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I wrote theSin of Monsieur Antoine in the country, during a seasonof tranquillity, outward and inward, such as seldom occurs in one's life.It was in 1845, a period when criticism of society, as it was, anddreams of an ideal society attained in the press a degree of freedom ofdevelopment comparable to that of the eighteenth century. Some day,perhaps, people will find it difficult to believe the trivial butexceedingly characteristic fact I am about to mention.

At that period, if one wished to be independent, to maintain directly orindirectly the boldest ideas opposed to the vices of the existing socialorganization and to give expression to the liveliest hopes of thephilosophical sentiment, it was hardly possible to apply to theopposition newspapers. The most advanced of them unfortunately had notreaders enough to give satisfactory publicity to the ideas one desiredto put forth. The more moderate nourished a profound aversion forsocialism, and, in the course of the last ten years of Louis-Philippe'sreign, one of these organs of the reformist opposition, the mostimportant by reason of its age and the number of its subscribers, did methe honor several times to ask me for a serial novel, always on thecondition that it should contain nothing of a socialistic tendency.

That condition was very difficult, perhaps impossible of fulfilment, toa mind absorbed by the sufferings and the needs of its generation. Thereare very few serious-minded artists who do not allow themselves to beinfluenced in their work by the threats of the present or the promisesof the future, with more or less adroit circumlocution, with more orless effusion and enthusiasm. Moreover it was the time to say all thatone thought, all that one believed. It was one's duty to do it, becauseit was possible. As the social war did not seem imminent, the monarchy,making no concessions to the needs of the people, seemed powerful enoughto defy longer than it did the current of ideas.

These ideas, at which only a small number of conservative minds had asyet taken fright, had really taken firm root only in a small number ofobservant and laborious minds. So long as they seemed to have noapplication to political actualities, the ruling power worried verylittle about theories and allowed every man to make one for himself, topublish his dream, to construct the future city innocently in hischimney corner, in the garden of his imagination.

The conservative journals became therefore the refuge of the socialistnovel. Eugène Sue published his in theDébats and theConstitutionnel. I published mine in theConstitutionneland theEpoque. At about the same time theNational wasattacking the socialistic writers in itsfeuilletons, andoverwhelming them with very bitter insults or very clever satire.

TheEpoque, a journal which had a very brief life, but which beganby surpassing in ardor all the conservative and absolutist organs of themoment, was the frame wherein I was given absolute liberty to publish asocialistic novel. On all the blank walls of Paris was placarded in hugeletters:Read the Epoque!Read the Sin of Monsieur Antoine!

The following year, as we were wandering through the moors of Crozantand among the ruins of Châteaubrun, a rustic field in which my pen hadalways taken delight, a Parisian friend of mine called out facetiouslyto the half-civilized shepherds of those solitudes: "Have you read theEpoque? Have you read theSin of Monsieur Antoine?" And asthey fled, terrified by those incomprehensible words, he said to me with alaugh: "How evident it is that these socialistic novels go to the headsof the country people!"

An old woman, an excellent talker, came to Châteaubrun to reprove mebecause I had written a bookfull of lies about her and her master.She thought that I had intended to introduce the proprietor of thechâteau and herself on my stage. She had heard of the book. People hadtold her that there wasnot a word of truth in it. It was impossibleto make her understand what a novel is, and yet she invented oneherself, for she told us of the assassination of Louis XVI. and MarieAntoinette,who were stabbed in their carriage by the populace ofParis. They who accuse socialistic writers of inflaming people's mindsshould remember that they have forgotten to teach the peasants to read.

Shall I deny, now that the masses are stirring, the communism ofMonsieur de Boisguilbault, a very eccentric and yet not altogetherimaginary character in my novel? God forbid, especially after thesocialists have been accused, in every key, of preaching the division ofproperty.

The diametrically opposite idea, that of common ownership byassociation, should be the least dangerous of all in the eyes of theconservatives, since it is unfortunately the least understood and theleast popular among the masses. It is especially antipathetic in thecountry districts and can be realized only by the initiative of a stronggovernment or by a philosophic, religious and Christian renovation, thework of centuries it may be!

Attempts to form workingmen's associations have been made, however,among the best informed, the most moral, the most patient portion of theindustrial population of the large cities. Enlightened governments,whatever their motto, will always protect these associations, becausethey offer a refuge to the genuinely social and religious thought of thefuture. Probably imperfect at their birth, they will perfect themselvesin time, and when it is clearly proved that they do not destroy, but, onthe contrary, preserve respect for family and property, they willinsensibly lead to reciprocity among all classes, and to a union ofinterests and attachments,—the only path of safety open to thesociety of the future.

THE SIN OF MONSIEUR ANTOINE

I

EGUZON

There are few localities in France as unattractive as the town of Eguzonon the confines of La Marche and Berry, in the southwest part of thelatter province. Eighty to a hundred houses, all of more or lesswretched appearance, with the exception of two or three whose opulentproprietors we will not name for fear of offending their modesty, linethe two or three streets and surround the public square of thatmunicipality, famous for leagues around by reason of the litigiousnature of its population and the difficulty of reaching it. Despite thislast drawback, which will soon disappear, thanks to the laying out of anew road, Eguzon sees many travellers boldly traverse the solitudes bywhich it is surrounded and risk the springs of theircarrioles onits terrible pavement. The only inn is situated on the only square, whichseems the more vast because it has one side open to the fields as ifawaiting the new buildings of future citizens; and this inn is sometimescompelled, in the summer, to invite its too numerous guests to acceptaccommodation in the neighboring houses, which are thrown open to them,we are bound to say, with much hospitality. Eguzon, you see, is thecentral point of a picturesque neighborhood dotted with imposing ruins,and whether one desires to visit Châteaubrun, Crozant, Prugne-au-Pot,or the still habitable and inhabited château of Saint-Germain, he mustnecessarily sleep at Eguzon, in order to start betimes on thesedifferent excursions on the following morning.

Several years ago, one lowering, stormy evening in June, the good peopleof Eguzon opened their eyes to their fullest extent to see a young manof attractive exterior crossing the square to leave the town just aftersunset. The weather was threatening; it was growing dark more quicklythan usual, and yet the young traveller, after taking a light repast atthe inn, where he halted just long enough to rest his horse, rode boldlyaway toward the north, heedless of the representations of the innkeeper,and apparently caring naught for the dangers of the road. None knew him;he had answered all questions with an impatient gesture only, and allremonstrances with a smile. When the sound of his horse's hoofs had diedaway in the distance, the loafers about the inn said to one another:

"That fellow knows the road well or doesn't know it at all. Either hehas been over it a hundred times and knows every stone by name, or hedoesn't suspect what sort of a place it is, and will find himself in adeal of trouble."

"He's a stranger and not of these parts," said a knowing individual witha judicial air. "He wouldn't listen to anything but his own head; buthalf an hour hence, when the storm breaks, you'll see him coming backagain."

"If he doesn't break his neck first, going down the Pont des Piles,"observed a third.

"Faith!" said the bystanders in chorus, "that's his business! Let's goand close our shutters, so that the hail won't break our window-panes."

And throughout the village there was a great noise of doors and windowsbeing hastily barred, while the wind, which was beginning to moan overthe moors, outstripped the breathless maid-servants, and sent back intotheir faces the folding leaves of the heavy shutters wherein themechanics of the province, in conformity with the traditions of theirancestors, spared neither oak nor iron bolts. From time to time a voicecould be heard from one end of the street to the other, and such remarksas these were shouted from doorway to doorway: "Is all yours in?" "Ahoua! I've got two loads still on the ground." "And I've got sixstanding!" "Well, I don't care, mine are all in the barn." They weretalking about hay.

The traveller, riding an excellent Brenne hackney, left the cloudsbehind him and, quickening his pace, flattered himself that he couldoutstrip the storm; but, at a sudden turn in the road, he realized thathe must inevitably be taken in flank. He unfolded his cloak, which wasstrapped to his valise, tied his cap under his chin, and, digging hisspurs into his horse, galloped on once more, hoping at least to reachand cross, by daylight, the dangerous spot that had been described tohim. But his hope was disappointed; the road became so difficult that hehad to go at a footpace and watch his horse to keep him from fallingover the rocks with which the ground was strewn. When he reached the topof the ravine of La Creuse, the storm-cloud had enveloped the whole sky;it was quite dark, and he could judge the depth of the abyss he wasskirting only by the dull, muffled roar of the torrent.

With the rashness of his twenty years the young man disregarded hishorse's prudent hesitation and forced him to take the chances of adescent which the docile beast found more uneven and steeper at everystep. But suddenly he stopped and threw himself back on his haunches,and his rider, who was slightly startled by the shock, saw, by the lightof a brilliant flash, that he was on the extreme edge of a perpendicularprecipice, and that another step would infallibly have hurled him to thebottom of La Creuse.

The rain was beginning to fall, and a furious squall twisted the tops ofthe old chestnut trees on the level of the road. The west wind forcedman and horse alike toward the stream, and the danger became so realthat the traveller was obliged to dismount, in order to present lesssurface to the wind and to guide his horse more surely in the darkness.What the lightning flash had enabled him to see of the landscape hadseemed wonderfully beautiful to him; moreover, his situation whetted thetask for adventure which is characteristic of youth.

A second flash enabled him to distinguish his surroundings, and heprofited by a third to familiarize himself with the objects nearest athand. The road was not narrow, but its very width made it hard tofollow. There were some half a dozen vaguely defined tracks, marked onlyby hoof-prints and wheel-ruts, forming divers paths, interlaced as if bychance, on the slope of a hill; and as there was neither hedge, norditch, nor any sign of cultivation, those who passed that way hadclimbed the hill wherever they happened to choose; thus with each seasona new road was opened, or some old one reopened which time and nonusehad closed. Between each two of these capricious tracks were littlemounds of rock or tufts of furze, which looked just alike in thedarkness, and as no two of them were on the same level it was difficultto pass from one to the other without risking a fall which might wellend in the abyss; for they all sloped sidewise as well as forward, sothat one must lean backward and to the left. Thus no one of thesewinding paths was safe; for since the spring all had been troddenequally hard, the natives taking any one of them at random in broaddaylight; but, on a dark night, it was of the greatest importance not tolose one's footing, and the young man, who was more careful of the kneesof the horse he loved than of his own life, concluded to halt behind arock that was high enough to shelter them both from the violence of thewind, and to wait there until the sky should brighten up a bit. He leanedagainstCorbeau, and, raising a corner of his waterproof cloakin such wise as to protect his companion's quarters and the saddle, hefell into a romantic reverie, as well pleased to hear the howling of thetempest as the good people of Eguzon, assuming them to be thinking ofhim at all at that moment, supposed him to be anxious and disappointed.

The successive flashes soon afforded him a sufficient acquaintance withthe surrounding country. Directly in front of him the road climbed theopposite slope of the ravine, equally steep and presenting difficultiesof the same nature. The Creuse, a clear, swift stream, flowed not verynoisily at the foot of the precipice and drew its banks together to passwith a dull, never-ending roar under the arches of an old bridge thatseemed in a very dilapidated condition. The view opposite was limited bythe steep incline; but at the left he could catch glimpses of sloping,well-cultivated meadows, through the middle of which the stream wound;and opposite our traveller, on the crest of a hill bristling with hugeboulders interspersed with rich vegetation, rose the dilapidated towersof a vast ruined manor. But, even if it had occurred to the young man toseek shelter there from the storm, it would have been difficult to finda way of reaching it; for there was no apparent communication betweenthe road and the ruin, and another ravine, traversed by a stream thatemptied into the Creuse, separated the two hills. The site was mostpicturesque and the pallid gleam of the lightning imparted a touch ofthe terrible which one would have sought in vain by daylight. Giganticchimneys, exposed by the falling of the roofs, towered up toward theheavy clouds that hovered over the château and seemed to rend itasunder. When the sky was lighted by the swift flashes, the ruins wereoutlined in white against the dark background of the atmosphere, and, onthe contrary, when the eyes had accustomed themselves to the succeedingdarkness, they formed a dark mass against a lighter horizon. A largestar, which the clouds seemed not to dare to cover, shone a long whileover the haughty donjon, like a carbuncle on a giant's head. At last itdisappeared, and the torrents of rain, falling with redoubled force,made it impossible for the traveller to distinguish anything exceptthrough a thick veil. The water, falling on the rocks near by and on theground hardened by the recent extreme heat, rebounded like white foamand at times resembled clouds of dust raised by the wind.

As he moved forward to shelter his horse more effectually behind therock, the young man discovered that he was not alone. Another man hadcome to that spot in search of shelter, or perhaps had taken possessionof it first. It was impossible to tell, in those alternations ofdazzling light and intense darkness. The horseman had not time to obtaina good view of the pedestrian; he seemed to be wretchedly dressed andnot of very attractive appearance. Indeed he seemed inclined to keep outof sight by crouching as far under the rock as possible; but as soon ashe concluded, from an exclamation of the traveller, that he wasdiscovered, he unhesitatingly addressed him in a loud, clear voice:

"This is bad weather for riding, monsieur, and if you're wise you willgo back to Eguzon to sleep."

"Much obliged, my friend," replied the young man, making his stout,lead-handled hunting-crop whistle through the air, in order to give hisproblematical companion to understand that he was armed.

The latter understood the warning and answered it by tapping the rock,as if absent-mindedly, with an enormous holly staff, which broke offseveral splinters of stone. The weapon was stout and so was the wristthat wielded it.

"I shall go as far as I choose," replied the horseman, "and I should notadvise anybody to take it into his head to delay me on the way."

"Are you afraid of robbers that you meet friendly overtures withthreats? I don't know what province you come from, my young man, but youhardly seem to know what province you are in. Thank God, there areneither highwaymen, nor assassins among us."

The stranger's proud but frank tone inspired confidence. The young manrejoined more mildly:

"Not always though! At this moment, for instance, it's none toopleasant; the weather is venting its spite, and it will be bad allnight."

"I am sure of it. If you follow the valley of the Creuse you'll have thestorm for company till to-morrow noon, but I fancy that you didn't startout so late without expecting to find shelter near at hand?"

"To tell you the truth, I am inclined to think that the place I am goingto is farther away than I supposed at first. I fancied that they triedto keep me at Eguzon by exaggerating the distance and the bad conditionof the roads; but I see, from the little progress I have made in anhour, that they hardly overstated it."

"Not far, monsieur, if you could see where you are going; but, if youdon't know the country, it will take you all night; for what you seefrom here is nothing in comparison with the break-neck places you haveto descend to go from the ravine of La Creuse to that of Gargilesse, andyou risk your life to boot."

"The road is not dangerous to me, for I know it as well as you probablyknow the streets of Paris; but what reason have I for passing the nightin getting drenched just to please you?"

"I am not particular about it, and I can do without your help; but Ididn't ask you to favor me for nothing; I offered you——"

"Enough! enough! you are rich and I am poor, but I am not a beggar yet,and I have reasons for not making myself the servant of the first comer.However, if I knew who you were——"

"Are you suspicious of me?" said the young man, whose curiosity wasaroused by his companion's proud and fearless character. "To prove thatdistrust is an unworthy feeling, I will pay you in advance. How much doyou want?"

"I beg your pardon, excuse me, monsieur, I want nothing; I have neitherwife nor children, I need nothing for the moment; besides I have afriend, a good fellow, whose house is not far away, and I shall takeadvantage of the first flash to go there and have supper and sleep on agood bed. Why should I deprive myself of that for you? Let us see! is itbecause you have a good horse and new clothes?"

"I like your pride, so far as that goes! But it seems to me not welldone of you to refuse an exchange of favors."

"I have done you all the service in my power by telling you not to takeany risks at night in such vile weather, on roads that will beimpassable in half an hour. What more do you want?"

"Nothing. When I asked for your assistance I wanted to ascertain thecharacter of the people of this neighborhood, that's all. I see now thattheir good will toward strangers is limited to words."

"Toward strangers!" cried the native, in a melancholy and reproachfultone which impressed the traveller. "In Heaven's name isn't that toomuch for those who have never done us aught but harm? I tell you,monsieur, men are unjust; but God's sight is clear, and he knows wellthat the poor peasant allows himself to be shorn, without revenginghimself, by the shrewd people who come from the great cities."

"Have the people from the cities done so much harm in your countrydistricts, pray? That is a fact that I know nothing of and am notresponsible for, as this is my first visit."

"You are going to Gargilesse. I suppose of course you are going to seeMonsieur Cardonnet? You are either a relation or friend of his, I amsure?"

"Who is this Monsieur Cardonnet, whom you seem to hold in ill-will?"asked the young man, after a moment's hesitation.

"Enough, monsieur," the peasant replied; "if you don't know him anythingthat I could say would hardly interest you, and if you are rich you havenothing to fear from him. The poor people are the only ones he has agrudge against."

"But after all," rejoined the traveller, with a sort of restrainedemotion, "it may be that I have reasons for wanting to know what peoplein this country think of this Monsieur Cardonnet. If you refuse to giveany reason for your bad opinion of him, it must be because you have somepersonal spite against him, not at all creditable to yourself."

"I am accountable to nobody," retorted the peasant, "and my opinion ismy own. Good-night, monsieur. See, the rain is a little less violent. Iam sorry to be unable to offer you a shelter; but I have only thechâteau you see yonder, which is not mine. However," he added, aftertaking a few steps, and as if regretting that he had not shown morerespect for the duties of hospitality, "if your heart should prompt youto come and ask a bed for the night, I can answer for it you would bewelcome."

"Is yonder ruin occupied?" asked the traveller, who had to descend theravine to cross the Creuse, and had walked along beside the peasant,supporting his horse by the rein.

"It is a ruin, in truth," his companion replied, repressing a sigh; "butalthough I am not so very old, I have seen that château in perfectrepair, and so magnificent, outside as well as inside, that a king wouldhave been well lodged there. The owner didn't spend a great deal, but itdidn't require much repairing, it was so solid and well built; and thewalls were so well laid, the stone mantels and window frames sobeautifully carved that it would have been impossible to make it anyfiner than the architects and masons did when they built it. Buteverything goes, riches like all the rest, and the last lord ofChâteaubrun has just repurchased the château of his ancestors for fourthousand francs."

"Is it possible that such a mass of stone, even in its presentcondition, is worth so little?"

"What is left would still be worth a good deal if one could take it downand carry it away; but where in this vicinity can he find workmen andmachines capable of pulling down those old walls? I don't know what theybuilt with in old times, but that cement is so hard that you would saythe towers and high walls are made of a single stone. And then, you seehow it was planted on the very top of a mountain, with precipices on allsides! What carts and what horses could carry down such materials?Unless the hill crumbles they will stay there as long as the rock thatholds them, and there are still ceilings enough left to cover one poorgentleman and one poor girl."

"So this last of the Châteaubruns has a daughter, has he?" asked theyoung man, pausing to look at the manor with more interest than he hadyet shown. "And she lives there?"

"Yes, yes, she lives there among the gerfalcons and screech-owls, andyet she is young and pretty, all the same. There's no lack of air andwater here, and in spite of the new laws against free hunting, we stillsee hares and partridges now and then on the lord of Châteaubrun'stable. Look you, if you have no business that compels you to risk yourlife to arrive before daybreak, come with me; I will undertake toprocure you a warm welcome at the château. Even if you should arrivethere alone, without recommendation, it's enough that the weather is badand that you have the face of a Christian, to ensure your being wellreceived and well treated at Monsieur Antoine de Châteaubrun's."

"But this gentleman is poor, it seems, and I am reluctant to impose onhis goodness of heart."

"On the contrary, you will gratify him. Come, the storm, you see, isgoing to begin again with more violence than before, and my consciencewould trouble me if I should leave you thus all alone on the mountain.You mustn't bear me ill-will because I refused my services. I have myreasons, which you could not judge fairly, and which there is no need ofmy telling you; but I shall sleep better if you follow my advice.Besides, I know Monsieur Antoine; he would be angry with me for notholding fast to you and taking you to his house; he would be quitecapable of running after you, which would be a bad thing for him aftersupper."

"And you don't think that his daughter would be displeased to have astranger arrive thus unexpectedly?"

"His daughter is his daughter; that is to say, she is as good as he is,if not better, although that seems hardly possible."

The young man hesitated some time longer, but, drawn on by a romanticattraction, and already drawing in his imagination the portrait of thepearl of beauty he was about to find behind those frowning walls, hesaid to himself that he was not expected at Gargilesse until thefollowing day; that by arriving at midnight he should disturb hisparents in their sleep; and, lastly, that it would be downrightimprudence to persist in his plan, and that his mother would certainlydissuade him from it, if she could see him at that moment. Moved by allthe excellent reasons which a man gives himself when the demon of youthand curiosity takes a hand, he followed his guide in the direction ofthe old château.

II

THE MANOR OF CHÂTEAUBRUN

After climbing with difficulty a very steep road, or rather a stairwaycut in the rock, our travellers reached the entrance of Châteaubrun inabout twenty minutes. The wind and the rain redoubled in violence, andthe young man hardly had leisure to observe the huge portal, whichoffered to his sight, at that moment, nothing more than an ill-definedmass of formidable proportions. He noticed simply that the seignorialportcullis was replaced by a wooden fence like those which enclose allthe fields in the province.

"Wait a moment, monsieur," said his guide. "I will climb over and getthe key; for latterly old Janille has minded to have a padlock here, asif there were anything to steal in her master's house! However, herintentions are good, and I don't blame her."

The peasant scaled the fence very cleverly, and, while awaiting for himto return and admit him, the young man tried in vain to make out thearrangement of the ruined masses of architecture which he could seeconfusedly inside the courtyard; it was like a glimpse of chaos.

After a few moments he saw several persons approaching. The gate wasspeedily opened; one took his horse, another his hand, and a third wentahead carrying a lantern, which was very essential for their guidanceamong the rubbish and brushwood that obstructed their passage. At last,after passing across part of the courtyard and through several enormousdark rooms, open to all the winds of heaven, they reached a small oblongroom with an arched ceiling, which might formerly have been used as apantry or as a store-room between the kitchen and the stables. This roomhad been cleaned and whitewashed, and was used by the lord ofChâteaubrun as salon and dining-room. A small fireplace had recentlybeen built there, with mantel and uprights of polished, glistening wood;the huge cast-iron plate, which had been taken from one of the greatfireplaces and which filled the whole back, together with the greatfire-dogs of polished iron, sent out the heat and light beautifully intothe bare white room, which, with the aid of a small tin lamp, wasperfectly lighted. A chestnut table, which could be made to hold as manyas six covers on great occasions, a few straw-seated chairs, and aGerman cuckoo clock, purchased from a peddler for six francs, composedthe whole furniture of this modest salon. But everything wasscrupulously clean; the table and chairs, roughly carved by some localcabinet-maker, shone in a way that bore witness to the assiduous use ofthe brush and duster. The hearth was carefully swept, the floor sandedin the English fashion, contrary to the customs of the province; and inan earthenware pot on the mantel was a huge bunch of roses mingled withwild-flowers plucked on the hillside roundabout.

At first glance there was nothingcherché, in the poetic orpicturesque sense, in that modest interior; and yet, on examining itmore closely, one would see that, in that abode, as in all those of allmankind, the natural taste and temperament of its presiding genius hadgoverned in the choice as in the arrangement of the furniture. The youngman, who then entered the room for the first time, and who was leftalone there for a moment while his hosts busied themselves inpreparations to make him as comfortable as possible, soon formed an ideaof the mental condition of the inhabitants of that retreat. It wasevident that they had refined habits and that they still felt a cravingfor the comforts of life; that, being in a very precarious financialcondition, they had had the good sense to proscribe every species ofmere external vanity, and had chosen, for their place of assemblage,among the few still intact apartments in that great building, the onethat could most easily be kept clean, heated, furnished and lighted; andthat, nevertheless, they had instinctively given the preference to awell-proportioned, attractive room. This little nook was in fact thefirst floor of a square pavilion added, toward the close of theRenaissance, to the venerable buildings which looked upon the principalcourtyard. The artist who had planned this sharp-angled turret had donehis best to soften the transition from one to the other of two suchdifferent styles. For the shape of the windows he had gone back to thedefensive system of loop-holes and small apertures through which towatch the enemy; but it was easy to see that the small round windows hadnever been intended to fire cannon through, and that they were simplyfor purposes of ornament. Being tastefully framed with red brick andwhite stone, in alternation, they formed an attractive setting for theinterior of the room, and divers recesses between the windows decoratedin the same way, avoided the necessity for papers, hangings, or evenarticles of furniture, with which the wall might have been covered,without adding to their simple and pleasant aspect.

In one of these recesses, the base of which, about three feet from thefloor, was formed by a flagstone white as snow and glistening likemarble, stood a pretty little rustic spinning-wheel, with its distafffilled with brown flax; and as he contemplated that slight and primitiveinstrument of toil the traveller lost himself in reflections from whichhe was roused by the rustling of a woman's dress behind him. He turnedhastily; but the sudden rapid beating of his youthful heart was checkedby a severe disappointment. It was an old servant, who had entered theroom noiselessly, thanks to the fine sand with which the floor wascovered, and was leaning over to throw an armful of wild grapevine rootson the fire.

"Come near the fire, monsieur," she said, lisping with a sort ofaffectation, "and give me your cap and cloak, so that I can have themdried in the kitchen. That's a fine cloak for the rain; I don't knowwhat they call this material, but I've seen it in Paris. It would be agood thing to see such a cloak on Monsieur le Comte's shoulders! But itmust cost a lot, and besides, he hasn't said that he would wear it. Hethinks he's still twenty-five years old, and he declares that the waterfrom the sky never yet gave an honest man a cold; however, he began tohave a touch of sciatica last winter. But a man isn't afraid of thosethings at your age. Never mind, warm your bones all the same; here, turnyour chair like this and you'll be more comfortable. You're from Paris,I am sure; I can tell by your complexion, which is too fresh for ourcountry; a fine country, monsieur, but very hot in summer and very coldin winter. You will say that it's as cold to-night as a night inNovember; that's true enough, but what can you expect? it's on accountof the storm. But this little room is very comfortable, very easy toheat; in a moment you'll see if I'm not right. We are lucky to haveplenty of dead wood. There are so many old trees about here, and we cankeep the oven going all winter just with the brambles that grow in thecourtyard. To be sure, we don't do much cooking. Monsieur le Comte is asmall eater and his daughter's like him; the little servant is theheartiest eater in the house; why, he has to have three pounds of breada day; but I bake for him separate, and I don't spare the rye. That'sgood enough for him, and with a little bran it goes farther and isn'tbad for the health. Ha! ha! that makes you laugh, does it? and me too.You see, I have always liked to laugh and talk; the work goes off justas fast, for I like to be quick in everything. Monsieur Antoine is likeme; when he has once spoken, off you must go like the wind. So we havealways agreed on that point. You'll excuse us, monsieur, if we keep youwaiting a little while. Monsieur has gone down the cellar with the manwho brought you here, and the stairs are so broken down that they can'tgo very fast; but it's a fine cellar, monsieur; the walls are more thanten feet thick, and it's so far underground that when you're down thereyou feel as if you were buried alive. Really! it's a funny feeling. Theysay that there was a time when they used to put prisoners of war there;now, we don't put anybody there and our wine keeps very well. Whatdelays us is that our child has already gone to bed; she had a sickheadache to-day because she went out in the sun without a hat. She saysthat she means to get used to it, and that she can get along without hator umbrella just as well as I can; but she's mistaken; she's beenbrought up like a young lady, as she should have been, poor child! forwhen I sayour child, I don't mean that I am Mademoiselle Gilberte'smother; she's no more like me than a goldfinch is like a sparrow; but asI brought her up, I have always kept the habit of calling her my girl:she would never let me stop calling herthou. She's such a sweetchild! I am sorry she's in bed, but you will see her to-morrow; for youwon't go away without breakfast, you won't be let go, and she'll help meto serve you a little better than I can do alone. It's not courage thatI lack, however, monsieur, for I have a good pair of legs; I have alwaysbeen thin, as you see me, with my short body, and you would never thinkme as old as I am. Come! how old would you call me?"

The young man thought that, thanks to this question, he would be able toput in a word at last, to thank her and to guide her, for he was verydesirous of fuller details concerning Mademoiselle Gilberte; but thegood woman did not await his reply, but continued volubly:

"I am sixty-four years old, monsieur, that is to say, I shall be onSaint-Jean's day, and I do more work alone than three young hussiescould ever do. My blood runs quick, you see, monsieur. I am not fromBerry, I was born in Marche, more than half a league from here; so youcan understand it. Ah! you are looking at our child's work? Do you knowthat is spun as even and fine as the best spinner in the province can doit? She wanted me to teach her to spin. 'Look you, mother,' she said,for she always calls me that; she never knew her own mother and alwaysloved me as if I was, although we were about as much alike as a rose anda nettle; 'look you, mother,' she said, 'all that embroidery and drawingand nonsense they taught me at the convent will never do me any goodhere. Teach me to spin and knit and sew, so that I can help you makefather's clothes.'"

Just as the good woman's indefatigable monologue was beginning to beinteresting to her weary auditor, she left the room, as she had alreadydone several times; for she did not remain quiet a moment, and, whiletalking, had covered the table with a coarse white cloth, laid plates,glasses and knives; had swept the hearth, wiped the chairs and rekindledthe fire ten times, always resuming her soliloquy at the point where shehad let it drop. But this time her voice, which began to lisp in thepassageway outside the door, was drowned by other stronger voices, andthe Comte de Châteaubrun and the peasant who had guided our travellerat last appeared before him, each carrying two large earthenware jugswhich they placed on the table. Not until then had the young man had anopportunity to see their faces distinctly.

Monsieur de Châteaubrun was a man of some fifty years, of mediumheight, with a noble and commanding figure, broad-shouldered, with aneck like a bull, the limbs of an athlete, a skin quite as tanned as hiscompanion's, and large hands, calloused and roughened by hunting and bythe sunlight and the cold air; a genuine poacher's hands, if such thingscan be, for the worthy nobleman had too little land not to hunt on thatof other people.

He had a frank, ruddy, smiling face, a firm walk and the voice of astentor. His hunting costume, neat and clean although patched at theelbow, his coarse shirt, his leather gaiters, his grizzly beard whichwas patiently waiting for Sunday,—everything about him indicated thathis life was rough and wild, whereas his pleasant face, his hearty,affectionate manners and an ease of bearing, not unmixed with dignity,recalled the courteous gentleman and the man who was accustomed toprotect and assist, rather than to be protected and assisted.

His companion the peasant was not nearly as presentable. The storm andthe muddy roads had wrought havoc with his jacket and his shoes. Whilethe nobleman's beard may have been six or seven days old, the villager'swas fully fourteen or fifteen. He was thin, bony and wiry, severalinches taller than the other, and although his face also expressedgood-nature and cordiality, it had, if we may so describe it, flashes ofmalevolence, of melancholy and haughty aloofness. It was evident that hehad more intelligence or was more unfortunate than the lord ofChâteaubrun.

"Well, monsieur," said the nobleman, "are you a little dryer than youwere? You are welcome here and my supper is at your service."

"I am grateful for your generous welcome," replied the traveller, "but Iam afraid you will deem me lacking in courtesy if I do not tell youfirst of all who I am."

"No matter, no matter," rejoined the count, whom hereafter we shall callMonsieur Antoine, as he was generally called in the neighborhood; "youcan tell me that later, if you choose; so far as I am concerned, I haveno questions to ask you, and I consider that I can satisfy the demandsof hospitality without making you give your names and titles. You aretravelling, you are a stranger in the province, caught by an infernalnight at the very gate of my house; those are your titles and yourclaims. In addition you have an attractive face and a manner thatpleases me; I believe therefore that I shall be rewarded for myconfidences by the pleasure of having accommodated a good fellow. Come,sit you down, and eat and drink."

"You are too kind and I am touched by your frank and amiable manner ofwelcoming strangers. But I do not need any refreshment, monsieur, and itis quite enough that you should allow me to wait here until the end ofthe storm. I had supper at Eguzon hardly an hour ago. So do not serveanything for me, I beg you."

"You have supped already? why, that's no reason! Is your stomach one ofthose that can digest only one meal at a time? At your age I would havesupped every hour in the night if I had had the chance. A ride in thesaddle and the mountain air are quite enough to renew the appetite. Tobe sure, one's stomach is less obliging at fifty; so that I considermyself well-treated if I have half a glass of good wine with a crust ofstale bread. But do not stand on ceremony here. You have come in thenick of time, for I was just about to sit down, and as my poor littleone has a sick-headache to-day, Janille and I were very depressed at theidea of eating alone: so your arrival is a comfort to us, and this goodfellow's too, my old playmate, whom I am always glad to see. Come, sityou down here beside me," he said to the peasant, "and you, MèreJanille, opposite me. Do the honors; for you know I have a heavy hand,and when I undertake to carve, I cut the joint and platter and cloth,and sometimes the table, and you don't like that."

The supper which Dame Janille had spread on the table with an air ofcondescension consisted of a goat's-milk cheese, a sheep's-milk cheese,a plate of nuts, a plateful of prunes, a large round loaf of rye bread,and four jugs of wine brought by the master in person. Thetable-companions set about discussing this frugal meal with evidentsatisfaction, with the exception of the traveller, who had no appetite,and who was well content to observe the good grace with which the worthyhost invited him, without embarrassment or false shame, to partake ofhis splendid banquet. There was in that cordial and ingenuous easesomething at once fatherly and childlike which won the young man'sheart.

True to the law of generosity which he had imposed upon himself,Monsieur Antoine asked his guest no questions and even avoided remarkswhich might suggest curiosity in disguise. The peasant seemed a littlemore uneasy and was more reserved. But soon, being insensibly drawn intothe general conversation which Monsieur Antoine and Dame Janille hadbegun, he laid aside his reserve and allowed his glass to be filled sooften that the traveller began to stare in amazement at a man capable ofdrinking so much, not only without losing his wits but without departingfrom his usual self-possession and gravity.

But with the master of the house it was very different. He had not drunkhalf of the contents of the jug beside him when his eye began to kindle,his nose to turn red and his hand to tremble. However he did not losehis wits, even after all the jugs had been emptied by himself and hisfriend the peasant—for Janille, whether from economy or from naturalsobriety, merely poured a few drops of wine into her water, and thetraveller, having made a heroic effort to swallow the first bumper,abstained from further indulgence in that sour, cloudy and execrablebeverage.

The two countrymen, however, seemed to enjoy it hugely. After a quarterof an hour, Janille, who could not live without moving about, left thetable, took up her knitting and began to work in the chimney corner,constantly scratching her head with her needle, but never disturbing thethin bands of hair, still black as a crow's wing, which protruded fromunder her cap. That spruce little old woman might once have been pretty;her delicate profile did not lack distinction, and if she had been lessaffected, less intent upon appearing fashionable and knowing, ourtraveller would have been attracted to her as well.

The other persons, who, in the absence of theyoung lady, formedMonsieur Antoine's household, were a young peasant, of some fifteenyears, wide-awake and light-footed, who performed the functions offactotum, and an old hunting-dog, with a lifeless eye, thin flanks and amelancholy, dreamy air; he lay beside his master and dropped asleepphilosophically between every two mouthfuls that he gave him, callinghim monsieur with a gravely jocose air.

III

MONSIEUR CARDONNET

They had been at table more than an hour, and Monsieur Antoine seemed innowise weary of sitting there. He and his friend the peasant lingeredover their little cheeses and their great tankards with the majesticindifference which is almost an art in the native Berrichon. Puttingtheir knives alternately to that appetizing morsel, the odor of whichwas devoid of any agreeable quality, they cut it into small pieces,which they placed carefully on their earthenware plates and ate crumb bycrumb on their rye bread. Between every two mouthfuls they took aswallow of the native wine, after touching their glasses and exchangingsuch compliments as: "Here's to you, comrade!" "Here's to you, MonsieurAntoine!" or: "Here's your good health, old fellow!" "The same to you,master!"

At that rate, the feast might well last all night, and the traveller,who had exhausted himself in efforts to appear to eat and drink,although he avoided doing it as far as possible, was beginning to findit difficult to contend against his drowsiness, when the conversation,which had thus far been concerned with the weather, the hay crop, theprice of cattle and the new growth of the vines, gradually took a turnwhich interested him deeply.

"If this weather continues," said the peasant, listening to the rainwhich was falling in torrents, "the streams will fill up this month asthey did in March. The Gargilesse is not in good humor and MonsieurCardonnet may suffer some damage."

"So much the worse," rejoined Monsieur Antoine; "it would be a pity, forhe has made some extensive and valuable improvements on that littlestream."

"True, but the little stream snaps its fingers at them," replied thepeasant, "and for my part I don't think it would be such a great pity."

"Yes it would, yes it would! that man has already spent more than twohundred thousand francs at Gargilesse, and it needs only a fit of temperon the part of the river, as we say, to ruin it all."

"I don't say that it would be an irreparable misfortune for a man who issaid to be worth a million," rejoined the châtelain, who in hissincerity persisted in misunderstanding his guest's hostile feelingtoward Monsieur Cardonnet; "but it would be a pity none the less."

"And that is just why I should laugh in my sleeve if a little hard luckshould make that hole in his purse."

"That's a wicked feeling to have, old fellow! Why should you have agrudge against this stranger? He has never benefited or injured you orme."

"He has injured you, Monsieur Antoine, and me and the whole province.Yes, I tell you that he has done it on purpose and that he will keep ondoing it to everybody. Let the buzzard's beak grow and you'll see howhe'll come down on your poultry-yard."

"Still your wrong-headed ideas, old fellow! for you have wrong-headedideas, as I've told you a hundred times. You are down on the man becausehe's rich. Is that his fault?"

"Yes, monsieur, it is his fault. A man who started perhaps as low as Idid, and who has gone ahead so fast, isn't an honest man."

"Nonsense! What are you talking about? Do you imagine that a man can'tmake a fortune without stealing?"

"I don't know anything about it, but I believe it. I know that you wereborn rich and that you are not rich now. I know that I was born poor andalways shall be poor; and it's my opinion that if you'd gone off to someother country without paying your father's debts, and if I had made itmy business to cheat and shave and scrape, we might both be riding inour carriages to-day. I beg your pardon, if I offend you!" added thepeasant in a proud, uncompromising tone, addressing the young man, whogave very decided indications of painful excitement.

"Monsieur," said the châtelain, "it may be that you know MonsieurCardonnet, that you are in his employ or are under some obligation tohim. I beg you to pay no heed to what this worthy villager may say. Hehas exaggerated ideas on many subjects which he doesn't fullyunderstand. You may be sure that he is neither malignant nor jealous atbottom, nor capable of inflicting the slightest injury on MonsieurCardonnet."

"I attach little importance to his words," replied the young stranger."I am simply astonished, monsieur le comte, that a man whom you honorwith your esteem should take pleasure in blackening another man'sreputation without having the slightest fact to allege against him andwithout knowing anything of his antecedents. I have already asked yourguest for some information concerning this Monsieur Cardonnet, whom heseems to hate personally, and he refused to give me any explanation ofhis sentiments. I leave it to you: is it possible for one to base a justopinion on gratuitous imputations, and if you or I should form anopinion unfavorable to Monsieur Cardonnet, would not your guest havebeen guilty of an unworthy act?"

"You speak according to my heart and my mind, young man," repliedMonsieur Antoine. "You," he added, turning to his rustic guest andstriking the table angrily with his fist, while he looked at him with anexpression in which affection and kindliness triumphed over displeasure,"you are wrong, and you will be good enough to tell us at once whatgrievance you have against the said Cardonnet, so that we can judgewhether it has any force. If not, we shall consider that you have asoured mind and an evil tongue."

"I have nothing to say more than everybody knows," replied the peasantcalmly, and with no sign of being intimidated by the sermon. "We seethings and judge them as we see them; but as this young man doesn't knowMonsieur Cardonnet," he added, with a penetrating glance at thetraveller, "and since he is so anxious to know what sort of man he is,do you tell him yourself, Monsieur Antoine; and when you have given themain facts I will fill in the details. I will tell monsieur the causeand the effect, and he can judge for himself unless he has some betterreason than mine for not saying what he thinks."

"All right, I agree," said Monsieur Antoine, who paid less attentionthan his companion to the young man's increasing agitation. "I will tellthings as they are, and, if I go astray, I authorize Mère Janille, whohas the memory and accuracy of an almanac, to interrupt and contradictme. As for you, you little rascal," he said, turning to the page inshort jacket and wooden shoes, "try not to stare into the whites of myeyes so when I speak to you. Your fixed stare gives me the vertigo, andyour wide-open mouth looks like a well that I may fall into. Well, whatis it? what are you laughing at? Understand that a ne'er-do-well of yourage should never presume to laugh in his master's presence. Stand behindme and behave as respectfully asMonsieur."

