At that moment Monsieur Férulus, dressed from head to foot in serge dyed black, and carrying under his arm a hat that was entirely without shape, entered the room where the young men were and executed a low reverence, accompanied by asalutem omnibus.
Robineau stepped forward cordially to greet his guest, and shook his hand heartily; he had not forgotten the speech of the morning.
"Monsieur de la Roche-Noire, I have come in response to your honorable invitation," said Férulus, clinging to Robineau’s hand.
"Monsieur Férulus, you give me great pleasure. To-day we shall have a simple little dinner; I have not yet had time to arrange my household."
"Monsieur de la Roche-Noire, the honor of dining with you will be the most delicious seasoning of the repast."
"Monsieur Férulus, I hope that you will come often to take——"
"Every day if such is your wish, Monsieur de la Roche-Noire. Is it possible, Monsieur de la Roche-Noire, for me to refuse such society as yours; to deprive myself of the advantage of your conversation, and to fall behind you in making advances?—No, Monsieur de la Roche-Noire,lapides clamabuntbefore I refuse to dine with you."
Robineau had never been so plied withLa Roche-Noire, and when he uttered that name Monsieur Férulus opened his mouth as if he would swallow the château. So Robineau continued to shake his hand; Férulus did the same by him, and each seemed determined not to relax his hold first. Luckily for them, François announced dinner, and this enabled them to separate.
They went to the dining room, where the table was laid. François had placed at one end of the table an old armchair on castors, which was a foot higher than the other chairs. It had been used by the old dowager, who was evidently very short. Robineau thought that his dignity called upon him to occupy it; so he perched himself on it and towered above his guests; whereupon Monsieur Férulus exclaimed:"Sic itur ad astra!"—But it was impossible for him to serve from that elevated seat, because he was too far from the dishes. After the soup, he decided to take a chair like the others, and he said to François:
"Move the armchair away; I will use it on state occasions."
The dinner, composed in large part of chickens, seemed not ill prepared; the new occupants of the château had acquired sharp appetites by their tour of inspection, and Monsieur Férulus ate as if he had walked twenty leagues.
"Monsieur Férulus," said Robineau, "have you lived long in this neighborhood?"
"Ten years or more, Monsieur de la Roche-Noire!"
"Did you know the late owner of the château—the sugar manufacturer?"
"Very little; he was a fool, an ignoramus; he never received his friends, never entertained! He was wrapped up in his beets!"
"Well! I mean to entertain, to receive my friends.—Are there any distinguished people in the neighborhood?"
"Not many; a few countrymen, a few obtuse creatures, who do not even send their children to my school."
"Ah! do you keep a school?"
"Yes, Monsieur de la Roche-Noire, a school for males. I take children from the age of two to the age of twenty-five; I teach them everything, no matter what! When they leave my hands, they strike everybody dumb with amazement; they floor all their adversaries by the force of their logic! Belles-lettres, philosophy, physics, philology, chemistry, mathematics, dead languages, living languages, English handwriting, round-hand and copying-hand. I teach all these to my day scholars for six francs a month!"
"That’s nothing at all," said Edouard.
"Is it not, monsieur?—Well! these Auvergnats prefer to let their children play tip-cat rather than send them to me!—O tempora, O mores!"
"Is the society of Saint-Amand select?" inquired Robineau.
"Monsieur de la Roche-Noire, at Saint-Amand, as at all small towns, there are some agreeable and some original people. There is a market there every Saturday, for wine, hemp, paper and cheese.—I have only two children from the town in my school, but they belong to the best families."
"I have a letter for the local notary," said Robineau. "I shall go to see him to-morrow, and ask him to invite all the best people in the town to a fête, in my name."
Alfred and Edouard, who, albeit they did not admit it to each other, were engrossed by the same subject, tried to lead the conversation in another direction.
"Do you know the village of Chadrat?" Alfred asked.
"Chadrat! yes, it’s a vile hole—a wretched hamlet! I haven’t a child from Chadrat in my school! The natives, like the Tartars, are brought up in ignorance and in contempt of shirts. They don’t even know how to spell!"
"Have you ever heard of the White House?" asked Edouard.
"The White House?—That’s a female boarding-school, isn’t it?"
"No, it’s an unoccupied house that is the terror of the neighborhood."
"Oh, yes! I think I remember. I had some talk about it with my pupils, and we took a walk to the valley, where we saw nothing extraordinary.—Indeed, messieurs, I ask you whether people brought up in an atmosphere of knowledge can possibly believe in ghosts?—Non est hic locus!—I believe in fools, in idiots, in numskulls;—I have the honor to drink to the health of Monsieur de la Roche-Noire;—but ghosts!—Retro Satanas!—They don’t enter into my system of education."
"So I say," assented Robineau; "I call it nonsense—old women’s tales."
"Monsieur de la Roche-Noire, you think like Tacitus, and you express your thoughts like Livy. I have the honor to drink to your health."
There were still several bottles of good wine in the cellars of the old castle. Monsieur Cunette had not dared to drink them, because an account had been taken before he was left in charge. Robineau caused a number of them to be produced; the young men did full justice to them, and Monsieur Férulus did nothing but hold out his glass and drain it. As they voted the dinner very good, it occurred to them, at dessert, to express their acknowledgments to Mademoiselle Cheval, whom Robineau wished to retain as cook at the château. François was told to send her in, and soon a tall, stoutly built damsel, with plump red cheeks, appeared and curtsied to the company.
"Mademoiselle Cheval," said Robineau, "I am very well pleased with the culinary talent you possess. I take you into my service ascordon bleuif that is agreeable to you."
Mademoiselle Cheval coughed, bowed, wiped her forehead, and replied in a hoarse voice:
"Pardi! if I didn’t know how to cook, it would be funny—when I used to work for a master who had twenty thousand francs a year to spend and drank nothing but the best wines!—Dieu! wasn’t I well-fixed there! Always dressed inSégroviewool! I’d be there still if I hadn’t fallen in love with one of the Swiss bodyguards!"
