here, I saw mademoiselle, and I yielded—on very mild and simple conditions. My son is ultra-democratic in his notions, and I am a moderate conservative. I foresaw that his exaggerated opinions would ruin his intellect and his credit. I demanded that he should abandon them and return to judicious and decent ideas. I thought that I could easily obtain that sacrifice. I rejoiced over it in anticipation; I announced it to you as indubitable in a letter addressed to mademoiselle; but, to my great surprise, Emile persists in his madness, and sacrifices to it a love which I believed to be deeper and more devoted. I am forced, therefore, to tell you that he renounced mademoiselle's hand irrevocably this morning, and I thought it my duty to inform you immediately, in order that, being fully aware of his intentions and my own, you should have no ground for accusing me of irresolution and imprudence. Whether it seems fitting to you now to authorize his love and to permit his attentions, is for you to say; I wash my hands of it."
"Monsieur Cardonnet," said Antoine, who had risen, "I know all this, and I know, also, that you never lack fine phrases to make sport of us; but I say that, if you are so well informed, it is because you sent spies into our house and lackeys to insult us by revolting offers for my daughter's hand. You have already caused us much distress by your diplomacy, and we request you, without ceremony, to stop where you are. We are not simple enough not to understand that you do not propose to unite your wealth with our poverty at any price. We have not been deceived by your devious manœuvres, and when you invented the extraordinary scheme of placing your son between a moral submission, which is impossible so far as his opinions are concerned, and a marriage to which you would not have consented, even if he had been willing to descend to falsehood, we swore that we would have no falsehood and no dissimulation between him and you and ourselves. Allow me to tell you, therefore, that we know very well what it befits us to do; that I am quite as well able to protect my daughter's honor and dignity as you are to protect your son's wealth, and that I have no occasion for advice or lessons from anybody in that regard."
Having spoken thus with a firmness which Monsieur Cardonnet was far from expecting on the part of theold sot of Châteaubrun, Monsieur Antoine resumed his seat and looked the manufacturer in the eye. Gilberte felt as if she were dying; but she thought it her duty to support with her pride the just pride of her father. She too looked Monsieur Cardonnet in the face, and her glance seemed to confirm all that Monsieur Antoine had said.
Janille, unable to contain herself any longer, deemed it her duty to speak.
"Never fear, monsieur," she said, "we can get along very well without your name. We have one which is quite as good; and as for the matter of money, we had more glory in losing what we had than you in making what you didn't have."
"I know, Mademoiselle Janille," retorted Monsieur Cardonnet, with the artificial calmness of profound contempt, "that you are very proud of the name Monsieur de Châteaubrun has bestowed on your daughter. For my own part, I would not have been so proud, and would have closed my eyes to certain irregularities of birth; but I can imagine that the fortune of a plebeian, acquired by hard labor, may seem contemptible to a person born, as you apparently were, in the splendors of idleness. It only remains for me to wish you all much joy, and to ask mademoiselle's pardon for having caused her some slight grief. My wrongdoing was unintentional, but I think that I can atone for it by a bit of sound advice: remember that young people who venture to make free with the wishes of their parents are sometimes intoxicated by an ephemeral caprice rather than inspired by an enduring passion. Emile's conduct with regard to her proves what I say, I think, and I am a little ashamed for him."
"Enough, Monsieur Cardonnet, enough, do you hear?" exclaimed Monsieur Antoine, really angry for the first time in his life: "I should blush to have so much wit as you, if I made so unworthy a use of it as to insult a young girl, and outrage her father in her presence. I trust that you understand me, and that——"
"Monsieur Antoine! Mademoiselle Janille!" cried Sylvain Charasson, rushing into the room; "here's Monsieur de Boisguilbault coming to see you! as true as the sun's shining! it's Monsieur de Boisguilbault! I saw his white horse and his yellow spectacles!"
This unexpected news excited Monsieur de Châteaubrun so that he forgot all his anger, and overwhelmed by a sort of childish delight mingled with terror, he went out with faltering step to meet his old friend.
But as he was about to throw himself into his arms, he was petrified with dread and, as it were, paralyzed by the marquis's impassive face and his courteous but sad salute. Trembling and heart-broken, Monsieur Antoine seized his daughter's arm in a convulsive grasp, uncertain whether he should push her toward Monsieur de Boisguilbault as a pledge of reconciliation, or send her away as a crushing proof of his sin.