As he spoke, he pointed to his dog, and his manner was so serious andhis voice so loud as he made the jest, that the traveller wondered if hewere not subject to spasms of seignorial domination altogether out ofkeeping with his usual good-nature. But a glance at the boy's face wasenough to convince him that it was simply a game to which he waswell-used, for he cheerfully took his place beside the dog and began toplay with him, without a trace of sulkiness or shame.

However, as Monsieur Antoine's manners were marked by an originalitywhich could hardly be understood at the first meeting, the young manbelieved that he was beginning to grow light-headed by dint of muchdrinking, and he determined not to attach the least importance to whathe was about to say. But it very rarely happened that the count lost hishead, even after he had lost his legs, and he had resorted to hisfavorite pastime of bantering his neighbors only to divert the painfulimpression to which this discussion had given rise as between hisguests.

But he was at once interrupted by his dog, who, being also accustomed tohis habit of jesting, concluded that he was the person addressed andwalked up to his master and touched his arm, capering as friskily as hisage would permit.

"Well,Monsieur," he continued, looking down at him with a playfulstare, "what does this mean? Since when have you been as ill-bred as ahuman being? Go to sleep at once, and don't you ever make me spill wineon the tablecloth again, or you'll have Dame Janille about your ears. Itwas on a fine spring day last year, young man——" continuedMonsieur Antoine.

"Excuse me, monsieur," interposed Janille, "it was only the 19th ofMarch, so it was still winter."

"Is it worth while haggling over a difference of two days? What iscertain is that it was magnificent weather, as warm as it is in June,and quite dry too."

"That's true enough," exclaimed the little groom, "for I couldn't watermonsieur's horse at the little fountain."

"That has nothing to do with it," said Monsieur Antoine, tapping thefloor with his foot; "hold your tongue, boy. You may speak when you'respoken to; just open your ears in order to improve your mind and yourheart, if there's room for improvement. I was saying, then, that I wasreturning from a country fair one beautiful day, and walking quietlyalong on foot, when I met a tall man, very handsome although he waslittle if any younger than I, and his black eyes and pale, almost yellowcomplexion gave him a somewhat harsh and forbidding look. He was in acabriolet, driving down a steep hill, strewn with loose stones as ourfathers used to build roads, and was urging his horse forward,apparently unconscious of the danger. I could not help warning him.'Monsieur,' said I, 'no four-wheeled, three-wheeled or two-wheeledcarriage has ever gone down this hill, in the memory of man. In myopinion it is likely to result in breaking your neck, even if it is notimpossible, and if you prefer a road that is a little longer but muchsafer, I'll show you the way.'

"'Much obliged,' he replied with just a suspicion of surliness, 'thisroad seems to me practicable enough and I promise you that my horse willcome out all right.'

"'That's your business,' said I, 'and what I said was said from purelyhuman motives.'

"'I thank you, monsieur, and as you are so courteous, I shall be glad toreciprocate. You are on foot, going in the same direction that I am; ifyou will get in with me, you will reach the valley sooner and I shallhave the pleasure of your company.'"

"All that is true," said Janille; "you told it just like that the sameevening except that you said that the gentleman had on a long blueovercoat."

"Come, come, stop your quarrelling, it was green!" cried MonsieurAntoine. "Don't interrupt again, Mère Janille; and you, you naughtyvarlet, go to the kitchen and see if I am there, or put your tongue inyour pocket; take your choice."

"Now then," continued the châtelain, "I hesitated a moment between thefear of breaking my bones if I accepted and of being considered a cowardif I refused. 'After all,' I said to myself, 'this fellow doesn't looklike a lunatic, and seems to have no reason for risking his life. I haveno doubt he has a wonderful horse and an excellent wagon.' I took myplace beside him, and we began to descend the precipice at a fast trot,without a single false step on the part of the horse, or a moment's lossof resolution and self-possession on the part of the master. He talkedto me about this thing and that and asked me many questions about theprovince; and I confess that I answered a little crookedly, for I wasnot altogether easy in my mind. 'So far so good,' I said to him when wereached the bank of the Gargilesse without accident; 'we have comesafely down the break-neck, but we can't cross the water here; it's aslow as possible, but even so, it is not fordable at this point; we mustgo up a little way to the left.'

"'Do you call this water?' said he, shrugging his shoulders; 'for mypart I see nothing but stones and rushes. Nonsense! the idea of turningaside for a dry stream!'

"'As you choose,' I rejoined, a little mortified. His scornful audacitystung me; I knew that he was going straight into a veritable gulf, andyet, as I am not naturally a coward, and as I did not like the idea ofbeing called one, I declined his offer to allow me to get down. I wouldhave liked him to be punished by having reason to be well frightened,even at the expense of having a dip in the river myself, although Idon't like water.

"But I had neither the satisfaction nor the mortification: the cabrioletdid not founder. In the centre of the stream, which has dug out achannel with beveled edges, so to speak, in that spot, the horse was inup to his nostrils; the carriage was lifted up by the current. Thegentleman in the green overcoat—for it was green,Janille—lashed the horse; she lost her footing, floundered, swam,and by a miracle landed us on the bank, with no other injury than arather cool foot-bath. I did not lose my wits, I can swim as well as anyman, but my companion admitted that he knew no more about it than astick of wood; and yet he had neither faltered, nor swore, nor changedcolor. He's a plucky fellow, I thought, and his self-possession did notdisplease me, although there was something scornful in his perfecttranquillity as there is in the devil's laugh.

"'If you are going to Gargilesse, we can go on together, for I am goingthere too,' I said.

"I am not superstitious, monsieur, and yet my old nurse's stories cameinto my mind, I don't know why, and I had a moment of idiotic distrust,as if I were sitting beside Satan in a cabriolet. I glanced furtively atthis individual who travelled thus across mountains and rivers, with noend in view, apparently just for the pleasure of exposing himself or mewith him to danger; and I, like a booby, had let him persuade me to getinto his infernal gig!

"'My way of travelling about the country surprises you, I see,' he said;'the fact is that I propose to set up a manufacturing establishment inwhatever place seems to me the most suitable. I have some money toinvest—whether for myself or for other people is of littleconsequence to you, I suppose; but you can help me, with a few hints, toattain my object.'

"'Very good,' I said, my confidence being fully restored when I foundthat he talked sensibly; 'but, before advising you, I must know whatsort of an establishment you propose to set up.'

"'If you will answer all the questions I ask you, that will be enough,'he said, evading my question. 'For example, what is the maximum force ofthis little stream we have just crossed, between this spot and the pointwhere it empties into the Creuse?'

"'It is very irregular; you have just seen it at its minimum; butfreshets are frequent and tremendous; and if you choose to inspect theprincipal mill, formerly the property of the religious community ofGargilesse, you will be convinced of the havoc wrought by the torrent,of the constant damage suffered by that poor old building, and of theutter folly of laying out much money on it.'

"'But by laying out money, monsieur, the unruly forces of nature can beconfined! Where the poor, rustic mill goes under, the powerful, solidlybuilt factory will triumph!'

"He did not take up that suggestion but continued to question me as wedrove along. I, being obliging as a matter of duty, and something of anidler by nature, took him everywhere. We went into several mills, hetalked with the millers, examined everything with great care, andreturned to Gargilesse, where he talked with the mayor and the principalmen of the town, requesting me to introduce him to them at once. Heaccepted the curé's invitation to dinner, allowed himself to be mademuch of without ceremony, and hinted that he was in a position to rendergreater services than he received. He talked little, but listenedeagerly and asked questions about all manner of things, including somethat seemed to have little connection with business: for instance,whether the people in this neighborhood were sincerely pious or onlysuperstitious; whether the bourgeois were fond of luxuries or sacrificedthem to economy; whether the prevailing opinion was liberal ordemocratic; of what sort of men the general council of the departmentwas made up—and Heaven knows what else! At night he hired a guide andwent to Le Pin to sleep, and I did not see him again for three days.Then he drove by Châteaubrun and stopped at my door, to thank me, hesaid, for the courtesy I had shown him; but in reality I think to ask mesome more questions. 'I shall return in a month,' he said, as he tookleave of me, 'and I think that I shall decide on Gargilesse. It iscentral, and I like the place, and I have an idea that your littlestream, to which you give such a bad name, will not be very difficult tosubdue. It will cost me less to control it than the Creuse; and,moreover, the little risk that we ran in crossing it and that weovercame, makes me think that it is my destiny to conquer in this spot.'

"Less than three weeks after, he returned with an English mill engineerand several mechanics of the same nation; and since then he has keptearth and stone and iron constantly in commotion at Gargilesse. Beingentirely absorbed by his work, he rises before daybreak and is the lastto go to bed. No matter what the weather may be, he is in the mud up tohis knees; not a movement on the part of his workmen escapes him; heknows the why and how of everything, and is pushing forward theconstruction of an enormous mill, a dwelling-house, with garden andbuildings, sheds, dams, roads and bridges—in a word, a magnificentestablishment. During his absence, his agents had managed the purchaseof the property without allowing his name to appear. He paid a highprice, but people thought at first that he didn't understand businessand that he had come here totake it easy. They laughed at him stillmore when he increased the wages of his workmen, and when, to induce themunicipal council to allow him to divert the course of the stream as hechose, he agreed to build a road, which cost him an enormous sum. Theysaid: 'He's a fool; the extravagance of his plans will ruin him.' Butafter all is said, I believe he's as shrewd as most men, and I willwager that he will prove to be successful in his choice of a locationand in the investment of his money. The stream troubled him a good deallast autumn, but luckily it has been very quiet this spring, and he willhave time to finish his buildings before the rains come again, if wehave no unusual storms during the summer. He does things on a largescale, and puts in more money than is necessary, that's the truth; butif he has a passion for finishing quickly what he has begun, and has themeans and the inclination to pay a high price for the sweat of the poorlaboring man's brow, where is the harm? It seems to me that it's anextremely good thing, on the contrary, and that, instead of calling theman a hare-brained fool, as some do, or a crafty speculator, as othersdo, we ought to thank him for bestowing on our province the advantage ofindustrial activity, I have said! Now let the other side take its turn."

IV

THE VISION

Before the peasant, who had continued to nibble at his bread with athoughtful expression, was prepared to begin, the young man thankedMonsieur Antoine warmly for his narrative and for his generousinterpretation of Monsieur Cardonnet's course. Without admitting that hewas in any way connected with that gentleman, he seemed to be deeplytouched by the judgment of his character which the Comte de Châteaubrunexpressed, and he added:

"Yes, monsieur, I believe that by seeking the best side of things onegoes astray less often than by doing the opposite. A determinedspeculator would be parsimonious in the details of his undertaking, andthen one would be justified in suspecting his rectitude. But when we seean intelligent and active man pay handsomely for labor——"

"One moment, if you please," interposed the peasant. "You are uprightmen and noble hearts; I am glad to believe it of this young gentleman,as I am sure of it in your case, Monsieur Antoine. But, meaning nooffence, I will venture to tell you that you see no farther than the endof your nose. Look you. I will suppose that I have a large sum of moneyto invest, and that my purpose is not to obtain simply a fair andlegitimate return from it, as it is right for everybody to do, but todouble or treble my capital in a few years. I am not foolish enough toannounce my purpose to the people I am forced to ruin. I begin bywheedling them, by making a show of generosity, and, to remove alldistrust, by making myself appear, if need be, a brainless prodigal.That done, I have my dupes where I want them. I have sacrificed ahundred thousand francs, I will say, on those little wiles. A hundredthousand francs is a deal of money for the province! but, so far as I amconcerned, if I have several millions, it's simply the bonus that I pay.Everybody likes me; although some laugh at my simplicity, the greaternumber pity me and esteem me. No one takes any precautions. Time fliesfast and my brain still faster; I have cast the net and all the fish arenibbling. First the little ones—the small fry that you swallowwithout anyone noticing it; then the big ones, until they have alldisappeared."

"What do you mean by all your metaphors?" said Monsieur Antoine,shrugging his shoulders. "If you go on talking figuratively, I am goingto sleep. Come, hurry, it's getting late."

"What I mean is plain enough," continued the peasant. "When I have onceruined all the small concerns that competed with me I become a morepowerful lord than your ancestors were before the Revolution, MonsieurAntoine! I govern over the head of the laws, and while I have a poordevil locked up for the slightest peccadillo, I take the liberty to dowhatever pleases me or suits my convenience. I take everybody'sproperty—with their daughters and wives thrown in, if they take myfancy—I control the business and supplies of a whole department. Bymy skill I have forced down the price of crops; but, when everything is inmy hands, I raise prices to suit myself, and, as soon as I can safely doit, I obtain a monopoly and starve the people. And then it's a smallmatter to kill off competition; I soon get control of the money, whichis the key to everything. I do a banking business on the sly, wholesaleand retail. I oblige so many people, that I am everybody's creditor andeverybody belongs to me. People find out that they no longer like me;but they see that I am to be feared, and the most powerful handle mecarefully, while the small fry tremble and sigh all about me. However,as I have some intelligence and cunning, I play the great man from timeto time. I rescue a few families, I contribute to some charitableorganization. It is a method of greasing the wheel of my fortune, whichrolls on the more rapidly for it; for people begin again to have alittle esteem for me. I am no longer considered kind-hearted andfoolish, but just and great. From the prefect of the department to thevillage curé and from the curé to the beggar, everyone is in thehollow of my hand; but the whole province suffers and no one detects thecause. No other fortune than mine will increase, and every modestcompetence will shrink, because I shall have dried up all the springs ofwealth, raised the price of the necessaries of life and lowered that ofthe superfluities—just the reverse of what should be. The dealer willfind himself in trouble and the consumer too. But I shall prosperbecause I shall be, by virtue of my wealth, the only resource of dealerand consumer alike. And at last people will say, 'What in heaven's nameis happening? the small tradesmen are stripped and the small buyers arestripped. We have more pretty houses and more fine clothes staring us inthe face than we used to have, and all those things cost less, so theysay; but we haven't a sou in our pockets. We have all been frantic tomake a show and now we are consumed by debts. But Monsieur Cardonnetisn't responsible for it all, for he does good and, if it weren't forhim, we should all be ruined. Let us make haste and do something forMonsieur Cardonnet; let him be mayor, prefect, deputy, minister, king,if possible, and the province is saved!'

"That, messieurs, is the way I would make other people carry me on theirbacks if I were Monsieur Cardonnet, and it is what I am very sureMonsieur Cardonnet intends to do. Now, tell me that I am wrong to lookaskance at him; that I am a prophet of evil, and that nothing of what Ipredict will happen. God grant that you may be right! but for my part Ican feel the hail coming in the distance, and there is only one hopethat sustains me; it is that the stream will be less foolish than men;that it will not allow itself to be bridled by the fine machines theyput between its teeth, and that some fine morning it will give MonsieurCardonnet's mills a body blow that will sicken him of playing with it,and will induce him to take his capital and its consequences and carryit somewhere else. Now, I have said my say. If I have formed a hastyjudgment, may God who has heard me forgive me!"

The peasant had spoken with great animation. The fire of keen insightdarted from his blue eyes, and a smile of sorrowful indignation playedabout his mobile lips. The traveller examined that strongly-marked face,shaded by a heavy grizzly beard, wrinkled by fatigue, by exposure to theair, perhaps by disappointment as well; and, despite the pain that hislanguage caused, he could not help thinking him handsome, and admiring,in the facility with which he bluntly expressed his thoughts, a sort ofnatural eloquence instinct with sincerity and love of justice; for,although his words, of which we have failed to express all the rustichomeliness, were simple and sometimes vulgar, his gestures were emphaticand the tone of his voice commanded attention. A feeling of profounddepression had taken possession of his hearers, while he drew withoutany artifice, and unsparingly, the portrait of the pitiless andpersevering rich man. The wine had had no effect upon him, and everytime that he raised his eyes to the young man's face, he seemed to lookinto his very soul and sternly question him. Monsieur Antoine, althoughslightly affected by the weight of the wine he was carrying, had lostnothing of his harangue, and submitting as usual to the ascendancy ofthat mind, of stouter temper than his own, he heaved a deep sigh fromtime to time.

When the peasant had finished, "May God forgive you, indeed, my friend,if your judgment is at fault," he said, raising his glass as an offeringto the Deity: "and if you are right, may Providence avert such a scourgefrom the heads of the poor and weak!"

"Listen to me, Monsieur de Châteaubrun, and you too, my friend," criedthe young man, taking a hand of each of his companions in his own, "God,who hears all the words of man, and who reads their real sentiments inthe depths of their hearts, knows that these evils are not to bedreaded, and that your apprehensions are only chimeras. I know the manof whom you speak; I know him well; and, although his face is cold, hischaracter obstinate, his intellect active and strong, I will answer toyou for the loyalty of his purposes and the noble use he will make ofhis fortune. There is something alarming, I agree, in the firmness ofhis will, and I am not surprised that his inflexible manner has causeda sort of vertigo here, as if a supernatural being had appeared in themidst of your peaceful fields. But that strength of purpose is basedupon moral and religious principles, which make him, if not the mildestand most affable of men, the most rigidly just and the most royallygenerous."

"So much the better, deuce take it!" rejoined the châtelain, clinkinghis glass against the peasant's. "I drink to your health, and I am happyto have reason to esteem a man when I am on the point of cursing him.Come, don't be obstinate, old fellow, but believe this young man, whotalks like a book and knows more about the subject than you and I do.Why, he says that he knows Cardonnet! that he knows him well! what moredo you want? He will answer for him. So we need not worry any more. Andnow, friends, let us go to bed," continued the châtelain, delighted toaccept the guaranty of a man of whom he knew nothing at all, not evenhis name, for a man of whom he knew little; "the clock is strikingeleven, and that's an undue hour."

"I am going to take my leave of you," said the traveller, "and continuemy journey, asking your permission to come soon to thank you for yourkindness."

"You shall not go away to-night," cried Monsieur Antoine; "it isimpossible, it rains bucketfuls, the roads are drowned, and you couldn'tsee your own feet. If you persist in going, I never want to see youagain."

He was so urgent and the storm was in fact so fierce that the young manwas fain to accept the proffered hospitality.

Sylvain Charasson—that was the name of the page—brought alantern, and Monsieur Antoine, taking the traveller's arm, guided himamong the ruins of the manor-house in search of a bedroom.

All the floors of the square pavilion were occupied by the Châteaubrunfamily; but, in addition to that small wing which was intact andrecently restored, there was an enormous tower on the other side of thecourtyard, the oldest part, the highest, the thickest, the mostimpervious of the whole pile, the rooms which it contained, one aboveanother, being arched with stone and even more solidly constructed thanthe square pavilion. The band of speculators who had purchased thechâteau several years before for purposes of demolition, and hadcarried away all the wood and iron to the last door-hinge, had foundnothing to demolish on the lower floors, and Monsieur Antoine had hadone floor cleaned and closed, for use on the rare occasions when he hadan opportunity to entertain a guest. It had been a great display ofmagnificence on the poor fellow's part to replace the doors and windowsand put a bed and a few chairs in that apartment, which was notnecessary for the accommodation of his family. He had made the effortcheerfully, saying to Janille: "It isn't everything to be comfortableyourself; you must think about being able to give your neighborshelter." And yet, when the young man entered that dismal feudal donjon,and found himself, as it were, confined in a jail, his heart sank, andhe would gladly have followed the peasant, who went, as his custom was,to lie on the fresh straw with Sylvain Charasson. But Monsieur Antoinewas so pleased and so proud to be able to do the honors of aguestchamber, despite his poverty, that his young guest felt bound to acceptfor his lodgings one of the frowning prisons of the Middle Ages.

However, there was a good fire in the huge fireplace, and the bed, whichconsisted of a mattress of oat-chaff with a thick quilt spread upon it,was not to be despised. Everything was cheap and clean. The young mansoon drove away the melancholy thoughts that assail every travellerquartered in such a place, and, despite the rumbling of the thunder, thecries of the night-birds and the roar of the wind and rain, which shookhis windows, while the rats made furious assaults upon his door, he wassoon sound asleep.

His sleep, however, was disturbed by strange dreams, and he had a sortof nightmare just before dawn, as if it were impossible to pass thenight in a place stained with the mysterious crimes of feudal dayswithout being made the victim of painful visions. He dreamed thatMonsieur Cardonnet entered the room, and as he struggled to get out ofbed and run to meet him, he made an imperative sign to him not to stir;then, coming to him with an impassive air, he climbed on his chest,paying no heed to his groans and giving no indication upon his stonyface that he was aware of the agony he caused him.

Crushed beneath that terrible weight, the sleeper struggled in vain fora space that seemed to him more than a century, and he had thedeath-rattle in his throat when he succeeded in rousing himself. But,although the day was beginning to break, and he could see everything inthe tower distinctly, he remained so completely under the influence ofhis dream that he fancied that he still saw that inflexible face beforehis eyes and felt the weight of a body as heavy as a mountain of brasson his crushed and sunken chest. He arose and walked around the roomseveral times before returning to bed, for, although he was anxious tomake an early start, he was overcome by an unconquerable feeling ofprostration. But his eyes were no sooner closed than the spectrerecurred to his determination to stifle him, until, feeling that he wasat the point of death, the young man cried out in a broken voice:"Father! father! what have I done to you, and why have you determined tomurder your own son?"

The sound of his own voice woke him, and, finding that he was stillpursued by the apparition, he ran to the window and opened it. As soonas the cool outer air entered that low room, in the atmosphere of whichthere was something lethargic, the hallucination vanished, and hedressed in haste, in order to leave the place where he had been theplaything of such a cruel fancy. But, notwithstanding all his efforts tothink of something else, he could not shake off a feeling of painfuldisquietude, and theguest-chamber of Châteaubrun seemed to him evenmore dismal than on the night before.

The dull, gray light enabled him at last to see the whole of thechâteau from his window.

It was literally nothing but a heap of ruins, the still magnificentruins of a seignorial abode built at different periods. The courtyard,overgrown with weeds, through which the infrequent going and coming of afamily reduced to the strict necessaries of life had worn only two orthree narrow paths, from the large tower to the small one, and from thewell to the main entrance, was surrounded opposite his window bycrumbling walls which could be recognized as the foundations and lowercourses of several buildings, among others a dainty chapel, of which thepediment, with a pretty rose-window surrounded by festoons of ivy, wasstill standing. At the end of the courtyard, in the centre of which wasa large well, rose the dismantled skeleton of what had once been theprincipal abiding-place of the lords of Châteaubrun from the time ofFrançois I. to the Revolution. This once sumptuous edifice was nownaught but a shapeless skeleton, open on all sides, a strange mass ofruins to which the crumbling away of the interior partitions imparted anappearance of enormous height. Neither the towers in which the gracefulspiral staircases were enclosed, nor the great frescoed rooms, nor thebeautiful mantels of carved stone had been respected by the hammer ofthe demolisher, and some few vestiges of this splendor, which they hadbeen unable to reach, some fragments of richly decorated friezes, somegarlands of leaves carved by the skilful craftsmen of the Renaissance,and an escutcheon bearing the arms of France crossed by the baton ofbastardy—all of fine white stone, which time had not yet been able todarken—presented the melancholy spectacle of a work of artremorselessly sacrificed to the brutal law of necessity.

When young Cardonnet turned his eyes toward the small pavilion occupiedby the last scion of a once wealthy and illustrious family, he felt athrill of compassion as he reflected that there was in that pavilion ayoung woman whose ancestresses had had pages, vassals, fine horses andpacks of hounds, whereas this inheritress of a ghastly ruin was destinedperhaps, like the Princess Nausicaa, to wash her own linen at thefountain.

As he made this reflection he saw a little round window on the upperfloor of the square pavilion open gently, and a woman's head, supportedby the loveliest neck imaginable, lean forward as if to speak to someone in the courtyard. Emile Cardonnet, although he belonged to ageneration of myopes, had excellent sight, and the distance was not sogreat that he could not distinguish the features belonging to thatgraceful blond head, whose hair the wind tossed about in some confusion.It seemed to him what in fact it was, an angel's head, arrayed in allthe bloom of youth, sweet and noble at the same time. The tone of thevoice was fascinating and the pronunciation was remarkably elegant.

"So it rained all night, did it, Jean?" she said. "See how full of waterthe courtyard is! All the fields I can see from my window are likeponds."

"It's a regular deluge, my dear child," the peasant, who seemed to be anintimate friend of the family, replied from below, "a genuinewater-spout! I don't know whether the worst of the storm broke here orsomewhere else, but I never saw the fountain so full."

"The roads must be all washed out, Jean, and you had better stay here.Is father awake?"

"Will you ask her to come up to my room, my old Jean? I have somethingto ask her."

The girl closed the window without apparently noticing that thetraveller's window was open and that he was standing there looking ather.

A moment later he was in the courtyard, where the rain had transformedthe paths into little torrents, and he found Sylvain Charasson in thestable, cleaning his horse and Monsieur Antoine's, and discussing theeffects of such a terrible night with the peasant whose Christian nameEmile Cardonnet had learned at last. The night before, this man hadcaused him a sort of indefinable uneasiness, as if there were somethingmysterious and fateful about him. He had noticed that Monsieur Antoinehad not once called him by name, and that, on several occasions whenJanille had been on the point of doing so, he had warned her with aglance to be careful. They called him onlyfriend,comradeorold fellow, and it seemed that his name was a secret whichthey did not choose to divulge. Who could this man be, who had theoutward aspect and the language of a peasant and who, nevertheless,carried his gloomy anticipations so far, and his severe criticism tosuch a point.

Emile strove to enter into conversation with him, but to no purpose; hewas even more reserved than on the preceding day, and when he wasquestioned concerning the damage done by the storm, he replied simply:

"I advise you to lose no time in starting for Gargilesse if you want tofind any bridges across the stream, for in less than two hours there'llbe a most infernaldribe there."

"You don't know what adribe is? Well, you will see one to-day andyou'll never forget it. Good-day, monsieur; be off at once for yourfriend Cardonnet will be in trouble before long."

Impelled by a vague feeling of alarm, Emile hastily saddled his horsehimself, and said to Charasson, tossing him a piece of money:

"Tell your master, my boy, that I have gone without taking leave of him,but that I shall come again soon to thank him for his kindness to me."

He was riding through the gateway when Janille came running up to detainhim. She insisted on waking Monsieur Antoine; mademoiselle was dressing;breakfast would be ready in a moment; the roads were too wet; it wasgoing to rain again. The young man, with many thanks, succeeded inescaping from her hospitable attentions, and made her also a present,which she seemed very glad to accept. But he had not reached the foot ofthe hill when he heard a horse trotting behind him, his great, heavyfeet just razing the ground. It was Sylvain Charasson, mounted onMonsieur Antoine's mare, with no other bridle than a rope halter passedbetween the animal's teeth, riding hastily after him. "I am going toguide you, monsieur," he cried, as he passed him; "Mademoiselle Janillesays you'll kill yourself, as you don't know the roads, and that's thetruth too."

"Never fear," rejoined the rustic page, and, plying his clogs, he urgedthe hollow-backed mare into a fast trot, her huge stomach, stuffed withhay unmixed with oats, presenting a striking contrast to her thin flanksand bony chest.

V

THE DRIBE

The slopes crowned by Châteaubrun were so steep that the young man andhis new guide were delayed by no torrent of any size and soon reachedthe valley. But as they rode rapidly by a small pond full to the brim,the boy exclaimed, with a glance of amazement: "TheFont-Margotfull! That means a lot of damage in the low lands. We shall have troublecrossing the river. Let's hurry, monsieur!"—He urged the mare to agallop; and despite her ungainly build and her broad, flat feetembellished with a fringe of long hair that trailed on the ground, shepicked her way over the uneven ground with remarkable skill and surenessof foot.

The extensive plains of this region form great plateaus broken byravines, which, with their abrupt and deep declivities, make veritablemountains to ascend and descend. After riding about an hour, ourtravellers found themselves opposite the valley of Gargilesse, and afascinating landscape was spread out before them. The village ofGargilesse, built like a sugar-loaf on a steep knoll, and overlooked byits pretty church and its ancient monastery, seemed to rise from thedepths of the precipices; and the boy pointed out to Emile a number ofenormous buildings, entirely new and of fine appearance, at the bottomof the steepest of those precipices, saying:

It was the first time that Emile, who was a law-student at Poitiers andpassed his vacations at Paris, had visited the region where his fatherhad been engaged for a year past in an important undertaking. Thenatural aspect of the spot seemed to him beautiful, and he was gratefulto his parents for having happened upon a location where industry couldflourish without banishing the influences of poesy.

They had still some distance to ride across the plateau before reachingthe slope, where all the details of the landscape could be embraced in asingle glance. As Emile approached the edge he discovered new beauties,and the convent-château of Gargilesse, planted proudly on the rock overthe Cardonnet factories, seemed a decoration placed there designedly tocrown the whole picture. The sides of the ravine, into which the littlestream flowed swiftly, were covered with hardy vegetation, and the youngman, who involuntarily allowed his attention to be absorbed by theexternal aspect of his new inheritance, observed with satisfaction that,amid the clearing away that had to be done to install the establishmentin such a thickly-wooded spot, they had spared some magnificent oldtrees, which were the noblest ornament of the dwelling-house.

This house, situated a little behind the factory, was convenient,tasteful, simple in its richness, and the fact that there were curtainsat almost all the windows indicated that it was already occupied. It wassurrounded by a fine garden, terraced along the stream, and from afar hecould distinguish the bright colors of the blooming plants which hadbeen substituted as if by enchantment for the willow stumps and pools ofstagnant water with which the banks were formerly bordered. The youngman's heart beat fast when he saw a woman descend the steps of thismodern château and walk slowly among her favorite flowers; for it washis mother. He threw up his arms and waved his cap to attract herattention, but without success. Madame Cardonnet was intent uponexamining her horticultural pets; she did not expect her son untilevening.

On a more open space Emile saw the complicated,scientifically-constructed buildings of the factory; and fifty or morebusy workmen moving amid the medley of materials of all sorts—somecutting stone, others preparing the mortar, others trimming rafters,others loading carts drawn by enormous horses. As it was absolutelynecessary to descend the steep road at a foot-pace, little Charassonfound opportunity to speak.

"This is a bad place, isn't it, monsieur? Keep a tight rein on yourhorse! It would be a good thing if Monsieur Cardonnet would build a roadto take people from our house to his factory. See what fine roads he'sbuilt in other directions! and the pretty bridges! all of stone, yousee! Before he came you had to wet your feet crossing the river insummer, and in winter you didn't cross at all. He's the kind of man thateverybody ought to kiss the ground he walks on."

"Oh! Jean! Jean! you needn't pay much attention to his croaking. He's aman who hasennuis, and he sees everything crooked lately, althoughhe isn't an unkind man, not at all. But he's the only man hereabout whotalks like that; everybody else is all in favor of Monsieur Cardonnet.He isn't stingy, I tell you. He talks a little hard, he pushes hisworkmen a little, but bless me! he pays; you ought to see the wages hepays! and if you do break your back working, if you're well paid youought to be satisfied, eh, monsieur?"

The young man stifled a sigh. He did not absolutely agree with MonsieurSylvain Charasson's theory of economic compensations, and, however muchhe might desire to approve his father's course, he could not see veryclearly how wages could replace the loss of health and life.

"I'm surprised not to see him on his workmen's backs," added the page ofChâteaubrun ingenuously and with no malicious intent, "for he isn't inthe habit of giving them much time to breathe. Ah, indeed! he's a man topush work ahead! He isn't like Mère Janille at our house, who's alwaysmaking a noise and never lets other people do anything. He doesn't seemto move about, but anyone would say he did the work with his eyes. Whena workman speaks or puts down his pick to light his pipe, or just takesa little bit of a nap at noon in the heat of the day, he'll say, withoutlosing his temper: 'Look here, you can't smoke or sleep comfortablyhere; go home, you'll be more comfortable.'—And that's all. He won'temploy him again for a week, and the second time it's a month, and thethird he's done for good."

Emile sighed again: he recognized his father's inflexible severity inthese details, and he had to turn his thoughts toward the presumedobject of his efforts in order to be reconciled to his methods.

"Ah!pardine! there he is," cried the boy, pointing to MonsieurCardonnet, whose tall figure and dark clothes were discernible on theother bank. "He's looking at the water; perhaps he's afraid of thedribe, although he usually says it's all nonsense."

"So thedribe is a freshet, is it?" queried Emile, beginning tounderstand the word, a corruption ofdérive.

"Yes, monsieur, it's like a waterspout, that comes with great storms. Butthe storm has passed and thedribe hasn't come, and I believe Jeanwas all wrong in his prophesying. And yet, monsieur, look at the water,how low it is! it's almost dried up since yesterday and that's a badsign. Let's hurry across, it may come any minute."

They quickened their pace and easily forded the first arm of the stream.But in the effort that Emile's horse made to climb the somewhat steepbank of the little island, he broke his girths, and his rider had todismount and try to fix his saddle. It was not an easy task, and in hishaste to join his parents Emile bungled over it; the knot that he hadmade slipped when he put his foot in the stirrup, and Charasson wasobliged to cut off a piece of the rope he was using for a bridle inorder to make the necessary repairs. All this took some time, duringwhich their attention was wholly diverted from the disaster Sylvaindreaded. The island was covered with a dense growth of willows whichmade it impossible for them to look ten yards in any direction.

Suddenly a noise like the prolonged rumble of thunder reached theirears. Emile, mistaking the cause of the noise, looked up at the sky,which was perfectly clear overhead. But the child turned pale as death.

They crossed the island at a gallop; but before they were clear of thewillow scrub, they were met by waves of yellowish water covered withfoam. It was already up to their horses' breasts when they foundthemselves face to face with the swollen torrent, which was spreadingfuriously over the surrounding country.

"No, monsieur, no," he cried; "it's too late. See the force of thestream and the logs it's bringing down! No man or beast could go throughthat. Let us leave the horses, monsieur, let us leave the horses;perhaps they will have sense enough to save themselves; but it's toomuch of a risk for Christians! Look, there's the footbridge gone! Do asI do, monsieur, do as I do, or you're a dead man!"

And Charasson, who already had the water up to his shoulders, began torun nimbly up a tree. Emile, judging from the fury of the torrent, whichincreased a foot in depth every second, that courage would be sheerfolly, and thinking of his mother, decided to follow the littlepeasant's example.

"Not that one, monsieur, not that one!" cried the boy, seeing him startto climb an aspen. "That's too weak, it will be carried away like astraw. Come up here, by me; for the love of God, climb my tree!"

Emile, recognizing the wisdom of Sylvain's suggestion,—for the child,in the midst of his terror, lost neither his presence of mind nor thecommendable desire to save his neighbor,—ran to the old oak to whichhe was clinging and soon succeeded in reaching a position not far from him,on a stout branch several feet above the water. But they had soon toabandon that post to the angry element, which continued to rise; and,ascending in their turn from branch to branch, they succeeded in savingtheir lives.

When the inundation had reached its highest point, Emile was far enoughfrom the ground to see what was taking place in the valley. He concealedhimself as well as he could in the foliage, to avoid being seen from thehouse, and imposed silence on Sylvain, who wished to call for help; forhe was afraid that his parents, especially his mother, would be terriblyfrightened if they should discover his presence and his periloussituation. He could see his father, who was watching the effects of thedribe and retreating slowly as the water rose in his garden andinvaded the whole factory. He seemed to give ground regretfully beforethat scourge of the valley, which he had contemned, and which hepretended to contemn still. At last, he saw him distinctly, standing atone of the windows of his house with Madame Cardonnet, while the workmenscattered and fled to the high land, leaving their jackets andimplements in the mud. Some, taken by surprise by the deluge in thelower floors of the factory, had gone up hastily to the roof; and,although the more far-sighted may have rejoiced secretly because thatdisaster promised a prolongation of their lucrative employment, themajority yielded to a natural feeling of consternation when they foundthe result of their labors lost or endangered.

The stones, the newly rough-cast walls, the freshly-hewn timbers,everything that did not offer much resistance, was floating about atrandom amid eddying masses of foam. The bridges, barely finished, wereswept away, being torn from the newly-built piers, which were unequal tothe task of supporting them. The garden was half under water, and thesashes of the greenhouse, the boxes of flowers and the gardener'swheelbarrows could be seen sailing swiftly away among the trees.

Suddenly, loud cries were heard in the factory. A huge piece of timberhad been driven violently against the underpinning of the principalmachine, and the building seemed on the point of falling in under theviolent shock. There were at least twelve persons, men, women andchildren, on the roof. They all shrieked and wept. Emile felt a coldperspiration start out all over him. Heedless of the perils to which hehimself was exposed, if the oak should be uprooted, he was horrified atthe impending fate of those families whom he saw running wildly about intheir distress. He was on the point of jumping into the water to fly totheir assistance. But he heard his father's powerful voice shouting tothem from the stoop, with the aid of a speaking-trumpet.

Such was the master's ascendancy that they became calm, and Emilehimself instinctively yielded to it.

On the other side of the island there was a far more desolatingspectacle. The villagers were running after their cattle, the womenafter their children. Piercing shrieks directed Emile's attention moreparticularly toward a point which the vegetation concealed from hiseyes; but he soon saw a powerful man near the opposite bank, swimmingand carrying a child. The current was less strong on that side than itwas at the factory, and yet the swimmer seemed to be making his waythrough the water with extraordinary difficulty, and several times thewater covered him completely.

"I will go and help him!" cried Emile, moved even to tears, andpreparing once more to jump from the tree.

"No, monsieur, no!" cried Charasson, holding him back. "See, he's out ofthe current now, he's safe; he isn't swimming now, he's walking in themud. Poor man! what a hard time he had. But the child isn't dead, he'scrying and yelling like a little devil. Poor little fellow! don't cryany more, you're safe! But look, will you! may the devil fly away withme if it wasn't old Jean who pulled him out of the water! Yes, monsieur,yes, it's Jean. He's a brave fellow, I tell you! Ah! see how the fatherthanks him, how the mother hugs his legs, and yet they're not veryclean, those poor legs of his! Ah! monsieur, Jean has a big heart, andthere's not his like in the world. If he knew we were here, he'd comeand help us out of the scrape. I have a mind to call him."

"Do nothing of the kind. We are safe and he would risk his life again.Yes, I see that he's a fine fellow. Is he any relative to the child andto those people."

"No, monsieur, no. They are the Michauds, and they're nothing to him orto me either; but when anything goes wrong anywhere, Jean is sure toturn up, and where no one else would dare to take the risk, he'll goahead, even when there's nothing at all, not even a glass of wine to bemade by it. But the good Lord knows that this country isn't healthy forJean, and that this is hardly the place for him."

"Why, is he exposed to any other danger at Gargilesse than that of beingdrowned like everybody else?"

"The water is falling a little," he said, to divert Emile's attention;"in a couple of hours, perhaps we can go back the way we came; but itwill be six hours at least before we can cross over to MonsieurCardonnet's."

This prospect was not very attractive; however Emile, who was determinednot to alarm his parents at any price, resigned himself to it as best hecould. But a fresh incident caused him to change his mind before half anhour had passed. The water receded rapidly from the highest points ithad flooded; and on the other side of the lake it had formed between himand his father's abode, he saw some workmen leading two horses towardthe house, one entirely bare, the other saddled and bridled.

"Our beasts, monsieur," said Sylvain Charasson; "God bless me! both ourbeasts have come out safe! I supposed my poor mare was in the Creusebefore this! Ah! Monsieur Antoine will be glad enough when I bring backhisLanterne! She'll have earned her oats, and perhaps Janille won'trefuse to give her a peck. And your black, monsieur—you're not sorryto see him on his feet, are you? He must know how to swim a little!"

Emile rapidly considered what would happen. Monsieur Cardonnet did notknow his horse, to be sure, for he had bought himen route; but theywould open the valise, they would soon discover that it belonged to him,and their first thought would be that he was dead. He speedily decidedto show himself, and after many attempts to make his voice heard abovethat of the torrent, whose fury was only slightly abated, he succeededin making the people on the roof of the factory understand that he wasthere and that Monsieur and Madame Cardonnet must be so informed atonce. The news passed from mouth to mouth, through the various places ofrefuge, as quickly as he could wish, and he soon espied his mother atthe window, waving her handkerchief, and his father in person on a raftpropelled by two strong men, who were pushing out into the current withdogged determination. Emile succeeded in turning them back, by shoutingto them, not without many words lost and repeated again and again, thathe was safe, that they must wait a while longer before coming to him,and that the most important thing was to set free the persons who wereimprisoned in the factory. Everything was done as he desired, and whenthere was no longer any danger for any one, he climbed down from thetree, stepped in the water up to his middle, and walked to meet theraft, holding little Charasson under the arms and helping him to keephis footing. Three hours after the passage of thedribe, Emile andhis guide were in front of a good fire, Madame Cardonnet was covering herchild with kisses and tears; and the page of Châteaubrun, no lesspetted than he, was describing eloquently the perils they had overcome.