The cook was about to tell the story of her love affairs when the strains of bagpipe, fife and tambourine announced the arrival of the peasants. Robineau realized that it was his duty to go out and receive the guests to whom he had promised a ball. So they left the table, to the great regret of Monsieur Férulus, who seemed disposed to pass the evening there, and went into the courtyard, where the Auvergnats were assembled. Robineau tried to assume a seignorial air as he saluted the good people, who were glad to come to his house to dance. Alfred and Edouard accosted the prettiest of the peasant girls, to obtain a moment’s distraction; for one must needs divert one’s thoughts, even when one is in love, and especially when one is not certain of being loved in return. The two young men were not yet at that point; they thought a great deal about little Isaure, it is true, but they did not choose to avow to themselves that there was anything more than curiosity in their desire to see her again. When we begin to love, we play with our sentiments; and when we try to overcome them, we discover that it is too late to remedy the mischief.
They went to the garden, and selected the place where the beets were fewest and stationed an orchestra there on empty casks; that was not very dignified, but as the notabilities of the neighborhood were not present, they could afford to be less particular. The orchestra consisted of bagpipes, drums and fifes. The peasants took their places in high glee. Robineau considered it incumbent on him to open the ball, and, his two friends having already invited the prettiest girls, he selected the one who wore the best clothes. Monsieur Férulus, seeing that monseigneur proposed to dance, hastened to take a partner and to stand opposite Monsieur de la Roche-Noire.
The ball began; the Auvergnat music was not melodious, but it was noisy, and the dancers, male and female, were accustomed to accompany their steps with shouts and clapping of hands. It was difficult to remain indifferent amid such an uproar. Alfred and Edouard capered and twirled about with their partners, and laughingly struck the great hands that the peasant girls held out to them. Monsieur Férulus never ceased to say to his partner:
"You are opposite Monsieur de la Roche-Noire; be careful of your steps, stand straight, lower your eyes, and watch your partner."
The Auvergnate followed her own devices, shouting, stamping and clapping her hands. As the Auvergnebourréesnever come to an end, Robineau danced for half an hour, until he could hold out no longer. Monsieur Férulus was drenched, but he thought that politeness forbade him to leave the ball before Monsieur de la Roche-Noire. Luckily for them both, the concierge and the gardener appeared laden with hampers of wine, and the orchestra spontaneously paused to partake of refreshments.
They drank, then the dancing began again; they stopped again to drink, then returned to their capering. This lasted four hours, for the Auvergnats are indefatigable drinkers and dancers.
But it was after eleven o’clock; the open-air ball-room, which had been indifferently well lighted with candle ends, began to grow dark. Alfred and Edouard had taken their partners to walk in the garden, and the village maidens had returned to the dance in some slight disarray. Some papas and mammas were sleeping on the benches; Monsieur Férulus had taken his leave long before, and Robineau, who was anxious to retire, was thinking that he would be glad to show his guests to the door, when he heard outcries and loud oaths from one part of the assemblage.
Messieurs Vincent and Cunette did not dance, but they had not stopped drinking since the opening of the ball. The concierge had finished himself, and the gardener had attained the level reached by his comrade. But Monsieur Vincent was ugly in his cups; it took very little to anger him, and then he always wanted to fight everybody. He had fallen into a dispute with an Auvergnat, and they had already come to blows, Cunette, like a staunch friend, taking Vincent’s part, when Robineau, who was very angry that anyone should presume to fight on his premises, appeared on the scene, not doubting for an instant that his presence would suffice to restore tranquillity.
"What! is it my concierge and my gardener who are making all this noise?" he said as he drew near. "Why are you fighting, knaves?"
"Go to the devil! Let us alone!" said Cunette, not recognizing his master. "I am defending my friend Vincent, and——"
"Villain! do you dare to speak thus to me?"
"I’ll hit you if you come any nearer!" cried Vincent, striking to right and left; and the new seigneur, being in the midst of themêlée, was in imminent danger of receiving a storm of blows, when Mademoiselle Cheval succeeded in forcing her way through the crowd, and taking her master in her arms as easily as if she were lifting a child, she bore him away, clearing a passage by distributing fisticuffs on every side.
Meanwhile François, Alfred and Edouard, each armed with a broomstick, succeeded in driving all the guests outside the walls. Messieurs Cunette and Vincent went to bed, and peace finally reigned once more within the château.
"That was a very nice party!" said Alfred, as he and Edouard returned, laughing heartily, from expelling the peasants.
"Oh, yes!" replied Robineau, feeling his ribs, "I shan’t forget my ball! If ever I ask those worthies to dance here again!—Ouf! what an infernal racket! I came near being beaten to death!—And how disrespectful my servants were. I will discharge them to-morrow."
"Why, my dear fellow, they were drunk! You must forgive them."
"They will simply get drunk again!"
"But you won’t employ them every day distributing provisions and entertaining the peasants!"
"No! God forbid!"
"You chose to begin on a large scale; one must pay for one’s apprenticeship in everything."
"Good-night, Monsieur Jules," said Edouard.
"Good-night, Monsieur de la Roche-Noire," said Alfred, following Edouard from the room.
Robineau was left alone. It was nearly midnight; his bedroom was lighted only by a single candle and three-fourths of it was in darkness. Robineau called François to help him to undress, and ordered him to sleep in the adjoining room, so that he might come to him at once if he should call.
At last Robineau climbed into bed, after placing a lamp by the bedside. The man of Clermont-Ferrand recurred to his mind. His bedroom began to seem too large; the hangings to be very gloomy, and Susannah’s face, which he had admired in the morning, frightened him at night. He was no longer so much in love with the antique, and he did not go to sleep until he had determined to begin on the morrow to give a more modern aspect to his domain.
Edouard rose with the dawn. He had no desire to pass another day roaming about the Château of La Roche-Noire, but he promised himself a much sweeter pleasure—he was determined to see the little goatherd again, to revisit the valley where Isaure lived; he had not forgotten the girl for an instant, and, although he had had less to say about her than his friend, he had certainly been more engrossed by thoughts of her. In love as in politics, those who talk little are more to be feared than chatterers.