Janille, completely bewildered, courtesied again and again to the marquis, who glanced absent-mindedly in her direction and bowed almost imperceptibly to her.
"Monsieur Cardonnet," he said, as he stood in the door of the square pavilion face to face with the manufacturer, who came out last, "I fancy that you are going away, and I came here expressly to meet you. You left your house just as I went to look for you, and I hurried after you. I beg you therefore to remain a little while, and to be good enough to give me your attention for a few moments."
"We will talk somewhere else, monsieur le marquis," replied Cardonnet, "for I cannot stay here any longer: suppose we go down to the foot of the mountain?"
"No, monsieur, no, permit me to insist: what I have to say is of some importance, and everybody here must hear it. It seems clear to me that I have not arrived soon enough to prevent some unpleasant explanations; but you are a man of affairs, Monsieur Cardonnet, and you know that it is the custom to summon a family council upon matters of serious importance at which momentous interests are discussed coolly, even when the participants bring to the council some little passion in the depths of their hearts. Monsieur le Comte de Châteaubrun, I beg you to detain Monsieur Cardonnet—it is quite essential. I am old and ill, I may not have the strength to come here again, to take such a journey. You are young men compared with me; I ask you therefore to be calm and considerate and to spare me much fatigue. Will you refuse me?"
The marquis spoke this time with an ease and grace which made him an entirely different man from him whom Monsieur Cardonnet had seen an hour earlier. He was conscious of a feeling of curiosity, not unmixed with a prudent regard for his own interests. Monsieur de Châteaubrun requested him to remain, and they all returned to the pavilion, with the exception of Janille, to whom Monsieur Antoine made a sign, and who took her place behind the kitchen door to listen.
Gilberte was uncertain whether she ought to go in or remain outside; but Monsieur de Boisguilbault offered her his hand with much courtesy, and, leading her to a chair, sat down near her, at some distance from her father and Emile's.
"To proceed in order, and in accordance with the respect due to ladies," he began, "I will first address myself to Mademoiselle de Châteaubrun.—Mademoiselle, I made my will last night, and I have come here to inform you as to its provisions and conditions; but I should be glad not to be refused this time, and I shall not have the courage to read you this scrawl unless you will promise not to be angry. You also laid down certain conditions in a letter which I have here and which caused me much pain. However, I consider them just, and I understand your unwillingness to accept the most trivial gift from a man whom you consider your father's enemy. In order to prevail upon you, therefore, it is necessary that this hostility should come to an end, and that monsieur your father should forgive me for whatever wrong I may have done him.—Monsieur de Châteaubrun," he said, rising with heroic courage, "you injured me many years ago; I retaliated by withdrawing my friendship from you without any explanation. We should either have fought or forgiven each other. We did not fight, but for twenty years we have been strangers, which is a more serious matter to two men who have been much attached to each other. I forgive you the wrong you did me, will you forgive me?"
"Oh! marquis!" cried Monsieur Antoine, rushing to him and bending his knee before him, "you never wronged me in any way. You were my best friend. You were like a father to me, and I insulted you mortally. I would have offered my bare breast to you if you would have run me through with your sword, and I would never have raised my hand against you. You did not choose to take my life, but you punished me much more cruelly by withdrawing your friendship from me. And now you offer me your forgiveness. I receive it on my knees, in presence of my friends and my enemies, since this humiliation is the only reparation I can offer you. You, Monsieur Cardonnet," he said, rising and eying the manufacturer from head to foot, "are at liberty to sneer at what you cannot understand; but I do not offer my bare breast and my arm without a weapon to everybody, as you will soon know."
Monsieur Cardonnet also had risen, darting threatening glances at Monsieur Antoine. The marquis placed himself between them and said to Antoine:
"Monsieur le comte, I do not know what has taken place between Monsieur Cardonnet and you; but you have offered me a reparation which I reject. I choose to believe that there was wrong on both sides, and I wish to see you not at my feet but in my arms; but since you consider that you owe me an act of submission which my age justifies, I require you, before I embrace you, to be reconciled to Monsieur Cardonnet, and to take the first step in that direction."