Emile adored his mother. His love for her was still the most ferventpassion of his life. He had not seen her since the vacation, which theyhad passed together in Paris, free from the constant and frequentreproofs of their common master, Monsieur Cardonnet. They both sufferedfrom the yoke they were compelled to wear, and they understood eachother on that point, although they had never mentioned it. MadameCardonnet, a gentle, affectionate, weak creature, felt that her son hada good share of her husband's mental energy and firmness, combined witha generous and sensitive heart which would expose him to great sorrowwhen those two masterful characters should come in collision on thosepoints as to which their ideas differed. So she had swallowed all thedisappointments of her life, taking care not to reveal them to her son,who was her only joy and her most dearly cherished consolation. Althoughshe was not fully convinced of her husband's right to wound her andoppress her without remission, she had always seemed to accept herposition as if in obedience to a law of nature and a religious precept.Passive obedience, thus taught by example, had become an instinctivehabit in young Emile; but had it been otherwise, sound reasoning wouldlong since have led him to adopt a different course. But when he sawthat everybody bowed at the slightest indication of the paternal will,his mother first of all, it had not occurred to him that things mightand should be different. Meanwhile the weight of the despotic atmospherein which he lived had induced in him, from childhood, a sort ofmelancholy, of nameless unhappiness, of which he rarely sought thecause. It is a law of nature that children shall reverse the lessonsthat they do not like; and so Emile, early in life, had received fromexternal facts an impulsion directly contrary to that which his fatherwould fain have given him.

The consequences of this natural and inevitable antagonism will besufficiently developed by the progress of this narrative, so that it isunnecessary to describe them here.

After giving his mother time to recover in some measure from the emotionshe had experienced, Emile followed his father, who called him to comeand investigate the effects of the disaster. Monsieur Cardonnetdisplayed a tranquillity superior to all reverses of fortune, andwhatever annoyance he may have felt he showed nothing of it. He walkedsilently through a double line of peasants who had flocked together togratify their curiosity and to witness the spectacle of his misfortune,some with indifference, a few with sincere interest, the majority withthat unavowed but irresistible satisfaction which the poor man prudentlykeeps out of sight but which he infallibly feels when he sees the wrathof the elements visited on the rich man and himself alike. All thesevillagers had lost something by the inundation, one a small crop of hay,another a bit of kitchen garden, a third a lamb, a hen or two, or a pileof fire-wood; very trivial losses in reality, but comparatively assevere as the wealthy manufacturer's. But when they saw the wreck ofthat fine property, but yesterday so prosperous, they could not forbeara thrill of consternation, as if wealth had something worthy of respectin itself, despite the jealousy it arouses.

Monsieur Cardonnet did not wait until the water had entirely recededbefore resuming work. He sent men to scour the surrounding fields forthe materials carried away by the current. He armed the others withspades and pickaxes to clear away the mud and débris which obstructedthe approaches to the factory, and when it was possible to enter, heentered first of all, in order to avoid any waste of emotion because ofthe exaggerations that the first feeling of amazement might extort fromothers.

VI

JEAN THE CARPENTER

"Take a pencil, Emile," said the manufacturer to his son, who followedhim, fearing that he might meet with some accident; "make no mistake inthe figures I am going to call off to you.—One, two, three wheelsbroken here.—The staircase carried away.—The large enginedamaged—three thousand, five, seven or eight—Let us take thehighest figure; that's the safest way in business.—Put down eightthousand francs.—What! the dam broken? that's strange! Put downfifteen thousand. We must rebuild it all in Roman cement. There's acorner that has given way.—Write, Emile.—Emile, have youwritten that?"

For an hour Monsieur Cardonnet continued thus to estimate his losses andthe necessary outlay; and when he called upon his son to foot up thefigures, he shrugged his shoulders impatiently because the young man,whether from distraction or because he was out of practice, did notperform that task as rapidly as he wished.

"Have you done it?" he asked, after two or three moments of restrainedimpatience.

"About?" repeated Monsieur Cardonnet with a frown. "What sort of a wordis that? Well, well," he added, glancing at him with a penetrating,mocking expression, "I see that you are a little confused from beingperched up in a tree. I have made the calculation in my head, and Iregret that I am obliged to tell you that it was done before you hadsharpened your pencil. There'll be eighty-one thousand five hundredfrancs to be laid out all over again."

"That's a good deal," said Emile, striving to conceal his impatiencebeneath a serious air.

"I wouldn't have believed that this little water-course could have somuch force," observed Monsieur Cardonnet, as calmly as if he were makingan expert estimate of a loss in which he was not interested; "but itwon't take long to repair. Holà! you fellows.—There's a beam caughtbetween two of the large wheels, and there's just enough water left tokeep it banging. Take it out of there at once or my wheels will bebroken."

They made haste to obey, but the task was more difficult than it seemed.All the weight of the machinery seemed to rest on that obstacle, whichbade fair not to be the first to give way. Several men rubbed the skinoff their hands to no purpose.

"Look out and not hurt yourselves!" cried Emile instinctively, taking ahand himself to lessen their difficulty.

"Get away from there, all of you," suddenly exclaimed a voice that Emileinstantly recognized, "and let me try it—I prefer to do it alone."

And Jean, armed with a crow-bar, quickly pried out a large stone whichno one had noticed. Then, with wonderful dexterity, he gave the beam apowerful push.

"If I smash anything, I'll pay for it," retorted the peasant, withplayful bluntness. "Now, two of you boys come here. All together now!Courage, little Pierre, that's good!—Another bit, my oldGuillaume!—Oh! the clever fellows!—Softly! softly! let me takemy foot away, or you'll crush it for me, son of the devil!—Now shegoes!—push—don't be afraid—I have it!"

And in less than two minutes Jean, whose presence and voice seemed toelectrify the other workmen, relieved the machinery of the extraneousobject which endangered it.

"What for?" rejoined the peasant. "I have done enough of that sort ofwork for to-day, monsieur."

"That is why I want you to come and drink a glass of my best wine. Come,I say, I have something to say to you. My son, go and tell your motherto put some Malaga on my table."

"Your son?" said Jean, looking at Emile with some signs of emotion. "Ifhe is your son, I will go with you, for he seems to me like a goodfellow."

"Yes, my son is a good fellow, Jean," said Monsieur Cardonnet to thepeasant, when the latter accepted a full glass from Emile's hand. "Andyou are a good fellow, too, and it's high time that you should show it alittle better than you have been doing for two months past."

"I beg your pardon, monsieur," replied Jean, looking about him with asuspicious air, "but I am too old to go to school, and I didn't comehere all in a sweat to listen to moral preaching as cold as hoar-frost.Here's your health, Monsieur Cardonnet; and I thank you, young man,whose feelings I must have hurt last night. You bear me no grudge, doyou?"

"Wait a moment," said Monsieur Cardonnet; "before you go back to yourfox's hole, take thispour-boire."

"Keep it, keep it," said Jean testily, pushing away the profferedgratuity with a movement of his elbow. "I am not self-seeking, as youmust know, and it wasn't to please you that I helped your carpenters. Itwas simply to keep them from breaking their backs for nothing. And thenwhen a man knows his trade it irritates him to see people go about itwrong end to. My blood's a little quick, and in spite of myself Imeddled in something that didn't concern me."

"Just as you happened to be where you had no business to be," rejoinedMonsieur Cardonnet sternly, and with an evident purpose to awe theaudacious peasant. "Jean, this is the last opportunity for us to come toan understanding and make each other's acquaintance; make the most of itor you'll be sorry. When I came here last year, I observed youractivity, your intelligence, and the affection with which all theworkmen and all the people of this village regarded you. I received mostsatisfactory accounts of your probity, and I resolved to put you incharge of my carpentering work; I offered to pay you double wages, bythe day or by the job as you chose. You made me nonsensical answers asif you did not consider me a serious-minded man."

"That was not the trouble, monsieur, begging your pardon. I told youthat I didn't need your work because I had more work in the village thanI could do."

"A mere pretext and a lie! Your affairs were in bad shape then and nowthey're in worse shape than ever! Being prosecuted for debt, you havebeen obliged to leave your house, to abandon your workshop, and to hidein the mountains, like game pursued by hunters."

"When you undertake to argue," rejoined Jean, haughtily, "you shouldtell the truth. I am not prosecuted for debt, as you say, monsieur. Ihave always been an honest, well-behaved man, and if I owe a sou in thevillage or the neighborhood, let some one come forward and say so andraise his hand against me. Search and you will find no one!"

"None the less, there are three warrants out against you, and thegendarmes have been chasing you for two months and can't succeed inapprehending you."

"And so it will be as long as I choose! The great difficulty is that theworthy gendarmes ride their horses along one bank of the Creuse, while Iply my legs along the other! They are very sick, poor fellows! beingpaid to take the air and make reports as to what they don't do. Don'tpity them so deeply, Monsieur Cardonnet, the government pays them, andthe government is rich enough for me to dodge the payment of a thousandfrancs—for it's the truth that I am sentenced to pay a thousandfrancs or go to prison! It surprises you, doesn't it, young man, that apoor devil who has always obliged his neighbor instead of injuring himshould be hunted like an escaped convict? You haven't a bad heart yet,although you are rich, because you are young. Let me tell you what mycrime was. For sending three bottles of wine from my vineyard to afriend who was sick, I was arrested by the excisemen for selling winewithout paying the taxes on it; and as I could not lie and humiliatemyself for the sake of compromising, as I told the truth, which is thatI did not sell a drop of wine, and consequently could not be punished, Iwas sentenced to pay what they call the minimum fine, five hundredfrancs. The minimum, if you please! five hundred francs, my year'swages, for a gift of three bottles of wine! To say nothing of the factthat my poor comrade was sentenced too, and that was what made meangriest. And as I could not pay such an amount, they seized everything,ransacked everything, sold everything I had, even my carpentering tools.After that, where was the use of paying for a license to carry on atrade that wouldn't support me? I stopped doing it; and one day, when Iwas working as a journeyman away from home, there was anotherprosecution and a quarrel with the deputy, when I almost forgot myselfand struck him. What was to become of me? There was no bread in mychest, so I took my gun and went out into the furze and killed a hare.Formerly, in this country, poaching had become a custom and a privilege.The nobles in the old days didn't keep such close watch, just after theRevolution; they even poached with us when they had a fancy to do so."

"Witness Monsieur de Châteaubrun, who does it still," said Monsieur deCardonnet, ironically.

"As long as he doesn't trespass on your estates, what harm does that doyou?" retorted the peasant in an irritated tone. "However, for shootinga hare and catching two rabbits in a trap I was taken again andsentenced to pay a fine, and to imprisonment. But I escaped from theclaws of the gendarmes as they were taking me to the governmentinn,and since then I have lived as I choose, and haven't chosen to hold outmy arm for the chain to be put on."

"Everyone knows very well how you live, Jean," said Monsieur Cardonnet."You wander about night and day, poaching everywhere and at all seasons,never sleeping two nights in succession in the same place, but generallyin the open air; sometimes accepting hospitality at Châteaubrun, whosechâtelain was nursed by your mother. I do not blame him for assistingyou, but he would act more wisely, from the point of view of your owninterests, to preach work and a regular life to you. But come, we havehad enough of these useless words, and now you must listen to me. I amsorry for your lot, and I am going to restore your liberty by becomingsurety for you. You will get off with a few days' imprisonment, just forform's sake. I will pay all your fines, and then you can hold up yourhead once more. Isn't that clear?"

"Oh! you are right, father," cried Emile; "you are kind and just. Well,Jean, did I deceive you?"

"Yes, father," replied Emile warmly. "Jean rendered me a great servicelast night; and what draws me to him even more strongly is that I sawhim this morning risk his life seriously to pull a child out of thewater, and he saved him. Jean, accept my father's offer and let hisgenerosity triumph over misplaced pride."

"That is very well, Monsieur Emile," replied the carpenter. "You loveyour father; that is as it should be. I respected mine. But let us see,Monsieur Cardonnet, on what conditions will you do all this for me?"

"That you work on my buildings," replied the manufacturer. "You shallhave the superintendence of the carpentering."

"Well," said Jean, somewhat shaken, "if I don't do your work others willand I shan't be able to prevent them. I will work for you then, until Ihave earned a thousand francs. But who will keep me while I am paying mydebt to you day by day?"

"Well! I will double it. Your day's wages would be thirty sous at thecurrent rate hereabout; I will pay you three francs and you shallreceive half of it every day, the other half going toward yourindebtedness to me."

"You are wrong; it will be just two years. I think that two years henceI shall have nothing more to build."

"What, monsieur, I am to work for you every day—every day in the yearwithout a break?"

"Oh! Sunday—I should think so! But shan't I have one or two days aweek to pass as I choose?"

"Jean, you are growing lazy, I see. There's one result of a vagabondlife already."

"Hush!" exclaimed the carpenter, proudly, "lazy yourself! Jean was neverlazy, and he won't begin at sixty. But I'll tell you, I have an ideathat induces me to take your work. I have an idea of building myself alittle house. As they've sold mine, I prefer to have a new one, built bymyself alone, to suit my taste, my fancy. That's why I want at least oneday a week."

"That is something I will not allow," replied the manufacturer stiffly."You will have no house, you will have no tools of your own, you willsleep under my roof, you will eat under my roof, you will use no toolsbut mine, you——"

"That's quite enough to show me that I shall be your property and yourslave. Thanks, monsieur, the bargain's off."

Emile considered his father's terms very hard; but Jean's plight wouldbecome still harder if he refused them. So he tried to bring about acompromise.

"Good Jean," he said, retaining him, "reflect, I implore you. Two yearsare soon passed, and with the little savings you will be able to make inthat time, especially," he added, looking at Monsieur Cardonnet with anexpression that was at once imploring and firm, "as my father will keepyou in addition to the wages agreed upon——"

"Well, Jean, your clothes are a small matter, and my mother and I willtake pleasure in replenishing your wardrobe. At the end of two years,therefore, you will have a thousand francs net; that is enough to builda bachelor's house for your own use, as you are a bachelor."

"Whereas, if you use up your salary every week," said the elderCardonnet, unmoved, "you will waste it, and at the end of the year youwill have built nothing and saved nothing."

"It makes this difference, that my work, being constantly interrupted,will progress slowly, that I shall never have you at hand, and that, twoyears hence, when you come and offer to work longer for me, I shall notneed you any longer. I shall have been compelled to give your place tosome one else."

"There will always be work to be done keeping the plant in order. Do youthink I mean to cheat you out of your money?"

"Ah! what a hurry you are in to enjoy your prosperity! Well! give me oneday a week and let me have my own tools."

"He seems to think a great deal of this day of freedom, father," saidEmile; "let him have it."

"And I accept it only as a day of rest," said Jean, indignantly; "do youtake me for a pagan? I don't work on Sunday, monsieur; that would bringme ill-luck, and I should do bad work for both you and myself."

"Hush, Emile, not Monday! I don't agree to that. You don't know thisman. Intelligent as he is and prolific in inventions, sometimessuccessful, often puerile, he never enjoys himself except when he isworking at absurd things for his own use; he is something of acarpenter, a cabinet-maker, Heaven knows what! He is clever with hishands, but when he abandons himself to his own whims, he becomes idle,absent-minded and incapable of serious work."

"He is an artist, father," said Emile, smiling, but with tears in hiseyes; "have a little compassion for genius!"

Monsieur Cardonnet cast a contemptuous glance at his son, but Jean tookthe young man's hand.

"My boy," he said, with his strange and noble familiarity, "I do notknow whether you really do me justice or are laughing at me, but whatyou say is true! I have too much of the spirit of invention for the sortof work he would have me do here. When I work for my friends in thevillage, for Monsieur Antoine or the curé or the mayor or poor beggarslike myself, they say: 'Do as you please, carry out your own ideas, oldfellow! it may take a little longer, but it will be all right!' And thenI take pleasure in working, yes, so much pleasure that I don't count thehours and spend part of the night at it. It tires me, it gives me thefever, it almost kills me sometimes! but I like it, you see, my boy, asother men like wine. It's my amusement. Oh! you laugh and make fun ofme, Monsieur Cardonnet; your sneering is an insult, and you shouldn'thave me, no, you shouldn't have me, even if the gendarmes were here andmy head was in danger. Sell myself to you, body and soul, for two years!Do what pleases you, watch you plan, and not give my opinion! for if youknow me, I know you too: I know what sort of a man you are, and thatthere isn't a nail driven on your premises until you've measured it. AndI shall be a day-laborer, working to pay my taxes as my dead and gonefather worked for the abbés of Gargilesse. No, God forbid! I will notsell my soul to such tiresome, stupid labor. If you would give me my dayof recreation and compensation, to satisfy my old customers and myself!but no, not an hour!"

"No, not an hour," said Monsieur Cardonnet angrily; for the self-esteemof the artist was now involved on both sides. "Off with you, I'll havenone of you; take this napoléon and go and get hanged elsewhere."

"They don't hang people now, monsieur," said Jean, throwing the goldpiece on the floor, "and even if they did, I shouldn't be the firsthonest man who ever passed through the hangman's hands."

"Emile," said Monsieur Cardonnet, as soon as he was gone, "go and sendup the constable, that man standing on the stoop with a little iron forkin his hand."

"Bring that man back to reason, to respectable behavior, to work, tosafety, to happiness. When he has passed a night in jail, he will bemore tractable, and some day he will bless me for delivering him fromhis internal devil."

"I am mayor since this morning, and it is my duty to lock up vagabonds.Do as I say, Emile, or I will go myself."

Emile still hesitated. Monsieur Cardonnet, unable to brook the slightestshade of resistance, pushed him sharply away from the door and went out,to issue orders to the constable, in the capacity of chief magistrate ofthe village, to arrest Jean Jappeloup, native of Gargilesse, a carpenterby trade, and without any known domicile.

This mission was extremely distasteful to the rustic functionary, andMonsieur Cardonnet read his hesitation on his face.

"Caillaud," he said, in an imperative tone, "your dismissal within aweek, or twenty francs reward!"

"Very good, monsieur," said Caillaud; and he set off at a round pace,waving his pike.

He overtook the fugitive within two gun-shots of the village; it was nota difficult task, for the latter was walking slowly, with his headhanging forward on his breast, absorbed in painful reflections.

"If it wasn't for my wrong-headedness," he was saying to himself, "Ishould be now on the road to rest and comfort, instead of which I mustput on the collar of poverty again, stray like a wolf among the rocksand bramble-bushes, and be too often a burden to poor Antoine, who iskind, who always gives me a hearty welcome, but who is poor and gives memore bread and wine than I can pay for with partridges and hares for histable, taken in my snares. And then what breaks my heart is the idea ofleaving forever this poor dear village where I was born, where I havepassed all my life, where all my friends are, and where I can never showmy face again unless like a starved dog that runs the risk of a bulletto get a piece of bread. And yet all the people here are kind to me; andif they weren't afraid of the gendarmes they would give me shelter!"

As he mused thus Jean heard the bell ringing the eveningAngelus,and tears rolled unbidden down his tanned cheeks. "No," he thought,"there isn't a bell within ten leagues that has such a sweet tone as thebell of Gargilesse church!"—A nightingale sang among the hawthornsin the hedge near by.—"You are very lucky," he said, speakingaloud in his revery, "you can build your nest here, steal from all thegardens I know so well, and feed on everybody's fruit, without anycomplaint being lodged against you."

"Complaint, that's the word," said a voice behind him; "I arrest you inthe name of the law!"

VII

THE ARREST

"You? you, Caillaud?" said the astonished carpenter, with the sameaccent that Cæsar must have used when he saw Brutus strike.

"Yes, it's myself, the constable. In the name of the law!" shoutedCaillaud at the top of his voice, in order to be heard by anybody whohappened to be within earshot. But he added in a whisper:—"Off withyou, Père Jean. Come, stand me off and make your legs fly."

"You want me to resist and so get my affairs into a worse mess thanever? No, Caillaud, that would be worse for me. But how could you makeup your mind to do the work of a gendarme, to arrest the friend of yourfamily, your godfather, unhappy man?"

"But I don't arrest you, godfather," said Caillaud in an undertone."Come, follow me, or I call for help!" he yelled with all his lungs."Deuce take it!" he added under his breath, "be off, Père Jean; pretendto hit me and I'll fall."

"No, my poor Caillaud, that would make you lose your position, or atleast you would be called a coward, a faint-heart. As you have had theheart to accept the commission, you must go through with it. I seeplainly enough that you were threatened, that your hand was forced; itsurprises me that Monsieur Jarige could make up his mind to treat methis way."

"Then I understand; and it makes me long to beat you as a lesson to youfor not resigning at once."

"You are right, Père Jean," said Caillaud in a heartbroken tone, "I'llgo and resign now; that's the best way. Off with you!"

"Let him go! and do you—keep your place," said Emile, coming out frombehind a clump of bushes. "Down with you, comrade, as you want to fall,"he added, adroitly tripping him up in schoolboy fashion, "and if you areasked who contrived this ambush, you can tell my father that his son didit."

"Ah! it's a good scheme," said Caillaud, rubbing his knee, "and if yourpapa has you put in prison it's none of my business. You threw me down alittle hard, all the same, and I should have preferred to fall on thegrass. Well! has that old fool of a Jean gone yet?"

"Not yet," said Jean, who had climbed a knoll and was prepared to takeflight. "Thanks, Monsieur Emile, I shall not forget; I would havesubmitted to my fate, if the law alone had been concerned; but since Iknow that it's a piece of treachery on your father's part, I wouldrather throw myself head first into the river than give way to such afalse, evil-minded man. As for you, you deserve to have come from betterstock; you have a good heart, and as long as I live——"

"Be off," said Emile, walking up to him, "and keep from speaking ill ofmy father. I have many things to say to you, but this is not the time.Will you be at Châteaubrun to-morrow night?"

"Yes, monsieur. Take care that you are not followed, and don't ask forme in too loud a tone at the gate. Well, thanks to you I still have thestars over my head, and I am not sorry for it."

He darted away like an arrow; and Emile, turning, saw Caillaud lying atfull length on the ground, as if he had fainted.

"Well? what's the matter?" the young man inquired in dismay; "did Ireally hurt you? Are you in pain?"

"I'm doing very well, monsieur," replied the crafty villager; "but yousee I must wait for some one to come and lift me up, so that I may lookas if I had been beaten."

"That is useless, I will take the whole responsibility," said Emile."Get up and go and tell my father that I forcibly opposed Jean's arrest.I will follow close behind you, and the rest is my affair."

"On the contrary, monsieur, you must go first. You see I must limp; forif I go on the run to tell that you broke my two legs and that Isubmitted to it patiently, your papa won't believe me and I shall bedismissed."

"That's the idea, monsieur. Help me a little. Not so fast! The devil! mywhole body's lame!"

"What does this mean?" said Monsieur Cardonnet sternly, when theconstable appeared, leaning on Emile. "Jean resisted; you, like anidiot, allowed yourself to be bowled over and the delinquent escaped."

"Excuse me, monsieur, the delinquent did nothing, poor man. It wasmonsieur your son here, who, as he passed me, pushed me without meaningto, just as I was putting my hand on my man; and,baoun! down I wentmore than fifty feet, head first, on the rocks. The poor dear gentlemanfelt very bad indeed, and ran to save me from falling into the river;and if he hadn't, I'd taken a drink for sure! But I'll tell you who waswell pleased—that was Père Jappeloup, for he ran off while I laythere all in a heap, not able to move hand or foot to run after him. If youshould be kind enough to let somebody give me a finger of wine, it woulddo me a deal of good; for I really believe that my stomach's unhooked."

Emile, recognizing the fact that this peasant with his simple, wheedlingair was much more adroit than he in lying and arranging everything forthe best, hesitated whether he should accept his version of theadventure. But he very soon read in his father's piercing eyes that hewould not be satisfied with a tacit confirmation and that, to convincehim, he must show no less effrontery than Master Caillaud.

"What absurd, incredible tale is this!" said Monsieur Cardonnet with afrown. "Since when has my son been so strong, so brutal, so intent uponfollowing the same road with you? If you are so weak on your legs that atouch of the elbow upsets you and sends you rolling over like a sack ofmeal, you must be drunk I should say! Tell me the truth, Emile. JeanJappeloup whipped this fellow, perhaps pushed him into the ravine, andyou, who stand there smiling like the child that you are, thought it agood joke, went to the assistance of this idiot here, and consented toassume the responsibility for a pretended accident! That's how it was,isn't it?"

"No, father, that is not how it was," said Emile with an air ofresolution. "I am a child, it is true; for that reason there may be alittle mischief in my frivolity. Caillaud may think what he pleases ofmy way of upsetting people by passing too close to them. If I injuredhim I am ready to ask his pardon and to compensate him. Meanwhile,permit me to send him to your housekeeper, so that she may administerthe cordial he desires; and when we are alone I will tell you franklyhow I came to do this foolish thing."

"Ah! Monsieur Emile," said Caillaud to the young man as they wentdownstairs, "I didn't sell you, so don't you betray me, will you?"

"Never fear; drink without losing your wits, and be sure that nobody butmyself will be compromised."

"And why in the devil do you propose to accuse yourself? begging yourpardon, that would be infernally stupid. You don't realize, do you, thatyou may be sent to prison for interfering with a public officer in thedischarge of his duties and assaulting him?"

"That's my business. Stick to what you said, for you explained mattersvery well; I will explain my intentions as I think best."

"Look you, you have too kind a heart," said Caillaud in amazement;"you'll never have your father's head!"

"Well, Emile," said Monsieur Cardonnet, whom his son found pacing hisstudy excitedly, "will you explain this inconceivable occurrence to me?"

"I alone am guilty, father," Emile replied firmly. "Let all thedispleasure and all the effects of my misconduct fall upon me. I giveyou my word of honor that Jean Jappeloup had submitted to arrest withoutthe slightest resistance, when I gave the constable a violent push thatthrew him down, and that I did it on purpose."

"Very good," said Monsieur Cardonnet coolly, determined to know thewhole truth; "and the clown let himself be thrown. He let his prey go,and yet, although he is lying now, he must have seen that it was notawkwardness but design on your part, mustn't he?"

"The man did not understand my behavior at all," replied Emile. "He wastaken by surprise, disarmed and thrown down; indeed, I think he wasbruised a little by the fall."

"What does it matter what that man thinks of my intentions and what goeson in the depths of his mind? Your magistracy stops at the threshold ofthe conscience, father, and you can judge nothing but facts."

"No, father, it is your victim the delinquent whom you have to try andto punish. When you question me on my own account I will answer as Iought. But it is a question now of the poor devil who lives by hishumble office. He is submissive to you, he fears you, and if you orderhim to take me to prison he is ready to do it."

"Emile, you arouse my pity. Let us leave this country constable and hisbruises. I forgive him, and I authorize you to give him a handsomepresent so that he may hold his tongue, for I don't propose to introduceyou to this neighborhood by an absurd scandal. But will you be kindenough to explain to me why you are apparently trying to organize aburlesque drama in the police court? What is this adventure in which youplay the rôle of Don Quixote, taking Caillaud for your Sancho Panza?Where were you going so fast when you happened to be present at thecarpenter's arrest? What caprice impelled you to deliver that man fromthe hands of the law and from my kindly intentions toward him? Have yougone mad in the six months since we last met? Have you taken a vow ofchivalry, or do you propose to balk my plans and defy me? Answerseriously if you can, for your father is very serious indeed in hisquestions."

"I should have many things to say in answer to you, father, if youquestioned me concerning my feelings and my ideas. But this is aquestion of one particular fact of trifling importance, and I will tellyou in a few words just what happened. I was running after the fugitive,to induce him to avoid the shame and grief of being arrested. I hoped tooutstrip Caillaud and to persuade Jean to return of his own accord,accept your offers and submit to the law. As I arrived too late, and asI could not with loyalty urge the constable not to do his duty, Iprevented him from doing it by exposing myself alone to the penalty ofthe offence. I acted on the impulse of the moment, without premeditationor reflection, impelled by an irresistible outburst of compassion andsorrow. If I did wrong, reprove me; but if I bring Jean back to you ofhis own accord, by gentle means and persuasion, within two days, forgiveme, and confess that foolish brains sometimes have happy inspirations."

"Emile," said Monsieur Cardonnet, after walking back and forth insilence for some moments, "I should reproach you severely for enteringinto open revolt, I will not say against the municipal law, as to whichI will not play the pedant. There has been in this matter an immensemanifestation of pride on your part and a very grave failure of respectfor paternal authority. I am not disposed to tolerate such outbreaksoften, you must know me well enough to know that, or else you havebecome strangely forgetful since we parted; but I will spare you a moreextended remonstrance to-day, for you do not seem inclined to profit byit. Moreover, what I see of your conduct and what I know of your frameof mind prove to my satisfaction that we must have a very seriousdiscussion concerning the very foundation of your ideas and the natureof your plans for the future. The disaster that has befallen me to-dayleaves me no time to talk with you at greater length to-night. You havehad considerable excitement in the course of the day, and you must needrest; go and see your mother and go to bed early. As soon as order andtranquillity are restored in my establishment, I will tell you why Ihave recalled you from what you called your exile, and what I expectfrom you hereafter."

"And until this explanation, which I earnestly desire," Emilereplied—"for it will be the first time in my life that you have nottreated me like a child—may I hope, father, that you will not beangry with me?"

"When I first see you again after such a long separation, it would bevery hard for me not to be indulgent," said Monsieur Cardonnet, pressinghis hand.

"I have no answer to make to such a question; I had too much confidencein you, Emile; I see that we do not think alike on certain subjects, anduntil we are agreed, I shall not subject myself to discussions which donot befit my rôle as head of the family. Let that suffice. Good-night,my son! I have work to do."

"Can not I help you? you have never believed me capable of sparing youany fatigue!"

"Ah! am I not rich enough already?" thought Emile as he left the room."If, as my father has often and justly told me, wealth imposes vastduties, why waste our lives creating for ourselves those duties whichmay exceed our strength?"

The following day was devoted to repairing in some degree the confusioncaused by the inundation. Monsieur Cardonnet, despite his strength ofcharacter, was profoundly disturbed when he discovered at every stepsome unforeseen damage in one or another of the innumerable details ofhis undertaking; his workmen were demoralized. The water, which kept thefactory in operation and whose power it was yet impossible to control,imparted an irregular movement to the machinery, increasing in force asit struggled to escape over the dams. The proprietor was grave andthoughtful; he was secretly annoyed on account of the lack of presenceof mind in the men he employed, who seemed to him more machine-like thanthe machinery. He had accustomed them to passive, blind obedience, andhe realized that, at critical moments, when the will of a single manbecomes insufficient, slaves are the worst servants who can be found. Hedid not call upon Emile to assist him; on the contrary, whenever theyoung man came and offered his services, he put him aside on variouspretexts, as if he were really distrustful of him. This method ofpunishing him was the most mortifying one to an impulsive, generousheart.

Emile tried to find consolation with his mother; but good MadameCardonnet was totally lacking in energy, and the ennui which theconstant prostration and, as it were, stupor of her mental facultiescaused all her friends, became in her son's case an unconquerablefeeling of depression, when she tried to divert and entertain him. Shetoo treated him like a child, and by her manifestations of affectionarrived at the same galling result as her husband. Lacking sufficientstrength of mind to sound the abyss that lay between the two men, andyet possessing sufficient intelligence to realize its existence, sheturned from it with terror, and strove to play on the brink with herson, as if it were possible to deceive herself.

She took him through the house and the gardens, making a thousandfoolish observations and trying to prove to him that she was unhappybecause the river had overflowed.

"If you had come a day sooner," she said, "you would have seen howlovely and neat and well-kept everything was! I looked forward to havingyour coffee served in a pretty clump of jasmine that stood on the edgeof the terrace yonder; but alas! there's no trace of it now: the veryground has been carried away, and the water has given us this nastyblack mud and all these stones in exchange."

"Cheer up, dear mother," said Emile, "we shall soon give it all back toyou; if father's workmen haven't time, I will be your gardener. You willtell me how it was all arranged; indeed I saw it; it was like a lovelydream. I had an opportunity to admire your enchanted gardens, yourlovely flowers from the top of the hill, opposite here; and in aninstant they were ruined and destroyed before my eyes; but this damagecan all be repaired: don't grieve so; others are more to be pitied!"

"And when I think that you were nearly carried away yourself by thathateful stream, which I detest now! O my child! I deplore the day thatyour father conceived the idea of settling here. We were overflowed morethan once during the winter, and he had to begin his work all overagain. This affects him and injures him more than he is willing toadmit. His temper is becoming soured, and his health will suffer in theend. And all on account of this river!"

"But don't you think that this new building and this damp air are badfor your own health, mother?"

"I don't know at all, my child. I consoled myself for everything with myflowers and the hope of seeing you again. But here you are, and you havecome to a bog, a sewer, when I had looked forward to seeing you walk ona carpet of flowers and turf as you smoked your cigar and read! Oh! thiscursed river!"

When night came, Emile discovered that the day had seemed immeasurablylong to him, hearing the river cursed by everybody and in all imaginabletones. His father alone continued to say that it was nothing at all, andthat six feet more of bank would bring the brook to its senses once forall; but his pale face and his clenched teeth, when he spoke, denoted aninternal passion more painful to see than all the ejaculations of theothers to hear.

The dinner was dull and cold. Monsieur Cardonnet was interrupted andleft the table a score of times to give orders; and as Madame Cardonnettreated him with boundless respect, the dishes were carried out to bekept hot and brought back overdone: he declared that they weredetestable; his wife turned pale and red in turn, went herself to thekitchen, took innumerable pains, being torn between the desire to waitfor her husband and the desire not to keep her son waiting, who decidedthat dinner was a very bad and very tedious meal in that wealthyhousehold.

They left the table so late, and the fords were still so dangerous inthe darkness, that Emile was compelled to abandon the visit toChâteaubrun which he had planned. He had described his reception there.

"Oh! I would go and call there to thank them!" cried Madame Cardonnet.But her husband added: "You may as well do nothing of the kind. I don'tcare to have you draw me into the society of that old drunkard, wholives on equal terms with the peasants, and who would get tipsy in mykitchen with my workmen."

"His daughter!" retorted the master scornfully. "What daughter! the onehe had by his maidservant?"

"He did well, for old Janille would have been sadly embarrassed toacknowledge the child's father! Whether she's charming or not, I hopethat Emile won't take such a journey to-night. It's a dark night and theroads are in bad condition."

"Oh no! he won't go to-night," cried Madame Cardonnet; "my dear boy willnot cause me such anxiety. To-morrow, at daybreak, if the river hasreturned to its usual limits, will be all right."

"To-morrow then," said Emile, sorely vexed, but yielding to his mother;"for it is very certain that I owe them a call to thank them for thecordial hospitality I received."

"You certainly do," said Monsieur Cardonnet, "but that, I trust, will bethe extent of your relations with that family, with whom it does notsuit me to associate. Don't make your visit too long: to-morrow eveningI propose to talk with you, Emile."

At daybreak on the following morning, before his parents had risen,Emile ordered his horse saddled, and riding across the still disturbedand angry stream, started off at a gallop on the road to Châteaubrun.

VIII

GILBERTE

The weather was superb and the sun was rising when Emile found himselfopposite Châteaubrun. That ruin, which had seemed to him soawe-inspiring by the glare of the lightning-flashes, bore now anappearance of majesty and splendor which triumphed over the ravages oftime and the despoiler. The morning sunbeams bathed it in a rosy-whiteglow and the vegetation with which it was covered bloomedcoquettishly—a fitting garment to be the virginal shroud of so noblea monument.

There are in reality few châteaux with entrances so majesticallydisposed and so commandingly situated as that of Châteaubrun. Thesquare structure which contained the gateway and the ogive peristyle isof a beautiful design; the hewn stone used in the arch and in the frameof the former portcullis is of imperishable whiteness. The façade ofthe château stands at the top of the knoll, covered with turf andflowers but built on the solid rock which ends in a precipice, at thefoot of which flows a torrential stream. The trees, rocks and patches ofgreensward, scattered without order or regularity over these steepslopes, have a natural charm which the creations of art could neversurpass. In the other direction the view is more extensive and moregrand: the Creuse, crossed diagonally by two dams, forms, among thefields and the willows, two gentle and melodious waterfalls in itslovely stream, sometimes so placid, sometimes so frantic in its course,but everywhere clear as crystal and everywhere bordered by enchantinglandscapes and picturesque ruins. From the top of the large tower of thechâteau the eye can follow it as it winds in and out among the steepcliffs and glides like a streak of quicksilver over the dark verdure andamong the rocks covered with pink heather.

When Emile had crossed the bridge which passes over enormous ditchespartly filled, their banks covered with tufts of grass and floweringbrambles, he observed with pleasure the cleanliness of that vast naturalterrace and all the approaches to the ruin, due to the recent downpourof rain. All the fragments of plaster had been washed away and all thescattered pieces of wood, and you would have said that some giganticfairy had carefully washed the paths and the old walls, screened thegravel and cleared the passage of all the rubbish of demolition whichthe châtelain would never have been able to have removed. The flood,which had marred, spoiled, destroyed all the beauty of the new Cardonnethouse, had served to clean and renovate the despoiled monument ofChâteaubrun. Its immovable old walls defied the centuries and thetempest, and the elevated site they occupied seemed destined to dominateall the transitory works of later generations.

Although he was proud, as befitted a descendant of the ancientbourgeoisie, that intelligent, revengeful, wilful race, which has madesuch a glorious record in history and which would still be so exalted ifit had held out its hand to the people instead of trampling them underfoot, Emile was impressed by the majestic aspect which that feudal aboderetained amid its ruins, and he was conscious of a thrill of respectfulpity as he entered—he, a rich and powerful plebeian—that domainwhere only the pride of a great name was left to contend against the realsuperiority of his position. This generous compassion was all the easierto entertain because there was nothing in the feelings and habits of thechâtelain either to invite it or to repel it. The excellent Antoine,who was occupied in trimming fruit trees at the entrance to his garden,placid, unconcerned and amiable, greeted him with a fatherly air, ran tomeet him and said with a smile:

"Welcome, once more, my dear Monsieur Emile; for I know who you are now,and I am very glad to know you. Upon my word your face took my fancy atthe first glance, and since you overthrew the prejudices that Jean triedto instill in me against your father, I feel that it will be pleasant tome to see you often in my ruins. Come with me first of all to thestable, and I will help you to fasten your horse, for Monsieur Charassonis busy grafting rose-bushes with my daughter and we mustn't interruptthe little one in such an important occupation. You will breakfast withme this time; for we owe you a meal that we stole from you the otherday."

"I did not come to cause you more trouble, my generous host," saidEmile, pressing with an irresistible impulse of friendliness the countrygentleman's broad callous hand. "I wished first of all to thank you foryour kindness to me, and in the second place to meet a man who is yourfriend and my own, and with whom I made an appointment for lastevening."

"I know, I know about that," said Monsieur Antoine, putting his fingerto his lips: "he told me the whole story. But he exaggerated hisgrievances against your father, as usual. We will talk about that later,however, and I have to thank you, on my own account, for your interestin him. He went away at daybreak, and I don't know if he will be able toreturn to-day, for he is more hotly pursued than ever; but I am surethat his affairs will soon take a turn for the better, thanks to you.You must tell me what you finally obtained from your father in thedirection of my poor friend's safety and satisfaction. I am authorizedto listen to you and to reply to you, for I have full powers to arrangethe terms of pacification; I am sure that any terms that pass throughyour mouth will be honorable! But the matter is not so pressing that youcannot breakfast with us, and I tell you frankly that I will not beginnegotiations on an empty stomach. Let us begin by feeding your horse,for animals don't know how to ask for what they want, and we ought tolook out for them before we look out for ourselves, lest we forget them.Look you, Janille! bring your apron full of oats, for this noble beastis in the habit of eating them every day I am sure, and I want him toneigh in token of good-will every time he passes my gate; indeed I wanthim to come in in spite of his master, if he happens to forget me."

Janille, notwithstanding the parsimonious economy that guided all heractions, unhesitatingly brought a small quantity of oats which she keptin reserve for great occasions. She was of the opinion that they were auseless luxury; but she would have sold her last gown for the honor ofher master's house, and on this occasion she said to herself withgenerous shrewdness that the present Emile had made her at their lastinterview and the one he would not fail to make her to-day would be morethan enough to feed his horse sumptuously as often as he chose to come.

"Eat, my boy, eat," she said, patting the horse with an air which shestrove to render manly and knowing; then, taking a handful of straw, sheset about rubbing him down.

"Hold, Dame Janille," cried Emile, taking the straw from her hands, "Iwill do that myself."

"Pray, do you think I wouldn't do it as well as a man?" said theomni-competent little woman. "Never fear, monsieur, I am as good in thestable as in the pantry and the laundry; and if I didn't pay my visit tothe hay-rack and the harness-room every day, that little rattle-brainjockey would never keep monsieur le comte's mare in decentcondition. See how clean and fat she is, poor oldLanterne! Sheisn't handsome, monsieur, but she's good; she's like everything elsehere except my child, who is handsome and good too."

"Your child!" said Emile, suddenly remembering a fact which deprivedMademoiselle de Châteaubrun's image of something of its poetic charm."You have a child here? I have not seen her."