Edouard went down into the courtyard, where he found the concierge and the gardener, entirely sober, awaiting their master’s waking to make their excuses to him. Paying no heed to those worthies’ assurances of repentance, Edouard left the château, crossed the green and inquired of the first person he met the shortest road to Chadrat. Then he started for that village, climbing the hills and mountains at a rapid pace. In an hour he covered the distance which had taken them twice as long on the preceding day. He soon recognized his surroundings; he saw the valley, the White House, and Isaure’s cottage. Not until then did he stop to take breath before going down into the valley at a more leisurely pace and looking all about.
He halted a few yards from the cottage, at which he gazed for some time, saying to himself:
"There, far from the world, she lives alone. She is as lovely as the angels are painted; she seems virtuous, and as artless as innocence itself! But it is impossible that she should not turn some mountaineer’s head ere long. They are afraid of her, the idiots! But the travellers, the people from the city who see her! It is unreasonable to leave that young girl thus exposed to innumerable perils.—But why should I worry about her? I have seen the child but once; I hardly spoke to her. Am I going to take fire at the first glance, like Alfred? Oh, no! I am more sensible. It would be shocking to try to seduce that sweet girl! But one may come to see her without instantly falling in love with her.—Let us see if she is at home."
Edouard walked to the cottage; but the door was closed, and only the yelping of Vaillant answered the young man, who was sorely disappointed not to find the girl at home. He remembered that she drove her goats to pasture on the neighboring mountain, and he walked in that direction. He soon discovered Isaure seated on a low mound, reading, while her goats cropped the grass nearby.
"These mountaineers are not altogether wrong," thought Edouard, as he watched from a distance the little goatherd, who had not seen him. "It is no common thing to see goatherds reading, and this girl expresses herself altogether too well to be confounded with the ordinary peasant. Someone must have taught her what the other young women in these mountains do not know; and that someone cannot have been either of the peasants who took care of her when she was a child. There is something very strange, mysterious, in everything connected with this girl—doubtless that is why she interests me. How pretty she is, leaning over her book, with her head resting on one of her hands! If I were a painter, how I should like to paint that picture!"
After contemplating her for several minutes more, Edouard approached Isaure. He walked softly in order not to disturb her; but he stumbled over a stone, and at the noise the girl turned quickly. She started in surprise when she discovered a young man near her; but he soon saw that she recognized him, and a faint smile came to her lips. She rose as Edouard drew nearer.
"Remain seated, pray; I do not mean to disturb you," said Edouard, walking to her side awkwardly enough; for we are often most awkward when we wish to appear least so. "I was taking a walk among the hills. I saw you, so I came this way.—But you were reading, were you not?"
"Yes, monsieur, I am very fond of reading!"
"That is a pleasure with which most of the people of these mountains are unacquainted, I fancy."
"True, monsieur; but I thank heaven that I know more than they do; for, as I am almost always alone, I rest myself with a book when I have been working hard."
"May I venture to ask what you are reading?"
"Why not, monsieur?"
Isaure handed Edouard her book, which proved to be a volume of Florian. He stared at the girl in surprise, then returned the book, saying:
"You certainly are not a village girl like the others."
"Because I can read?" rejoined Isaure, with a smile.
"Not that only; but your refined manners, your way of expressing yourself."
"I speak like other people, monsieur."
"Not like the people who live about you; the very choice of this book——"
"I did not choose it; it was given to me."
Edouard was on the point of asking: "By whom?" But he dared not; he checked the impulse because he felt that his acquaintance with Isaure was of too recent date to justify such a question. He was conscious of a certain dissatisfaction, and it occurred to him that if Robineau were there, he would say that the girl received a good many presents.
"Mon Dieu! perhaps you have not breakfasted, monsieur?" exclaimed the young goatherd suddenly. "Will you come to the house? I never thought of it!"
"No, no, I do not care for anything," said Edouard, detaining her; "I only wish to talk with you, if it doesn’t bore you."
"Bore me! far from it, monsieur! People talk with me so seldom! The shepherds drive their flocks as far as possible from mine, the shepherdesses avoid me, and yet I have never injured anybody; have I a wicked look, monsieur?"
"Oh, no! quite the opposite!" cried Edouard, on the point of taking her hand and squeezing it tenderly; but again he restrained himself.
"Since my dear mother’s death, I have noticed that people avoid me, that they hardly speak to me. At first that made me unhappy—it seemed very sad to be all alone in the world, at my age—but since I have had Vaillant, I am no longer alone. He loves me dearly, Vaillant does! He doesn’t turn away when I want to caress him!"
There was in Isaure’s tone and language a blending of innocence and charm, whose fascination it was hard to resist. It was the language of a well-educated girl with the ingenuous tone of a native of the mountains. As he listened to her Edouard felt that his suspicions faded away.
"You have no objection, then," he said, "to my coming sometimes to talk with you?"
"Whenever you please, monsieur. Do you live near?"
"Why—yes—at La Roche-Noire; within two short leagues."
"Two leagues! that seems a long way to me. I have never been beyond the tops of these hills."
"Have you never been to the next town? to Saint-Amand?"
"Oh! no, monsieur! I am strictly forbidden ever to leave my mountains."
"Who forbids you, pray, as you are all alone in the world, and have no relations?"
Isaure made no reply for some seconds; at last she said:
"It was my dear mother who forbade me."
"But now that she is no more—are you not at liberty to follow your own inclinations?"
"To be sure, monsieur; but I have no desire to go to the town. Why should I go there?—Oh, no! I shall never leave dear, kind André’s house, where my childhood was passed."
Edouard was silent for a moment. Isaure ran after one of her goats, which had strayed away; he watched her run lightly up the cliff, then seated himself near where she had been sitting and awaited her return. The beauty of the spot, the perfect peace that reigned among the mountains, which the sun was just beginning to bathe with light, the solitude which surrounded himself and the pretty shepherdess—everything coincided to suggest numberless thoughts to Edouard’s mind. He realized that his heart beat more violently than usual, that his breath came faster, that his imagination was perturbed by a longing for love, or rather for pleasure.
But Isaure returned; she ran up and seated herself beside him, saying with a smile: "Here I am at last!" And there was such perfect innocence, and trust in her action and in her glance, that Edouard blushed inwardly at the thoughts that had come to him; his brain became calm, his heart less agitated; and not until then did he dare to look at Isaure.