"Impossible!" cried Antoine, convulsively pressing the marquis's arm, half in joy, half in anger. "Monsieur has just spoken to my daughter in a most insulting way."
"No, that cannot be," said the marquis; "there has been a misunderstanding. I am acquainted with Monsieur Cardonnet's sentiments; his character is inconsistent with an act of cowardice. Monsieur Cardonnet, I am certain that you are as familiar with the point of honor as any nobleman; and you have just seen two noblemen, who had cruelly wounded each other, become reconciled before your eyes, without blushing for their mutual concessions. Be generous, and prove to us that it is not the name that makes nobility. I bring you words of peace and means of reconciliation. Permit me to put your hand in Monsieur de Châteaubrun's. Come; you won't refuse an old man on the verge of the grave. Mademoiselle Gilberte, come to my aid; say a word to your father."
The phrasemeans of reconciliationhad echoed loudly in Monsieur Cardonnet's ear. His penetrating mind had already guessed a part of the truth. He thought that he would be obliged to yield, and that it would be better to carry off the honors of war than to undergo the necessity of capitulation.
"My intentions were very different from what Monsieur de Châteaubrun supposes," he said, "and there has always been in my thoughts so much respect and esteem for mademoiselle his daughter, that I do not hesitate to disavow any words of mine that can possibly be interpreted otherwise. I beg Mademoiselle Gilberte to be convinced of my sincerity, and I offer her father my hand as a pledge of the oath I take."
"Enough, monsieur, let us say no more about it!" said Monsieur Antoine, taking his hand; "let us part without hard feeling. Antoine de Châteaubrun has never known what it is to lie."
"That is true," thought Monsieur de Boisguilbault; "if he had been more cunning, I should have been blind—and happy, like so many others.—I thank you, Antoine," he said aloud, in a trembling voice. "Now, come and embrace me!"
The count's embrace was passionate and enthusiastic; the marquis's calm and constrained. He was playing a part beyond his strength; he turned pale, trembled, and was forced to sit down. Antoine sat beside him, his breast shaken with sobs. Gilberte knelt in front of the marquis and covered his hands with kisses, weeping with joy and gratitude.
All this display and emotion disgusted the manufacturer, who looked on with a cold, supercilious eye, awaiting themeans of reconciliation.
At last Monsieur de Boisguilbault drew them from his pocket and read them in a clear, distinct voice.
He set forth in a few clear, concise words that he possessed about four million and a half francs; that he gave, by contract, two millions to Mademoiselle Gilberte de Châteaubrun, on condition that she married Monsieur Emile Cardonnet, and two millions to Monsieur Emile Cardonnet, on condition that he married Mademoiselle Gilberte de Châteaubrun, both of said gifts to take effect at Monsieur de Boisguilbault's death, but to be void unless the marriage should be celebrated within six months. Monsieur de Boisguilbault reserved the usufruct of these four millions during his own life, but he gave five hundred thousand francs outright to the future husband and wife, said gift to be effectual on their wedding-day. The said last-named sum, however, was to be given to Mademoiselle de Châteaubrun for her own use if she did not marry Monsieur Emile Cardonnet.
A feeble cry was heard behind the door; it was Janille, fainting with joy in Sylvain Charasson's arms.
Gilberte had no comprehension of what was happening to her; she had no idea of what a fortune of four millions was, and the thought of such a burden imposed upon a life so simple and happy as hers would have caused her more fear than joy; but she realized that her union with Emile had become a possibility once more, and, being unable to speak, she pressed Monsieur de Boisguilbault's hand convulsively in her own. Antoine was completely bewildered to find his daughter so rich. His joy was no greater than hers, but he saw in the marquis's conduct such an overwhelming proof of his forgiveness, that he believed that he must be dreaming and could find nothing to say to him.
Cardonnet was the only person present who really understood what it was to have four millions and a half fall into the laps of his future grandchildren. However, he did not lose his head, but listened impassively to the reading of the will, and, not choosing to appear to humble himself before the power of gold, he said coldly:
"I see that Monsieur de Boisguilbault is determined that the father's will shall bow before that of the friend; but Mademoiselle de Châteaubrun's poverty has never seemed to me a serious obstacle to this marriage. There is another which is much more repugnant to me, namely, that she is a natural child, and that there is every reason to believe that her mother—I will not call her by name—occupies an inferior position in society."