"Fie, monsieur! what are you saying?" cried Janille, her pale andglistening cheeks mantling with a modest blush, while Monsieur Antoinesmiled with some embarrassment. "Apparently you are not aware that I amunmarried."

"Excuse me," said Emile, "I have so recently come into this neighborhoodthat I am likely to make many absurd mistakes. I thought that you weremarried or a widow."

"It is true that at my age I might have buried several husbands,"rejoined Janille; "for I have not lacked opportunities. But I havealways had a dislike for marriage, because I like to do as I choose.When I sayour child, it's on account of my affection for a childwhom I saw born, as you might say, for I had her with me when she wasbeing weaned, and monsieur le comte allows me to treat his daughter asif she belonged to me, which doesn't take away any of the respect I oweher. But if you had seen mademoiselle, you would have noticed that sheno more looks like me than she does like you, and that she has onlynoble blood in her veins.Jour de Dieu! if I had such a child,where could I have got her? I should be so proud of her, that I'd telleverybody, even if it made people speak ill of me. Ha! ha! you arelaughing, are you, Monsieur Antoine? laugh as much as you choose; I amfifteen years older than you, and evil tongues have nothing to sayagainst me."

"Nonsense, Janille! nobody dreams of such a thing, so far as I know,"said Monsieur Châteaubrun, affecting an air of gayety. "That would bedoing me too much honor, and I am not conceited enough to boast of it.As for my daughter, you certainly have the right to call her what youplease, for you have been more than a mother to her, if such a thing ispossible!"

As he uttered these last words in a serious, agitated tone, theresuddenly came into the châtelain's eyes and voice, as it were a cloud,and an accent of profound melancholy. But it was incompatible with hischaracter that any depressing sentiment should be of long duration, andhe soon recovered his usual serenity.

"Go and prepare breakfast, young madcap," he said playfully to hisfemale majordomo; "I still have two trees to trim and Monsieur Emilewill come and keep me company."

The garden of Châteaubrun had formerly been on a vast and magnificentscale like the rest of the domain; but a large part of it had been soldwith the park, now transformed into a grain-field, and only a few acresremained. The part nearest the château was lovely in the naturaldisorder of its vegetation; the grass and the ornamental trees, leftundisturbed in their vagabond growth, revealed here and there a step ortwo and a few fragments of wall, which had been summer-houses andlabyrinths in the days of Louis XV. There, doubtless, mythologicalstatues, urns, fountains and so-called rustic pavilions had repeated ona small scale the dainty and affected ornamentation of the royalpalaces. But now it was all shapeless débris, covered with vines andivy, lovelier perhaps in the eyes of an artist or a poet than it hadbeen in the time of its magnificence.

On a higher level, surrounded with a thorn-hedge to confine the twogoats that grazed at will in the former garden, was the orchard, filledwith venerable trees, whose gnarled and knotty branches, escaping fromthe constraint of the pruning-knife and the espalier, assumed odd andfantastic shapes. There was a curious interlacing of monstrous hydrasand dragons writhing under foot and over head, so that it was difficultto walk there without tripping over huge roots or leaving one's hatamong the branches.

"These are old servants of the family," said Monsieur Antoine, breakingout a path for Emile through these patriarchs of the orchard; "they bearonly once in five or six years; but then, such magnificent, juicy fruitcomes from that rich, but sluggish sap! When I repurchasedmyestate, everybody advised me to cut down these old stumps; mydaughter pleaded for them because of their great beauty, and it was agood thing that I followed her advice, for they give a fine shade, andalthough some of them yield mighty little in a year, we are sufficientlysupplied with fruit. See this huge apple-tree! It must have been herewhen my father was born, and I'll wager that it will live to see mygrand-children. Wouldn't it be downright murder to cut down such apatriarch? There's a quince-tree that bears only about a dozen quinces ayear. That's very few for its size; but they're as big as my head and asyellow as pure gold; and such a flavor, monsieur! You'll see them in thefall! See, here's a cherry-tree that has a very good crop. Yes, the oldfellows are still good for something, don't you think? It's only amatter of knowing how to prune them properly. A theoreticalhorticulturist would tell you that you must stop all this development ofbranches, clip and prune, so as to force the sap to transform itselfinto buds. But when a man is old himself, his own experience tells himsomething different. When the fruit tree has lived fifty years witheverything sacrificed to increase its bearing qualities, you must giveit its liberty and hand it over for a few years to the care of nature.Then it enters into its second childhood; it puts out new twigs andleaves and that rests it. And when, instead of a mere clipped skeleton,it has become a real tree again, it thanks you and rewards you bybearing all you choose. For instance, here's a big branch that seems tobe of no use," he continued, opening his pruning-knife. "But I shallrespect it, for such an extensive amputation would weaken the tree. Inthese old bodies the blood is not renewed fast enough for them to standoperations which youth can undergo safely. It's the same withvegetables. I am just going to take away the dead wood, scratch themoss, and freshen up the extremities. Look, it's very simple."

The artless gravity with which Monsieur de Châteaubrun immersed himselfin this innocent occupation touched Emile and presented a constantcontrast to what took place in his own home with regard to similarmatters. While a gardener with a large salary, and two assistants,busily at work from morning till night, were not enough to keep hismother's garden sufficiently neat and gorgeous, while she worried over arose bud that failed to bloom or an unsuccessful graft, Monsieur Antoinewas happy in the proud savagery of hispupils, and in his eyesnothing was more fruitful and more generous than the will of nature. Thatold-fashioned orchard, with its fine soft turf, cropped by thehard-working teeth of a few patient sheep, allowed to wander therewithout dog or keeper, with its hardy and capricious vegetation and itsgently undulating slopes, was a beautiful spot where no fear of jealoussurveillance interrupted one's musing.

"Now that I have finished with my trees," said Monsieur Antoine, puttingon his jacket which he had hung on a branch, "let us go and find mydaughter and have breakfast. You haven't seen my daughter yet, Ibelieve? But she knows you already, for she is admitted to all of ourpoor Jean's little secrets; indeed, he is so fond of her that he oftengoes to her for advice instead of me. Go on,Monsieur," he said tohis dog, "go and tell your young mistress that breakfast time has come. Ah!that makes you frisky, doesn't it? Your appetite tells you the time aswell as any watch."

Monsieur Antoine's dog answered to the name ofMonsieur, which hegave him when he was pleased with him, and that ofSacripant,which was his real name, but which Mademoiselle de Châteaubrun did notlike, so that his master only used it when hunting or by way of sternrebuke, when it happened, as it very rarely did, that he committed someimpropriety, such as eating gluttonously, snoring when he was asleep, orbarking when Jean came over the wall in the middle of the night. Thefaithful beast seemed to understand what his master said, for he beganto laugh, an expression of merriment very strongly marked in some dogs,which gives to their faces an almost human look of intelligence andkindliness. Then he ran ahead and disappeared down the slope toward thestream.

As they followed him, Monsieur Antoine called Emile's attention to thebeauty of the landscape that was gradually unfolded before them. "OurCreuse also took it into its head to overflow the other day," he said;"but all the hay along the banks had been housed, thanks to Jean'sadvice, for he had warned us not to let it get overripe. Everybodyhereabout looks up to him as an oracle, and it's a fact that he has agreat faculty of observation and a prodigious memory. By the aid ofcertain signs that nobody else notices, the color of the water or theclouds, and especially the influence of the moon in the first fortnightof spring, he can predict infallibly what sort of weather we are to hopefor or fear throughout the year. He would be an invaluable man for yourfather, if he would listen to him. He is good at everything, and if Iwere in Monsieur Cardonnet's position, nothing would deter me fromtrying to make a friend of him; for it's of no use to think of makinghim into an assiduous and well-disciplined servant. He has the nature ofthe savage, who dies when he is brought into subjection. Jean Jappeloupwill never do anything good except of his own free will; but just gethold of his heart, which is the biggest heart God ever made, and youwill see how, on important occasions, that man rises above what he seemsto be! Let Monsieur Cardonnet's establishment be endangered by freshet,fire or any unforeseen catastrophe, and then he will tell you if JeanJappeloup's head and arms can be too dearly bought and sheltered!"

Emile did not listen to the end of this eulogy with the interest whichit would have aroused in him under any other circumstances, for his earsand his thoughts had taken another direction: a fresh young voice wassinging, or rather humming, at a little distance, one of those melodies,charming in their melancholy and artless sweetness, which are peculiarto the country. And the châtelain's daughter, the bachelor's child,whose mother's name was a mystery to the whole neighborhood, appeared atthe corner of a clump of eglantine, as lovely as the loveliestwild-flower of that charming solitude.

Fair-haired and pale, and about eighteen or nineteen years of age,Gilberte de Châteaubrun had, in her face as in her character, anadmixture of good sense beyond her years and her childish gayety, whichfew young women would have retained in such a position as hers; for itwas impossible for her not to be aware of her poverty and of the futureof isolation and privations which was in store for her in that age ofcold calculation and selfishness. She seemed, however, to be no moreaffected by it than her father, whom she resembled, feature by feature,morally as well as physically; her fearless, amiable glance was markedby the most touching serenity. She blushed deeply when she saw Emile,but it was the effect of surprise rather than embarrassment; for shecame forward and bowed to him without awkwardness, without thatconstrained and slyly-bashful air which has been too highly extolled inyoung women, for lack of knowledge as to what it means. It did not occurto Gilberte that her father's young guest would devour her with hiseyes, and that she should assume a dignified air in order to place acurb upon the audacity of his secret desires. On the contrary, shelooked at him, to see if his face appealed to her as it did to herfather, and with ready perspicacity she observed that he was veryhandsome without being in the least degree vain; that he followed thefashions to a moderate extent; that he was neither stiff, nor arrogant,nor presuming; in short, that his expressive face was instinct withcandor, courage and delicacy. Satisfied with this scrutiny, she at oncefelt as much at her ease as if there were no stranger with her and herfather.

"It is true," she said, completing Monsieur de Châteaubrun's sentenceof introduction, "my father was angry with you for running away theother day without your breakfast. But I understood perfectly that youwere impatient to see your mother, especially in view of the flood wheneveryone might well tremble for his friends. Luckily, Madame Cardonnetdidn't get very much of a fright, we were told, and you lost none ofyour workmen."

"That is the least interesting point, mademoiselle; the poor peoplesuffered much more in proportion. Luckily, my father has the power andthe inclination to repair many disasters."

"They say especially—they sayalso," rejoinedthe girl, blushing a little at the word that had escaped herinvoluntarily—"that madame your mother is exceedingly kind andcharitable. I was talking about her just now with little Sylvain, whomshe overwhelmed with kindness."

"My mother is perfect," said Emile; "but, on that occasion, it was quitenatural that she should manifest much good-will toward that poor child,but for whom I should very likely have lost my life through imprudence.I am impatient to see him and thank him."

"Here he is," said Mademoiselle de Châteaubrun, pointing to Charasson,who was coming behind her with a basket and a little jar of pitch. "Wehave made more than fifty grafts, and there are some slips there thatSylvain picked up in the upper part of your garden. They were in whatthe gardener threw away after pruning his rose-bushes, and they willgive us some lovely flowers, if our grafting isn't too badly done. Youwill look at it, won't you, father? for I am not very skilful yet."

"Nonsense! you can graft better than I, with your little hands," saidMonsieur Antoine, putting his daughter's pretty fingers to his lips."That's woman's work, and requires more deftness than we men can manage.But you ought to put on your gloves, little one! Those wretched thornshave no respect for you."

"What harm do they do, father?" said the girl with a smile. "I am noprincess, and I am glad of it. I am freer and happier."

Emile did not lose a word of this last sentiment, although it wasuttered in an undertone for her father's ear only; and although he hadstepped forward to meet little Sylvain and bid him a friendlygood-morning.

"Oh! I am doing very well," replied the page; "I was only afraid of onething and that was that the mare might take cold after such a bath. Butby good luck she seems all the better for it, and I was very glad of thechance to go into your little château and see the beautiful rooms andyour papa's servants, who wear red waistcoats and have gold lace ontheir hats!"

"Ah! that is what turned his head more than anything," said Gilberte,laughing heartily and disclosing two rows of little teeth as white andclose together as a necklace of pearls. "Monsieur Sylvain here isoverflowing with ambition: he has looked with profound scorn upon hisnew jacket and his gray hat since he saw your gold-laced lackeys. If heever sees achasseur with his cock's feather and epaulets, he'll gomad over him."

"Poor child!" said Emile, "if he knew how much freer, happier andhonorable his lot is than that of the bedizened lackeys in the largecities!"

"He has no suspicion that a livery is degrading," said the girl, "and heis not aware that he is the luckiest servant that ever lived."

"I don't complain," rejoined Sylvain; "everybody is kind to me here,even Mademoiselle Janille, although she is a little watchful, and Iwouldn't like to leave these parts, because my father and mother are atCuzion, right near the house! But a bit of a costume, you know, makes aman over!"

"So you would like to be dressed better than your master, would you?"said Mademoiselle de Châteaubrun. "Look at my father, how simple hisdress is. He would be very unhappy if he had to put on a black coat andwhite gloves every day."

"It is quite true that it would be hard for me to take up the habitagain," said Monsieur Antoine. "But do you hear, Janille, my children?there she is shrieking to us to come to breakfast."

My children was a general term by which Monsieur Antoine, when hewas in an amiable mood, often addressed Janille and Sylvain when they weretogether, or the peasants in his vicinity.

Gilberte therefore was amazed at the involuntary rapid glance whichyoung Cardonnet bestowed upon her. He had started, and a confused thrillof longing, of dread and of pleasure had made his heart beat fast whenhe heard himself joined with the lovely Gilberte in the châtelain'spaternal appellation.

IX

MONSIEUR ANTOINE

The breakfast on this occasion was a little more luxurious than wascustomary at Châteaubrun. Janille had had time to make somepreparations. She had procured milk, honey and eggs, and had bravelysacrificed two pullets which were still cackling when Emile appeared atthe gate, but which had been placed on the gridiron while they werewarm, and were very tender.

The young man had found an appetite in the orchard, and the meal wasmost enjoyable. The praise that he bestowed upon it delighted Janille,who sat as usual opposite her master and did the honors of the tablewith much distinction.

She was especially touched by her guest's approbation of the wildblackberries preserved by herself.

"Little mother," said Gilberte, "you must send a specimen of your skillwith your receipt to Madame Cardonnet, and perhaps she will send us inexchange some strawberry plants."

"Those great garden strawberries aren't good for anything," repliedJanille; "they smell of nothing but water. I prefer our little mountainstrawberries, so red and so fragrant. But that won't hinder my givingMonsieur Emile a big jar of my preserves for his mamma, if she willaccept them."

"My mother wouldn't want to deprive you of them, my dear MademoiselleJanille," Emile replied, especially touched by Gilberte's frankgenerosity, and mentally comparing the sincere kindly impulses of thatpoor family with the disdainful manners of his own.

"Oh," said Gilberte with a smile, "that won't be any deprivation to us.We have plenty of the fruit and we can begin again. Blackberries are notscarce with us, and if we don't look out, the bramble-bushes that bearthem will pierce our walls and grow in our rooms."

"And whose fault is it," said Janille, "if we are overrun by brambles?Didn't I want to cut them all down? I certainly could have done it allwithout help from anybody if I had been let."

"But I protected the poor brambles against you, dear little mother! Theymake such pretty garlands around our ruins, that it would be a greatpity to destroy them."

"I agree that they make a pretty effect," said Janille, "and that youcan't find such fine bushes or such big berries within ten leagues!"

"You hear her, Monsieur Emile," said Monsieur Antoine. "That's Janilleall over! There's nothing beautiful, good, useful or salutary that isnot found at Châteaubrun. It's a saving grace."

"Pardine! complain, monsieur," retorted Janille; "yes, I advise youto complain of something!"

"I complain of nothing," replied the honest nobleman; "God forbid! withmy daughter and you, what more could I ask for my happiness?"

"Oh! yes; you talk like that when any one is listening to you, but ifour backs are turned, and a little fly stings you, you put on a look ofresignation altogether out of place in your position."

"My position is what God has made it," rejoined Monsieur Antoine, withmelancholy gentleness. "If my daughter accepts it without regret, it isnot for you or me to reproach Providence."

"I!" cried Gilberte; "what regret can I have, pray? Tell me, dearfather; for, so far as I am concerned, I should look in vain to findanything on earth that I lack or that I can ask to have improved."

"And I am of mademoiselle's opinion," said Emile, deeply touched by thesincere and nobly affectionate expression on that lovely face; "I amsure that she is happy, because——"

"Because what? Tell us, Monsieur Cardonnet!" said Gilberte playfully;"you were going to say why, and you stopped short."

"I should be very sorry to seem to say anything insipid," replied Emile,blushing almost as red as the girl; "but I was thinking that when onehad these three treasures, beauty, youth and amiability, one should behappy, because one could be sure of being loved."

"I am happier than you think, then," said Gilberte, putting one hand inher father's and the other in Janille's; "for I am loved dearly withoutreference to those other things. Whether I am beautiful and amiable, Idon't know; but I am sure that if I were ugly and cross, my father andmother would love me just the same. My happiness therefore comes fromtheir goodness to me and not from any merit of my own."

"We will permit you to believe, however," said Monsieur Antoine toEmile, pressing his daughter to his heart, "that it comes partly fromone and partly from the other."

"Oh! Monsieur Antoine, see what you've done!" cried Janille; "more ofyour absent-mindedness! You've made a mark with your egg on Gilberte'ssleeve."

"No! no! that would make it worse; you'd pour the whole carafe on it anddrown my girl. Come here, my child, and let me take out the stain. Ihave a horror of stains! Wouldn't it be a pity to spoil this pretty newdress?"

Emile looked for the first time at Gilberte's costume. He had hithertopaid no attention to aught save her graceful figure and the beauty ofher face. She wore a dress of grey drilling, quite new, but coarse, witha little neckerchief, white as snow, about her neck. Gilberte noticedhis scrutiny, and, instead of being humiliated by it, seemed to takesome pride in saying that she liked her dress, that it was of goodmaterial, that she could defy thorns and briers, and that, as Janillechose it herself, nothing could be more agreeable to her to wear.

That was not true; Emile, although naturally truthful, told this littlelie involuntarily. Gilberte was not deceived by it; but she was gratefulto him for the delicacy of his purpose.

As for Janille, she was visibly flattered by this testimony to her goodtaste, for she was almost as proud of that quality as of Gilberte'sbeauty.

"My daughter is no coquette," said she, "but I am for her. And whatwould you say, Monsieur Antoine, if your child was not dressed genteellyand becomingly as befits her rank in society?"

"We have nothing to do with society, my dear Janille," said MonsieurAntoine, "and I don't complain. Don't indulge in any useless illusions."

"You have a disappointed air when you say that, Monsieur Antoine; for mypart, I tell you that rank can't be lost: but that's just like you; youalways throw the blade after the helve!"

"I throw nothing at all," retorted the châtelain; "on the contrary, Iaccept everything as it comes."

"Oh! you do!" said Janille, who always longed to quarrel with some one,to keep her tongue and her lively pantomime in practice. "You are verygood, on my word, to accept such a fate as yours! Wouldn't any one say,to hear you, that you had to have a deal of sense and philosophy forthat? Bah! you're no better than an ingrate!"

"What's the matter with you, you cross-grained creature?" said MonsieurAntoine. "I say again that everything is all right and that I amconsoled for everything."

"Consoled! there you go again; consoled for what, if you please? Haven'tyou always been the happiest of men?"

"No, not always. My life has had its mixture of bitterness like everyman's; but why should I have been treated any better than so many otherswho are as good as I am?"

"No, other men are not so good as you are—I insist upon that, as Ialso insist that you have always been treated better than any one. Yes,monsieur, I'll prove to you, whenever you choose, that you were bornunder a lucky star."

"Ah! you would please me exceedingly if you could really prove that,"said Monsieur Antoine with a smile.

"Very well, I take you at your word, and I will begin. MonsieurCardonnet shall be judge and witness."

"We will let her have her say, Monsieur Emile," said Monsieur Antoine."We have reached the dessert and there's nothing that will keep Janillefrom chattering at this stage of the meal. She will say innumerablefoolish things, I warn you! But she is bright and enthusiastic. Youwon't be bored listening to her."

"In the first place," said Janille, bridling up in her determination tojustify this eulogium, "Monsieur was born Comte de Châteaubrun, whichis neither a bad name nor a trifling honor!"

"The honor has no great significance to-day," said Monsieur deChâteaubrun; "and as for the name my ancestors handed down to me, as Ihave been able to do nothing to add to its splendor, I do not muchdeserve to bear it."

"Nonsense, monsieur, nonsense!" interposed Janille. "I know what you'recoming at, and I'll come at it myself. Let me talk. Monsieur comes intothe world here—in the loveliest country in the world—and he isnursed by the prettiest and freshest village girl in the neighborhood, anold friend of mine, although I was several years younger, honest JeanJappeloup's mother; he has always been as devoted to monsieur as thefoot is to the leg. He is in trouble now, but his troubles will sooncome to an end, I've no doubt!"

"Thanks to you!" said Gilberte, looking at Emile; and with thatinnocent, kindly glance she paid him for his compliment to her beautyand her dress.

"If you start on your usual parentheses," said Monsieur Antoine toJanille, "we shall never finish."

"Yes, we will, monsieur," she replied. "I resume, as monsieur le curéat Cuzion says at the beginning of his sermons. Monsieur was blessedwith an excellent constitution, and, moreover, he was the handsomestchild that ever was seen. In proof of that is the fact he became one ofthe handsomest cavaliers in the province, as the ladies of all rankslost no time in discovering."

"Go on, go on, Janille," interposed the châtelain, with a touch ofsadness in his gayety; "there's not much to be said on that subject."

"Never fear," was her reply, "I'll say nothing that it isn't all rightto say. Monsieur was brought up in the country, in this old château, whichwas great and fine in those days—and which is very comfortable tolive in to-day! Playing with the youngsters of his age and with littleJean Jappeloup, his foster-brother, kept him in excellent health. Come,monsieur, now complain of your health, and tell us if you know a man offifty more active and better preserved than you?"

"That's all very well; but you don't say that, as I was born in a periodof civil commotion and revolution my early education was neglected."

"Pardieu! monsieur, would you have liked to be born twenty yearsearlier and be seventy to-day? That's a strange idea! You were born justin time, since you still have a long while to live, thank God! As foreducation, you lacked nothing; you were sent to school at Bourges, andyou worked very well there."

"On the contrary, very ill. I had not been accustomed to working with mymind. I fell asleep during the lessons; my memory had never had anypractice; I had more difficulty in learning the elements of things thanother lads in completing a full course of study."

"Very well, then you deserved more credit because you had more trouble.At all events you knew enough to be a gentleman. You weren't intendedfor a curé or a school-master. Did you need so much Greek and Latin?When you came here in vacation you were an accomplished young man. Noone was more skilful than you in bodily exercises; you could bat yourball over the high tower, and when you called your dogs your voice wasso loud that you could be heard at Cuzion."

"All that doesn't show hard study," said Monsieur Antoine, laughing atthis panegyric.

"When you were old enough to leave school, it was the time of the warwith the Austrians and Prussians and Russians. You fought well, for youreceived several wounds."

"Thank God!" rejoined Janille. "Would you have liked to be crippled andgo on crutches! You gathered the laurel, and you returned covered withglory and with not too many bruises."

"No, no, Janille, very little glory, I assure you. I did my best; butsay what you will, I was born several years too late; my parents foughttoo long against my desire to serve my country under the usurper, asthey called him. I had hardly made a start in the army when I had toreturn home,trailing my wing and dragging my foot, in utterconsternation and despair at the disaster of Waterloo."

"I agree, monsieur, that the fall of the Emperor was not a good thingfor you, and that you were generous enough to regret it, although thatman never behaved very well toward you. With the name you bore, he oughtto have made you a general at once, instead of paying no attentionwhatever to you."

"I presume," laughed Monsieur de Châteaubrun, "that his mind wasdirected from that duty by other and more pressing affairs. However, youagree, Janille, that my military career was nipped in the bud, and that,thanks to my fine education, I was not very well fitted to start on anyother?"

"I had the ideas of my generation. Perhaps I should still have them, ifit were all to be done again."

"Well, monsieur, who could blame you for it? It was very honorable,according to what people said in the province then, and no one but yourrelations condemned you."

"My relations were proud and inflexible in their legitimist opinions.You cannot deny that they abandoned me to the disaster that threatenedme, and that they worried very little over the loss of my fortune."

"And you lost your fortune in a great lawsuit against your father'sestate; everybody knows that. But you only lost the case because youchose to."

"And it was the noblest and most honorable thing my father ever did inhis life," interposed Gilberte, with much warmth.

"My children," said Monsieur Antoine, "you mustn't say that I lost thecase; I didn't allow it to come to trial."

"To be sure, to be sure," said Janille; "for if you had, you would havewon it. There was only one opinion on that point."

"But my father, recognizing that possession in fact is not possession ofright," said Gilberte, addressing Emile with animation, "refused to takeadvantage of his position. You must know this story, Monsieur Cardonnet,for my father would never dream of telling it to you, and you have sorecently arrived in the province that you cannot have heard it yet. Mygrandfather had contracted debts of honor during my father's minority.He died before circumstances enabled him or made it an urgent duty topay them. The claims of the creditors were of no value in law; but myfather, when he investigated his affairs, found a minute of one of theseclaims among my grandfather's papers. He might have destroyed it and noone would have known of its existence. On the contrary, he produced itand sold all of the family property to pay a sacred debt. My father hasbrought me up upon principles which do not permit me to think that hedid any more than his duty; but many wealthy people thought differently.Some called him a fool and madman. I am very glad that, when you hearcertain upstarts say that Monsieur Antoine de Châteaubrun was ruined byhis own folly, which in their eyes is the greatest possible dishonor,you will know what to think about my father's dissipation andwrong-headedness."

"Ah! mademoiselle," cried Emile, overpowered by his emotion, "howfortunate you are to be his daughter, and how I envy you this noblepoverty!"

"Don't make me out a hero, my dear child," said Monsieur Antoine,pressing Emile's hand. "There is always some truth at the bottom of thejudgments pronounced by men, even when they are harsh and unjust for themost part. It is very certain that I was always a little extravagant,that I understood nothing about domestic economy, or business, and thatI deserve less credit than another for sacrificing my fortune, because Iregretted it less."

This modest apology inspired in Emile such a warm regard for MonsieurAntoine, that he stooped over the hand which held his and put his lipsto it with a feeling of veneration with which Gilberte was not whollyunconnected. Gilberte was more moved than she was prepared to be by thissudden impulse on their young guest's part. She felt a tear trembling onher eyelid, and lowered her eyes to hide it; she tried to assume aserious bearing, and, suddenly carried away by an irresistible impulseof the heart, she almost held out her own hand to the young man; but shedid not yield to this outburst of feeling and artlessly turned it asideby rising to take Emile's plate and give him another, with the grace andsimplicity of a patriarch's daughter holding the pitcher to thewayfarer's lips.

Emile was surprised at first by this act of humble sympathy, so out ofharmony with the conventionalities of the society in which he had lived.Then he understood it, and his breast was so agitated that he could findno words to thank the fair hostess of Châteaubrun, his charmingservant.

"After all this," continued Monsieur Antoine, who saw nothing but thesimplest courtesy in his daughter's action, "Janille must surely agreethat there has been a little misfortune in my life; for that lawsuit hadbeen going on for some time when I discovered the acknowledgment of hisdebt that my father had left behind him, in the drawer of an oldabandoned desk. Until then I had not believed in the good faith of hiscreditors. It seemed improbable that they could have been unfortunateenough to lose their proofs, so I slept on both ears. My Gilberte wasborn and I had no suspicion that she was doomed to share with me ahand-to-mouth existence. The dear child's birth made the blow a littlemore severe than it would otherwise have been to my naturalimprovidence. Seeing that I was absolutely without resource, I resolvedto work for my living, and I had some hard moments at first."

"Yes, monsieur, that is true," said Janille, "but you succeeded inbuckling down to work, and you soon recovered your good humor and youropen-hearted gayety, didn't you?"

"Thanks to you, good Janille, for you did not desert me. We went toGargilesse to live with Jean Jappeloup, and the honest fellow found mesomething to do."

"To be sure, my young friend. I was carpenter's apprentice, journeymancarpenter, and in a few years carpenter's assistant, and not more thantwo years ago you could have seen me with a blouse on my back and ahatchet over my shoulder, going out for my day's work with Jappeloup."

"That is the reason, then," said Emile, sorely embarrassed,"that——" He paused, not daring to finish.

"That is the reason, yes, I understand," rejoined Monsieur Antoine;"that is the reason that you have heard some one say: 'Old Antoinedegenerated terribly during his poverty; he lived with workingmen; hewas seen laughing and drinking with them in wineshops.' Well, thatrequires a little explanation, and I will not make myself out anystronger or purer than I am. According to the ideas of the nobles andthe rich bourgeois of the province, I should have done better doubtless toremain melancholy and solemn, proudly crushed by my disgrace, working insilence, sighing in secret, blushing to receive wages,—I who had hadwage-earners under my orders—and taking no part on Sundays in themerrymaking of the mechanics who permitted me to work beside them duringthe week. Well, I do not know if it would have been better so, but, Iconfess, that it would have been entirely foreign to my character. I amso constituted that it is impossible for me to be affected and horrifiedfor long by anything under heaven. I had been brought up with Jappeloupand other peasant children of my own age. I had treated them as myequals in our childish games. Since then I had never played the masteror the nobleman with them. They received me with open arms in mydistress, and offered me their houses, their bread, their advice, theirtools and their custom. How could I have helped being fond of them? Howcould their society seem to me to be unworthy of me? How could I helpsharing my week's wages with them on Sunday? Bah! on the contrary, Isuddenly found joy and pleasure in doing it, as a compensation for myhard work. Their songs, their meetings, under the trellised arbor wherethe holly-branch of the wineshop waved in the wind, their frankfamiliarity with me, and my indissoluble friendship with dear Jean, myfoster-brother, my master in carpentry, my comforter, made a new lifefor me, which I could not but find very pleasant, especially when I hadsucceeded in acquiring enough skill at my trade not to be a burden tothem."

"It is true enough that you worked hard," said Janille, "and that youwere soon a very great help to poor Jean. Ah! I remember his fits ofanger with you at the beginning, for he was never patient, the dear man,and you were so awkward! Really, Monsieur Emile, you'd have laughed tohear Jean swear after Monsieur le Comte, as he would after any littleapprentice. And then, after it was over, they would make it up and shakehands, so that I used to feel like crying. But as we have actually setabout telling you our whole history, instead of just quarrelling amongourselves, as I intended to do at first, I propose to tell you the restof it; for if we let Monsieur Antoine do it, he'll never let me put in aword."

"Go on, Janille, go on!" cried Monsieur Antoine; "I ask your pardon forhaving kept you from talking so long!"

X

A GOOD ACTION

"According to Monsieur Antoine," said Janille, "we were entirely withoutmeans; but if that was the case, it didn't last long. After a few years,when the Châteaubrun estate had been sold in small lots, the debtspaid, and all that rubbish cleared away, we found that monsieur stillhad a little capital left, which, if well invested, would bring him inabout twelve hundred francs a year. Oh! that wasn't to be despised. But,with monsieur's kindness of heart and generosity, it would probably havedisappeared a little fast. Then it was that my dear Janille, who istalking to you now, saw that she must take the reins into her hands. Itwas she who looked after the investment of the funds, and she didn'tmanage so very badly. Then what did she say to monsieur? Do youremember, monsieur, what I said to you at that time?"

"I said to you: 'Well, Monsieur Antoine, there's enough for you to liveon with your arms folded. But that would be a burden to you, you'vetaken a liking to work. You are still young and well, so you can workfor some years to come. You have a daughter, a real treasure, who bidsfair to be as bright as she is pretty; you must think about giving heran education. We will take her to Paris, put her at boarding-school, andyou will be a carpenter a few years longer.' Monsieur Antoine askednothing better. Oh! I must do him the justice to say that he didn'tcomplain of his work; but, by associating with these peasants, his ideashad become a little too countrified to suit me. He said that as he wasdestined to become a workingman in the country, it would be wiser tobring up his daughter in accordance with his position in life, to makean honest village lass of her, to teach her to read, sew, spin and keephouse; but deuce take me if I looked at it in that light! Could I allowMademoiselle de Châteaubrun to fall below her rank and not be broughtup like the nobly-born maid she is? Monsieur yielded, and our Gilbertewas educated at Paris, and nothing was spared to give her wit andtalents. She made the most of it like a little angel, and when she wasabout seventeen years old I says one day to monsieur: 'I say, MonsieurAntoine, don't you want to come and take a little walk with me overChâteaubrun way?' Monsieur, let me bring him here, but, when we were inthe middle of the ruins, he got very depressed.

"'Why did you bring me here, Janille?' he says with a deep sigh. 'I knewthey had destroyed my poor family nest; I had seen that from a distance,but I have never had the heart to come in and see all this ruin close. Ihadn't any feeling of pride about the château, but I was fond of itbecause I passed my youthful years here; because I was happy here and myparents died here. If anyone had bought it to live in, if I could see itin good repair and well kept, I should be half-consoled, for we love thingsas we ought to love persons—a little more on their account thanour own. But what pleasure can it give you to show me what speculatorshave done to the house of my ancestors?'

"'Monsieur,' I answered, 'it was necessary for us to come and see whatthe damage is, so that we can tell how much we have to spend, and how wemust go to work to repair it. Just imagine that your estate was ruinedby a hurricane in one night; with such a character as I know yours tobe, instead of crying over it, you would go right to work to rebuildit.'

"'But there's no rhyme nor reason in your comparison,' says MonsieurAntoine. 'I haven't the means to repair the château, and even if I hadI should be no better off, for even this carcass no longer belongs tome.'

"'Wait a bit,' says I. 'How much did they ask you when you offered tobuy back just the house and the little piece of land next to it, theorchard, the garden, the hill, and the little meadow on the bank of theriver?'

"'I didn't ask it seriously, Janille, but simply to see how low thevalue of a fine estate had fallen. They told me ten thousand francs forwhat was left, and I retired, knowing well enough that ten thousandfrancs and I would never pass through the same door.'

"'Well, monsieur,' says I, 'it's no longer a matter of ten thousandfrancs, but only four thousand at this moment. They thought that youcouldn't resist the temptation, and that you would spend what capitalyou had left in re-establishing yourself in the ruins of your domain.That's why they fixed the price at ten thousand francs on a place thatisn't worth the half of it, and that no one but you would ever want; butsince you gave up buying it back they have grown more modest. I havebeen bargaining secretly, without your knowledge and under an assumedname. Say the word, and to-morrow you shall be lord of Châteaubrun.'

"'But what good would it do me, my dear Janille? What could I do withthis pile of stone and these three or four fragments of wall with nodoors or windows?'"

"With that I pointed out to monsieur that the square pavilion was stillin very good condition, that the arches were well preserved, the roomsperfectly dry inside, and that we should only have to cover it withtiles, repair the woodwork and furnish it simply—a matter of fivehundred francs at most. At that monsieur cried out: 'Don't put suchideas into my head, Janille; I should think you were trying to disgustme with my present condition and feed me on illusions. I haven't ten, orfive, or four thousand francs, and it would require ten more years ofprivation to save them. We had much better remain as we are.'"

"'And how do you know, monsieur,' says I, 'that you haven't six thousandfrancs, yes, sixty-five hundred? Do you know how much you have? I'llwager that you know nothing about it.'"

At this point Monsieur Antoine interrupted Janille. "It is true," hesaid, "that I knew nothing about it; that I know nothing about it yet;and that I never shall know how, with an income of twelve hundredfrancs, after paying for my daughter's schooling at Paris for six years,and living at Gargilesse, as a workingman to be sure, but verycomfortably none the less, in a little house which Janille managedherself—and, I may add that, although she held the purse-strings, sheallowed me to spend two or three francs on Sundays with my friends. No,I shall never understand how I could have saved six thousand francs! Asit is altogether impossible, I am forced to explain this miracle toMonsieur Emile Cardonnet, unless he has already guessed its solution."

"Yes, monsieur le comte, I have guessed it," said Emile; "MademoiselleJanille had saved money in your service when you were rich, or else shehad some money of her own, and it was she who——"

"No, monsieur," interposed Janille hastily, "nothing of the sort; youforget that monsieur earned his living at his carpentering, and you canwell believe that mademoiselle's boarding-school wasn't one of thedearest in Paris, although it was a good school, I flatter myself."

"Nonsense," said Gilberte, kissing her; "you lie very coolly, MèreJanille; but you will never make my father and me believe thatChâteaubrun was not bought with your money, that it does not reallybelong to you, and that we are not living in your house, although youbought it in our name."

"Not at all, not at all, mademoiselle," replied the noble-heartedJanille, that strange little woman who liked to boast on every occasionand to make herself heard on every subject, but who, to maintain thedignity of her masters' rank, of which she was more careful than theywere themselves, energetically denied the noblest action of her wholelife;—"not at all, I tell you, I had nothing to do with it. Is it myfault if your papa doesn't know how to count five and if you are ascareless as he? Bah! A lot you know about your receipts and yourexpenses, both of you! Leave you to yourselves, and we'll see what willbecome of you! I tell you that you are in your own house, and that ifthere is anything for me to boast of, it is that I managed your affairswith so much good sense and economy that monsieur found himself one finemorning richer than he thought.

"Now," continued Janille, "I will go on and finish our story forMonsieur Emile. We bought back the château. Jean Jappeloup and MonsieurAntoine themselves did all the carpentering and cabinet making in thispavilion, and while they were finishing the work, which lasted hardlysix months, I went to Paris to fetch our child, and happy and proud Iwas to bring her back to the château of her ancestors, which she hardlyremembered that she had lived in when she was a baby, poor child! Sincethen we have been very happy here, and when I hear Monsieur Antoinecomplain of anything, I can't help blaming him; for what man was evermore blessed than he after all?"

"But I don't complain of anything," rejoined Monsieur Antoine, "and yourreproach is unjust."

"Oh! you sometimes look as if you'd like to say that you don't cut asgood a figure here as you used to do, and in that you are wrong. Come,were you really any richer when you had thirty thousand francs a year?People robbed you and cheated you and you knew nothing about it. To-dayyou have the necessaries of life, and you need have no fear of thieves;everybody knows that you have no rolls of gold pieces hidden in yourstraw bed. You had ten servants, each a greater glutton and sot andsluggard than the rest; Parisian servants, that tells the whole story.To-day you have Monsieur Sylvain Charasson, also a glutton and asluggard, I agree." As she said this, Janille raised her voice, so thatSylvain could hear in the kitchen; then added in a lower tone: "But hisstupidity makes you laugh, and when he breaks something, you are notsorry to find that you're not the most awkward member of the household.You had ten horses, always badly kept, and unfit to be used because theyweren't properly taken care of; to-day you have your oldLanterne,the best animal in the world, always well-groomed, full of courage andsober—you should see her eat dry leaves and rushes, just like a goat!And speaking of goats, where will you find finer ones? Just like twodeer, excellent milkers, and always amusing you with their prettyantics, climbing over the ruins for your evening entertainment! And whatabout your cellar? You had one that was well supplied, but your rascallyflunkeys baptized themselves with wine as they pleased, and you drankonly what was left. Now you drink your light native wine, which you havealways liked, and which is healthy and refreshing. When I take a hand inmaking it, it's as clear as water from the rock and doesn't heat yourstomach. And aren't you satisfied with your clothes? You used to have awardrobe that was eaten up by the moths, and your waistcoats went out offashion before you had worn them; for you never cared for dress. To-dayyou have just what you need to keep cool in summer and warm in winter;the village tailor fits you beautifully and doesn't make your clothestoo tight at the joints. Come, monsieur, confess that everything is forthe best, that you never had less care, and that you are the luckiest ofmen; for I have said nothing yet of the privilege of having a lovelydaughter who is happy with you——-"

"And an incomparable Janille who is intent wholly upon other people'shappiness!" cried Monsieur Antoine with deep emotion mingled withgayety. "Well! you are right, Janille, and I was persuaded of itbeforehand.Vive Dieu! you insult me by doubting it, for I feelthat I am in very truth the spoiled child of Providence, and except for asecret trouble, of which you are well aware and which you did well notto mention, there is absolutely nothing which I would change. I drink toyour health, Janille! you have talked like a book! Your health too,Monsieur Emile! You are young and rich, you are well educated and athinking man; therefore you have no reason to envy other people; but Iwish you as pleasant an old age as mine and as tender affections in yourheart. But we have talked enough of ourselves," he added, putting hisglass on the table, "and we mustn't forget our other friends. Let ustalk about the best of them all, after Janille; let us talk about oldJean Jappeloup and his affairs."

"Yes, let us talk about him!" cried a loud voice which made everybodystart; and Monsieur Antoine, turning his head, saw Jean Jappeloup in thedoorway.