"My goats sometimes make me run quite a long way," continued the girl; "I know that I might take Vaillant with me, and that he would watch them; but someone must watch the house."
"Do none of your neighbors in the mountains ever come to chat with you, Isaure?"
"No, monsieur, never."
"And among all the travellers who pass through the valley, has there never been one who, like myself, has returned to the mountains to see you?"
"No, monsieur; but it very rarely happens that strangers come here, for the valley is not on any well-travelled route, and the mountaineers who act as guides to travellers always avoid passing the White House."
For a moment there was silence between the two young people. Edouard scrutinized the girl more closely; she watched her goats wandering about the hillside, and when from time to time she looked at Edouard, she smiled artlessly. It was not the smile of a coquette seeking to beguile, it was the smile of innocence which sees no peril in the pleasure to which it gives birth.
"I was told at Chadrat that reading is not your sole talent," said Edouard; "you sing also."
"Yes, monsieur, I often sing; I have nothing better to do! But I sing very badly, I imagine."
"Who can have taught you songs that are unknown in these mountains?"
A faint flush rose to Isaure’s cheeks as she replied, lowering her eyes:
"It was a traveller who stayed some time with us."
"When your mother was alive?"
"Oh! yes, monsieur!"
Edouard said no more; in spite of himself vague suspicions assailed his mind. To dissipate them he glanced at the girl, whose every feature was so instinct with innocence. After several minutes passed thus, he realized that he ought to return to the château, for he wished that his absence should not be noticed, or, at all events, to conceal the fact that he had been to Chadrat. So he rose and said to Isaure:
"I must leave you now."
"Already, monsieur?" said the girl ingenuously.
"What!" cried Edouard; "may I hope that my presence has given you some pleasure?"
"As I have told you, monsieur, I very seldom have an opportunity to talk with anyone here in the mountains."
"Oh! to be sure," said Edouard more coldly; "and that is the only reason?"
He interrupted himself, thinking:
"Well! one would suppose that I expected this girl to be in love with me already?—I preach at Alfred, and I am no better than he is."
"I will go down the mountain with you," said Isaure; "it is time for me to go home—my poor Vaillant must be tired."
She ran at once to collect her herd, and drove it toward the valley, skipping about and laughing heartily at every antic of her goats. Edouard followed her, saying to himself:
"Her heart is calm and undisturbed; this frank gayety, this sweet unrestraint show that her mind is not burdened with thoughts of love. Poor child! for her own good, I pray that she may never know that passion, which causes more sorrow than pleasure!"
Edouard sighed; something whispered to him that he would be very glad to make that sorrow and that pleasure known to Isaure.
They reached the cottage, Isaure opened her door, and her dog ran out and leaped upon her; then he looked at Edouard and walked around him, but showed no temper.
"I believe that he recognizes you already," said the girl.
Edouard walked up to Vaillant and patted him a moment; the dog made no objection, but kept his eyes fixed on his mistress, as if to ask her whether the young man was a friend of hers.
"Good!" said Edouard, "I see that we shall be very good friends before long.—Adieu, charming Isaure! until to-morrow morning."
"Until to-morrow, Monsieur—Pardon me, but I do not know your name."
"My name is Edouard."
"Very well; until to-morrow, Monsieur Edouard, as you will not rest a moment under my roof to-day."
As she spoke, the girl curtsied gracefully to Edouard, then entered the house singing. The young man retraced his steps to La Roche-Noire, dreaming of the little goatherd.
"She is charming!" he said to himself again and again; "her manners, her voice, her artlessness—all are fascinating!—Oh! I am not going to fall in love with her—that would be foolish; but she is so interesting that I wish it were to-morrow morning already.—I won’t tell Alfred that I have been to see her; he would be quite capable of doing the same thing. Alfred is a reckless fellow; he would begin making love to the child at once. That would be an outrage, and I certainly would not permit it."
Poor Edouard! he did not propose to fall in love, and he was jealous already!—Ah! what is the sense of trying to resist a passion so natural at his age? Only when the age of reason comes must we be on our guard against love, which, like the smallpox, is the more virulent the later in life it attacks you.
Edouard returned to the Château of La Roche-Noire, unmindful of the length of the walk he had taken. When a man is falling in love, he is so preoccupied that he is never bored; that is some slight recompense, at all events, for the torments which love sometimes causes.
Edouard met Alfred in the courtyard.
"You went out very early, did you not?" observed young De Marcey, gazing fixedly at his friend; "when I got up I asked for you, and they told me that you had been gone more than an hour. The devil! you are an early bird! I confess that last night’s ball tired me a little; there’s no end to thosebourrées, and the damsels of Auvergne are no light weights.—I’ll wager that I can guess where you’ve been—toward the White House, eh? You wanted to see little Isaure again?"
"No, I haven’t been in that direction; I have been walking about the neighborhood; it’s a lovely country.—Indeed, what is the sense of trying to see that young girl again? It seems to me that it is useless, to say the least."
"Useless to see a girl who’s as pretty as the Loves! For my part, I think on the contrary that it’s a most excellent way to employ one’s time."
"It is just because she is so pretty that it may be a dangerous business. You especially, Alfred, who take fire so easily, would be capable of falling in love, that is to say, of taking a fancy to this village maiden.—I cannot think, however, that you intend to seduce her."
"You cannot think!—you cannot think!—Look here, my dear Edouard, do you propose to give me a course of moral lectures?—So far as I am concerned, I have no plans as yet; but still that little girl is pretty—I mean to see her again, and if she takes to me—faith, come what come may!—Where would be the harm, after all?"
"That girl is virtuous and innocent, and you would disturb her tranquillity! You would seek to arouse a sentiment which you will not feel a week, and then you would abandon her to her grief! That would be ghastly!"