"You are in error, Monsieur Cardonnet," rejoined Monsieur de Boisguilbault, firmly. "Mademoiselle Janille's morals have always been beyond reproach, and, in my opinion, you do wrong to despise a person so loyal and devoted to the objects of her affection. But the truth demands that I set you right in this respect. I solemnly assure you, monsieur, that Mademoiselle de Châteaubrun is of unmixed noble blood, if that fact will give you any pleasure. I will even say that I knew her mother intimately, and that she was of as good a family as my own. Now, Monsieur Cardonnet, have you any other objection to make? Do you think that Mademoiselle de Châteaubrun's character can possibly inspire repugnance or suspicion in any one?"
"Most assuredly not, monsieur le marquis," Cardonnet replied; "and yet I hesitate still. It seems to me that the paternal authority and dignity are impaired by such a contract; that my consent seems to be purchased for a money consideration; and, while I had but one ambition for my son, to see him acquire wealth by his labor and his talent, I see that you raise him to the very apex of fortune, with a life of inaction and idleness before him."
"I hope that it will not be so," said Monsieur de Boisguilbault. "My reason for choosing Emile for my heir is that I am confident that he will not resemble me in any way, and that he will be able to make a better use of wealth than I have done."
Cardonnet simply desired an excuse for yielding. He said to himself that, by refusing, he should alienate his son forever, and that, by consenting with a good grace, he might recover enough influence over him to teach him to use his wealth according to his, the father's ideas: that is to say, he reckoned that, with four millions in hand, he might some day have forty; and he was convinced that no man, even a saint, can suddenly find himself the possessor of four millions without taking a liking to wealth. "He will make a fool of himself at first," he thought, "and will throw away part of his treasure; and, when he sees that it is growing less, he will be so frightened that he will try to make up the deficit; and then, as appetite comes to those who consent to eat, he will want to multiply it by two, by ten, by a hundred. With my help, he and I may be the kings of the financial world some day."
"I have no right," he said at last, "to refuse the fortune offered to my son. I would do it if I could, because the whole transaction is contrary to my opinions and my ideas; but the right of property is a sacred law. As soon as my son receives such a gift, he is a property-holder. I should rob him by refusing my assent to the conditions laid down. I am bound, therefore, to hold my peace forever concerning all that offends my convictions in this extraordinary arrangement; and, since I am compelled to yield, I desire, at all events, to do it gracefully, especially as Mademoiselle Gilberte's beauty, intellect and noble character flatter my egotism by promising happiness to my family."
"As we are all agreed," said Monsieur de Boisguilbault, rising and making a signal through the window, "I will beg Mademoiselle Gilberte, who has, like myself, a fondness for flowers, to accept the betrothal bouquet."
The marquis's groom entered and put down the little casket he had brought. Monsieur de Boisguilbault took from it a bouquet of the rarest and most fragrant flowers; old Martin had spent more than an hour in arranging it artistically. But, by way of ribbon, the bouquet was tied with the necklace of diamonds which Gilberte had returned; and, to take the place of the shawl, which the marquis had not deemed it advisable to produce again, he had put two rows instead of one in the necklace.
"Oho! two or three thousand francs in addition to what the contract calls for!" thought Monsieur Cardonnet, pretending to look at the diamonds with indifference.
"Now," said Monsieur de Boisguilbault to Gilberte, "you can refuse me nothing, as I have done what you wished. I suggest that you and your father take your carriage—the same barrow that was so useful to me and that procured me the happiness of your acquaintance. We will go to Gargilesse. I fancy that Monsieur Cardonnet desires to present his daughter-in-law to his wife, and, for my part, I am most anxious that my heiress should win her heart."
Monsieur Cardonnet welcomed the suggestion eagerly, and they were about to start when Emile appeared. He had learned that his father had gone to Châteaubrun; he dreaded some new plot against his happiness and Gilberte's peace of mind. He had leaped upon his horse, and forgetting his loss of blood, his fever and his promises to the marquis, he arrived at the ruins, trembling, breathless, and oppressed by the gloomiest forebodings.