"Yes, I have come in broad daylight and through the main gateway too,"replied the carpenter wiping his forehead. "Oh! but I have run! Give mea glass of wine, Mère Janille, for I am choked with the heat."

"Poor Jean!" cried Gilberte, running to the door to close it; "were youpursued? We'll see about hiding you. Perhaps they will come and look foryou here."

"No, no," said Jean, "no, my good girl, leave the doors open, nobody isfollowing me. I bring you good news and that is why I hurried so. I amfree, I am happy, I am saved!"

"Mon Dieu!" cried Gilberte, taking the old peasant's dusty head inher lovely hands, "so my prayer has been granted! I prayed so earnestlyfor you last night!"

"Dear soul from heaven, you brought me good luck," replied Jean, who wasquite unable to return the caresses and answer the questions of Antoineand Janille.

"But tell us who has given you back your liberty and peace of mind?"continued Gilberte, when the carpenter had swallowed a large glassful ofwine.

"Oh! some one whom you would never guess, who became my surety at once,and will pay my fines. Come, I give you a hundred guesses."

"Perhaps it's the curé of Cuzion?" said Janille. "He's such a good man,although his sermons are a little confused! but he isn't rich enough."

"I would guess the good curé's sister, Madame Rose, who has such a bigheart—except that she is no richer than her brother."

"I can't imagine," replied the châtelain. "Tell us quickly; you'retorturing us."

"But I will wager that I have guessed," said Emile; "I guess my father!for I have talked with him, and I know that he intended——"

"Excuse me, young man," said the carpenter, interrupting him; "I don'tknow what your father intended, but I know well enough what I neverintend, and that is to owe him anything, to accept any favor from theman who began by having me put in prison to force me to accept hispretended benefactions and his hard terms. Thanks! I esteem you, but asto your father, let's say no more about him; let's never talk about himagain. Come, come, haven't any of you guessed? Well, what would you sayif I should tell you it was Monsieur de Boisguilbault?"

That name, which Emile had heard before, for somebody had mentioned itin his presence at Gargilesse as that of one of the richest landedproprietors in the neighborhood, produced the effect of an electricshock on the inhabitants of Châteaubrun: Gilberte jumped; Antoine andJanille stared at each other, unable to utter a word.

"It seems impossible," replied Janille. "Are you joking? Monsieur deBoisguilbault, the enemy of all of us?"

"Why say so?" said Monsieur Antoine. "That man is nobody's enemyintentionally; he has always done good, never harm."

"For my part," said Gilberte, "I was sure that he was capable of a goodaction. What did I tell you, dear little mother? he's an unhappy man,anybody can see that on his face; but——"

"But you don't know him," rejoined Janille, "and you can't say anythingabout him. Come, Jean, tell us by what miracle you succeeded inapproaching that cold, stern, haughty man."

"Chance, or rather the good Lord did it all," replied the carpenter. "Iwas going through the little wood that skirts his park, and is separatedfrom it at that point only by a hedge and a narrow ditch. I glanced overthe hedge to see how beautiful and neat and well-kept everything was. Iwas thinking, a little sadly, that I had once been perfectly at home inthat park and that château; that I had worked there for twenty years,and that I had been fond of monsieur le marquis, although he was neververy amiable. Still he had his kind days in those times; and yet, foranother twenty years I hadn't put my foot on his land, and I shouldn'tdare to ask him for shelter after what had taken place between him andme.

"As I was thinking of all this, I heard two horses trotting, and thenext moment I saw two gendarmes riding straight toward me. They hadn'tseen me then; but if I crossed their road they couldn't fail to see me,and they knew my face so well! I had no time for reflection. I plungedinto the hedge, ran through it like a fox, and found myself inBoisguilbault park, where I quietly lay down against the fence, while myfriends the gendarmes rode by without so much as turning their heads inmy direction. When they had gone some little distance, I stood up andwas preparing to go out as I had come, when suddenly I felt a hand on myshoulder and turned, to find myself face to face with Monsieur deBoisguilbault, who said to me with his sad face and his sepulchralvoice: 'What are you doing here?'

"Thereupon, as I saw that he would not ask me many more questions, Ihastily told him my misfortunes in as few words as possible, for youknow that he's a man who always has something in his mind different fromwhat you're talking about. You never know whether he hears you; healways looks as if he wasn't bothering himself to listen to you. It'smany a year since I saw him close, for he lives shut up in his park likea mole in its hole, and I no longer have access to his house. He seemedto me to have grown very old and very feeble, although he is still asstraight as a poplar; but he is so thin you can see through him, and hisbeard is as white as an old goat's. It made me feel badly, and yet, Iwas even more vexed than sorry when I saw him all the time I was talkingto him walk along digging up all the weeds in the path with the littlehoe he always has in his hand. I followed him step by step, talking allthe time, telling him about my troubles, not to beg for his help—Inever thought of such a thing—but to see if he still had a littlefriendship for me.

"At last he turned toward me and said, without looking at me: 'Whydidn't you ask some rich man at your village to be your surety?'

"He didn't say anything more for two or three minutes. I thought he hadforgotten that I was there, and I was just going away, when he said:'Why didn't you come to me?'

"'What, no? Why, don't you remember that, after employing me a longwhile and never once finding fault with me—I don't think Ideserved to be found fault with, by the way,—you called me intoyour study one fine morning and said: "Here's your pay for these lastdays; off with you!" And when I asked you when I should come again, youranswer wasnever! And when I was dissatisfied with that kind oftreatment, and asked you wherein I had failed to do my duty to you, youpointed to the door, without condescending to open your lips? That wastwenty years ago, and it may be that you have forgotten it. But it hasalways remained on my heart, and I consider that you were very hard andunjust to a poor mechanic who worked as he could and was no more awkwardthan the average. I thought at first that you had a mad fit and wouldget over it; but I waited in vain, you have never sent for me since. Iwas too proud to come and ask you for work; besides I had no lack of it,I have always had all that I wanted; and at this moment, if I wasn'tdriven to hide in the woods, I should have plenty of customers; but whathurt me, you see, was being turned out like a dog—worse than that,like an idler or a thief, and your not even giving me a chance tojustify myself. I thought that I must have some enemy in your house andthat they had told you lies about me. But I could never guess who itcould be, for I have never known any other enemies than constables andexcisemen. I held my tongue; I never complained of you, but I pitied youfor being quick to believe evil, and as I was somewhat attached to you,I was sorry to find that you had faults.'"

"Monsieur de Boisguilbault seemed all the time not to be listening tome, but when I had finished, he asked me in an indifferent tone:

"'Very well; go and tell the mayor of your village—MonsieurCardonnet, isn't it?—to send some trustworthy person to me withwhom I can settle your affairs. Tell him that my health is bad and Idon't go out, and that I request him to do me this favor.'

"'No, but to do you a very small favor, which costs me little. That'senough, leave me.'

"Thereupon he fairly turned his back on me and went away for good andall; but I followed him, and, knowing that long-winded compliments werenot to his taste, I said like this: 'Monsieur de Boisguilbault, shakehands, if you please!'"

"Well, why shouldn't I dare? what more straightforward thing can you sayto a man?"

"He took my hand abruptly, without hesitation; and he pressed it quitehard, although his hand was as cold and stiff as a piece of ice."

"And what did he say?" inquired Monsieur Antoine, who had listened tothis tale with repressed excitement.

"He said 'be off,'" replied the carpenter; "apparently that phrasedenotes friendship with him, and he almost ran away to avoid me, as faras his poor thin long legs would enable him to run. And I, for my part,ran here to tell you all this."

"And I," said Emile, "will run to my father to tell him of Monsieur deBoisguilbault's intentions, so that he may send some one to him at once,as he requests."

"That hardly sets my mind at rest," replied the carpenter. "Your fatherhas a grudge against me; he cannot help recognizing the fact that I amclear of my fine; but he won't want to let me off without theimprisonment; for he can punish me for being a vagabond and shut me up,if it's only for a few days—and that would be too much for me."

"Oh!" cried Gilberte, "I know that Jean could never submit to beingtaken to prison by the gendarmes: he would do some other mad thing.Don't let him be exposed to it, Monsieur Emile; speak to monsieur yourfather, entreat him, tell him that——"

"Oh! mademoiselle," replied Emile warmly, "do not share Jean's badopinion of my father: it is unjust. I am sure that my father would havedone for him to-night or to-morrow what Monsieur de Boisguilbault hasdone. And as for prosecuting him as a vagabond, I will answer for itwith my head that——"

"If you will answer for it with your head," interposed Jean, "why not goat once to Monsieur de Boisguilbault? his house is close at hand. Whenyou have arranged matters with him, I shall feel more at ease, for Ihave confidence in you, and I confess that a single night in prisonwould drive me mad. The good Lord's child told you so," he said, lookingat Gilberte, "and she knows me!"

"I will go at once," rejoined Emile, rising, and bestowing upon Gilbertea glance alight with zeal and devotion. "Will you show me the way?"

"Yes, yes, go!" cried Gilberte, her father and Janille with one breath.Emile saw that Gilberte was pleased with him, and he ran to get hishorse.

But as he was descending the path on foot with the carpenter, MonsieurChâteaubrun ran after him and said with some embarrassment:

"My dear boy, you have a generous heart and great delicacy of feeling, andI can safely confide in you; I must warn you of one thing—of smallimportance perhaps, but which it is essential for you to know. It isthis, that for some reason or other—in short, that I am on bad termswith Monsieur de Boisguilbault, so that there is no use of yourmentioning me to him. Avoid mentioning my name before him or telling himthat you come from my house; if you do, it may irritate him and cool hiskindly disposition toward our poor Jean."

Emile promised to say nothing and followed his guide in the direction ofBoisguilbault, absorbed by his thoughts, and thinking more of the fairGilberte than of his companion and his mission.

XI

A GHOST

However, as they approached the manor of Boisguilbault, Emile began towonder what sort of man, whether of superior parts or simply eccentric,he was to deal with, and he was compelled to attend to the informationwhich the carpenter, with his rustic good sense, tried to give himconcerning that enigmatical personage. From all that Emile could gatherfrom this somewhat contradictory information, strewn as it was withconjectures, he concluded that the Marquis de Boisguilbault wasimmensely rich, not at all avaricious, although far from extravagant;generous so far as his shyness and indifference permitted him topractise benevolence, that is to say assisting all the poor people whoapplied to him, but never taking the trouble to investigate theirsufferings or their needs, and giving every one such a cold anddepressing welcome, that only the most imperative necessity could induceany one to go near him. And yet he was not a hard and unfeeling man; henever refused to listen to a complaint or questioned the propriety ofalms-giving. But he was so absent-minded and seemed so indifferent toeverything, that one's heart contracted and congealed in his presence.He rarely scolded and never punished. Jappeloup was almost the only manhe had ever treated harshly, and the way in which he had now made it upto him led the carpenter to think that if he had been less proud himselfand had shown himself to the marquis sooner, the latter would not haveremembered the whim that had led him to banish him.

"However," continued Jean, "there's another person whom Monsieur deBoisguilbault dislikes even more than he does me, although he has nevertried to injure him. But they will never be on good terms again; and asMonsieur Antoine mentioned the subject to you, I may venture to tellyou, monsieur, that in that matter Monsieur de Boisguilbault made manypeople think that there was a screw loose in his brain. Just fancy thatafter he had been for twenty years the friend and adviser, almost afather to his neighbor Monsieur Antoine de Châteaubrun, he suddenlyturned his back on him and shut his door in his face, without anybody,not even Monsieur Antoine himself, knowing what it was all about. Atleast the pretext was so absurd that you can't explain it except bythinking that he was cracked. It was for some offence that MonsieurAntoine committed while hunting over the marquis's land. And observethat, ever since he came into the world, Monsieur Antoine had alwayshunted over Monsieur de Boisguilbault's estates as if they were his own,as they were comrades and good friends; that Monsieur de Boisguilbault,had never in his life touched a gun or shot a piece of game, had nevermade any objection to his neighbors shooting his game; and lastly thathe had never notified Monsieur Antoine that he didn't want him to huntover his land. The result has been that since that time, that is to say,about twenty years, the two neighbors have never met, never exchanged aword, and Monsieur de Boisguilbault can't bear to hear the name ofChâteaubrun. For his part Monsieur Antoine, although it touches himmore than he is willing to admit, has persisted in making no advances,and seems to avoid Monsieur de Boisguilbault as carefully as he isavoided by him. As my dismissal from Boisguilbault took place about thesame time, I believe that the marquis's anger overflowed on me, or elsethat, knowing that I was much attached to Monsieur Antoine, he wasafraid that I would be bold enough to broach the subject to him andreprove him for his whim. In that respect he made no mistake, for mytongue isn't sluggish and it is certain that I should have made monsieurle marquis hear what I had to say. He preferred to take the initiative;I can't explain his harshness to me in any other way."

"Not any, monsieur. He married a very pretty young lady, a poorrelation, much too young for him. It resembled a love marriage on hispart, but his conduct didn't show it; for he was neither more cheerful,nor more approachable, nor more amiable after it. He made no change inhis way of living like a bear, saving the respect I owe him. MonsieurAntoine continued to be almost the only intimate friend of the house,and madame was so bored there that one day she went to Paris to live,and her husband never thought of joining her there or of bringing herback. She died when she was still very young, without bearing him anychildren, and since then, whether because a secret grief has turned hisbrain, or because the pleasure of being alone consoles him foreverything, he has lived absolutely secluded in his château, with nocompanion, not even a poor dog. His family is almost extinct, he is notknown to have any heirs or any friends; so no one can imagine who willbe enriched by his death."

"Yes, I believe that you are right; but what is that idea? that is whatno one can say. He is known to have only one attachment. That is for thepark you see yonder, which he laid out and planted himself, and which healmost never leaves. Indeed I think he sleeps there, on his feet,walking about; for he has been seen walking in the paths like a ghost attwo o'clock in the morning, and he frightened some people who had creptin there to purloin a little fruit or firewood."

As they had reached a point opposite the park, and from the high paththey were following could look over into it and see a part of it, Emilewas charmed by the beauty of that pleasure-ground, the magnificence ofthe trees, the happy arrangement of the shrubbery, the freshness of theturf and the graceful shape of the different levels, which descendedgradually to the bank of a small stream, one of the bubbling affluentsof the Gargilesse. He thought that no idiot could have created thatspecies of earthly paradise and turned the charms of nature to accountso successfully. It seemed to him, on the contrary, that a poetic mindmust have guided that arrangement; but the aspect of the château soongave the lie to these conjectures. One can imagine nothing uglier,colder, more unpleasant to the eye than the manor-house ofBoisguilbault. Additions to the original structure had deprived it ofsomething of its antique character, and the excellent state of repair inwhich it was kept made its surroundings all the more repellent.

Jean stopped at the end of the path where it entered the park, and hisyoung friend, having given him some of his best cigars to encourage himto be patient, rode toward the house along a path of discouragingneatness. Not a blade of grass, not a twig of ivy covered the nakednessof those high walls, painted an iron-gray, and the only architecturalbit that caught his eye was an escutcheon over the iron gate, bearingthe arms of Boisguilbault, which had been scraped and retouched morerecently than the rest, perhaps at the time of the return of theBourbons; at all events there was a marked difference between this crestand its ponderous framework. Emile drew the inference that the marquisset much store by his titles and ancient privileges.

He rang a long while at an enormous gate before it opened; at last aspring was pressed somewhere in the distance that made it turn on itshinges, although nobody appeared; and, the young man having passedthrough after tying his horse, the gate closed behind him with littlenoise, as if an invisible hand had caught him in a trap. A feeling ofdepression, almost of terror, took possession of him when he foundhimself imprisoned as it were in a large, bare, gravelled courtyard,surrounded by buildings of uniform size, and as silent as the graveyardof a convent. A number of yews, trimmed to a point and planted in frontof the main doorways, added to the resemblance. For the rest, not aflower, not a breath of fragrance from a plant, not a sprig of vineabout the windows, not a spider's-web on the panes, not a broken pane,not a human sound, not even the crowing of a cock or the bark of a dog;not a pigeon, not a patch of moss on the roofs; I verily believe thatnot even an insect ventured to fly or buzz in the courtyard ofBoisguilbault.

Emile was looking about for some one to speak to, seeing not even afootprint on the freshly raked gravel, when he heard a shrill, crackedvoice call to him in a far from pleasing tone:

After turning about several times to see where the voice came from,Emile finally discovered at an air-hole of a basement kitchen, an old,well-powdered white head, with light, expressionless eyes; and, drawingnearer, he tried to make himself heard. But the old butler's hearing wasas weak as his sight, and he answered the visitor's questions at random.

"The park can't be seen except on Sunday," he said; "take the trouble tocome again Sunday."

Emile handed him his card, and the old man, slowly taking his spectaclesfrom his pocket, without leaving his subterranean air-hole, slowlyexamined it; after which he disappeared to reappear at a door just abovehis hole.

"Very good, monsieur," he said; "monsieur le marquis ordered me to admitthe person who came from Monsieur Cardonnet; Monsieur Cardonnet ofGargilesse, isn't it?"

"Very good, monsieur," continued the old servant, bowing courteously,evidently very glad of an opportunity to be polite and hospitablewithout violating his orders. "Monsieur le marquis did not think thatyou would come so soon; he did not expect you before to-morrow at theearliest. He is in his park,I will run and tell him. But first Ishall have the honor to escort you to the salon."

When he talked of running, the old man uttered a strange boast; he hadthe gait and the agility of a centenarian. He led Emile to the low,narrow doorway of a stairway turret, and slowly selecting a key from hisbunch preceded him upstairs to another door studded with great nails andlocked like the first. Another key; and, after passing through a longcorridor, a third key to open the apartments. Emile was taken throughseveral rooms, where the contrast to the bright sunlight was so greatthat he seemed to be in utter darkness. At last he entered a vast salonand the valet waved him to a chair, saying:

Emile made him understand by signs that it was useless, and the old manleft him alone.

When his eyes became accustomed to the dim grayish light that crept intothat room, he was struck by the sumptuous character of the furniture.Everything dated from the time of Louis XIII. and one would have saidthat a connoisseur had guided the selection of even the least importantarticles. Nothing was lacking; from the frames of the mirrors to thetiniest nail in the hangings, there was not the slightest departure fromthe prevailing style. And it was all authentic, partly worn, still ingood condition, although somewhat tarnished, at once rich and simple.Emile admired Monsieur de Boisguilbault's good taste and knowledge. Helearned later that the disinclination to move and the horror of change,which seemed hereditary in that family, were alone responsible for themarvellous preservation and transmission from father to son of thesetreasures, which it is the present fashion to collect at great expenseinbric-à-brac shops, which are to-day the most sumptuous andinteresting places imaginable.

But the pleasure which the young man experienced in examining thesecuriosities was succeeded by a feeling of extraordinary frigidity anddepression. In addition to the icy atmosphere of a house closed at allseasons to the generous rays of the sun, in addition to the silencewithout, there was something funereal in the regularity of that interiorarrangement, which no one ever disturbed, and in that artistic and nobleluxury which no one was invited to enjoy. It was evident from thosetight-locked doors of which the servant kept the keys, from thecleanliness unmarred by the slightest speck of dust, from the heavyclosed curtains, that the master never entered the salon, and that theonly constant visitors were a broom and a duster. Emile thought withhorror of the life that the dead and gone Marquise de Boisguilbault,young and lovely as she was, must have led in that house, dumb and deadfor centuries, and he forgave her with all his heart for having goneelsewhere for a breath of fresh air before she died. "Who knows," hethought, "that she did not contract in this tomb one of those slow,deep-seated maladies which cannot be cured when the remedy is sought toolate?"

He was confirmed in that idea when the door slowly opened and the châtelainin person appeared before him. Save for the coat it was the statue of theCommander come down from his pedestal; the same measuredgait, the same pallor, the same absence of expression, the same solemnand petrified face.

Monsieur de Boisguilbault was barely seventy years of age, but his wasone of those organizations which have not, which have never had any age.He had not originally a bad figure nor an ugly face. His features werequite regular; his figure was still erect and his step firm, so long ashe did not hurry. But excessive thinness had done away with all pretenceof shape, and his clothes seemed to be hung upon a man of wood. His faceneither repelled by disdain, nor inspired aversion; but as it expressedabsolutely nothing, as one would have sought in vain at the first glanceto detect upon it any trace of a thought or emotion referable to anyknown type of humanity, it inspired fear; and Emile involuntarilythought of the German legend, in which a very well-dressed individualappears at the door of the château and apologizes for being unable toenter in the state in which he is, for fear of disturbing the company."Why, you seem to me to be very decently dressed," says the hospitablechâtelain. "Come in, I beg you." "No, no," the other replies, "it isimpossible, and you would blame me if I did. Be good enough to listen tome in the doorway; I bring you news from the other world." "What do youmean by that? Come in; it rains, and the storm will soon burst." "Lookat me carefully," says the mysterious visitor, "and you will see that Icannot sit at your table without violating all the laws of hospitality.Can it be that you don't see that I am dead?" The châtelain looks athim closely and sees that he is, in very truth, dead. He closes the doorbetween him and the dead man and returns to the banquet hall, where heswoons.

Emile did not swoon when Monsieur de Boisguilbault greeted him; but if,instead of saying, "Excuse me for keeping you waiting, I was in mypark," he had said, "I was just being buried," the young man would nothave been greatly surprised.

The marquis's superannuated costume heightened the ghost-like aspect ofhis face. He had been fashionably dressed once in his life, on hiswedding-day. Since then it had never occurred to him to make any changein his dress, and he had invariably given his tailor for a model thecoat he had just worn out, on the pretext that he was accustomed to itand that he was afraid he should be uncomfortable in one of a differentcut. He was dressed therefore in the costume of a dandy of the Empire,which formed a most extraordinary contrast to his withered, melancholyface. A very short green coat, nankeen breeches, a very stiffshirt-frill, heart-shaped boots, and, to remain true to his habits, alittle flaxen wig of the color that his hair used to be, gathered up ina bunch over the middle of his forehead. A very high starched collar,which raised his long snow-white whiskers to the level of his eyes, gaveto his long face the shape of a triangle. He was scrupulously clean, andyet a few bits of dry moss on his clothes showed that he had not madehis toilet expressly to receive his guest, but that he was accustomed towalk alone in his park in that invariable dress.

He sat down without speaking, bowed without speaking, and looked atEmile without speaking. At first the young man was embarrassed by thissilence, and wondered if he should not attribute it to disdain. But whenhe saw that the marquis was awkwardly twisting a twig of honeysuckle inhis hands as if to keep himself in countenance, he realized that the oldman was as timid as a child, whether by nature or because of hislong-continued and persistent abandonment of all social relations.

He determined therefore to begin the conversation, and, wishing to makehimself agreeable to his host, in order to encourage him in his kindlyimpulse toward the carpenter, he did not hesitate to be-marquis him atevery word, indulging in secret, it may be, in a feeling of contempt forhis pride of birth.

But this ironical deference seemed as indifferent to the marquis as theobject of Emile's visit. He answered in monosyllables to thank him forhis promptness and to reiterate his undertaking to pay the delinquent'sfines.

"This is a noble and praiseworthy act of yours, monsieur le marquis,"said Emile, "and your protégé, in whom I am very deeply interested, isas grateful as he is worthy. You probably do not know that at the timeof the recent inundation he jumped into the river to save a child, andsucceeded in doing it by incurring great risk."

"He saved a child—his own?" asked Monsieur de Boisguilbault, who hadnot seemed to hear Emile's words, his manner was so indifferent andpreoccupied.

"No, somebody's else; he didn't know whose. I asked the same question,and was told that the child's parents were almost strangers to him."

"And he saved him?" the marquis repeated, after a moment's silence,during which another imaginary world seemed to have passed before hisbrain. "He is very lucky."

The marquis's voice and accent were even more repellent than his bearingand features. He spoke slowly; the words seemed to come from his mouthwith an extreme effort, a dull monotone, without the slightestinflection. "Evidently he never goes out and sees no one because heknows that he is dead," said Emile to himself, still thinking of hisGerman legend.

"Now, monsieur le marquis, will you kindly tell me why you wished myfather to send you an envoy? I am here to receive your instructions."

"Because"—replied Monsieur de Boisguilbault, a little disturbed athaving to make a direct answer and trying to collect his ideas,"because—I'll tell you. This man you speak of would not like to go tojail, and we must prevent it. Tell your father to prevent it."

"That doesn't concern my father at all, monsieur le marquis; hecertainly will not invoke the rigor of the law against poor Jean, but hecannot prevent the law's taking its course."

"I beg your pardon," replied the marquis, "he can speak or send someoneto speak to the local authorities. He has influence or should have."

"But why shouldn't you do this yourself, monsieur le marquis? You havebeen in the province longer than my father, and if you believe ininfluence, you must rate your privileges in that regard higher thanours."

"The privileges of birth are no longer fashionable," replied Monsieur deBoisguilbault, with no indication of vexation or regret. "Your father,being a manufacturer, is sure to be more highly considered than I am.And then nobody knows me now, I am too old; I don't even know whom toapply to; I have forgotten all about it. If Monsieur Cardonnet will takethe trouble to speak, that man will not be prosecuted for vagabondage."

After this long speech, Monsieur de Boisguilbault heaved a great sigh asif he were thoroughly exhausted. But Emile had already noticed hisstrange habit of sighing, which was not precisely the choking of avictim of asthma nor an expression of mental pain. It was more like anervous trick, which did not change the impassibility of his face butwhich was so frequent that it acted upon the nerves of his auditor andeventually produced a most painful impression upon Emile.

"I think, monsieur le marquis," he said, wishing to sound him a little,"that you would have a poor opinion of a social system wherein anyprivilege, either of birth or fortune, was the only protection of thepoor or the weak against too vigorous laws. I prefer to think that moralforce and influence are on the side of the man who can most successfullyinvoke the laws of clemency and humanity."

There was something of humility and something of flattery in thatlaconic reply, and yet there was perhaps a touch of irony in it as well.

"Who knows," said Emile to himself, "that this old misanthrope isn't apitiless satirist? Very well; I will defend myself."

"I am ready to do all that is in my power to do for your protégé," hereplied; "and if I fail, it will be for lack of ability, not for lack ofenergy and good-will."

Perhaps the marquis did not understand this rebuke. He seemed impressedonly by one word which Emile then used for the second time, and herepeated it in a sort of dazed reverie.

"I should have said your debtor," rejoined Emile, who already regrettedhis precipitation and feared that he might have injured the carpenter."By whatever name you would have me call him, monsieur le marquis, theman is overflowing with gratitude for your kindness to him, and, if hehad dared, he would have come with me to thank you again."

A slight flush tinged Monsieur de Boisguilbault's cheeks for an instant,and he replied in a less hesitating tone:

Emile was wounded by this rebuff and he could not resist the impulse tomanifest his feeling.

"If I were in his place," he said with some warmth, "I should be greatlydistressed to be burdened by an obligation which my devotion, mygratitude and my services could never remove. You would be even moregenerous than you are, monsieur le marquis, if you would allow honestJean Jappeloup to offer you his thanks and his services."

"Monsieur," said Monsieur de Boisguilbault, picking up a pin andsticking it into his sleeve, whether to avoid manifesting a sort ofconfusion which overcame him, or from an inveterate habit oforderliness, "I warn you that I am irascible—very irascible."

His voice was so calm and his utterance so slow as he gave Emile thisadvice, that he nearly laughed in his face.

"Upon my word," he thought, "we are a littlecracked, as Jean says.If I have been so unfortunate as to offend you, monsieur le marquis," hesaid, rising, "I will take my leave in order not to aggravate myoffence, for I might perhaps make the mistake of asking you to beperfect, and it would be your own fault."

"How so?" said the marquis, twisting his sprig of honeysuckle with anagitation which seemed not to extend beyond the ends of his fingers.

"We are apt to be exacting with those whom we esteem, I would venture tosay with those whom we admire, if I did not fear to offend yourmodesty."

"Are you really going?" said the marquis after a moment of problematicalsilence and in a still more problematical tone.

"That is impossible," Emile replied, bewildered and appalled by such asuggestion.

"You would be terribly bored!" said the marquis, with a sigh whichfound, I know not how, the road to Emile's heart.

"Monsieur," he replied, with spontaneous cordiality, "I will come againand dine with you when you choose."

"To-morrow, then!" said Monsieur de Boisguilbault in a melancholy tone,which seemed desirous to contradict the heartiness of his invitation.

"Oh no! not to-morrow," said the marquis; "to-morrow will be Monday, abad day for me. But Tuesday; will that suit you?"

Emile accepted with very good grace, but in his heart he was dismayed atthe idea of a tête-à-tête of some hours with that dead man, and heregretted an outburst of compassion which he had been unable to resist.

Monsieur de Boisguilbault meanwhile seemed to lay aside his fear; heinsisted upon escorting his visitor to the gate where he had tied hishorse. "You have a pretty little animal there," he said, examiningCorbeau with the eye of a connoisseur. "He's aBrenne, well-bred,strong and quiet. Are you a good horseman?"

"I have more experience and courage than skill," replied Emile; "I havenever had time to learn equestrianism by rule, but I intend to do so assoon as I have a favorable opportunity."

"It is a noble and useful exercise," said the marquis; "if you care tocome and see me now and then, I will place what little I know at yourservice."

Emile accepted the offer courteously, but he could not forbear asignificant glance at the slender individual who put himself forward asa professor.

"Is this fellow well trained?" Monsieur de Boisguilbault inquired, as hepatted Corbeau's neck.

"I don't care very much for animals," said the marquis; "however, Isometimes give a little attention to horses and I will show you somevery good pupils of mine. Will you allow me to try the qualities ofyours?"

Emile made haste to turn his courser for the marquis to mount; but hewas so afraid of an accident when he saw how slowly and painfully theold man hoisted himself into the saddle, that he could not refrain fromwarning him, even at the risk of insulting him, that Corbeau was alittle restive and mettlesome.

The marquis received the warning without taking offence, but persistednone the less in his plan, with comical gravity. Emile trembled for hisvenerable host, and Corbeau quivered with anger and dread under thatstrange hand. He even tried to rebel, and from the marquis's gentlemanner of dealing with his rebellion, you would have said that he wasrather ill at ease himself. "There, there, my boy," he said, patting hisneck, "let's not get excited."

But that was only a consequence of his theories, which forbade themaltreatment of a horse as the crime oflèse-science. He graduallyquieted his steed without punishing him, and riding him about his greatbare gravelled courtyard as if it were a riding-school, he tried him atall his gaits, and with extraordinary ease made him go through all thevarious evolutions and changes of foot which he would have required froma well-schooled horse. Corbeau seemed to submit without effort; but whenthe marquis turned him over to Emile his distended nostrils and hisquarters, dripping with sweat, revealed the mysterious power to whichthat firm hand and those long legs had subjected him.

"I had no idea that he knew so much!" said Emile, by way of flatteringthe marquis.

When Emile was in the saddle, Corbeau reared and plunged furiously, asif to revenge himself upon a less experienced rider for the wearisomelesson he had received.

"That's a strangedead man!" said Emile to himself, as he roderapidly along the path that led him back to Jean Jappeloup, thinking ofthat asthmatic marquis, who was covered with confusion before a child,and subdued a spirited horse. "Can it be that corpse-like face and thatdead voice belong to a character of iron?"

He found the carpenter exceedingly impatient and anxious; but when hehad given him an account of the conference, he said:

"That is first-rate; I am obliged to you and I place my interests inyour hands. But a man must do what he can to help himself, and that iswhat I propose to do. While you go and write to the authorities, I willgo and see them. Your writing will take time, and I cannot sleep until Ihave embraced my friends at Gargilesse in broad daylight, after vespers,on the steps of our church. I am off to the village——"

"I shan't be arrested on a road which I know and the gendarmes don't. Iwill arrive at night and slip into the king's attorney's kitchen. Hiscook is my niece. I have a good tongue and I will explain my position; Iwill tell my reasons for what I do, and before sunset to-morrow I willenter my village with my head in the air."

Without awaiting Emile's reply, the carpenter darted off like a flashand disappeared in the bushes.

XII

INDUSTRIAL DIPLOMACY

When Emile informed his father that the carpenter had found a protector,and told him how he had employed his day, Monsieur Cardonnet becamethoughtful, and for some moments maintained a silence as problematicalas Monsieur de Boisguilbault's pauses and sighs. But the apparentcoldness of the two men indicated no resemblance between theirrespective characters. In the marquis it was due to instinct, habit andincapacity, whereas, in the manufacturer it was a quality acquired by apowerful exertion of the will. In the marquis it was due to the slow andembarrassed working of the mind; in the other, on the contrary, itserved as a veil and a curb to the activity of a too impetuous mind. Ina word, it was assumed in Monsieur Cardonnet. It was a borrowed dignity,a rôle assumed in order to make an impression on other men; and, whilehe seemed thus to hold himself in check, he was calculating feverishlythe best method of venting the wrath that was about to explode, and itseffects. And so, while Monsieur de Boisguilbault's vexed irresolutionresulted only in a few mysterious monosyllables, Monsieur Cardonnet'sdeceptive calm covered a storm, the explosion of which he postponed tosuit himself, but which found vent sooner or later in significant andunambiguous words. It may be said that the life of one was nourished byits energetic manifestations, whereas the other's wore itself out inrepressed emotions.

Monsieur Cardonnet was very well aware that his son was not to be easilyconvinced, and that it was impossible to intimidate him by violence orthreats. He had come in collision too frequently with that energeticwill, he had had too much experience of his power of resistance,although it had hitherto been only in regard to trivial matterspertaining to young men, not to realize that it was essential first ofall to inspire a well-founded respect. He made few false moves thereforein his presence, but, on the contrary, kept an extremely close watchupon himself.

"Well, father, do you regret poor Jean's good luck?" said Emile, "and doyou blame me for meeting his protector's kind intentions half-way? Ifelt absolutely certain of your approval, and this suspicious carpentermust be taught to know you, to respect you, yes, and to like you."

"All this," said Monsieur Cardonnet, "is mere talk. You must write inhis behalf at once. My secretary is busy, but I presume that you will bewilling to take his place sometimes in confidential matters."

And Monsieur Cardonnet dictated several letters overflowing with zealand solicitude for the delinquent, and couched in terms of rarepropriety and dignity. He went so far as to offer himself as securityfor Jean Jappeloup, in case—although he said it wasimpossible—that Monsieur de Boisguilbault, who had anticipated hisown intentions, should recede from his undertaking. When these letterswere signed and sealed, he bade Emile despatch them at once by amessenger, and added:

"Now I have done as you wished; I have interrupted my business so thatyour protégé should not be subjected to the slightest delay. I returnto my work. We shall dine in an hour, and then you must stay with yourmother, whom you have neglected a little to-day. But to-night, when themen have stopped work, I trust that you will hold yourself at mydisposal and that I may be able to talk with you on serious subjects."

"I am at your service, father, this evening and my whole life, as youknow very well," said Emile, embracing him.

Monsieur Cardonnet congratulated himself for not yielding to an angryimpulse; he had recovered all his influence over Emile. In the evening,when the factory was closed and the workmen dismissed, he betook himselfto a part of his garden which the flood had failed to reach, and walkedthere a long while alone, reflecting as to what he should say to thischild who was so hard to manage, not intending to summon him until heshould feel that he was in perfect control of himself.

The feverish fatigue which follows a day of giving orders andoverlooking others, the spectacle of devastation which he still hadbefore his eyes, and perhaps the state of the atmosphere as well, wereill adapted to soothe the nervous irritation which had become habitualwith Monsieur Cardonnet. The temperature had indulged in such a suddenand violent change that the result was abnormal and enervating. The warmair was laden with vapors, as in November, although it was midsummer.But it was not the cool, transparent mist of autumn, but rather asuffocating smoke which exhaled from the ground. The path where themanufacturer strode was bordered on one side by rose-bushes and otherbrilliant flowers. On the other there were only débris, boards piled indisorder, huge stones brought thither by the water; and from that point,at which the flood had stopped, to the bank of the stream, several acresof garden, covered with black mud streaked with red gravel, resembled anAmerican forest flooded and half-uprooted by the overflow of the Ohio orMississippi. The young trees that had been overthrown lay with theirbranches interlaced in pools of stagnant water, which could find nooutlet under those fortuitous dikes. Beautiful plants, crushed andbesmirched, tried in vain to rise, but remained lying in the mud, while,in the case of some others, the abundant moisture had already causedsuperb flowers to bloom triumphantly upon half-broken stalks. Theirdelicious fragrance struggled against the brackish odor of the slime,and when a faint breeze raised the mist, that fragrance and that strangeodor reached the nostrils alternately. A multitude of frogs, whichseemed to have fallen with the rain, were croaking with disgustingenergy among the reeds; and the roar of the factory, which it was notyet possible to stop, so that the machinery was constantly running andwearing itself out uselessly, made Monsieur Cardonnet feverishlyimpatient. Meanwhile the nightingale sang in the thickets that had beenleft unharmed, and saluted the full moon with the nonchalance of a loveror an artist. It was a medley of happiness and consternation, ofugliness and beauty, as if omnipotent Nature laughed at losses ruinousto man but trifling to herself, who needed but a day of sunlight and acool, damp night to repair them.

Despite Cardonnet's efforts to concentrate his thoughts upon theinterests of his family, he was disturbed and distracted at every turnby his anxiety concerning his pecuniary interests. "Infernal river," hethought, glaring involuntarily at the torrent that flowed proudly andmockingly at his feet, "when will you abandon an impossible fight? Ishall find a way to chain you up and curb you at last. More stone, moreiron, and you will flow within the bounds that my hand marks out foryou. Oh! I shall succeed in overcoming your reckless power, inanticipating your whims, in stimulating your languor and crushing yourtemper. The genius of man is bound to triumph over the blind rebellionof nature on this spot. Twenty more men, and you will feel the curb.Money, and more money! It takes a small mountain of money to stopmountains of water. It is all a question of time and opportunity. Myproduct must come to hand on the appointed day, to meet my expenses. Amonth of carelessness or discouragement would ruin everything. Credit isa pit that one must dig without hesitation, because at the bottom liesthe treasure of profit. I must dig on! I must keep digging! The man is afool and a coward who stops on the way and allows his plans and hisoutlay to be swallowed up in space. No, no, treacherous stream, feminineterror, lying predictions of the envious, you shall not frighten me, youshall not induce me to abandon my work, when I have made so manysacrifices on account of it, when the sweat of so many men has alreadyflowed in vain, when my brain has already expended so much effort and myintelligence has given birth to so many miracles! Either this streamshall draw my dead body into its slime, or it shall submissively carrythe results of my toil!"

And in the painful tension of his faculties, Monsieur Cardonnet stampedhis foot on the bank with a sort of frenzied enthusiasm.

Meanwhile the thought came to his mind that from his own blood had comeforth an obstacle more alarming for the future than storms and theriver. His son could ruin or, at least, sadly embarrass everything in aday. However intense the man's earnestness and the jealousy of hischaracter, he could never be satisfied to work for himself alone, andthere is no capitalist who does not live in the future by virtue of hisfamily ties. Cardonnet felt a fierce affection for his son in the depthsof his heart. Oh! if he could only recast that rebellious mind andidentify Emile with his own life! How proud he would be, what a feelingof security he would enjoy! But this boy, who had superior faculties foranything except what his father desired, seemed to have conceived aconscientious contempt for wealth, and it was necessary to find somejoint in his armor, some vulnerable point at which that terrible passioncould be forced into his system. Cardonnet was well aware what chordsmust be touched; but could he counteract or change the nature of his ownmental habit and his own talent sufficiently to produce no discord? Theinstrument was at once powerful and delicate. The slightest lack ofharmony in the theory he was about to expound would be detected by awatchful and perspicacious judge.

In a word it was necessary that Cardonnet, a man of violent temper andat the same time of much adroitness, in whom, however, the habit ofdomination was more powerful than the habit of strategy, should fight aterrific battle with himself, stifle every violent impulse, and speakthe language of a conviction that was not altogether genuine. At last,feeling calmer, and deeming himself sufficiently prepared, he sent forEmile and returned to await his coming on the spot where he had latelybeen absorbed in a long and painful meditation.

"Well, father," said the young man, taking his hand affectionately andwith evident emotion, for he felt that the moment was at hand when heshould know which was destined to carry the day in his heart, filialaffection, or terror and reproof; "well, father, here I am, ready toreceive the communication you promised me. I am twenty-one years old,and I feel that I am becoming a man. You have delayed a long while toset me free from the law of silence and blind confidence; my heart hassubmitted as long as it can, but my common sense is beginning to speakvery loudly, and I await your paternal voice to reconcile them. You willdo it, I have no doubt, and throw open the doors of life to me; for thusfar I have done nothing but dream and wait and look. I have beenassailed by strange doubts, and I have suffered much already withoutdaring to mention it to you. Now you will cure me, you will give me thekey to this labyrinth in which I have gone astray; you will mark out forme a path to the future which I shall delight to follow; happy and proudif I can walk beside you!"