"You are becoming romantic, Edouard.—In the first place, you say that this girl is virtuous—which is not absolutely demonstrated. Her peculiar situation—what people say about her—and the difference between her manners and those of her neighbors, give rise to many conjectures. But still, assume that she is virtuous—at any moment, some peasant, some clown, may fall in love with her and attract her; why then are you unwilling that I should try to be as fortunate as one of these country bumpkins? Furthermore, my dear fellow, if we were always guided by such reflections, we should never have the least little love affair, and we should always go about with downcast eyes for fear of meeting a charming woman and of conceiving evil thoughts!—It would be magnificent, I agree; but what can you expect? perfection is not in human nature; our first parents yielded to temptation, and I shall never have the self-command to be more virtuous than they were!"
Edouard said no more; he would have liked to be able to conceal the vexation he felt, and he was about to leave Alfred, when Robineau appeared, followed by several workmen whom François had brought from the town.
"The thing to be done, my boys," said Robineau, "is to make this château over new—or, at least, something like it. The rooms are certainly too dark, the hangings too old, the windows too small, and the stairways too rickety. Repair, replace, pull down, paint, paste; and, above all things, work fast. I will pay you—like a grand seigneur.—François, show these fellows where to begin; you know my plans."
"What, my friend!" said Alfred; "are you going to repair the whole château?"
"No, not the whole of it; but at all events the part I shall occupy, and where I shall receive company. As for the North Tower, that may remain as it is; I shall never go there.—Next, we must dig up the whole garden and replant it. Do you suppose that I can receive the best society of Saint-Amand, and take them to walk among beet greens? I should give them a fine idea of my taste!—I am going to spend a lot of money, to be sure, but a rich marriage will repay it all."
"Are you thinking of marriage already?"
"Faith, yes! In my opinion, marriage gives a man ballast, consideration. However, we will see about that.—But I am going to Saint-Amand; you will come with me, I hope?"
Alfred hesitated—he had another plan in mind. Edouard, observing his hesitation, made haste to say:
"Yes, yes; let’s go to Saint-Amand. They say it’s a very pretty town, and we must become acquainted with the townspeople."
After a moment’s reflection, Alfred agreed to go. Monsieur Cunette came forward, bowing to the ground before his master, whose feet he was ready to kiss, and announced that the cabriolet was ready.
"What’s that? have you a cabriolet?"
"Yes—that is to say, a sort of little carriole. Monsieur Cheval procured it for me; it is very neat, and it will be better than to go such a short distance in a post-chaise."
"Where did you find a horse?"
"Monsieur Férulus has lent me one belonging to the father of one of his pupils."
"That is to say, the father of the pupil lends it to you."
"I mean to buy some horses at once. Come, messieurs, let us breakfast at once, and start for Saint-Amand. I have notified the notary of my visit, and I am sure that the whole town expects us."
Breakfast over, they got into the carriole, which jolted them somewhat; but the horse was strong and it was not long before they espied the ruins of the fortifications that surrounded Saint-Amand; soon after, they entered the town, but to Robineau’s astonishment the inhabitants were not standing at their doorways.
While the new landed proprietor betook himself to the notary’s, Alfred and Edouard strolled about the town, of which they soon made the circuit. Robineau joined them on the public square; his face was radiant with joy. The notary had told him that people were talking a great deal about him in the neighborhood, and had invited him to dine on the following day because he wished to introduce him to the most notable people of the town. Lastly, he had his pockets full of letters of introduction, and as he had already told the notary that it was his intention to marry, the notary had promised him three balls and four large receptions for the following week.
"I did not forget you, my friends," said Robineau in conclusion.
"Do you propose to find wives for us, too?" said Alfred.
"That isn’t what I mean. Although if you wish it—it seems that in the provinces there is a good deal of marrying; but I said that I had brought two young men with me from Paris, one very wealthy, and the other very bright."
"Which means that the one who is rich is a stupid fool, I suppose?"
"No, not that! But I was asked if you were bachelors, too, and upon my replying in the affirmative, I was strongly urged to bring you to dinner with me, and——"
"You are very kind, Monsieur Jules; but we have no desire to play a scene or two fromLa Petite Ville; you will have to dine without us."
"As you please, messieurs. But there is nothing further to keep us here; let us return to my château. I must go back and hurry up my workmen. I have already told the notary that before long I would give a large party, dinner, ball, fire-works and Bengal fire, like the Tivoli at Paris. I must go back and have the beets pulled up."
They entered the carriage once more and drove back to the château. Robineau was in raptures; he dreamed of nothing but balls, parties, weddings; he imagined all the women in the town disputing for his favors, and all the unmarried girls making soft eyes at him. While he imagined all this, he did not notice that his two companions were not listening to him, but that, absorbed by their own reflections, Alfred and Edouard were thinking of something very different from the parties he proposed to give, at which he had no idea of dancing and drinking with the peasants of the neighborhood.
They were near the château, when Robineau uttered an exclamation which roused his companions from their reflections.
"That man again! always that man! He is mybête noire! I don’t know why, but I would rather see a wolf than that tall vagabond!"
The young men looked up and saw the poverty-stricken traveller seated on the ground a short distance from the château, at which he seemed to be gazing as attentively as on the day before.
"Ah, it is the man with the knotted stick!" said Alfred, with a smile.
"It is that poor devil who was at Clermont," said Edouard.
"Yes, it is that fine fellow who is so ugly to look at. For heaven’s sake, see how he stares at my château! He does it ostentatiously; one would say that he wanted to pick a quarrel with the workmen he sees there. I will have the rascal driven away from my moat."
"I do not believe that your lordship has that right, Monsieur de la Roche-Noire. Monsieur Férulus would tell you that that man isextra murosand consequently cannot be disturbed."
"But why does he look at my property like that? I don’t like it."
"Ask him."
"What! Speak to that vagabond! Compromise myself by addressing him! Certainly not. However, I should be glad to know what he is doing here."
"Very well," said Edouard, "as I am not afraid of compromising myself, I propose to try to talk a little with the man. I have an idea that he is an unfortunate fellow looking for work. Couldn’t you give him something to do in your château, as you are just setting up housekeeping?"
"Take that man into my house! No, indeed! I should be afraid that he would rob me."
"Oh! do you think it is always safe to judge by appearances, monsieur? and because this poor fellow’s coat is shabbier than those of the peasants hereabout, is it necessary to refuse him a chance to earn his living? That’s the way the unfortunate are forced into crime."
"After all, what you say is reasonable. Well! go to him and ask him what he can do. I might employ him to pull up beets, or to groom the horses which I propose to buy; we will see. But first of all find out what he is; I am determined to have only respectable people in my service."
The carriage drove into the courtyard. Monsieur Férulus, who had already arrived for dinner, joined the young men. Edouard, while the rest went into the château, went out again and walked toward the place where they had seen the man from Clermont-Ferrand.
The stranger was still seated a short distance from the North Tower, to which his glances seemed more attracted than to the other parts of the château; his staff was between his legs, and his head rested on one of his hands.
Edouard approached the stranger, but he did not look up at him, and remained in the same position. Edouard saw that he must begin the conversation, and, taking his stand almost in front of the stranger he said to him in an indifferent tone:
"You seem to be examining this venerable château with much interest, monsieur?"
The stranger raised his eyes, glanced angrily at Edouard for a moment, then answered abruptly:
"Am I not at liberty to look where I please?"
"No one denies you that right. I simply thought that perhaps the sight of this château recalled bygone memories to you; that you may have known someone here formerly."
The stranger cast a piercing glance at the young man, and a bitter smile played about his lips, but he made no reply.
After a moment’s silence, Edouard continued:
"This is a charming country; I am delighted that I came here; it presents a most picturesque blending of wild and cheerful scenery.—Do you belong hereabout, monsieur?"
The stranger gazed earnestly at Edouard, and replied:
"If I should ask you where you came from, what you have been doing, and what you have come here for, would you consider it any of my business, and would you answer?"
"Perhaps so, monsieur; moreover, I may have reasons for questioning you which you would not have for questioning me."
"That is to say, that because I am poorly clad, because I look like an unfortunate devil, you, who are well dressed, and have money in your pocket, no doubt, think that you are vastly superior to me, and that that gives you the right to question me."
"You are mistaken, monsieur; and although your exterior may have led me to think that you are not wealthy, that thought has made me desirous to do something for you, to be useful to you, and that is what led me to ask you these questions."
The stranger looked at Edouard for some seconds, then shook his head, saying:
"You must be very different from other men then!"
"I came here with the person who has bought this château, and whom you may have seen with us."
The stranger indulged in a mocking smile, as he muttered:
"Yes, yes, I have seen him! and it seems that he has already begun to upset everything in the château."
"This property needs repairs; he proposes to make more modern the part of the building that he occupies. He also proposes to set up a household; he has not enough servants, and there are various positions to be filled. As you seem to look at the house with interest, I thought that perhaps it would be agreeable to you——"
"And you have come to offer me a chance to be the new owner’s footman!" exclaimed the stranger, with a frown.
Amazed at the expression which the other’s face assumed, Edouard replied hesitatingly:
"Footman—or something else; I know of no occupation that is degrading to him who fills it uprightly."
The stranger seemed to reflect for some moments, then exclaimed sarcastically:
"Upon my word, that would be very amusing! It would, indeed! I know that Jacob was a servant to Laban, that Apollo was a farmhand, that David kept flocks, that Cincinnatus drove the plough, and that the Prodigal Son was reduced to herding swine! After all, what does one’s employment matter, provided that one is happy? Is a man in an embroidered coat more worthy of esteem than one in a jacket and clogs? No. But he who is richly clad is able to procure all the pleasures of life, to satisfy his desires and his passions—that is the advantage that he has over the other. The form changes, but the substance is always the same. To prove it, just give money, wealth, to some poor wretch whose simple life and pure morals have been extolled to you, and he will very soon plunge into folly like the others. I know but one class of really wise people, and they are those who do not allow themselves to be tricked!"
Edouard listened to the stranger with no less surprise than interest. His speech proved that he, Edouard, was not in error in thinking that that man had not always been in such wretched plight. Apparently regardless of the person who stood beside him, the stranger took from his pocket a pipe and a flint, and as he struck the flint to obtain a light, continued his reflections:
"What a curious thing life is! When one is rich, happy, highly esteemed, one exposes it recklessly and plays with danger; one makes it a point of honor to defy perils. To be sure, we generally do it solely from self-esteem; then comes adversity, poverty, old age, and then we generally begin to tremble for our lives. We act like fools! For my own part, I have taken the wise course: I worry about nothing; I hold myself superior to everything. I still have a few coins in my pocket, and when they are gone, we will see. It won’t be the first time that I have found myself in an embarrassing position, and there is something piquant in the reflections to which such a condition gives rise. Moreover, the Auvergnats are good fellows; they will always give me a crust of bread, and with that I can walk where I please from morning till night. That is something. Ah! If we were at Athens or Sparta, people might find something to criticise in my mode of life, I know. By Solon’s law it was justifiable to denounce every citizen who had no occupation. But other times, other manners!"
The stranger, having lighted his pipe, put it in his mouth, and turned toward Edouard with a mocking laugh; then blew a puff of smoke into his face.
"Monsieur," said Edouard, "it is easy to see from your speech that you have had an education, that you were not born in the lower ranks of society. Misfortunes, which I do not ask to know, must have brought adversity upon you. You seem to hold a low opinion of your fellowmen, undoubtedly because you have reasons to complain of them; but misfortune embitters us and sometimes makes us unjust; so far as I am concerned, I sincerely desire to be of use to you, and to extricate you from a situation which I see you ought not to occupy."
"Which I ought not to occupy! Why, you see that I ought, since I am in it! But have I asked you for anything? Who told you that I am not contented as I am?"
"A man may become hardened to misfortune, to poverty; but whatever strength of mind he may have, it is impossible to banish entirely from his thoughts the memory of a happier time."
The stranger stretched himself out carelessly on the turf and looked at Edouard.
"Ah! you believe that, do you? How do you know that I do not deserve the misfortune of which you suppose me to be the victim; that it is not my misbehavior, my passions, which have put me where I am?"
"If that were so, I should see in it simply an additional motive for trying to oblige you. A man must be much more unhappy when his unhappiness is due to his own fault."