"My son," replied Monsieur Cardonnet, somewhat disturbed by thiseffusive exordium, "you have acquired,yonder, a habit of usingemphatic language which I cannot imitate. This manner of talking isill-advised, in that the mind gets heated and excited, and soon goesastray in an outburst of exaggerated emotion. I know that you love meand believe in me. You know that I cherish you above all things, andthat your future is my only aim, my only thought. Let us talkreasonably, then, and coolly, if it is possible. Let us first of allreview your brief and happy life. You were born in comfort, and as Iworked hard and constantly, wealth took its place under your feet, soquickly and so naturally that you hardly noticed it. Each year increasedthe possibilities of your future career, and you were hardly more than achild when I began to think of your old age and of the future of yourchildren. You showed a praiseworthy disposition to work—but only atuseless arts, drawing, music, poetry,—ornamental accomplishments. Itwas my duty to combat and I did combat the development of these artisticinstincts, when I saw that they threatened to stifle more essential andmore solid faculties.

"By creating your fortune, I created duties for you. The fine arts arethe blessing and the treasure of the poor man; but wealth demands powersof a sterner temper to support the weight of the obligations it imposes.I questioned myself; I saw what my own education lacked, and it seemedto me that we ought to complement each other, since we were, by the lawof blood, partners in the same enterprise. I was well versed in theindustrial theories to which I had devoted myself; but as I had not hadexperience in putting them in practice early enough in life, as I hadnot studied the practical part of my vocation and could solve problemsin geometry and mechanics only by instinct and a sort of divination, Iwas likely to make mistakes, to start upon false scents, to allow myselfto be led astray by my own dreams or those of other people, in a word,to lose, in addition to large sums of money, days, weeks, years, that isto say, time, which is the most valuable of all forms of capital. Idetermined therefore that you should be instructed in the mechanicalsciences immediately after leaving school, and you forced yourself towork hard and faithfully, despite your youth. But your mind soon choseto take a flight which carried you away from my goal.

"The study of the exact sciences led you, against my will and your own,to a passion for the natural sciences, and, starting off at random, youthought of nothing but astronomy and of dreaming of worlds to which wecan never go. After a contest in which I was not the stronger, I madeyou abandon those sciences, although I was not able to bring you back toa healthy and profitable application to the others; and, abandoning theidea of making you a mechanical engineer, I looked about to see in whatway you could be useful to me. When I say useful to me, I assume thatyou do not mistake the sense in which I use the words. As my fortune wasyours, it was my duty to train you to the work which will probably wearmy life out to your advantage before long; that is in the natural orderof things. I am happy to do my duty, and I shall persist in doing it inspite of you, if necessary. But should not good sense and paternalaffection impel me to make you capable of preserving and defending thatfortune, at all events, if not of developing it? My ignorance of the lawhad placed me a hundred times at the mercy of foolish or treacherousadvice. I had been victimized by those parasites of pettifoggery who,having neither any genuine knowledge nor any healthy understanding ofbusiness, demand blind submission from their clients, and endanger theirmost valuable interests by folly, obstinacy, presumption, false tactics,useless subtleties and the rest. Thereupon, I said to myself that with akeen, quick intellect like yours, you could learn the law in a few yearsand obtain a sufficiently accurate idea of the details of procedure toneed no other guide, no other adviser, and, above all, no otherconfidant than yourself. I had no desire to make of you an orator, anadvocate, an assize court comedian, but I asked you to obtain yourcertificates and pass your examinations. You promised to do it!"

"Well, father, have I ever rebelled, have I broken my promise?" saidEmile, surprised to hear Monsieur Cardonnet speak with superb and as itwere insulting contempt of that profession of which he had done his bestto extol the honor and brilliancy, when it was a question of persuadinghis son to study it.

"Emile," rejoined the manufacturer, "I do not propose to reproach you;but you have a passive, apathetic way of submitting, that is a hundredtimes worse than resistance. If I could have foreseen that you wouldwaste your time, I would very quickly have thought of something else;for, as I have told you, time is the capital of capital, and here aretwo years of your life which have had no result in the way of developingyour faculties and therefore none in the way of assuring your future."

"I flatter myself that the contrary is true," said Emile, with a smileof mingled sweetness and pride, "and I can assure you, father, that Ihave worked hard, read a great deal, thought a great deal—I dare notsay learned a great deal—since I have been at Poitiers."

"Oh! I know very well what you have read and learned, Emile! I shouldhave found it out from your letters even if I had not learnedit from my correspondent; and I tell you that all this finephilosophico-metaphysico-politico-economical learning is of all thingsthe vainest, the falsest, the most chimerical and the most ridiculous,not to say the most dangerous, for a young man. It has gone so far thatyour last letters would have made me roar with laughter as a judge, if Ihad not felt a mortal disappointment as a father; and it was preciselybecause I saw that you had mounted a new hobby-horse and were about totake your flight through space once more that I resolved to summon youhere, perhaps for a time only, perhaps for good, if I do not succeed inrestoring you to your senses."

"Your sarcasm and your contempt are very cruel, father, and grieve myheart more than they wound my self-esteem. That I am not in full accordwith you is possible. I am prepared to hear you deny all my beliefs; butthat you should repulse me with ironical jeers, when, for the first timein my life, I feel a longing and have the courage to pour all mythoughts and all my emotions into your bosom—that is a very bitterthing to me, and does me more harm than you think."

"There is more pride than you think in this puerile gentleness. Am I notyour father, your best friend? Should I not force you to hear the truthwhen you are deceiving yourself and lead you back when you go astray?Come! a truce to vanity between us! I think more of your intelligencethan you do yourself, for I do not propose to allow it to degenerate byfeeding on unhealthy food. Listen to me, Emile! I know very well that itis the fashion among the young men of to-day to pose as legislators, tophilosophize on every subject, to reform institutions that will lastmuch longer than they will, and to invent religions and socialsystems—a new morality. The imagination delights in these chimeras,and they are very innocent when they don't last too long. But we must leaveit all on the benches at school, and learn to know and understandsociety before destroying it. We soon discover that it is far superiorto us, and that the wisest course is to submit to it, with shrewdtolerance. You are too big a boy now to waste your desires andreflections on a subject that has no bottom. I wish you to becomeinterested in real, positive life; to study the meaning and applicationof the laws by which we are governed, instead of exhausting yourself incriticizing them. On the other hand, if such study tends to create aspirit of reaction and of disgust with the truth, you must abandon itand set about finding something useful to do for which you feel that youare fitted. Come, we are here to have an understanding and arrive atsome conclusion: no vain declamations, no poetic dithyrambs againstheaven and mankind! Poor creatures of a day that we are, we have no timeto waste in trying to ascertain our destiny before and after our briefappearance on earth. We shall never solve that enigma. It is our boundenduty to work incessantly here on earth and to go hence without a murmur.We must account for our labors to the generation that precedes us andshapes us, and to that which follows us and which we shape. That is whyfamily bonds are sacred and the rights of inheritance inalienable,despite your fine communistic theories, which I have never been able tounderstand, because they are not ripe and the human race must still waitfor centuries before accepting them. Tell me, what do you propose todo?"

"I have absolutely no idea," replied Emile, overwhelmed by thisavalanche of narrow-minded, cold commonplaces, uttered with brutal andarrogant fluency. "You solve with so much assurance questions which itwill probably require my whole life to solve, that I am unable to followyou in this ardent race toward an unknown goal. I am too weak and myintelligence is apparently too limited to find in my own energy themotive or the reward of so many efforts. My tastes in no wise incline meto make them. I love mental labor, and I should love bodily labor, if itshould become the servant of the other in procuring the gratification ofthe heart; but to work in order to hoard, to hoard in order to retainand increase one's hoard, until death puts an end to this unreasoningthirst—that has neither sense nor any attraction to me. I possess nofaculty which you can employ for that object; I am not born a gamblerand the enthralling chances of the rise and fall of my fortune willnever cause me the slightest emotion. If my aspirations and myenthusiasm are chimeras unworthy of a serious mind, if there is noeternal truth, no divine reason for the existence of things, no idealwhich we can carry in our heart to sustain ourselves and guide ourfootsteps through the evils and injustices of the present, then I nolonger exist, I no longer believe in anything; I consent to die for you,father; but as to living and struggling like you and with you, I haveneither the heart nor the arm nor the head for that sort of work."

Monsieur Cardonnet quivered with rage, but he restrained himself. Notwithout design had he thus awkwardly aroused his son's indignation andspirit of resistance. He had determined to lead him on to speak out hiswhole thought, and to test his enthusiasm, so to speak. When he realizedfrom the young man's bitter tone and desperate expression that it reallywas as serious as he had feared, he determined to go around the obstacleand to manœuvre in such a way as to recover his influence.

XIII

THE STRUGGLE

"Emile," rejoined the manufacturer with well-feigned calmness, "I seethat we have been talking for some moments without understanding eachother, and that if we continue on this tack you will pick a quarrel withme and treat me as if you were a young saint and I an old heathen. Withwhom are you in such a passion? I was quite right, at the outset, to tryto put you on your guard against enthusiasm. All this warmth of brain issimply youthful effervescence, and when you are as old as I am and havehad a little experience and are accustomed to doing your duty, you won'tthink it necessary to flap your wings in order to be honest, or to shoutyour convictions so loud. Beware of emphasis, which is nothing more thanthe language of self-satisfied vanity. Tell me, boy, do you happen tobelieve that honor, morality, good faith in keeping engagements, humanesentiments, pity for the unfortunate, devotion to country, respect forthe rights of others, domestic virtues and the love of one's neighborare very rare and substantially impossible virtues in these days and inthe world we live in?"

"Well, I believe nothing of the kind. I am less misanthropic at fiftythan you are at one-and-twenty; I have a better opinion of myfellow-men, apparently because I don't possess your lights and yourinfallible glance!"

"Very well, let us talk seriously. I will assume with you that thosevirtues are the religion and the rule of life of a small number ofpeople. Will you at least do me the honor to assume that they are notwholly foreign to your father's character?"

"Most of your acts, father, have convinced me that to do good was yoursole ambition. Why then do your words seem to attempt to show me thatyou have a less noble aim?"

"That is precisely what I want to come at. You agree that my conduct isirreproachable, and yet you are scandalized to hear me appeal to calmcommon sense and to the counsel of sound logic! Tell me, what would youthink of your father if, every hour in the day, you should hear himdeclaiming against those who do not follow his example? If, settinghimself up as a model, and all puffed out with self-love andself-admiration, he should weary you at every turn with his own praisesand with anathemas hurled at the rest of mankind? You would hold yourpeace and throw a veil over that annoying absurdity; but, do what youwould, the thought would come that your worthy father had one deplorableweakness and that his vanity detracted from his merit."

"Doubtless, father, I prefer your reserve and your judicious modesty;but when we are alone together, and on the rare and solemn occasionswhen you deign to open your heart to me, should I not be overjoyed tohear you extol noble ideas and kindle a holy enthusiasm in my heart,instead of hearing you sneer at my aspirations and trample themcontemptuously in the dirt."

"I do not despise noble ideas, nor do I laugh at your worthyaspirations. What I do spurn and what I desire to stifle in you are thedeclamation and braggadocio of the new humanitarian schools. I cannotendure their holding up principles as old as the world in the guise oftruths unheard of until this day. I would like you to love duty withimmovable tranquillity, and perform it with the stoical silence ofgenuine conviction. Believe me, an acquaintance with good and evildoesn't date from yesterday, and I did not wait to learn justice untilyou had sucked in the celestial manna while smoking your cigar on thesidewalks of Poitiers."

"All this may be true, generally speaking," said Emile, heated byMonsieur Cardonnet's persistent irony. "There are old citizens who, likeyou, father, practise virtue without ostentation, and there may beimpertinent students who preach it without loving it and, as it were,without knowing what it is. But your last shaft of satire I can not taketo my own account or that of my young friends. I do not claim to beanything more than a child and do not pride myself on any experience Imay have had. On the contrary, I come with respect and confidence,actuated only by good instincts and good intentions, to ask you for thetruth, for advice, example, assistance and instruction. I have on myside only my youthful ideas, and I lay them at your feet. Disgusted as Iam by the shocking contradictions which the laws of society recognizeand sanction, I implore you to tell me how you have been able to acceptthem without protest, and to remain an honest man. I confess that I amweak and ignorant, for I cannot conceive the possibility of such athing. So tell me, I pray you, instead of heaping freezing sarcasm onme. Am I blameworthy in asking for light? am I insolent and mad becauseI desire to know the laws of my conscience and the aim of my life? Yes,your character is noble and your conduct judicious and wise; your heartis kind and your hand liberal; you assist the poor man and you pay himhandsomely for his labor. But whither are you going by this straight,sure road? It seems to me that you sometimes lack indulgence, and yourseverity has often frightened me.

"I have always said to myself that your sight was clearer and your mindmore provident than those of tender, timid natures, that the momentarysuffering you inflict was with a view to doing lasting good and tostrengthening the foundations of talent; and so, notwithstanding mydistaste for the studies you imposed upon me, notwithstanding thesacrifice of my tastes to your hidden purposes, and the constant denialand stifling of my desires at their birth, I made it the law of my lifeto follow you and obey you in everything. But the time has come when youmust open my eyes if you wish me to succeed in this superhuman effort;for the study of the law doesn't satisfy my conscience; I cannot imaginemyself ever engaging in legal contests, still less compelling myself,like you, to urge men on to toil for my benefit, unless I see clearlywhither I am going and what sacrifice beneficial to mankind I shall haveconsummated at the cost of my happiness."

"Your happiness then would consist in doing nothing and living with yourarms folded, staring at the stars? It seems that work of any sort vexesand tires you, even the study of the law, which all young men learn insport?"

"You are well aware that the contrary is true, father; you saw me becomepassionately interested in the most abstract studies, and you stopped meas if I were rushing to my destruction. You know well, however, what mywishes were, when you urged me to seek some material application of thesciences I preferred. You were not willing that I should be an artist ora poet; perhaps you were right; but I might have been a naturalist, orat least an agriculturist, and you forbade that. And yet that was areal, practical application.

"Love of nature impelled me toward life in the country. The infinitepleasure that I took in investigating nature's laws and mysteries led menaturally to the discovery of its concealed forces and to the attempt toguide them and make them more fruitful by intelligent toil. Yes, thatwas my vocation, you may be sure. Agriculture is in its infancy; thepeasant wears himself out in monotonous routine tasks; vast tracts ofland are untilled. Science would increase tenfold the richness of thesoil and lighten the labor of man.

"My ideas concerning society were in accord with my dreams of such afuture. I asked you to send me to some model farm to study. I shouldhave been happy to become a peasant, to work with mind and body, to beconstantly in contact with men and things as nature knows them. I wouldhave applied myself with zeal, I would have ploughed farther than someothers perhaps in the field of discoveries! And some day I would havefounded, upon some desert, naked tract of land transformed by my labors,a colony of free men living together like brothers and loving me as abrother. That was my only ambition, in that direction alone was Ithirsty for fortune and glory. Was it an insane freak? and why did yourequire me to go and work like a slave to learn a code of laws that willnever be mine?"

"There you are! there you are!" said Monsieur Cardonnet shrugging hisshoulders; "there we have the Utopia of Brother Emile, Moravian brother,Quaker, Neo-Christian, Neo-Platonist and God knows what. It ismagnificent, but it is absurd."

"Pray tell me why, father? for again you pronounce sentence withoutgiving any reasons."

"Because, mingling your socialistic Utopias with your vain speculationsas a scientist, you would have poured treasures upon the barren rock,you would not have raised wheat from the sterile soil nor would you haveraised men capable of living as brothers from the communistic idea. Youwould have spent foolishly with one hand what I had saved with theother; and, at forty years of age, with your imagination run dry, at theend of your genius and your confidence, disgusted with the imbecility orthe perversity of your disciples, mad perhaps—for that is whatexcitable and romantic minds come to when they seek to put their dreamsin practice, you would have come back to me, crushed by yourhelplessness, angry with mankind, and too old to return to the rightroad. Whereas, if you listen to me and follow me, we will traveltogether over a straight, sure road, and within ten years we shall havemade a fortune of which I don't dare name the amount, for you would notbelieve me."

"Let us admit that this is not a dream also, father, for it makes littledifference for my present purpose; what shall we do with this fortune?"

"Whatever you choose, all the good that you may then dream of doing; forI am not at all disturbed about your common sense and prudence, if youwill wait for experience of life and allow your brain to mature inpeace."

"What do you say? we will do good! you must tell me about that, father,and I will be all ears! What is the blessing with which we will endowmankind?"

"You ask the question! In heaven's name, what divine mystery do youexpect to find in human affairs? We shall have bestowed upon a wholeprovince the benefits of industrial activity! Are we not already on theway? Is not work the source and sustenance of work? do we not employmore men here in a day than agriculture and the petty uncivilized tradesthat I propose to put down used to employ in a month? Do they notreceive higher wages? Are they not in a fair way to acquire the spiritof order, prudence, sobriety, all the virtues that they lack? Where arethese virtues, the poor man's only blessing, concealed? In absorbingwork, in salutary fatigue and in proportionate wages. The good mechanichas the family spirit, respect for property, submission to the laws,economy, and the habit and the advantages of saving. Idleness, with allthe wretched arguments it engenders, is what ruins him. Keep him busy,overwhelm him with work; he is strong, and will become stronger; he willcease to dream of overturning society. He will become orderly in hisconduct, his house will be well kept, he will introduce comfort andtranquillity there. And if he lives to be old and infirm, howeverwilling you may be to assist him, it will not be necessary. He will havethought of the future himself; he will no longer need alms and aprotector like your friend Jappeloup the vagabond; he will be really afree man. There is no other way to save the people, Emile. I am sorry totell you that it will take longer to carry out this plan than toconceive a fine Utopian scheme; but if it be a long and hardundertaking, it is worthy of a philosopher like you, and I do notconsider it beyond the strength of a hard worker of my sort."

"What! is that the whole ideal of industry?" said Emile, crushed by thisconclusion. "Have the people no other future than incessant toil, forthe benefit of a class that is never to work at all?"

"That is not my idea," Monsieur Cardonnet replied; "I hate and despiseidlers; that is why I don't like poets and metaphysicians. I think thateverybody should work according to his powers, and myideal, asthat word seems to please you, is not far removed from that of theSaint-Simonians: 'To every one according to his capacity,' recompenseproportioned to desert. But in these days the manufacturing industry hasnot yet become so firmly established that we can think about a moralsystem of subdivision. We must look at what is and not speculate as towhat is possible. The whole movement of the age tends towardmanufacturing. Let it reign and triumph then; let all men work, somewith the arm, some with the brain; it is for him who has more brain thanarm to direct the others: it is his right and his duty to make afortune. His wealth becomes sacred, since it is destined to increase inorder that there may be more work and higher wages. Society should lenda hand therefore in every way to establish the power of the sagaciousman; his sagacity is a public blessing; and he himself should struggleconstantly to increase his activity; it is his duty, his religion, hisphilosophy. In short he must be rich in order to keep growing richer, asyou said, Emile, not realizing that you were uttering the most valuableof axioms."

"So, father, you would give to a man only as long as he works? Pray, doyou make no account of the man who cannot work?"

"I try to correct him, and if I fail, I turn him over to the law, sincehe is certain before long to become a nuisance and to incur itspenalties."

"In a perfectly constituted society that might be just, because thesluggard would be a monstrous exception; but in exercising authorityaccording to such strict rules as yours, when you demand from theworkingman all his strength, all his time, all his thoughts, all hislife, ah! how many would be dismissed as sluggards and abandoned totheir fate!"

"With the advantages accruing from the increase of manufacturing, weshould very soon succeed in increasing the well-being of the poorerclasses to such an extent that we could easily found schools where theirchildren would be taught the love of work at almost no expense."

"I think that you are mistaken, father; but even if it were true thatthe rich would give their attention to the education of the poor, thelove of incessant work, without other compensation than the certainty ofa pittance for one's old age, is so contrary to nature that you cannever kindle it in children. A few exceptional natures, consumed byenergy or ambition, will sacrifice their youth; but whoever issimple-hearted, loving, inclined to reverie, to innocent and legitimatepleasures, and under the influence of that craving for affection andtranquillity which is the lawful privilege of the human race, will flyfrom this jail of incessant toil in which you seek to confine him, andwill prefer the chances of poverty to the security of slavery. Ah!father, your rugged constitution, your untiring energy, your stoicalsobriety and your inveterate habit of working make you an exceptionalman, and you imagine a society formed after your image, you do not seethat there is no suitable place there for any but exceptional men.Permit me to tell you that that is a Utopian conception far moreappalling than mine."

"Well, Emile, I wish that you believed in it," said Monsieur Cardonnetwarmly; "it is a source of strength, and an invaluable stimulant in thissociety of dreamers, idlers and apathetic creatures in which I amdevoured with impatience. Be like me, and if we should find in France,at this moment, a hundred men like us, I promise you that there would beno more exceptions a hundred years hence. Activity is contagious,magnetic, miracle-working! it was through activity that Napoléon heldsway over Europe: he would have owned all Europe if he had been amanufacturer instead of a fighting man. Oh! since you are an enthusiast,be enthusiastic for my ideas! shake off your languor and share my fever!If we do not attract the whole race, we shall make great breachesthrough which our descendants will see it moving about in a sacredfrenzy."

"No, father, never!" cried Emile, dismayed by Monsieur Cardonnet'sterrible energy; "for that is not the road for mankind to follow. Thereis in it no trace of love or pity or gentleness. Man was not born toknow naught but suffering and to extend his conquests over matter only.The conquests of the intellect in the domain of ideas, the pleasures andrefinements of the heart, which, according to your plan, should becarefully regulated accessories in the workingman's life, will always bethe noblest and sweetest aspiration of every normally constituted man.Do you not see that you cut off one whole side of the benevolentintentions of God? that you do not give the slave of toil time tobreathe and to know himself? that education directed solely tomoneymaking will make mere brutish machines and not complete men? Yousay that you conceive an ideal to be realized in the course ofcenturies, that a time may come when every one will be rewardedaccording to his capacity. Well, I say that your formula is falsebecause it is incomplete, and unless we add to it: 'To everyoneaccording to his needs,' it is unjust, it is simply asserting the rightof him who is strongest in intellect or will, it is aristocracy andprivilege under other forms. O father, instead of fighting with thestrong against the weak, let us fight with the weak against the strong.Let us try! but in that case let us not think of making our fortunes,let us renounce the idea of hoarding for our own benefit. Give yourconsent, for I, for whom you are working to-day, give my consent. Let ustry to identify our ideals in this way, and let us renounce personalprofit while devoting ourselves to work. Since we cannot by ourselvesalone create a society in which all the members have an equal interest,let us be the workmen of the future, devoted to the weak and incapableof the present."

"If Napoléon's genius had been trained to this doctrine, perhaps itwould have converted the world; but let us find a hundred men like us,let this fever to acquire wealth become a divine zeal, let the longingto practise charity consume us, let us give all our workmen a share inall our profits, let our great fortune be not your property and myheritage, but the property of all those who have assisted us, accordingto their abilities and their strength, in amassing it; let the workmanwho brings his stone be put in a way to know as much of the materialjoys of life as you who bring your genius; let him too be able to livein a fine house, to breathe pure air, to eat healthy food, to rest afterfatigue, and to educate his children; let us find our reward, not in theuseless luxury with which you and I can surround ourselves, but in thejoy of having made others happy—I can understand that ambition and becarried away by it. And then, father, dear father, your work will beblessed.

"This indolence and apathy which irritate you, and which are simply theresult of a struggle in which a few triumph to the detriment of the vastmajority who lose their courage and succumb, will themselves disappearin the natural course of things. Then you will find so much zeal andlove about you that you will no longer be obliged to wear yourself outalone in order to stimulate all the others. How could it be otherwiseto-day, and of what do you complain? Under the law of selfishness eachone gives of his strength and his energy in proportion to the share ofthe profits he receives. A marvellous result, truly, that you, whoreceive all the profit, should be the only zealous, assiduous worker,while the paid worker, who receives in your employ a trifle more almsthan he would receive elsewhere, brings you only a little more of his zeal.You pay higher wages—that is a fine thing, certainly, and you aremore to be commended than the majority of your rivals, who would preferto lower them; but you have it in your power to increase the zeal ofyour employés tenfold, a hundred-fold, to kindle as by a miracle theflame of devotion, the intelligence of the heart in those benumbed andparalyzed creatures, and you do not choose to do it!—Why not, father?It is not that you care for the enjoyments of luxury; for you enjoynothing unless it be the intoxication of your plans and your triumphs.Very well; do away with your individual profit; you have only to do it,and I will abandon my claim to it with the greatest joy! Let us besimply the trustees and managers of the common profits. This fortunethat you dream of, of which you dare not tell me the amount, will sosurpass your anticipations and your hopes, that you will soon have themeans to give your workmen moral, intellectual and physical pleasureswhich will make new men of them, complete men, true men! and such men Ihave never seen anywhere. All equilibrium is destroyed; I see onlyknaves and brutes, tyrants and slaves, powerful and greedy eagles andstupid and cowardly sparrows destined to be their prey. We liveaccording to the blind law of the savage nature; the code of savageinstinct which governs the brute is still the soul of our pretendedcivilization; and we dare to say that the manufacturing industry willsave the world without departing from that path! No, no, father, allthese declamations of political economy are false and misleading! If youcompel me to be rich and powerful, as you have said so many times, andif, by reason of the vulgar influence of money, the adorers of moneysend me to represent their interests in the counsels of the nation, Ishall say what I have in my mind; I shall speak, and I suppose that Ishall speak only once: for they will put me to silence or force me toleave the hall; but people will remember what I say, and they who choseme will have reason to repent their choice!"

This discussion was prolonged far into the night, and it will be readilyunderstood that Emile did not convert his father. Monsieur Cardonnet wasnot evil-minded, nor impious, nor voluntarily blameworthy toward God orman. Indeed, certain practical virtues were very strongly accentuated inhim, and he had great talent in one special field. But his iron will wasthe result of the entire absence of idealism in his character.

He loved his son but could not understand him. He was kind and attentiveto his wife, but he had never failed to stifle in her any thoughtcapable of interfering with his daily routine. He would have liked to beable to reduce Emile to subjection in the same way; but, realizing thatwas impossible, he was intensely annoyed and tears of vexation moistenedhis burning eyes more than once during that stormy interview. Hesincerely believed that he was logically right; that his ideas were theonly really admissible and practicable ones.

He asked himself by what fatality he happened to have a dreamer and aUtopian for a son, and more than once he raised his powerful arms toheaven, asking with indescribable pain what crime he had committed thatsuch a calamity should be visited upon him.

Emile, worn out by fatigue and disappointment, was moved to pity at lastfor that wounded heart and that incurable blindness.

"Let us talk no more about these matters, father," he said, wiping awayhis own tears, which had their source farther down in his heart; "wecannot become identified with each other. I can only continue to show mysubmission and my filial love, thinking no more of myself and of ahappiness which I sacrifice to you. What are your orders? Shall I returnto Poitiers and go on with my studies until I pass my examinations?Shall I stay here and act as your secretary and steward? I will close myeyes and work like a machine so long as it is possible for meto do it. I will look upon myself as your employé; I will enter yourservice——"

"And you will cease to look upon me as your father?" said MonsieurCardonnet. "No, Emile; stay with me, but be perfectly free. I give youthree months, during which, living as you will in the bosom of yourfamily, far from the declamations of the beardless philosophers who haveruined you, you will recover your senses unassisted. You are blessedwith a robust temperament, and it may be that absorbing mental labor hasoverheated your brain. I look upon you as a sick child whom I have takeninto the country to cure. Walk, ride, hunt; in a word, amuse yourself inorder to reestablish your equilibrium, which seems to me more disturbedthan that of society. I hope that you will abate your intolerance whenyou see that your home is not a hotbed of wickedness and corruption.Before long, perhaps, you will tell me voluntarily that profitlessmusing bores you, and that you feel that you must help me."

Emile bowed, without speaking, and left his father, after embracing himwith a feeling of profound sorrow. Monsieur Cardonnet, having been ableto do nothing better than temporize, tossed about a long while in hisbed, and finally fell asleep, saying, to himself, contrary to hiscustom, that one must sometimes rely more upon Providence than upononeself.

XIV

FIRST LOVE

The energetic Cardonnet, entirely engrossed by his daily occupations, orsufficiently self-controlled not to allow the slightest trace of hisinward suffering to appear on the surface, resumed his air of glacialdignity on the following day.

Emile, overwhelmed with dismay and sadness, strove to smile in presenceof his mother, who was disturbed by his distraught air and alteredexpression. But she was so overawed that she lacked even the penetrationpeculiar to her sex. All her faculties had grown rusty, and at forty shewas already an octogenarian, mentally speaking. And yet she loved herhusband, as the result of a need of loving which had never beensatisfied. She had no definite grievances to allege against him, for hehad never openly maltreated her or made a slave of her; but everyimpulse of the heart or the imagination had always been stifled in herby irony and a sort of contemptuous pity, and she had accustomed herselfto entertain no thought or desire outside of the circle drawn about herby an inflexible hand.

To oversee all the details of the housekeeping had become something morethan a wise and self-imposed occupation. It had been made a law of herexistence, so serious and so sacred that she might have been compared toa Roman matron in respect to the trivial solemnity of domestic toil, ifin no other respect.

Thus she presented in her person the strange anachronism of a woman ofour own time, capable of reasoning and feeling, but who had insanelyforced herself to retrograde some thousands of years in order to makeherself like one of those women of ancient times whose glory it was toproclaim the inferiority of their sex.

The strange and sad feature of her position was that she did not realizeit, and that she acted as she did—so she would say in awhisper—for the sake of peace. And she did not obtain it! The moreshe immolated herself, the more she bored her lord and master.

Her brain had shrivelled in slavery, and her husband, not realizing thatit was the result of his domination, had reached the point of despisingher in secret.

Several years earlier Cardonnet had been terribly jealous, and his wife,although faded and worn, still trembled at the idea that he might imputea vicious thought to her. She had acquired the habit of not listening orlooking, so that she could say confidently when any man was mentioned toher: "I didn't look at him; I don't know what he said; I paid noattention to him." The utmost that she dared do was look at her son andquestion him; for, as to her husband, if she was made anxious by theunusual pallor of his cheeks or the increased severity of his glance, hewould speedily compel her to lower her eyes, saying: "In heaven's name,what is there extraordinary about me that you should stare at me as ifyou didn't know me?" Sometimes, at night, he would notice that she hadbeen weeping, and he would become affectionate once more after hisfashion. "Tell me, what's the matter? Is something troubling the poorlittle woman? Would you like a new shawl? Would you like me to take youto drive? No? Then it must be because the camellias are frozen? We willhave some sent down from Paris that are more hardy and so beautiful thatyou won't regret the old ones." And, in truth, he lost no opportunity togratify his helpmeet's innocent tastes, at any price. He even requiredher to dress more richly than she cared to do. It was his idea thatwives are children who must be rewarded for being good with toys andgimcracks.

"It is certain," Madame Cardonnet would say to herself at such times,"that my husband loves me dearly, and he is very attentive to me. Whathave I to complain of, and what is the reason that I always feeldepressed?"

She saw that Emile was gloomy and downcast, and she could not extort thesecret of his trouble from him. She questioned him at tedious lengthconcerning his health, and advised him to go to bed early. She had afeeling that it was something more serious than the result of insomnia;but she said to herself that it was much better to allow a sorrow tofall asleep in silence than to keep it alive by trying to allay it.

That evening Emile, as he was walking near the entrance to the village,met Jean Jappeloup, who had returned several hours earlier and wasjoyously celebrating his arrival with several friends, in the doorway ofa rustic dwelling.

"With the authorities, yes, monsieur, but not with poverty. I made mysubmission, I argued as well as I could with the king's attorney and helistened to me patiently; he said a few stupid things by way of sermon;but he's not a bad fellow and he was just about to dismiss me, sayingthat he would do his best to prevent any prosecution, when your lettersarrived. He read them without making a sign; but he paid some attentionto them, for he said to me: 'Well, set your mind at rest, settle downsomewhere, don't poach any more, find some work, and everything will beall right.'—So here I am; my friends have received me warmly, as yousee, for I have already been asked to lodge in this house while I lookabout. But I must give my mind to my most pressing necessity, which isto earn something to buy clothes with, and before night I am going tomake the tour of the village, to look for work among the good people."

"Listen, Jean," said Emile, walking beside him; "I have no large amountof money at my disposal; my father makes me an allowance, but I don'tknow whether he will continue it now that I am to live at home; however,I have a few hundred francs for which I have no use here, and I beg youto accept them, to buy clothes and provide for your first needs. Youwill make me feel aggrieved if you refuse. In a few days yourill-founded anger against my father will have passed away and you willcome and ask him for work; or better still, authorize me to askhim for you; he will pay you higher wages than you will get anywhereelse, and he will relax the severity of his original terms, I am sure;so——"

"No, Monsieur Emile," the carpenter replied. "I will take neither yourmoney nor your father's work. I don't know how Monsieur Cardonnet treatsyou, nor how much money he gives you, but I know that a young man likeyou is always embarrassed when he hasn't a piece of gold or silver inhis pocket to gratify his whims when occasion offers. You have doneenough for me; I am well pleased with you, and, if I find anopportunity, you will see that you didn't offer your hand to an ingrate.But as for serving your father in any way, never! I was very nearcommitting that folly and God would not permit it. I forgive him for theway in which he caused my arrest by Caillaud, but it was a contemptibleact! However, as he may not have known that boy is my godson, and as hehas since written kindly of me to the king's attorney to obtain mypardon, I must think no more of my grievance. In any event I wouldtrample it under foot now because of you. But as for helping to buildyour factories—no! you don't need my arms, you will find plenty ofothers, and you know my reasons. What you are doing is a bad thing andwill ruin many people, if it doesn't ruin everybody some day. Alreadyyour dams and your reservoirs are drowning all the small mills on thestream above you. Already your piles of stone and dirt have ruined themeadows all around, for the flood carried them all onto your neighbors'land. Thus, you see, the rich man injures the poor man even against hiswill. I don't choose to have it said that Jean Jappeloup lent his handto the ruin of his neighborhood. Don't say any more about it. I mean totake up my trade again in a small way, and I shall have no lack of work.Now that your great enterprises employ all my fellows, no one in thevillage can find anybody to work for him. I shall inherit theircustomers but must give them back when your work fails. For mark mywords; your father greases his wheels by paying a high price for thesweat of the workingman's brow to-day; but he won't be able to continuelong on that footing, or his expenses will exceed his profits. The daywill come—and perhaps it's not far away!—when he will run hisfactories at a loss, and then, woe to those who have sacrificed theirposition on the strength of fine promises! They will be forced to dowhatever your father chooses and the time will have come to make themdisgorge. You don't believe it? So much the better for you! that provesthat you won't be at all responsible for the trouble that is brewing;but you won't be able to prevent it. So good night, my fine fellow!don't speak in my behalf to your father, for I should give you the lie.The good Lord has helped me out of my trouble; I propose to please Himin everything now and to do only such things as my conscience will neverblame me for. Being poor myself, I shall be more useful to the poor thanyour father with all his wealth. I will build houses for my equals andthey will make more by paying me small wages than by earning big wageswith you. You will see that I am right, Monsieur Emile, and everybodywill tell you so some time; but it will be too late to repent of havingput their necks in the halter!"

Emile could not overcome the carpenter's obstinacy, and he returned homeeven more depressed than when he went out. That incorruptibleworkingman's predictions caused him a vague alarm.

As he approached the factory he met his father's secretary, MonsieurGaluchet, a stout young man, very talented in the way of ciphering, butof very limited capacity in other respects.

It was the hour of repose and Galuchet was taking advantage of it tofish for gudgeons. This was his favorite pastime; and when he had agoodly number in his basket, he would count them, and adding the countto the total of his previous catches, would say proudly as he wound uphis line:

"This is the seven hundred and eighty-second gudgeon I have caught withthis hook in two months. I am very sorry I didn't count what I caughtlast year."

Emile leaned against a tree to watch him fish. The fellow's phlegmaticwatchfulness and puerile patience disgusted him. He could not understandhow he could be perfectly happy just because he had a salary that placedhim out of reach of want. He tried to make him talk, saying to himselfthat he might perhaps find beneath that thick envelope some ray oflight, some sympathetic chord which would make that young man's societya source of comfort to him in his distress. But Monsieur Cardonnetselected his subordinates with an unerring eye and hand. ConstantGaluchet was a fool; he understood nothing, knew nothing outside ofarithmetic and bookkeeping. When he had been at work at his figures fortwelve hours he had just enough reasoning power left to catch gudgeons.

However, Emile by mere chance led him to say certain things that cast anominous light into his mind. That human machine was capable of reckoningprofits and losses and of figuring the balance at the foot of a sheet ofpaper. While exhibiting the most complete ignorance of MonsieurCardonnet's plans and resources, Constant observed that the wages of themen were exorbitant and that, if they were not reduced by half in twomonths, the funds invested in the enterprise would be insufficient.

"But that doesn't disturb monsieur your father," he added; "you pay yourworkmen as you feed a horse, according to the amount of work you requireof him. When you double his work you double his pay, as you double thequantity of oats; then, when you're no longer in such a hurry, you cutdown the pay or the rations proportionately."

"Don't say that, monsieur," rejoined Galuchet; "monsieur your fatherknows what he's about, he won't do anything foolish, never fear."

And he carried off his gudgeons, delighted to have had an opportunity toset the son's mind at rest concerning the father's apparent imprudence.

"Oh! if that should be true!" thought Emile, as he walked excitedlyalong the bank of the stream; "if it should prove that this temporarygenerosity conceals inhuman cunning! Suppose that Jean's suspicions werewell-founded! that my father, while following the blind doctrines ofsociety, has no greater store of virtue or intelligence than otherspeculators have, to diminish the disastrous results of his ambition!But no, it is impossible; my father is kind-hearted, he loves hisfellow-men."

But Emile had death in his heart; the thought of all this waste ofenergy and of life for the benefit of his future made him recoil inhorror and disgust. He wondered how it was that all these men who wereworking to build his fortune did not hate him, and he was ready to hatehimself in order to balance the scales of justice.

On the following day, he was still profoundly distressed, but he hailedwith something like delight the day which he was to devote in part toMonsieur de Boisguilbault, because he had made up his mind to go andpass the day at Châteaubrun without saying a word to anybody. As hemounted his horse, Monsieur Cardonnet made divers satirical remarks:

"You are starting early to go to Boisguilbault! it would seem that theamiable marquis's society has charms for you; I should never havesuspected it, and I can't imagine what secret method you have of keepingawake after each of his remarks."

"If this is your way of informing me that you do not like what I amdoing," said Emile, impatiently preparing to dismount, "I am ready togive it up, although I accepted an invitation for to-day."

"I not like it!" rejoined the manufacturer; "why it is a matter ofperfect indifference to me whether you are bored there or somewhereelse. As your father's house is the place where you find least pleasure,I am anxious that you should derive some recompense from the society ofthe noble personages with whom you associate."

Under any other circumstances, Emile would have postponed his departurein order to prove, or at least to make him believe that the rebuke wasnot merited; but he was beginning to understand that it was his father'stactics to rally him when he wished to make him talk; and as he feltinvincibly drawn toward Châteaubrun he determined not to allow himselfto be trapped.

Although nothing in the world stung him more keenly than the ridicule ofthose whom he loved, he made an effort to seem to take it in good part.

"I anticipate so much pleasure at Monsieur de Boisguilbault's," he said,"that I propose to go there by the longest road, and my détour willprobably extend to five or six leagues, unless you need me, father, inwhich case I will gladly sacrifice to you the delights of a ride in thehot sun over perpendicular roads."

But Monsieur Cardonnet was not deceived by his stratagem and repliedwith a clear and penetrating glance:

"Go where the devil of youth drives you! I am not disturbed about you,for a very good reason."

"Very good," said Emile to himself as he galloped away, "if you're notdisturbed about me, I won't disturb myself about your threats."

And, feeling the fire of anger blazing in his breast, in spite of hisefforts, he indulged in a long, hard run to calm himself.

"O God," he said after some time, "forgive me for these angry outbreaks,which I cannot repress. Thou knowest that my heart is full of love, andthat it asks nothing better than to respect and venerate my father, whomakes it his business to stifle all its impulses and to freeze all itsaffections."

Whether from hesitation or from prudence, he made a long detour beforehe turned his horse's head in the direction of Châteaubrun; and when,from the crest of a hill, he saw that he was a long distance from theruins, which stood out against the sky on the horizon, he so bitterlyregretted the time he had wasted that he drove the spurs into hishorse's sides in order to arrive there more quickly.