"Do you think that I follow the creed of Zoroaster, that I regale myself by reading theSadder, which demands that a man should make a rigid examination of his conscience at the end of every day? No, indeed; for a long time my conscience and myself have been the best friends in the world, and for a very good reason, namely, that we never speak to each other.—Have you any snuff about you?"
"No, I never use it."
"That is a pity; it is deuced hard to find any about here! Never mind,—I will do without it; a man becomes accustomed to everything! Formerly I would never believe that one could sleep as well in the open air as in a bed; now I enjoy it immensely. I confess, however, that the bread of these mountaineers is a little heavy; it cannot come up to a truffled turkey or a roasted pheasant; but one must needs be sober when one cannot be otherwise."
"Why do you refuse me then when I offer you the means to be more comfortable? A servant’s place would humiliate you; but we might be able to find some place for you which would not be exactly that, some occupation in which there would be nothing distressing to you."
"No, no, it isn’t the name of servant that offends me; I tell you again, I look upon all men with the same eye! But to be a servant in this château—that is impossible!"
"Why so?"
"It is impossible, I tell you!" As he said this the stranger sprang to his feet; then he continued with a smile: "You must agree that the new owner has every appearance of an egregious idiot!"
Edouard smiled too, as he replied:
"He is a very good fellow at bottom."
"Oh, yes! A good fellow! I have known a deuced lot of men who seem to be that! They borrowed my money and never returned it. However, I did the same myself, later; it is natural; but it is much more difficult to live with fools than with intelligent people. Wealth makes the former even more absurd than ever, because it gives them assurance, self-sufficiency, which they parade on all occasions, and with which they drive one mad!—Ah! I feel by my stomach that dinner time has come; the stomach acts as a watch, you see; good-night, monsieur."
"May I not at least know your name? If any opportunity to oblige you should present itself, which were more agreeable to you than the idea of taking service at the château, I should like to be able to find you."
"To find me! That is not a very easy matter. I am everywhere and nowhere, like thefree judgesof old times. However, I think that I have chosen my place of abode in these mountains for some time. As for my name, I have no desire to tell you the name which really belongs to me; but I will tell you what the Auvergnats call me, who meet me on the roads and who are beginning to know me; they call me the tall vagabond. That is not such a sonorous name as Monsieur de la Roche-Noire, but after all it is as good a name as another. Good-night."
With that, the stranger walked away whistling, and Edouard returned to the château, thinking of the strange individual with whom he had been talking. They were awaiting Edouard to adjourn to the table. Monsieur Férulus was in despair, for fear that the soup would be cold; but Robineau was very curious to know who the man was with the knotted stick, and as soon as he espied Edouard, he cried: "Well! did you talk with him?"
"Yes, we had quite a long conversation."
"You must tell us about it."
"Cannot monsieur tell us about it at the table?" said Monsieur Férulus.
They took their seats at the table, and Edouard told the result of his conversation with the stranger.
"So he won’t enter my service?" said Robineau.
"No, he refuses."
"I am not at all sorry."
"It must be that that fellow is a little cracked," said Monsieur Férulus, "to prefer the bread of the mountaineers to Monsieur de la Roche-Noire’scuisine."
"I don’t agree with you," said Edouard. "That man has had a good education, and has held high rank in society; he can’t make up his mind to wait upon other men, and that seems to me natural enough."
"What makes you think that that vagabond has been received in good society?" said Robineau. "I have discovered nothing distinguished in his appearance."
"If you had heard him talk, you would be certain that he has not always worn such shabby clothes."
"My dear friend," said Alfred, "you are a little inclined to be romantic. Everything that seems in the least degree strange or extraordinary, attracts you, and you are very glad to transform this vagabond into one of those mysterious characters whom we find only in novels."
"Messieurs," said Monsieur Férulus, filling everybody’s glass, "Monsieur Edouard is a man of letters; he may have been—I will say more, he must have been flattered to hear a few scholastic words come from the mouth of so vulgar a person. But what does that prove? That he has received an education? I am not of that opinion. Are we not told that in ancient times animals spoke?"
"Such things are seen in our day, too," said Alfred.
"Ah, yes! you mean parrots. They have had education; but Livy reports that an ox cried in the marketplace: ‘Rome, beware!’ Pliny says that a dog spoke when Tarquin was expelled from the throne; and if we are to believe Suetonius, a crow cried in the Capitol when Domitian was about to be assassinated: ‘That is well done!’ One of the horses of Achilles, named Xanthus, predicted to his master that he would die before Troy. Lastly, Phryxus’s ram spoke, as did the cows on Mount Olympus; and yet, messieurs, none of these beasts had ever received any education. Surely a man may do as much. My conclusion is that this vagabond has been in the service of some scholar, and that something of what he heard has stuck in his memory; for we masters of arts are like the sun, whose beams penetrate palace and garret alike.—Mademoiselle Cheval’s salmis is excellent.—I have the honor to drink to the health of Monsieur de la Roche-Noire."
Alfred and Edouard had ceased to take part in the conversation; they were both absorbed by their thoughts. But Monsieur Férulus, who seemed to have made up his mind to eat and drink and talk for the whole party, did not let the conversation flag, and took pains at every turn to throw some flattery or some compliment into the face of Robineau, who received it all with delight, and considered Monsieur Férulus much more agreeable than his two friends. The schoolmaster had already attained his end; the atmosphere of the château was much pleasanter to him than that of his school, and toward the close of the dinner, in the fulness of his heart, he said:
"Monsieur de la Roche-Noire, I feel that I have imbibed a very strong attachment for you."
"Monsieur Férulus," said Robineau bowing, "I beg you to believe that on my side——"
"Monsieur de la Roche-Noire, it came to me immediately when I saw you approaching on your donkey. There exists a secret sympathy between great men; and if you are great in birth and in worldly wealth, I flatter myself that I am in knowledge. I am a veritable well in the matter of learning! You must have a library in your château."
"I have one in the South Tower."
"In that case you absolutely must have a librarian."
"But the fact is that there are no books in the library."