He did in fact arrive there from the valley of the Creuse in less thanhalf an hour, almost as rapidly as a bird on the wing, having endangeredhis life a hundred times leaping ditches and galloping on the brink ofprecipices. A violent longing, which he did not choose to analyze, gavehim wings.

"I don't love her," he said to himself; "I hardly know her; I cannotlove her! In any event I should love her to no purpose! It is not shewho attracts me any more than her worthy father, his romantic château,his environment of repose, happiness and freedom from care. I long tosee people who are happy, so that I may forget that I am not and nevershall be!"

He met Sylvain Charasson, who was engaged in stretching cloth in theCreuse. The child ran to meet him with an eager delighted air.

"You won't find Monsieur Antoine," he said. "He's gone to market to sellsix sheep; but Mademoiselle Janille's at home, and MademoiselleGilberte, too."

"Oh! not at all, not at all, Monsieur Emile; they'll be very glad to seeyou, for they often talk about you with Monsieur Antoine at dinner. Theysay that they think a great deal of you."

"Yes, yes," replied the child. "Look, just behind what used to be theterrace. You climb the breach, take a little jump and you'll be in thecourtyard. That'sJean's road."

Emile leaped down on the grass, which deadened the sound of hisfootsteps, and approached the square pavilion without frightening thetwo goats, who seemed to know him already.

Monsieur Sacripant, who was no prouder than his master, and did notdisdain to perform at need the duties of sheep dog, although he belongedto the nobler breed of hunters, had escorted the sheep to market.

As he was about to enter, Emile found that his heart was beating sofast—a fact that he attributed to his rapid climb up the side of thecliff—that he paused a moment to recover himself and make his entréewith due dignity. He heard the sound of a spinning-wheel inside, and nomusic had ever struck more pleasantly on his ear. Then the dull hissingof the little instrument of toil ceased and he heard Gilberte's voicesaying:

"Well, it's quite true, Janille, that I don't enjoy myself the days thatfather is away. If you weren't here with me, I should be boredoutright!"

"But I do work, and still I am not amused. I know well enough thatthere's no need of being amused; but I always am, and am always ready tolaugh and jump when father's with us. Confess, little mother, that if wehad to live long away from him, we should lose all our happiness andgood spirits! Oh! it would be impossible to live without father! Ishould much rather die at once."

"Well, well, those are pretty ideas!" said Janille. "What in heaven'sname will you think about next, little head? Your father is still youngand well, thank God! so what has put all this nonsense into your headthese last two or three days?"

"Why, yes, fully two or three days; several times you have chosen toworry about what would become of us if we should lose your dear father,which God forbid!"

"Lose him!" cried Gilberte. "Oh! don't speak of such a thing; it makesme shudder, and I never thought of it. Oh! no, I could never think ofit!"

"Well, upon my word, if you're not crying! Fie! mademoiselle, do youwant to make your dear Mère Janille cry too? Oh! Monsieur Antoine wouldbe very pleased to see you with your eyes all red when he comes home! Hewould be quite capable of crying too, the dear man! Come, you haven'twalked enough to-day, my child; fasten up your wool and we'll go andfeed the hens. It will amuse you to see the pretty partridges yourlittle Blanche has just hatched."

Emile heard the motherly kiss from Janille which closed this speech, andas the two women would surely find him at the door, he stepped back andcoughed slightly to warn them of his presence.

"Someone in the courtyard!" cried Gilberte. "I am so happy; I am sureit's father!"

And she ran eagerly to meet Emile, so fast, that when she found herselfface to face with him on the threshold, she almost fell into his arms.But great as her confusion was when she discovered her mistake, it wasless than Emile's; for, in her innocence, she threw it off with a heartylaugh, while the young man lost his self-possession altogether at thebare idea that he had been very near receiving an embrace which was notintended for him.

Gilberte was so lovely with her eyes still moist with tears and herrippling, childish laugh, that he was dazzled as it were, and ceased towonder whether it was honest Antoine, the lovely ruins or the fairGilberte that he had been in such haste to see once more.

"Well, well," said Janille, "you almost frightened us; but you arewelcome, Monsieur Emile, as our master says; Monsieur Antoine willreturn before long. Meanwhile you must have something cool to drink. Iwill go to the cellar and draw some wine."

"If you go to the cellar, I will go with you; not to drink your wine,but to see the cellar itself, which you said is so interesting, so darkand deep."

"You mustn't go now," said Janille; "it's too cold there and you are toowarm. Yes, you are warm! you're as red as a strawberry. You go and resta bit, and then, while we are waiting for Monsieur Antoine, we'll showyou the cellars, the underground vaults and the whole château, whichyou haven't examined very thoroughly yet, although it's well worthwhile. Ah! there are people who come a long way to see it; it's a littlebit tiresome to us, and my girl goes to her room and reads while theyare here; but Monsieur Antoine says that we can't refuse to admit them,especially travellers who have come a long way, and that, when you'rethe owner of a curious and interesting piece of property, you haven'tany right to prevent other people from enjoying it."

Janille attributed to her master the argument she had put into his mindand his mouth. The fact is that she collected a considerable amount fromexhibiting the ruins, which she employed, like everything belonging toher, in secretly adding to the comfort of the family.

Emile, eagerly accepting whatever they chose to offer him, consented totake a glass of water, and as Janille ran to fill her pitcher at thefountain, he was left alone with Mademoiselle de Châteaubrun.

XV

THE STAIRCASE

While a practised rake may congratulate himself upon the unhoped-foraccident which procures him a tête-à-tête with the object of hispursuit, a pure-hearted young man, who is sincerely in love, is morelikely to be confused, almost terrified, when such good fortune comes tohim for the first time.

So it was with Emile Cardonnet: the respect that Mademoiselle deChâteaubrun inspired was so profound that he feared to raise his eyesto hers at that moment, lest he should show himself in any degreeunworthy of the confidence reposed in him.

Gilberte, even more naïve than he, did not feel the same embarrassment.The thought that Emile could abuse, even by a careless word, herisolation and her inexperience, found no place in a mind so noble andinnocent as hers, and her sacred ignorance preserved her from anysuspicion of that sort. So she was the first to break the silence, andher voice, as by enchantment, brought tranquillity to the youngvisitor's agitated breast. There are voices so sympathetic and sopenetrating, that to hear them pronounce two or three trivial words isenough to fill one with affection for the persons whose characters theydescribe, even before one sees them. Gilberte's voice was of thisnumber. On hearing her speak or laugh or sing, you felt that there hadnever been in her mind an evil or unkind thought.

The thing that moves and charms us in the song of birds is not so muchthe melody, opposed to all our musical conventions, or the extraordinarypower of their flexible organs, as a certain accent of primitiveinnocence, of which nothing in the language of men can convey an idea.It seemed, on listening to Gilberte, that the same comparison could beaptly applied to her, and that the most indifferent things acquired, onpassing between her lips, a meaning much deeper than that which theyexpressed by themselves.

"We saw our friend Jean this morning," she said; "he came at daybreakand carried away all my father's tools, in order to do his first day'swork; for he has found work already, and we have strong hopes that therewill be no lack of it. He told us all that you did and tried to do forhim last evening, and I assure you, monsieur, that, for all the prideand perhaps roughness of his refusal, he is as grateful as he ought tobe."

"What I have been able to do for him amounts to so little that I amashamed to speak of it," said Emile. "I am especially grieved that heallows his obstinacy to deprive him of a certainty of employment, for itseems to me that his position is still very precarious. To begin a lifeof toil, at sixty, and to have neither a house, nor clothes, nor eventhe necessary tools, is a terrifying prospect, is it not, mademoiselle?"

"Still, I am not terrified," replied Gilberte. "Brought up as I havebeen in uncertainty, and living from day to day, as it were, perhaps Ihave myself fallen into the habit of looking upon poverty with that samehappy indifference. Either I am naturally of that disposition, or Jean'sheedlessness reassures me; it is certain that none of us felt the leastuneasiness in the congratulations we exchanged this morning. It takes solittle to satisfy Jean! He is as sober and as healthy as a wild man. Hehas never been better than during these two months that he has lived inthe woods, walking all day and sleeping most of the time in the openair. He declares that his sight has grown keener, that his youth hasreturned again, and that, if the summer would last all the time, hewould never need to come back to the village to live. But in the bottomof his heart he has an invincible affection for his native place, andfurthermore he would not be satisfied to be idle long. We urged him thismorning to settle down here with us, and to live as we do, withoutthought for the morrow.

"'There is room enough here and plenty of material for you to buildyourself a house,' said my father. 'I have all the stone you need andenough old trees for your frame, and I'll help you to put it up as youhelped me with mine.'

"'Very good,' said he, 'but what in heaven's name should I do to killtime when you have set me up as a country gentleman? I can't live on myincome, and I don't propose to be a burden to you during the thirtyyears that I still have to live, it may be. Even if you were rich enoughto support me, I should die of ennui. It's all right for you, MonsieurAntoine, you were brought up to do nothing. Although you're no sluggardand you have proved it—it costs you nothing to resume the habit ofliving like amonsieur; but there's no more hunting and coursing forme; pray, am I to sit with folded arms? I should go mad at the end ofthe first week.'"

"So," said Emile, thinking of his father's theory of incessant toil andno repose in old age, "so Jean will never feel the longing to be free,although he makes so many sacrifices to his alleged freedom?"

"Why, are freedom and idleness the same thing?" said Gilberte, in a toneof surprise. "I think not. Jean is passionately fond of work, and allhis freedom consists in choosing the work that pleases him; when heworks to gratify his inclination and his natural inventiveness, he workswith all the more ardor."

"Yes, mademoiselle, you are right," said Emile, with sudden melancholy,"and that is the whole secret. Man is born to work always, but to workaccording to his aptitudes and in proportion to the enjoyment he derivesfrom it! Ah! if only I were a skilful carpenter! with what joy I wouldgo and work with Jean Jappeloup, for the benefit of such a wise andunselfish man!"

"Well, well, monsieur," said Janille, as she returned to the room,ostentatiously balancing her earthenware pitcher on her head, to displayher strength, "you talk just like Monsieur Antoine. If you'll believeit, he wanted to go to Gargilesse this morning with Jean and work withhim as a journeyman, as he used to do! Poor dear man! his kind heartcarried him to that length.

"'You helped me to earn my living long enough,' he said; 'now I proposeto help you earn yours. You refuse to share my table and my house;accept at least the price of my work, as I don't need it.'"

"And Monsieur Antoine would have done as he said. At his age and withhis rank, he would go and hammer away like a deaf man on those greatblocks of wood!"

"Why did you prevent him, Mère Janille? Why did Jean obstinatelyrefuse? My father's health would have been no worse for it, and it wouldbe consistent with all the noble impulses of his life. Ah! why cannot Itoo wield an axe and serve my apprenticeship to the man who supported myfather so long, while I, knowing nothing about our means of existence,learned to sing and draw to please you. Really, women are good fornothing in this world!"

"What's that! what's that! women good for nothing!" cried Janille; "verygood, let us both start out, climb up on the roofs, square timber anddrive nails. Upon my word I could do better at it than you, old andsmall as I am; but meanwhile, your papa, who's about as clever with hishands as a frog with his tail, will spin our flax and Jean will iron ourcaps."

"You are right, mother," replied Gilberte; "my wheel is loaded and Ihave done nothing to-day. If we make haste we shall have cloth enough tomake clothes for Jean before next winter. I am going to work and make upfor lost time; but it's true none the less that you are an aristocrat,not to want my father to be a workman again when he pleases."

"Let me tell you the truth then," said Janille, with a solemn,confidential air. "Monsieur Antoine never succeeded in being a goodworkman. He had more courage than skill, and my only reason for lettinghim work was to prevent him from getting depressed and discouraged. AskJean if he didn't have to work twice as hard to mend Monsieur'smistakes, as he would have done if he'd been working alone. But Monsieuralways seemed to be doing a lot of work, so the customers were satisfiedand he was well paid. But it's true all the same that I was never easyin my mind in those days and that I don't sigh for them. I alwaysshuddered for fear Monsieur Antoine would hit his arm or his leg insteadof a timber, or would fall off his ladder when, in his absent-mindedway, he would sit down on the rung as if he were by his own fireside."

"You frighten me, Janille," said Gilberte. "Oh! if that is the case, youdid well to disgust him, by your joking, with the idea of working again,and in that, as in everything else, you are our Providence!"

Mademoiselle de Châteaubrun spoke even more truly than she knew.Janille had been the good angel of Antoine de Châteaubrun's existence.Without her prudence, her motherly domination and her shrewd judgment,that excellent man would not have passed through the slough of povertywithout deteriorating a little morally. At all events he would not haveretained his external dignity as well as the generous purity of hisinstincts. He would often have sinned by too great resignation andself-abandonment. Being naturally inclined to effusiveness andprodigality, he would have become intemperate; he would have acquired asmany faults of the common people as of their good qualities, and perhapshe would have ended by meriting in some degree the disdain which foolsand vainglorious parvenus felt justified in entertaining for him, evenas it was.

But, thanks to Janille, who, without thwarting him openly, had alwaysmaintained the equilibrium and instilled moderation, he had emerged fromthe test with honor and had not ceased to deserve the esteem and respectof judicious people.

The sound of Gilberte's spinning-wheel interrupted the conversation, orat least made it less coherent. She was unwilling to interrupt her workagain until her task was completed; and yet she seemed to display moreardor than the apparent motive of her activity called for. She urgedEmile not to subject himself to the tedium of listening to thatmonotonous clattering, but to go with Janille and explore the ruins;but, as Janille also wanted to finish her spinning, Gilberteunconsciously worked even faster than before, in order to finish as soonas she, and to be one of the party.

"I am ashamed of my inaction," said Emile, who dared not gaze too fondlyat the young spinstress's lovely arms or watch her motions too closely,for fear of attracting Janille's sharp little eyes; "haven't you somework to give me?"

"I might send you to water my lettuce," said Janille, laughing outright,"but that would deprive us of your company. Suppose you wind up theclock, which seems to have stopped?"

"Oh! it stopped three days ago," said Gilberte, "and I haven't been ableto make it go. I think there's something broken."

"Ah! that's the job for me," cried Emile; "I have studied mechanics alittle—unwillingly, to be sure—and I don't believe that thiscuckoo affair is very complicated."

"Oh! let him break it if it amuses him," said Gilberte, with agood-natured air in which he could detect her father's easy-goingheedlessness.

"I ask the privilege of breaking it, if that is its destiny," saidEmile, "provided that I may be permitted to replace it."

"All right!" said Janille, "if it turns out so, I want one just like it,no finer and no larger; this one suits us: it strikes clear and yetdoesn't deafen us."

Emile set to work; he took the little German clock apart, and, havingexamined it, found nothing more to do than remove a little dust from theinterior. Leaning over the table near Gilberte he carefully cleaned andreadjusted the rough machinery, exchanging with the two women anoccasional remark of a playful turn, which led to a pleasant sort offamiliarity between them.

It is commonly said that people become expansive and confidential whileeating together; but intimacy comes more readily and naturally to thosewho work together. All three of them felt it; and when they had finishedtheir various tasks they were almost members of the same family.

"You're right at home at that business," said Janille, when she saw thather clock was going; "you would almost do for a clockmaker. Now let's gofor a walk; I will go first and light my lantern to take you into thecellars."

"Monsieur," said Gilberte, when Janille had left the room, "you saidjust now that you expected to dine with Monsieur de Boisguilbault. May Inot ask you what sort of impression that gentleman made upon you?"

"I should have difficulty in defining it," replied Emile. "It is amixture of repulsion and sympathy, so strange that I feel that I mustsee him again, examine him closely and then reflect further, beforeattempting to interpret so odd a character. Don't you know him,mademoiselle, and can you not assist me to understand him?"

"I do not know him at all; I have seen him only once or twice in mylife, although we live very near him; and, because of what I had heardabout him, I was very anxious to see him; but he was riding on the sameroad with my father and myself, and the instant that he caught sight ofus, he spurred his horse, bowed to us without looking at us, apparentlywithout knowing who we were, and was out of sight in a moment: you wouldhave said he was trying to hide in the dust that his horse's feet kickedup."

"Has Monsieur de Châteaubrun no relations with him, although he is sonear a neighbor?"

"Oh! that's a very strange thing," said Gilberte, lowering her voiceconfidentially, "but I may speak to you about it, Monsieur Emile,because it seems to me that you may be able to solve the mystery. Myfather was very intimate with Monsieur de Boisguilbault in his youngerdays. I know that much, although he never speaks of him, and Janilleavoids answering me when I question her; but Jean, who knows no morethan I do about the cause of their rupture, has often told me that hecan remember a time when they were inseparable. That is what has alwaysmade me think that Monsieur de Boisguilbault is neither so proud nor socold as he seems; for my father with his good humor and vivacity couldnever have been on warm terms with a haughty disposition and a coldheart. I must tell you too that I have overheard some conversation abouthim between my father and Janille, when they thought that I was notlistening. My father said that the only irreparable misfortune of hislife was the loss of Monsieur de Boisguilbault's friendship, that heshould never be consoled for it, and that he would not hesitate tosacrifice an eye or an arm or a leg to recover it. Janille called hislamentations nonsense and advised him not to make the slightest steptoward reconciliation because she knew the man well and he would neverforget the affair that had made the trouble between them.

"'Very well,' said my father, 'I would prefer to have an explanation, tosubmit to his reproaches; I would rather have fought a duel with him,when we were of almost equal strength, than have to endure thisimplacable silence and frigid persistence which cuts me to the heart.No, Janille, no, I shall never be reconciled to it, and if I die withoutshaking hands with him, I shall regret that I ever lived.'

"Janille tried to divert his mind, and she succeeded, for my father isimpressionable and too affectionate to be willing to depress others withhis melancholy. But you, Monsieur Emile, who love your parents sodearly, will understand that this secret grief of my father's hasweighed heavily on my heart ever since I discovered it. So that I canthink of nothing that I would not undertake to relieve him from it. Fora whole year I have been thinking about it constantly, and twenty timesI have dreamed that I went to Boisguilbault, threw myself at thatunforgiving man's feet and said to him:

"'My father is the best of men and your most faithful friend. Hisvirtues have made him happy in spite of his ill-fortune; he has but onesorrow, but it is a deep one and you can dispel it with a word.'

"But he repulsed me and turned me out of his house in a rage. I woke indeadly terror, and one night when I called his name, Janille got up andtook me in her arms and said:

"'Why do you think about that wretched man? he has no power over you andhe wouldn't dare attack your father.'

"From that I saw that Janille hated him; but whenever she happens to saya word against him, my father warmly defends him. What is there betweenthem? Almost nothing, perhaps. A puerile sensitiveness, a dispute abouthunting, so Jean Jappeloup declares. If that were certain, wouldn't itbe possible to reconcile them? My father dreams of Monsieur deBoisguilbault too, and sometimes, when he dozes in his chair aftersupper, he mutters his name in a tone of profound distress. MonsieurEmile, I appeal to your generosity and prudence to induce Monsieur deBoisguilbault to speak, if possible. I have always intended to grasp thefirst opportunity that presented itself to reconcile two men who havebeen so closely attached to each other, and if Jean had been fully takenback into the marquis's favor, I should have hoped great things from hisboldness and his natural shrewdness. But he too is the victim of astrange caprice on Monsieur de Boisguilbault's part, and I can think ofnobody but you who can help me."

"You cannot doubt that will be my most constant endeavor henceforth,"said Emile, with fervor. And as he heard Janille returning, her littleclogs clattering on the flagstones, he stood on a chair as if to adjustthe clock, but really to hide the blissful confusion born of Gilberte'sconfidence.

Gilberte also was moved. She had made a great effort to summon courageto open her heart to a young man whom she hardly knew; and she was notso childish or so countrified that she did not realize that she had gonebeyond conventional propriety.

The loyal creature was distressed at the thought that she had a secretfrom Janille; but she took comfort in the purity of her intentions, andit was impossible to believe Emile capable of taking advantage of her.For the first time in her life the instinctive craft of her sex guidedher action when the housekeeper returned. She felt that her face was onfire, and she stooped to pick up a needle which she had purposelydropped.

Thus Janille's penetration was routed by two children who were far fromadroit in all other respects, and they set forth gayly to explore thesubterranean regions.

The passage directly beneath the square pavilion led to a steepstaircase which descended to a terrifying depth in the solid rock.Janille went first, at a deliberate gait, with the composure due to herfrequent exercise of the functions ofcicerone with visitors. Emilefollowed her, to feel the way for Gilberte, who was neither awkward nortimid, but for whose safety Janille was constantly alarmed.

"Take care, my dear," she said at every step. "Hold her if she falls,Monsieur Emile. Mademoiselle is absent-minded like her dear father: itruns in the family. They're a pair of children who would have killedthemselves a hundred times over if I had not always had my eye on them."

Emile was happy to be able to share Janille's task. He pushed therubbish aside, and, as the staircase became more and more dilapidatedand difficult, he deemed himself justified in offering his hand, whichwas declined at first, but afterward accepted as necessary.

Who can describe the violence and ecstasy of a first love in an ardentheart? Emile trembled so when he took Gilberte's hand in his that hecould no longer talk and joke with Janille nor reply to Gilberte, whocontinued to jest at first, but gradually became more and more agitateduntil she could think of nothing to say.

They descended in this way only ten or twelve steps, but meanwhile timeceased to move for Emile; and when he passed the whole of the followingnight trying to review the emotions of that moment, it seemed to himthat it had lasted a century.

His past life appeared thenceforth like a dream, and his personality wastransformed. When he recalled his childhood, the years at school, thetedium or the pleasure of study, he was no longer the passive, fetteredcreature he had hitherto felt himself to be; it was Gilberte's lover wholived through those years, thenceforth radiant, enlightened with a newlight. He saw himself as a mere child, then as an active, impetuousschool-boy, and, finally, as a dreamy, earnest student; and thosevarious personages, who had seemed to him to differ like the phases ofhis life, became in his eyes a single being, a privileged being, whomoved triumphantly forward toward the bright daylight where Gilberte'shand was to be placed in his.

The underground staircase led to the base of the rocky hill which wascrowned by the Château. It was a means of exit in case of a siege, andJanille was not sparing of encomiums upon that difficult and scientificpiece of work.

Although she lived on terms of absolute equality with her masters, andwould not have waived the privilege at any price, so thoroughlyconvinced was she of her rights, the little woman none the less had somestrangely persistent feudal ideas; and, by dint of identifying herselfwith the ruins of Châteaubrun, she had reached the point of admiringeverything in their past history, of which she had, to tell the truth, avery confused idea. Perhaps, too, she thought it her duty, to humble thepride of the wealthy bourgeoisie by vaunting loudly before Emile theancient might of Gilberte's ancestors.

"See, monsieur," she said, escorting him from dungeon to dungeon, "thisis where they brought people to their senses. You can still see the ironrings to which they fastened prisoners after their fetters were put on.This is a dungeon where they say three men were devoured by a hugeserpent. The great noblemen of long ago had such creatures at theirdisposal. We will show to you theoubliettes in a moment: it was nojoke to get into them! Ah! if you had come down here before theRevolution, perhaps you would have done well to make the sign of theCross instead of laughing!"

"Luckily we can laugh here now," said Gilberte, "and think of somethingelse besides those horrible legends. I thank the good Lord that I wasborn in an age when it is very hard to believe in them, and I prefer ourold nest as it is to-day, demolished and harmless forever. You know,Janille, what my father always says to the people of Cuzion, when theycome and ask him for some of our stone for building purposes: 'Helpyourselves, my friends, help yourselves; it will be the first time itever served any good purpose!'"

"Never mind," rejoined Janille, "it's worth something to have been firstin one's province and the master of everybody else!"

"It makes me realize all the more forcibly," replied the girl, "thepleasure of being everybody else's equal and of no longer causing fearto anybody."

XVI

THE TALISMAN

If Gilberte had been told a week earlier that a day was coming when thetranquillity of her heart would be disturbed by strange commotions, whenthe circle of her affections would not only be extended to admit astranger to a place beside her father, Janille and the carpenter, butwould suddenly be broken in order that a new name might be placed amongthose cherished names, she would not have believed that such a miraclecould be and would have been terrified by the suggestion.

And yet she had a vague feeling that henceforth the image of this youngman with the black hair, sparkling eye and slender figure, would dog herfootsteps and follow her even in her sleep.

She spurned the thought of such a fatality, but she could not escapefrom it. Her chaste and gentle heart did not go forth to meet theintoxicating emotion that came to seek it; but she was destined to feelit when Emile's hand quivered and trembled on touching hers.

Incredible and mysterious power of attraction which nothing can turnaside and which determines the fate of youth before it has had time tobecome acquainted with itself and to prepare for attack or defence!

Somewhat excited by the first stings of this secret flame, Gilbertereceived them playfully. Her serenity was not disturbed on the surface,and while Emile was already compelled to put force upon himself in orderto conceal his emotion, she continued to smile and to talk freely,pending the time when regret at his departure and impatience for hisreturn should make her understand that his presence was rapidly becomingimperatively necessary to her.

Janille did not leave them again; but their conversation graduallydrifted to subjects which Janille, despite her keen penetration, was farfrom understanding.

Gilberte had received as thorough an education as any girl educated at aParisian boarding-school, and it is undoubtedly true that the educationof women has made notable progress in the majority of thoseestablishments in the past twenty years. The learning, the good senseand the manners of the women who have charge of them have undergone asimilar amelioration, and talented men have deemed it not beneath theirdignity to give courses of lectures in history, literature andelementary science for the benefit of that intelligent and perspicaciousmoiety of the human race.

Gilberte had acquired some notion of what are called "accomplishments";but, while complying with her father's wishes in this respect, she hadgiven more attention to the development of her intellectual faculties.

She had seasonably reflected that the fine arts would be but a feebleresource in a life of poverty and retirement, that household cares wouldtake too much of her time, and that, as she was destined to work withher hands, it was her duty to train her mind so that she might notsuffer from absence of thought and from a disorderly imagination.

A sub-mistress, a woman of much merit, of whom she had made a friend andthe confidante of her precarious future, had advised this employment ofher faculties, and the girl, impressed by the wisdom of her advice, hadfollowed it implicitly.

This very pleasure in learning and retaining useful information had,however, caused the child some unhappiness since she had been deprivedof books in the ruins of Châteaubrun. Monsieur Antoine would have madeany sacrifice to procure books for her, if he could have detected herdesire for them; but Gilberte, seeing how restricted their means were,and desiring more than all else that her father's comfort should not beimpaired, was very careful not to mention the subject.

Janille had said to herself, once for all, that her girl "had learningenough," and, judging her by herself—for the old lady was coquettishstill in the matter of dress, with all her parsimony,—she employedher little savings in buying for her from time to time, a calico dress or abit of lace.

Gilberte feigned to receive these little gifts with extreme pleasure, inorder not to lessen the pleasure which her old nurse derived frombringing them to her. But she sighed to herself at the thought that withthe modest price of that finery she might have given her a volume ofhistory or poetry.

She devoted her hours of leisure to reading again and again the fewbooks she had brought from her school, and she almost knew them byheart.

Once or twice, without divulging her purpose, she had persuaded Janille,who held the strings of the common purse, to give her the money intendedfor a new gown. But on these occasions it happened that Jean neededshoes, or that some poor people near by had no clothes for theirchildren; and Gilberte supplied what she called the most urgent needs,postponing the purchase of her books to better days.

The curé of Cuzion had lent her an Abridgment of some of the Fathers ofthe Church, and theLives of the Saints, upon which she had feastedfor a long time; for, when you have no choice, you compel your mind toenjoy serious things, despite the youthful impulse to indulge in lessaustere amusements.

This necessity is sometimes a salutary thing for healthy minds, and whenGilberte artlessly lamented her ignorance to Emile, he was astonished tofind her, on the contrary, so well informed as to certain fundamentalmatters which he himself had accepted on the faith of others, withoutstudying them.

Love and enthusiasm aiding, he speedily discovered that Gilberte was anaccomplished young woman, and proclaimed her, in his own mind, the mostintelligent and most perfect of human creatures; and it was relativelytrue. The greatest and best of mortals is the one who is mostsympathetic with us, who understands us best, who is best able todevelop and nourish the best qualities of our mind; in a word, the onewho would make our life most blissful and complete if our lives could beabsolutely blended.

"Ah! I have done well to keep my heart empty and my mind pure hitherto,"said Emile to himself, "and I thank thee, O God, for having assisted me!for surely this is the woman who was destined for me, and without whom Ishould simply have vegetated and suffered."

While talking on general subjects, Gilberte allowed her regret at beingdeprived of books to appear, and Emile speedily divined that regret wasdeeper than she cared to reveal to Janille.

He reflected sorrowfully that there was not a single volume in hisfather's house except commercial and industrial treatises, and that,expecting to return to Poitiers, he had left there what few books heowned.

But Gilberte suggested that there was a very extensive library atBoisguilbault. Jean had done some work long ago in a large room full ofbooks, and it was much to be regretted that the families were at odds,for she might have taken advantage of the proximity of such a treasure.

"It's probably a lot of tiresome old books," she said, "and for my partI should be very sorry to put my nose into them; I should be afraid theywould make me a lunatic like the man who lives on them."

"Why, does Monsieur de Boisguilbault read very much?" asked Gilberte;"he must be very learned."

"Well, what good has it done him to read so much and be so learned? Hehas never done anybody any good with it, and it hasn't made him lovingor lovable."

Janille, unwilling to expose herself to further questions concerning aman whom she hated, without knowing or caring to say why she hated him,walked toward her goats as if to prevent them from nibbling a vine whichgrew around the door of the square pavilion.

Emile took advantage of this moment to say to Gilberte that, if therewere so many books at Boisguilbault, she should soon have them at herdisposal, even if he had to borrow them stealthily.

Gilberte could only thank him with a smile, not daring to add a glancethereto; she was beginning to feel embarrassed with him when Janille wasnot there.

"On my word!" said Janille, retracing her steps, "Monsieur Antoine is inno hurry to return. I know him: he's chattering somewhere at thisminute! He has met some old friends and is treating them at thewineshop, forgetting the time and spending his money. And then, if somewhining creature wants to borrow ten or fifteen francs to buy amiserable goat or a brace or two of scrawny geese, he'll let him haveit! He'd give away all he has about him if he wasn't afraid of beingscolded when he comes home. He took six sheep, you see, and if he onlybrings back the price of five in his purse, as it happens too often, lethim look out forma mie Janille! he won't go to market again withoutme! Hark—there's the clock striking four—thanks to MonsieurEmile, who fixed it so well,—and I'll bet that your father has nomore than just started for home, at the best."

"Four o'clock!" exclaimed Emile; "why that's Monsieur de Boisguilbault'sdinner-hour. I haven't a moment to lose."

"Go at once then," said Gilberte, "for we mustn't make him any moreill-disposed toward us than he is already."

"What difference does it make to us whether he bears us ill-will ornot?" said Janille. "Do you really mean to go without seeing MonsieurAntoine?"

"Where is that little villain of a Charasson?" cried Janille. "Asleep ina corner, I'll warrant, and not thinking about bringing up your horse!When monsieur is absent, Sylvain disappears. Here, you wicked rascal,where are you hiding?"

"I wish that you could provide me with a charm!" said Emile to Gilberte,while Janille was seeking Sylvain and calling him in tones morevociferous than really angry. "I am going forth, like a knight errant,to enter the wizard's den and try to extort from him his secrets and thewords that will put an end to your distress."

"Here," said Gilberte, laughingly, taking a flower from her belt, "hereis the loveliest rose from my garden; perhaps its fragrance may possessthe salutary power of putting its enemy's prudence to sleep andsoftening his ferocity. Leave it on his table, try to induce him toadmire it and smell it. He is a horticulturist, but I doubt if he has inhis great garden so fine a specimen as this product of my last year'sgraft. If I were a châtelaine of the good old days which Janilleregrets, perhaps I could invoke a spell that would impart a magic powerto this flower. But, being a poor girl, I can only pray to God toinstill mercy into that cruel heart, even as he caused the dew to falland open this rose-bud."

"Must I leave my talisman, pray?" said Emile, hiding the rose in hisbreast: "may I not keep it to use another time?"

The tone in which he asked this question and the emotion discernibleupon his face caused Gilberte a moment's artless surprise. She looked athim with an uncertain expression, unable as yet to understand the valuehe attached to the flower taken from her girdle. She tried to smile, asat a jest, but felt that the blood rose to her cheeks; and as Janillereappeared, she made no reply.

Emile, drunk with love, descended with reckless speed the dangerous pathdown the hill. When he was at the foot he ventured to turn, and sawGilberte following him with her eyes from her rose-covered terrace, herhands apparently busied trimming her favorite plants.

She surely was not dressed more daintily than usual that day. Her dresswas clean, like everything that passed through Janille's scrupuloushands; but it had been washed and ironed so many times that the colorhad changed from lilac to that indefinable tint which the hortensiaassumes just as it withers.

Her superb golden hair, rebelling against the fetters imposed upon it,escaped from its confinement and formed a sort of halo of gold about herhead. A snow-white, tightly-fitting chemisette surrounded her lovelyneck and suggested the graceful outlines of her shoulders. In Emile'seyes she was resplendent in the sunbeams falling full upon her, for shemade no effort to shield herself from them. Sunburn was powerless toimpair that rich carnation, and her pale, faded costume made her seemall the fresher.

Moreover, the imagination of a lover of twenty years is too rich to beembarrassed by a mere matter of dress. That faded gown assumed inEmile's eyes a hue more gorgeous than that of all the richest stuffs ofthe Orient, and he wondered why the painters of the Renaissance hadnever been able to clothe their smiling madonnas and their triumphantsaints so magnificently.

He stood as if nailed to the spot for several minutes, and, except forthe impatience of his horse tossing his head and pawing the ground, hewould have forgotten entirely that Monsieur de Boisguilbault had anotherhour to wait for him.

He had had to make several detours to reach the foot of the hill, andthe distance in a straight line was not so great that the two youngpeople could not see each other quite plainly. Gilberte observed thehesitation of the horseman, who could not make up his mind to lose sightof her; so she went behind the rose-bushes, to conceal herself from him,but she continued to watch him for a long time through the branches.

Janille had walked in the opposite direction to meet her master. Notuntil Gilberte heard her father's voice did she break the spell thatheld her. It was the first time that she had ever allowed Janille toanticipate her in going to meet him and relieve him of his game-bag andhis stick.

As he approached Boisguilbault, Emile made and remade a hundred timeshis plan of attack upon the fortress where that incomprehensibleindividual lay entrenched.

Impelled by his romantic disposition, he had a sort of presentiment thatGilberte's destiny—and consequently his own—was written inmysterious characters in some obscure corner of that old manor, whose highgray walls rose before him.

Tall, gloomy, melancholy and silent as its aged lord, that isolatedabode seemed to defy the bold attacks of curiosity. But Emile wasspurred on by a passionate determination. As Gilberte's confidant andagent, he said to himself, pressing the rose, already withered, againsthis lips, that he would have the necessary courage and address totriumph over every obstacle.

He found Monsieur de Boisguilbault alone on his stoop, idle andimpassive as always. He made haste to apologize for delaying the oldgentleman's dinner, on the plea that he had lost his way, and, being asyet unfamiliar with the neighborhood, had passed nearly two hoursfinding it.

Monsieur de Boisguilbault asked no questions as to the route he hadtaken. One would have said that he dreaded the name of Châteaubrun;but, with refinement of courtesy, he assured his guest that he had noidea of the time and had not thought of being impatient. He had beensomewhat disturbed, none the less, as Emile soon discovered from somefaltering remarks that he made, and the young man fancied that he couldsee that, amid the profound tedium of his solitary life, the marquis'ssensitive nature would have suffered keenly if he had broken his word.

The dinner was excellent and served by the old retainer with scrupulouspunctuality. He was the only servant to be seen in the château. Theothers, buried in the kitchen, which was underground, did not appear atall. It seemed that this was the result of a sort of standing order, andthat their dean was the only one who did not offend the master's eye.

The old man was very infirm, but he was so accustomed to his duties thatthe marquis had to say almost nothing to him; and when it happened thathe did not anticipate his master's desires, a sign was sufficient toconvey them to him.

His deafness seemed admirably suited to Monsieur de Boisguilbault'staciturnity, and perhaps the latter was not sorry to have about him aman whose impaired vision made it impossible for him to read hisfeatures: he was rather a machine than a servant; for, being deprived byhis infirmities of the power of mental communication with hisfellow-men, he no longer had any desire or occasion therefor.

One could readily conceive that those two old men were well fitted tolive together without a thought of being bored by each other's company,there was so little apparent life in either of them.

The dinner was served with due regularity, but not rapidly. They weretwo hours at table. Emile observed that his host ate almost nothing, andseemed to have no other purpose in eating than to induce him to tasteall the dishes, which were appetizing and toothsome. The wines wereexquisite, and old Martin poured them from bottles covered with the dustof ages, which he held horizontally, taking care not to jar them in theslightest degree.

The marquis barely wet his lips, but motioned to his old servant to fillEmile's glass, who, being habitually very abstemious, kept close watchupon himself, to see that he did not allow his reason to succumb to therepeated experiments with the numerous specimens from that seignorialcellar.

"Is this your ordinary fare, monsieur le marquis?" he asked, marvellingthat such a sumptuous repast should be provided for two persons.

"I—I really don't know," the marquis replied; "I have nothing to dowith it. Martin is my housekeeper. I never have any appetite, and Inever notice what I eat. Do the things seem good to you?"

"Exquisite; and if I had the honor of being admitted to your tableoften, I should beg Martin to entertain me less splendidly, for I shouldbe afraid of becoming a gourmand."

"But there are those which are more elevating and less expensive,"rejoined Emile; "so many people lack the necessaries of life that Ishould be ashamed to find that the luxuries were necessary to me."

"You are right," said Monsieur de Boisguilbault, with his accustomedsigh. "Well, I will tell Martin to serve you a simpler dinner anothertime. He supposed that at your age you would have a large appetite; butit seems to me that you eat like a man who has finished growing. How oldare you?"

"I would like my father to hear your opinion, monsieur le marquis, andto become imbued with it," rejoined Emile with a smile; "for he alwaystreats me like a child."

"What sort of a man is your father?" said Monsieur de Boisguilbault,with an ingenuous absent-mindedness which removed the sting from whatmight have seemed at first blush a most impertinent question.

"My father," replied Emile, "is a friend whose esteem I desire and whoseblame I dread. I can think of no better way to describe an energetic,stern and just character."

"I have heard it said that he was a very able man, very wealthy and veryjealous of his influence. Those are not disadvantages if he makes a gooduse of them."

"What in your opinion, monsieur le marquis, is the best use that he canmake of them?"

"Ah! it would take a long while to tell!" sighed the marquis; "you oughtto know as well as I."

And, roused momentarily by the confidence Emile designedly manifested inhim in order to induce a similar confidence on his part, he relapsedinto his torpor, as if he feared to make an effort to throw it off.

"I absolutely must break this secular ice," thought Emile. "Perhaps it'snot so difficult as people think. Perhaps I shall be the first who evertried it!"

And, while maintaining, as he was bound to do, a discreet silenceconcerning the apprehensions which his father's ambition aroused in him,and concerning the painful conflict between their respective opinions,he spoke freely and enthusiastically of his own beliefs, of hissympathies and even of his dreams for the future of the human race.

He was certain that the marquis would take him for a madman, and heamused himself by inviting contradictions which would enable him at lastto penetrate that mysterious mind.

"If I could only bring about an explosion of contempt or indignation!"he said to himself; "then I could discover the strength or weakness ofthe citadel."

And he unconsciously adopted with the marquis the same tactics that hisfather had recently employed with him; he affected to attack anddemolish everything that he assumed to be in any degree sacred in theold legitimist's eyes; "the nobility, the money power, large estates,the power of individuals, the slavery of the masses, the Jesuitism ofthe church, the alleged divine right of kings, the inequality ofprivileges and pleasures which is the basis of society as at presentconstituted, the domination of man over woman, who is treated asmerchandise in the marriage contract and as real estate in the contractof public morality; in a word, all those heathenish laws which theGospel has failed to banish from our institutions and which thepolitical scheming of the Church has consecrated."

Monsieur de Boisguilbault seemed to listen more attentively than usual;his great blue eyes were wide open, as if, in default of wine, hisamazement at such a sweeping declaration of the rights of man hadutterly stupefied him.

Emile glanced at his glass, which was filled with tokay a hundred yearsold, and resolved to have recourse to it for inspiration if the naturalwarmth of his youthful enthusiasm was insufficient to avert theavalanche of snow that was about to fall upon him.

But he did not need that stimulant; for, whether because the snow hadbecome too hard to be detached from the glacier, or because Monsieur deBoisguilbault, while seeming to listen, had heard nothing, the rashprofession of faith of that child of the century was not interrupted andcame to an end in the most profound silence.

"Well, monsieur le marquis," said Emile, amazed by this listlesstoleration of his views, "do you subscribe to my opinions, or do theyseem to you unworthy of being combated?"