"Never mind, we will put some in it. I will bring mine, all classical works. You must realize, Monsieur de la Roche-Noire, that a château without a library is like a dinner without soup, like a handsome man with only one eye, or a pretty woman who limps. Look you, Monsieur de la Roche-Noire, do you know what I am capable of doing for you?—I have the honor of drinking to your health."
Robineau thought for some time, then replied:
"Faith, no, I can’t imagine."
"If you can’t imagine, I must explain to you; that is the way that the Sibyls always answered those who consulted them; and when they had expounded their oracle, ordinarily it was understood no better. But to return to the subject: you absolutely must have a librarian."
"But I thought that as——"
"No, you must have one first of all; and to be the depository of the learning which the Château of La Roche-Noire must contain, requires a profound, erudite, scholarly and modest man. Now I look about in vain over all the country within ten leagues, I see no other than myself who combines all these qualities;consequentia consequentium, I will be your librarian."
"Oh! Monsieur Férulus——"
"I have the honor to drink to the health of Monsieur de la Roche-Noire. Yes, I will leave everything, I will turn my pupils over to my sub-master; and I have five at this moment. But no matter! Money is nothing to me. Moreover, I have taken it into my head to make your name immortal, and I will do it. I will compose in your honor Greek, Latin, French and Hebrew verses; you shall be a Mæcenas, an Augustus; I will be your Horace, your Virgil; and to make you immortal, I ask simply a salary of four hundred francs, with board and lodging."
Robineau considered that four hundred francs a year was not a high price to pay for becoming immortal, so he shook hands with Monsieur Férulus and the bargain was concluded. The new librarian promised to come and take up his quarters at the château next day. They drank more bumpers to the pleasure that they anticipated in each other’s society; and by dint of arguing about the advantages of knowledge, and of drinking to the health of the great men of antiquity, they ended by not knowing what they were saying. Alfred and Edouard had retired long since, and Robineau concluded to follow their example; but on attempting to rise from the table, he was surprised to find that he was dizzy and that his legs gave way. He rang for François to take him to his apartment, saying: "This is strange! Anyone would say that I was a little bit tipsy."
"Monsieur de la Roche-Noire," said Férulus, trying to find his hat, "there is no harm in getting a little fuddled; Alexander the Great got tipsy sometimes, and our ancestors used to drink hard. In Germany, a man did not think that he had treated his guest in a friendly fashion, if he did not send him home drunk; and in Russia the Muscovites used to be so frantically fond of wine that when they could no longer swallow it, they took injections of it. When I become your house-guest, I hope that we shall reintroduce some of the customs of antiquity.—Until to-morrow, Monsieur de la Roche-Noire!"
Monsieur Férulus left the château in almost the same condition in which Cunette and Vincent had left the ball; and Robineau flung himself upon his bed, with his head in a whirl, but overjoyed to think that there was some point of resemblance between himself and Alexander the Great.
The wish to see Isaure again had made both of the young men early risers; Robineau was still sleeping soundly when Edouard left his room and stole softly down the stairs leading to the courtyard. He made as little noise as possible, for he was afraid of waking Alfred; indeed, he was afraid of meeting him; he did not suspect that this time the young baron had stolen a march on him, and that he had left the château half an hour before.
On reaching the courtyard Edouard was stopped by François, who dared not wake his master and did not know what answer to make to the workmen who applied to him for orders concerning different repairs. Edouard spent a moment examining the work, gave some instructions, and succeeded at last in ridding himself of them all. But François had no sooner left him than the gardener came toward him, and begged him to take a look at the improvements which he had planned in the garden. There was no way to get rid of Monsieur Vincent without doing what he wished. Edouard went into the garden, declared everything charming, admirable, delightful; and while the gardener was still talking, left him there and hurried back from the garden to the courtyard. There the concierge was awaiting him; Monsieur Cunette was not tipsy, but he had already breakfasted, and he was in a loquacious mood; he absolutely insisted upon showing Edouard the cellars of the château; he had the keys in his hand and had already lighted the lantern.
"I don’t want to see your cellars," said Edouard, pushing him aside, "show them to your master all you please, but I care nothing about making their acquaintance."
"Then monsieur must have changed his mind," said the concierge, putting the keys into his pocket.
"What do you mean by changed my mind?"
"Why, this morning your friend, Monsieur de Marcey, told us that you were determined to see the cellars, the gardens, and the works that were going on. He told us that we must show you everything."
"What! you have seen Alfred already? Where is he, pray?"
"Oh! he must be a long way off by this time if he is still going. To be sure, he took the big horse that was in the carriage yesterday, you know. Bless my soul! how he made him go!"
Edouard saw that it was Alfred who had set everybody upon him, to detain him in the château; he divined his motive, and his heart beat faster. Alfred had determined to arrange for himself a tête-à-tête with Isaure, and he had feared that Edouard might find him there. What could he have to say in secret to that girl? Edouard guessed only too well, and he would have gladly given all that he possessed to be at the White House at that moment.
"Is there no way to find another horse?" he asked the concierge who was blowing out his lantern.
"A horse—to put in the carriage?"
"Why, no, to ride."
"Ah, I see what it is; monsieur wishes to join his friend. You will have hard work, for he has a long start, and then, you see, he rode so fast!"
"I ask you for a horse."
"Let me see; there is Nicolas, he has his little mare, that’s lame. But never mind; she still has three legs that she works very handily."
"Go, fetch her for me! Here, take this money; but I beg you to make him hurry."
"So you really don’t want to see the cellars to-day?"
"No, no! for heaven’s sake, bring me a horse!"
The concierge hurried away, and Edouard paced the courtyard excitedly. He realized how difficult it would be for him to prevent Alfred from going to see Isaure without him; he had no right, no reason to be offended with him; and yet his heart sank and his brain was in a whirl at the thought that another than himself was with the pretty goatherd and that that other might be making love to her.
Cunette returned at last, with Nicolas’s mare, and Edouard jumped upon her back. As he was about to leave the château, Monsieur Férulus entered it, carrying under one arm a small bundle containing his effects, and under the other a score of volumes, tied together with a cord, with which he proposed to start the library of the château.
"In the saddle already, my dear confrère!" said Monsieur Férulus, stopping beside Edouard. "Oho! we are starting out very early in search of rhymes."