Monsieur de Boisguilbault did not reply; a wan smile played about hislips, which moved as if to speak but emitted only the problematicalsigh. But he placed his hand on Emile's, and it seemed to the youngerman that he felt a cool moisture, which imparted to that hand of stonesome symptom of life.

"We will take our coffee in the park.—For I am entirely of youropinion," he added after a pause, as if he were finishing aloud asentence he had begun under his breath.

"God grant it!" replied Monsieur de Boisguilbault, with a morepronounced sigh than usual.

XVII

THAW

Emile had as yet admired the park of Boisguilbault only over the hedgesand through the gate. He was more than ever impressed by the beauty ofthat pleasure-ground, by the luxuriance of the plants and their happyarrangement.

Nature had done much, but art had seconded her with great taste andjudgment. The sloping ground was diversified by innumerable picturesqueirregularities, and an abundant spring, bubbling up among the rocks,sent forth streams in all directions, keeping all things green under thesuperb trees.

The valley and the slope on the other side, which also belonged to themarquis, were covered with a dense vegetation which partly concealed thedivision walls and hedges, so that from all the elevated points, whichafforded views of a beautiful and extensive landscape, the park seemedto extend to the horizon.

"This is an enchanted spot," said Emile, "and one needs only to see itto be sure that you are a great poet."

"There are many great poets of my sort," replied the marquis, "that isto say, people who feel poetry but cannot express it."

"Is the spoken or written word alone interesting, I pray to know?"exclaimed Emile. "Is not the painter who nobly interprets nature a poettoo? And if that is incontestable, does not the artist who actuallyimproves upon nature, and modifies it in order to develop all itsbeauty,—does not he produce a grand poetic result?"

"You express that very well," rejoined Monsieur de Boisguilbault, in atone of indolent indifference, which was not, however, wholly devoid ofkindliness.

But Emile would have preferred discussion to this careless assent toeverything he said, and he was afraid that his main attack had failed."What can I invent to vex him and make him come out of his shell?" hesaid to himself. "There is no one of the famous sieges in history thatcan be compared to this."

The coffee was served in a pretty Swiss chalet; the exactness of thecopy and the scrupulous neatness aroused Emile's admiration for amoment; but the absence of human beings and domestic animals in thatrustic retreat was so noticeable that it was impossible to maintain theillusion. And yet nothing was missing: the moss-covered hillside studdedwith firs, nor the thread of sparkling water falling into a stone basinat the door, and flowing from it with a gentle murmur; the chalet,constructed entirely of resinous wood with a pretty arrangement ofbalustrades and built against huge granite rocks, the pretty overhangingroof, the interior furnished in the German fashion, even to the serviceof blue earthenware—all new and clean and glistening anddeserted—resembled a dainty Fribourg toy rather than a rusticdwelling.

Even the stiff, lifeless figures of the old marquis and his oldmajordomo gave one the impression of painted wooden images, placed thereto complete the resemblance.

"You have been in Switzerland, I presume, monsieur le marquis," saidEmile, "and this is a reminiscence of some favorite spot?"

"I have traveled very little," Monsieur de Boisguilbault replied,"although I set out one day with the intention of making the tour of theworld. Switzerland happened to be in my way; the country pleased me andI went no farther, saying to myself that I should probably find nothingbetter after taking a deal of trouble."

"I see that you prefer this country to all others, and that you havecome back here forever?"

"This is Switzerland in miniature, and if the imagination is less keenlyaroused by grand spectacles, the fatigues and dangers of travel are muchless great."

"Are you really curious to know, then?" said the marquis with anequivocal smile.

"Curious! no; I am not curious in the impertinent and ridiculous meaningof the word; but to one of my age, one's own destiny and other people'sis an enigma, and one always imagines that he may derive valuableinformation from the experience and wisdom of certain men."

"You surprise me greatly," said Monsieur de Boisguilbault in exactly thesame tone in which he had said, a few moments earlier:I am entirely ofyour opinion. And he added: "Won't you put some sugar in your coffee?"

"I am more surprised," said Emile, mechanically helping himself tosugar, "that you do not realize how solemn and impressive your solitude,your gravity, and I will venture to add, your melancholy, must be to achild like myself."

"You frighten me terribly, monsieur le marquis, I frankly admit; but donot take my ingenuousness in bad part, for it is no less certain that Iam impelled by an entirely contrary sentiment of irresistibleattraction, to overcome that sentiment of fear."

"It is very simple. As a young man of my age goes about seeking thesolution of his own future in the present or in the past of men ofmaturer years, it terrifies him to see an invincible sadness and a dumbbut profound distaste for life, written upon austere brows."

"Yes, that is why my external appearance repels you. Do not be afraid tosay it. You are not the first and I expected it."

"Repel is not the word, since, notwithstanding the sort of magneticstupor into which you cast me, I am drawn toward you by a peculiarattraction."

"Peculiar!—aye, very peculiar, and you are the more eccentric of ustwo. I was struck, the first moment I saw you, by the manifestdissimilarity of your character to that of the men whom I knew in myyounger days."

"Quite the contrary," replied Monsieur de Boisguilbault in that voice,utterly without inflection, which made it impossible to estimate thebearing of his replies. "Martin," he added, leaning toward his oldservant who bent himself double to hear him, "you can take all thisaway. Are there any workmen left in the park?"

Emile remained alone with his host in the solitude of the vast park. Themarquis took his arm and led him to a seat on the cliffs above thechalet, where there was a lovely view.

The sun, as it sank toward the horizon, projected the shadows of thetall poplars from one side to the other of the ravine, like a darkcurtain intersected by brilliant streaks. The violet rays shot up intoan opal-hued sky, above an ocean of dark verdure; and as the sounds oftoil in the fields died gradually away, the voice of the mountainstreams and the plaintive note of the turtle doves could be heard moredistinctly.

It was a magnificent evening, and young Cardonnet, turning his eyes andthoughts upon the distant hills of Châteaubrun, fell into a pleasantreverie. He was reflecting that he might venture to indulge in thatmental recreation before making another assault, when his adversarysuddenly made an unexpected sortie and broke the silence.

"Monsieur Cardonnet," said he, "if, when you told me that you felt asort of sympathy for me despite the ennui that I cause you, you did notsay it simply to be polite, or by way of jest, this is the reason: weprofess the same principles, we are both communists."

"Can it be true?" cried Emile, astounded by this declaration andthinking that he must be dreaming. "I thought just now that you answeredme as you did simply to be courteous or by way of jest; but am I reallyso fortunate as to find in you a justification of my desires and mydreams?"

"What is there surprising in that?" rejoined the marquis calmly. "Maynot the truth make itself known in solitude as well as in a crowd, andhave I not lived long enough to be able to distinguish good from evil,the true from the false? You take me for a very matter-of-fact, verycold man. It is possible that I am; at my age a man is too tired ofhimself to care to examine himself; but, outside of our individuality,there are general realities sufficiently worthy of interest to divertour thoughts from our ennui.

"For a long time I retained the opinions and prejudices in which I wasreared; my natural indolence was content not to scrutinize them tooclosely, and then I had internal anxieties which kept me from thinkingabout them. But since old age has set me free from all pretension tohappiness and from every sort of regret or special interest in anything,I have felt the need of obtaining an insight into the general life of myfellow-men, and, consequently, into the meaning of the divine laws asapplied to mankind.

"Certain Saint-Simonian pamphlets fell into my hands by chance, I readthem to pass the time, having as yet no idea that they could go beyondthe bold theories of Jean-Jacques and Voltaire, with whom careful studyhad reconciled me.

"I determined to know more of the principles of this new school, and Ipassed from that to the study of Fourier. I admitted everything,although I did not very clearly distinguish their contradictions, and itstill saddened me to see the ancient world crumble under the weight oftheories invincible in their system of criticism, confused andincomplete in their principles of organization. It was not until five orsix years ago that I accepted with perfect disinterestedness and greatmental satisfaction the principle of a social revolution.

"The attempts at communism had seemed to me monstrous at first, on thefaith of those who combated them. I read the newspapers and publicationsof all the schools, and I gradually lost myself in that labyrinth,without being repelled by fatigue. Little by little the communisthypothesis came forth from its clouds; able expositions shed light intomy mind. I felt that I must go back to the teaching of history and tothe tradition of the human race.

"I had a well-selected library of the best documents and the mostserious works of the past. My father had been fond of reading, and I hadhated it for so many years that I did not even know what preciousresources he had left me for my old age. I set to work all alone. Ilearned again the dead languages, which I had forgotten; I read for thefirst time, in the original sources, the history of religions andphilosophies, and the day came at last when the great men, the saints,the prophets, the poets, the martyrs, the heretics, the scholars, theenlightened orthodox believers, the innovators, the artists, thereformers of all times, all countries, of all the revolutions and of allthe forms of worship seemed to me to be in accord, proclaiming in everyform, and even in their apparent contradictions, one eternal truth, aslogical and as clear as the light of day, namely the equality of rights,and the inevitable necessity of equality of enjoyment thereof as arigorous consequence of the first.

"Since then I have been surprised by only one thing, and that is that inthe time in which we live, with so many resources and discoveries, somuch activity, intelligence and freedom of opinion, the world is stillplunged in such utter ignorance of the logical results of the facts andideas which are forcing it to transform itself; that there are so manyself-styled theologians encouraged and supported by the State and by theChurch, and that no one of them has ever thought of devoting his life tothe very simple labor which led me to certainty; and lastly, that whilerushing onward to the catastrophe of its dissolution, the world of thepast thinks to preserve itself by the strength and wrath of the destinywhich hurries it on and swallows it, whereas those who know the secretof the law of the future have not as yet sufficient tranquillity andgood sense to laugh at insults and to proclaim, with head erect, thatthey are communists and nothing else.

"You talk of dreams and Utopias with eloquence and enthusiasm, MonsieurCardonnet; I forgive you for making use of those expressions because atyour age truth arouses enthusiasm, and one makes of it an ideal which hepurposely places rather high and rather far away, in order to have thepleasure of reaching it by earnest effort. But I can not work myself upas you do over this truth, which seems to me as simple, as manifest andas incontestable as it seems to you novel, bold and romantic. In my caseit is the result of a deeper study and of a more firmly seatedcertainty. I do not dislike your vivacity, but I should not blame myselfif I were to combat it a little in order to prevent you from endangeringthe doctrine by over-eagerness.

"Beware of that: you are too happily endowed ever to become ridiculous,and you will please even those people who fight against you; but becareful lest, by talking too fast and to too many disaffected persons ofmatters so serious and so worthy of respect, you tempt them to resort tosystematic contradictions and to defend themselves in bad faith.

"What would you say of a young priest who should deliver sermons at thedinner-table? You would say that he belittled the majesty of his texts.Communistic truth is as deserving of respect as gospel truth, since itis in reality the same truth. Let us not speak of it lightly, therefore,and after the manner of political discussion. If you are excited, youmust make sure that you are entirely master of yourself beforeproclaiming it; if you are phlegmatic, like me, you must wait until youacquire a little self-confidence and mental activity before opening yourheart to other men on such a subject.

"You see, Monsieur Cardonnet, people must not have a chance to say thatthis is all folly, idle dreaming, feverish declamation, or a vision ofmysticism. That has been said quite enough, and enough weak minds havegiven people the right to say it.

"We have seen Saint-Simonism pass through its phase of trances andfeverish and disordered visions; that did not prevent the survival ofwhatever was viable in Saint-Simonism.

"Despite the aberrations of Fourier, the lucid portions of his systemsurvive and will bear a critical examination. Truth triumphs and pursuesits way through whatever disguise one views it and in whatever disguiseone clothes it. But it would be much better that, in the age of reasonwhich we have reached, the ridiculous manifestations of a blindenthusiasm should disappear entirely. Is not that your opinion? Has notthe hour struck when serious-minded people should take possession oftheir true domain, and when those things that are logically provedshould be professed by logicians?

"What does it matter if they are said to be inapplicable? Does itfollow, because the majority of men still know and practise only what iswrong and false, that the clear-sighted man must follow the blind overthe precipice?

"It's of no use to urge upon me the necessity of obeying bad laws andwrongful prejudices. Although my acts may be forced to conform to them,my mind will be only the more firmly convinced of the necessity ofprotesting against them.

"Was Jesus Christ in error because, during eighteen centuries, thetruths demonstrated by him have germinated slowly, and have not yetbloomed in legislation?

"And now that the problems suggested by his ideal are beginning toapproach a solution in the minds of some of us, how is it that we aretaxed with madness because we see and believe what will be seen andbelieved by all men a hundred years hence? Be assured therefore that itis not necessary to be a poet or a seer to be perfectly convinced of thereality of what you are pleased to call sublime dreams. To be sure,truth is sublime, and the men who discover it are sublime as well. Butthey who, having received it and touched it, conform their lives to itas an excellent thing, have not really the right to be proud; for if,when they have once understood it, they reject it, they would be nothingless than idiots or madmen."

Monsieur de Boisguilbault spoke with a facility most extraordinary forhim, and he might have talked on for a long while before the stupefiedEmile would have thought of interrupting him.

Emile would never have believed that what he called his faith and hisideal could bloom in so cold and apathetic a mind, and he asked himselfat first if it were not enough to sicken himself with it to find himselfin the company of such an adept. But, little by little, notwithstandinghis moderate way of speaking, the monotony of his accent and theimmobility of his features, Monsieur de Boisguilbault acquired anextraordinary influence over him. That impassive man seemed to him anembodiment of the living law, the voice of destiny pronouncing itsdecrees over the abyss of eternity.

The solitude of that beautiful spot, the cloudless sky which, as theafterglow faded, seemed to raise its blue vault higher and higher towardthe empyrean, the darkness gathering under the great trees, and themurmur of the rippling stream, which seemed in its placid continuity,the natural accompaniment of that calm, even voice—all combined toplunge Emile into a profound emotion akin to the mysterious awe whichthe response of the oracle in the sacred oaks must have produced in theyouthful neophytes.

"Monsieur de Boisguilbault," said the young man, deeply impressed bywhat he had heard, "I cannot better express my submission to yourenlightened views than by asking your pardon, from the bottom of myheart, for the way in which I extorted them from you. I was far frombelieving that you entertained such ideas, and I was drawn toward you bycuriosity rather than by respect. But be sure that you will find in mehenceforth the devotion of a son if you deem me worthy to manifest it."

"I never had any children," replied the marquis, taking Emile's hand inhis and retaining it several moments; for he seemed to be revivified,and a sort of vital warmth enlivened his soft, dry skin. "Perhaps I wasnot worthy of having them; perhaps I should have brought them up badly!Nevertheless, I have deeply regretted that I have never had that joy.Now, I am entirely resigned to death; but if a little affection shouldcome to me from without, I should accept it gratefully. I am not verytrustful. Solitude breeds distrust. But I will make for your sake someeffort to overcome my natural disposition, so that you may not beoffended by my defects, especially by my surly humor, which horrifieseverybody."

"That is because nobody knows you," rejoined Emile. "People look uponyou as very different from what you are. You are thought to be proud andobstinately attached to the chimera of ancient privileges. You haveevidently taken care, with great cruelty toward yourself, not to allowyour real character to be divined by any one."

"Why should I have explained myself? What does it matter what peoplethink of me? for, in the society in which I vegetate, my real opinionswould seem even more ridiculous than those commonly attributed to me. Ifthe cause which my mind has embraced would derive any benefit from apublic declaration of my homage or my adhesion, no ridicule would turnme from it; but such adhesion on the part of a man so little loved as Iam would be more harmful than useful to the progress of the truth. Icannot lie, and if any one had ever taken the trouble to come andquestion me, during these latter years since my opinions became fixed,it is probable that I should have said to him what I have said to you;but the circle of solitude grows wider about me every day and I have noright to complain. One must be amiable, in order to please, and I do notknow how to make myself amiable, God having denied me certain gifts,which it is impossible for me to feign."

Emile strove earnestly and affectionately to allay, so far as he could,the secret bitterness concealed beneath Monsieur de Boisguilbault'sresignation.

"It is very easy for me to be content with the present," said the oldman with a sad smile. "I have very few years to live; although I amneither very old nor very ill, I feel that my vital thread is worn out,and my blood congeals and thickens every day. I might perhaps complainof having had no joys in the past; but when the past has fled, what doesit matter what it was?—bliss or despair, strength or weakness, it hasall vanished like a dream."

"But not without leaving traces behind," said Emile. "Even if memoryitself should disappear, our emotions, according as they were pleasantor painful, will have deposited their balm or their poison, and ourhearts will be tranquil or broken according to the experience they havehad. I think that you must have suffered terribly in the past, althoughyour brave heart refuses to descend to lamentation, and that suffering,which you conceal with too much pride, perhaps, increases my respect andmy sympathy for you."

"I have suffered more from the absence of happiness than from what iscommonly called unhappiness. I agree that a sort of pride has alreadyprevented me from seeking a remedy in the sympathy of others. Friendshipmust needs come to seek me out, for I could not run after it."

"Oh! certainly," said Monsieur de Boisguilbault, still in a cold tone,but with a sigh that went to Emile's heart.

"And is it too late now?" asked the young man, with profound andrespectful pity.

"Now—why, I should have to believe in it," replied the marquis, "ordare to ask for it—and from whom, pray?"

"Why not from him who listens to you and understands you to-day? Perhapshe is the first who has done so for a long time."

"Very well, do you despise my youth? Do you deem me incapable of aserious sentiment, and do you fear that you will grow younger bybestowing a little affection on a boy?"

"Very good; as I shall strive, for my part, to make you retrace yoursteps, the struggle will be advantageous to both of us. I shall gain inwisdom unquestionably, and perhaps you will find some alleviation of thewearisome monotony of your life. Believe in me, Monsieur deBoisguilbault: at my age one cannot pretend; if I dare to offer you myrespectful attention, it is because I am capable of performing theduties that accompany it, and of appreciating the advantages of youraffection!"

Monsieur de Boisguilbault took Emile's hand once more, and pressed itvery warmly, but made no reply.

By the light of the moon, which was just rising, the young man saw atear glisten an instant on the old man's withered cheek and disappear inhis silvery whiskers.

The youth of to-day profess a malignant contempt for old age, but ourhero, on the contrary, felt a legitimate pride in triumphing over thereserve and distrust of that venerable and unhappy man. He was flatteredby the thought that he had brought some consolation to that desolatepatriarch and had made up to him for the neglect or injustice of othermen.

He walked with him a long time in his beautiful park, and asked him manyquestions, the confiding artlessness of which did not offend themarquis. He expressed his surprise, for instance, that Monsieur deBoisguilbault, being wealthy and unhampered by family ties, had nottried to put his opinions in practice and to found some communisticassociation.

"That would be impossible for me," the old man replied. "I have not atrace of the initiative spirit; my indolence is invincible, and I havenever, in my whole life, been able to exert any influence upon others. Ishould be less fitted for it now than ever, especially as it would notbe merely a matter of devising a simple plan of organization applicableto the present time, but we must have moral and religious formulas, anexposition of principles and sentiment. I recognize the necessity ofsentiment to convince men's minds; but it is not in my line. I have notthe faculty of laying my heart bare, and my heart has not enoughvitality to impart eloquence to my words. Nor do I think the time hascome—you do not think that it has, do you? Very well, I do notpropose to disturb your conviction; you are built for difficultenterprises, may you find the opportunity to act! As for myself, I haveprojects for the future—after my death. Some day, perhaps I willtell you what they are. Look at this beautiful garden that I havecreated—I have not done it without a purpose—but I want toknow you better before explaining my plans; will you forgive me?"

"I bow to your wish, and I am certain beforehand that your predilectionfor this earthly paradise is not simply the mania of an idle landowner."

"I began in that way, however. My house had become distasteful to me;nothing gratifies indolence and disgust like immutable order, and thatis why the house is so carefully kept and orderly. But I care fornothing that it contains, and I may tell you in confidence that I havenot slept in it for fifteen years. The chalet where we took our coffeeis my real home. There is a bedroom there and a study, which I did notshow you and which no one has entered since they were built, not evenMartin. Please not mention this to anybody, for perhaps publicinquisitiveness would follow me there. It already besieges the parkpersistently enough on Sundays. All the idlers of the neighborhood stayhere until eleven o'clock at night, and I stay away until the closing ofthe gates compels them to leave. On Monday I rise very late so that theworkmen may have time to remove all traces of the invasion before I haveseen them. Martin looks out for that. Don't accuse me of misanthropy,although perhaps I deserve the charge to some extent. Try rather toexplain the anomaly of a man thoroughly imbued with the necessity oflife in common, and yet compelled by his instincts to shun the presenceof his fellow-men. I belong to this generation of individual egotists,and that which is a vice in others is a disease in me. There are reasonsfor this. But I prefer not to discuss them in order that I may not haveto recall them."

Emile dared not ask any direct questions, although he resolved that hewould discover one by one all Monsieur de Boisguilbault's secrets, or atleast all those in which the Châteaubrun family was interested. But heconsidered that he had won enough victories for one day, and that hemust win the marquis's esteem and affection, if possible, beforeobtaining his full confidence.

He desired simply to obtain access to the library, and the marquispromised to throw it open to him at their next interview, for which,however, they appointed no time. Monsieur de Boisguilbault, perhapsbecause of a return of his former distrust, wished to see if Emile wouldcome again soon of his own motion.

XVIII

STORM

From that day Emile no longer lived at his parents' house. He was therein the body at night, to be sure, and during some hours of the day; buthis mind was more frequently at Boisguilbault and his heart almostalways at Châteaubrun.

He went frequently to Boisguilbault, more frequently than he would havedone, perhaps, had it not been for the proximity of Châteaubrun and thepretexts afforded by his first visit.

In the first place there were books to carry to Gilberte, and althoughthe marquis gave him permission to draw upon the library at hisdiscretion, he was careful to carry them one by one, so that he mightalways have an excuse for calling upon her.

It did not occur to Monsieur Antoine or Janille to be surprised at thepleasure which Gilberte derived from reading, or to superintend herchoice of books; for Janille could not read, and prudence was notMonsieur Antoine's forte. But the maid's guardian angel was no moreheedful of the purity of her thoughts than was Emile. His love envelopedGilberte with an inviolable respect, and the child's saintlike innocencewas a treasure of which he showed himself a more jealous guardian thanher father, to whom, as Janille expressed it, good fortune had alwayscome when he was asleep.

How carefully therefore did he turn the leaves of a volume before handingit to her,—whatever its subject,—history, morals, poetry orromance,—lest it should contain some word that might make her blush!

If, in her trustful ignorance, she asked him to procure her some book inwhich he remembered that there were certain passages that ought not tobe put before the eyes of a young virgin, he would reply that he hadlooked through the collection at Boisguilbault in vain; that it was notthere.

A mother could have acted no more wisely under such circumstances thanGilberte's young lover, and in proportion as the father, in hisaffectionate heedlessness, unwittingly smoothed the way for attempts atcorruption, Emile made it his sacred and cherished duty to justify theconfidence of those ingenuous hearts.

Emile's opportunities for talking with Gilberte as to what took placebetween himself and Monsieur de Boisguilbault were very rare and brief,for Janille almost never left them; and when they were with MonsieurAntoine, Gilberte instinctively and from habit clung to her father'sside.

However she soon learned that the friendship between young Cardonnet andthe old marquis was making great strides, and that it was based upon aremarkable harmony of principles and ideas. But Emile did his best toconceal from her the ill success of his attempts to bring about areconciliation between the two families: we shall set forth, in duetime, the result of his efforts in that direction.

Hoping always to succeed in time, Emile dissembled his frequent rebuffs;and Gilberte, divining the embarrassments and the delicate nature of themission he had accepted, did not press him in the fear of displaying toogreat eagerness and persistence.

And then, it should be said that Gilberte gradually became lessinterested in the success of the enterprise, while Emile, for his part,felt that his resolution became day by day more earnest.

Love absorbs every other thought; and these two young people, by dint ofthinking of each other soon had no leisure to think of anything else.Their whole existence became sentiment, that is to say passion, and thehours flew by in the intoxication of being together, or dragged heavilyin anticipation of the moment which was to bring them together.

It was a strange thing to Monsieur Cardonnet, who was watching his sonclosely, and to Emile, who no longer realized what was going on withinhim, and yet it was entirely natural, inevitable indeed, that thepassion which had absorbed our hero's first youth,—that is to say,the desire to acquire knowledge, to understand and take part in generallife,—gave place to a gentle slumber of the intellect and tosomething like forgetfulness of his favorite theories.

In a society where all things were in harmony, love would surely becomea stimulant to patriotism and to social virtue. But when bold andgenerous impulses are doomed to maintain a painful conflict with the menand things that surround us, the personal affections capture us anddominate us to the point of producing a sort of numbness of the otherfaculties.

The common people seek in intoxication by alcohol oblivion of theirprivations, and the lover finds in the intoxication produced by hismistress's eyes a sort of philter that induces oblivion of everythingelse. Emile was too young to know how to suffer and to desire to suffer,but he had already suffered much. Now that happiness had come in searchof him, how could he think of eluding it? Let us admit, without too muchshame for the poor boy, that he no longer thought of laws or facts orthe future, of the past of the world, of the vices of society, or themeans of saving it, of human misery or the divine will, of Heaven orearth. Earth, Heaven, God's law, destiny, the world—his love was allof these; and provided he could see Gilberte and read his fate in her eyes,it mattered little to him if the universe crumbled about his ears.

He could not open a book or sustain a discussion. When he had tiredhimself out scouring all the paths that led in the direction of hisbeloved, he dozed beside his mother's chair or read the newspapers toher without understanding a word of what his voice said; and when he wasalone in his chamber, he would undress very hurriedly so that he couldput out his light and avoid the sight of external objects.

Then the darkness would be illuminated by the inward fire which gave himlife, and his radiant vision would appear before him. In that ecstaticstate he ceased to have the sensations of sleep or of waking. He dreamedwith his eyes open, he saw with his eyes closed.

A word of playful affection, a smile from Gilberte, the touch of herdress brushing against him as she passed, a blade of grass which she hadbroken and which he had seized upon,—any one of these was enough tooccupy his mind during the night; and no sooner did the first rays ofdawn appear than he ran to groom his horse himself so that he mightstart the earlier. He forgot to eat and considered it perfectly naturalthat he should live on the morning dew and the breeze that blew fromChâteaubrun.

He dared not go there every day, although he might have done so withoutfear that Monsieur Antoine would receive him less warmly. But there isin love a shrinking modesty which takes fright at happiness at themoment of grasping it. So he wandered about in every direction, and hidin the woods, where he could gaze at the ruins of Châteaubrun throughthe branches, as if he were afraid of being caught in the act ofadoration.

At night, when Jean Jappeloup had finished his day's work, as he did notas yet earn enough to hire a house and did not choose to be a burden tohis friends, and as the nights were warm and pleasant, he repaired to asmall abandoned chapel, on the hill which formed the centre of thevillage, and before lying down on the straw with which he had made abed, went to say his prayers at the pretty little church of Gargilesse.

He went down, from preference, into the Roman crypt which still bearstraces of the curious frescoes of the fifteenth century. From thedaintily-carved window of that underground apartment one overlooks wallsof rock and the green ravines through which the Gargilesse flows.

The carpenter had been deprived longer than he liked of the sight of hisdear native place, and he often interrupted his placid, pensive prayerto gaze on the landscape, still half-praying, half-musing, in thatpeculiar frame of mind characteristic of simple-hearted folk, peasants,especially after the fatigue of the day.

It was then that Emile, when he had dined and walked a while with hismother, came to join the carpenter, to admire the pretty structure withhim, and then to chat on the hill-top of everything that he could nottalk about at home—of Châteaubrun, Monsieur Antoine, Janille, and,lastly, of Gilberte.

There was one person who loved Gilberte almost as dearly as Emile, butwith another kind of love: that person was Jean. He did not preciselylook upon her as his daughter, for, blended with the paternal sentiment,there was a sort of respect for a nature so adorable, a sort ofunpolished enthusiasm which he would not have had for his own children.But he was proud of her beauty, of her goodness, of her common sense andof her courage, like a man who knows the value of those qualities, andfeels keenly the honor of a noble attachment.

The familiarity with which he expressed himself concerning her, droppingthe title of mademoiselle in accordance with his habit of calling everyone by his or her name, in no wise detracted from his instinctiveveneration for her, and Emile's ears were not wounded thereby, althoughhe would never have dared do the same.

The young man took keen delight in hearing of Gilberte's childish sportsand pretty ways, of her kindly impulses, of her generous and delicateattentions to the friend who, but for her, would have lacked everything.

"When I was wandering in the mountains not long ago," said Jappeloup, "Iwas pressed so close sometimes that I dared not leave the hole in thecliff or the branches of some tree with dense foliage, in which I hadhidden in the morning. At such times hunger took hold of me, and onenight when I was thoroughly done up with weakness and fatigue, and wascreeping round the mountain, saying to myself that it was a long, longway to Châteaubrun, and if I should happen to meet gendarmes on the wayI shouldn't have the strength to run, I saw a little wagon on the roadwith several bundles of straw, and Gilberte walking alongside and makingsigns to me. She had come all that distance with Sylvain Charasson,looking for me everywhere, and watching like a little quail under abush. I lay down and hid in the straw. Gilberte sat down by my side, andSylvain led us back to Châteaubrun, where I went in under the noses ofthe gendarmes, who were hunting for me not two steps away.

"Another time we had agreed that Sylvain should bring me something toeat and put it in the hollow trunk of an old willow about a league fromChâteaubrun. It was horrible weather, pelting rain, and I had a strongsuspicion that the little rascal, who likes to be comfortable, wouldpretend to forget me or would eat my dinner on the road. However, I wentthere at the time agreed upon, and I found the little basket well filledand well out of sight. But what do you suppose I spied near the willow?The print of a cunning little foot on the damp sand, and I was able tofollow the poor little foot along the ground, where it had sunk in morethan once over the ankle. The dear child had got wet through, dirty andtired, because she wouldn't trust anyone but herself to look after herold friend!

"And still another day she saw the bloodhounds marching straight for anold ruin, where, thinking that I was perfectly safe, I was calmly takinga nap at midday. It was terribly hot that day! It was the very day youarrived in the neighborhood. Well, Gilberte took the short cut, a veryrough and dangerous path, where the horsemen could not have followedher, and arrived a quarter of an hour ahead of them, all red and all outof breath, to wake me and tell me to make tracks. She was sickafterward, poor dear heart, and her people knew nothing about it. Thatwas what made me particularly anxious that evening, when we took supperat Châteaubrun and Janille told us that she had gone to bed.

"Ah! yes, the little one has always had a great heart. If the King ofFrance knew her worth he would be too much honored to obtain her handfor the best of his sons. When she was no bigger than my fist, any onecould see that she would be as pretty and lovable a creature as everwas. You may seek as you will among the greatest and richest ladies, myboy, you will never find a Gilberte like Gilberte de Châteaubrun!"

Emile listened with delight, asked him innumerable questions, and madehim repeat the same stories ten times over.

It was not long before Monsieur Cardonnet discovered the cause of thechange that had taken place in Emile. There was no more melancholy, nomore painful reticence, no more indirect reproof. It seemed as if Emilehad never been in opposition to him on any subject whatever, or at leasthad never noticed that his father had different ideas from his own. Hehad become a child once more in many respects. He did not heave sighs atthis or that plan of study; he seemed not to see things which might haveoffended his principles; he dreamed of naught but lovely, sunnymornings, long walks, precipices to climb, solitudes to explore; and yethe brought back neither sketches, nor plants, nor mineralogicalspecimens, as he would have done at other times.

Country life pleased him above all things. It was the loveliest regionin the world; the open air and exercise in the saddle did him a vastamount of good; in a word, everything was for the best, provided that hewas allowed to have his way; and if he fell into a fit of musing, hewould come out of it with a smile that seemed to say:

"I have things within me to occupy my mind, and what you say to me isnothing compared to what I think."

If Monsieur Cardonnet, by some artifice, succeeded in keeping him athome, he seemed distressed for a moment, then, suddenly assuming an airof resignation, like a man whom it is impossible to dispossess of hisstock of happiness, he made haste to obey, and set about his task inorder to have done with it the sooner.

"There's a pretty girl at the bottom of all this," said MonsieurCardonnet to himself, "and it is love that makes this rebellious mind sodocile. It's a very good thing to know. So the philosophical,argumentative fever may give way to thirst for pleasure or to sentimentalreveries! I was very foolish not to reckon on his youth and the passionsof youth! I must let this storm rage—it will blow away theobstacle upon which I should have gone to pieces; and when it is time tostay the storm, I will see what it is best to do. Make haste with yourriding about the country and your loving, my poor Emile! It's the samewith you as with this mountain stream that has declared war on me: youwill both submit when you feel the hand of the master!"

Monsieur Cardonnet was not conscious of his cruelty. He believed neitherin the force nor duration of love, and attached no more importance to ayoung man's despair than to a child's tears. If he had thought thatMademoiselle de Châteaubrun could become the victim of his plan ofwaiting, he might perhaps have been conscience-stricken. But the spiritof a proprietor and ofeveryone for himself, prevented him fromforeseeing the danger of another.

"It's old Antoine's business to look out for his daughter," he thought."If the old sot sleeps on his own perils, he has at all events aservant-mistress who has nothing better to do than put the key of thefamous pavilion in her pocket at night. I can open the duenna's eyeswhen the time comes."

With this persuasion he left Emile almost free, both as to his time andhis acts. He confined himself to ridiculing and bitterly decrying thefamily of Châteaubrun when opportunity offered, in order to protecthimself from the reproach of having openly encouraged his son's suit.

In his opinion, Antoine de Châteaubrun was really a poor creature, aman of no consideration, whom poverty had degraded and idlenessbrutalized. He saw with vainglorious pleasure the former lords of thesoil, thus fallen from their high estate, take refuge in the arms of thepeople, not daring to have recourse to the protection and companionshipof the newly rich.

Monsieur de Boisguilbault found no favor in his eyes, although it wasdifficult to reproach him with dissipation and impropriety of conduct.The wealth which he had succeeded in retaining gave much more umbrage toCardonnet than the name of Châteaubrun, and while he despised thecount, he had a sort of hatred for the marquis. He declared that he wasa fit subject for the lunatic hospital, and he blushed for him, he said,because of the idiotic use he had made of so long a life and so vast afortune.

Emile took pains to defend Monsieur de Boisguilbault, but withoutavowing that he saw him two or three times a week. He was afraid thathis father, by suggesting to him that he must make his visits moreinfrequent, would deprive him of the excuse he had for making a shortcall on the family at Châteaubrun as he rode by. He needed that excuseparticularly on Gilberte's account, for he was confident that MonsieurAntoine would make no comment; but he was afraid that Janille mightconvince Mademoiselle that her dignity demanded that she should keep ata respectful distance a young man who was too wealthy to marry her,according to worldly ideas.

He foresaw clearly enough that the day would come when his assiduitywould be observed.

"But by that time," he said to himself, "perhaps she will love me, and Ican explain the seriousness of my attentions."

This thought naturally led him to anticipate a long and vehementopposition on Monsieur Cardonnet's part; but thereupon there rose in hima sort of well-spring of courage and determination; his heart beat likethat of a soldier rushing forward to the assault, burning to plant hisflag on the breach with his own hand; he felt that he quivered like thewar-horse intoxicated by the smell of powder.

Sometimes, when his father overwhelmed one of his workmen with his cold,concentrated wrath, he would fold his arms and involuntarily measure himwith his eye.

"We shall see," he would say to himself, "if such things will terrifyme, and if such a blast will make me bend when he raises his handagainst the sacred ark of my love.—O father! you have succeeded inturning me aside from the studies to which I was devoted, in stiflingall my aspirations in my bosom, in wounding my self-esteem with impunityand trampling on my sympathies. If you demand the sacrifice of myintelligence and my inclinations, why, I will submit once more. But thesacrifice of my love! Ah! you are too prudent, too discerning to demandit, for if you did, you would see that, while I am your son to love you,I have your blood in my veins to resist you. We should shatter ourselvesagainst each other, like two machines of equal strength, and you wouldhave to become a parricide in order to win the victory."

Awaiting that terrible day, which Emile accustomed himself tocontemplate, he allowed his father's secret rancor to vent itself inempty words against the worthy Antoine and his faithful Janille. It hadeven become a matter of indifference whether he did or did not allude tothe doubtful parentage of the count's daughter. It mattered little tohim whether she had plebeian blood in her veins, and he hardly heardwhat Monsieur Cardonnet said on that subject.

It seemed to him, furthermore, that it would have been an insult toGilberte's father to seek to defend him against the other accusations ofhis father. He smiled almost like a martyr, who receives a wound anddefies pain.

Thus, despite all his shrewdness, Cardonnet was on the wrong road andwas dragging his son with him into the abyss, flattering himself that hecould readily hold him back when they had reached the brink. He thoughtthat he knew the human heart, because he knew the secret of humanweaknesses; but he who knows only the weak and miserable side of men andthings, knows only half of the truth.

"I have made him submit on more important occasions," he said tohimself; "anamourette is of no account."

He was right as toamourettes; perhaps he had had experience ofthem; but a great passion was to him an inaccessible ideal, and he had noconception of the sublime or disastrous resolutions it can inspire.

It may be that Monsieur de Boisguilbault contributed in some degree toallay Emile's tempestuous ardor in regard to social questions; sometimeshis tone of glacial security had aroused the impetuous youth'simpatience; but more frequently he realized that tranquil prophet wasright in submitting patiently to the present, in view of what the futurewas certain to bring forth.

When the marquis discoursed to him in the name of the logic ofideas—sovereign of all worlds and mother of humandestinies—instead of irritating him as Monsieur Cardonnet did byinvoking the false and clumsy logic of facts, he succeeded in pacifyingand convincing him.

If the contrast between the two sometimes caused a sort of generousirritability in the least patient of the two, the more tranquil soonrecovered his influence and disclosed the power that was concealedwithin him and that made him, so to speak, superior to himself.

Monsieur Cardonnet's raillery had wounded Emile deeply, and had almostdriven him to the exaggeration of fanaticism. Monsieur deBoisguilbault's exalted good sense reconciled him to himself, and hefelt proud to have the sanction of an old man so enlightened and sorigid in his deductions. As they were in perfect accord as to thefundamental points, their discussions could not last long, and ascommunism was the only subject capable of rousing the marquis from hisusual taciturnity, it often happened that they were silent for a longwhile in a sort of reverieà deux.

But Emile was never bored at Boisguilbault. The beauty of the park, thelibrary, and, above all, the reserved but indubitable pleasure which themarquis derived from his society, made his visits agreeably restful anddelightful to him as a relief from more intense emotions. He created forhimself there, unconsciously, a second home, much more in conformitywith his tastes than the noisy factory and his father's household,managed as it was with military strictness.

Châteaubrun would have been a retreat even more after his heart. Therehe loved everything and everybody, without exception: the family, theold ruins, even the domestic animals and the plants. But to enjoy thehappiness of passing his life there, he must scale the walls of heaven;and as he must needs fall back to the earth after his dream, Emile foundthat the fall was less severe at Boisguilbault than at Gargilesse.Boisguilbault was a sort of half-way station between the bottomless pit andheaven; thelimbo between purgatory and paradise. He was so warmlywelcomed there, and so warmly urged to remain, that he became accustomedto the idea that he was at home there. He busied himself about the park,arranged the books, and took riding-lessons in the main courtyard.

Gradually the old marquis yielded to the pleasures of companionship, andsometimes his smile indicated genuine cheerfulness. He did not realizethe fact or did not choose to admit it: but the young man becamenecessary to him and brought life to him. For hours at a time he seemedto accept the boon indifferently, but when Emile was about to leave himthat pale face would gradually change its expression, and the wheeze ofasthma would become a sigh of affection and regret when the young manleaped upon his horse, impatient to descend the hill.

At last it became evident to Emile, who was learning day by day todecipher that mysterious book, that the old man's heart was affectionateand sympathetic, that he regretted, secretly but constantly, that he hadadopted a life of solitude, and that he had other reasons for takingthat course than a misanthropic temperament simply.

He believed that the time had come to probe the wound and suggest theremedy. The name of Antoine de Châteaubrun, which he had alreadymentioned many times to no purpose, and which had died away, leaving noecho, in the silence of the park, came once more to his lips and clungthere more obstinately. The marquis was forced to hear it and make somereply.

"My dear Emile," he said, in the most solemn tone he had as yet assumedwith him, "you can cause me much pain, and if such is your purpose, Iwill furnish you with the means, namely, to speak to me of the personyou have just mentioned."

And, as he asked this question, he seemed so indignant, and his lifelesseyes were filled with such threatening fire, that Emile, taken bysurprise, remembered what was said at their first interview about hisalleged irascibility, although it was said in such a tone that at thetime he had been unable to view it in any other light than as a boastfuljoke.

"Answer me!" continued Monsieur de Boisguilbault, in a milder voice butwith a bitter smile. "If you know the causes of my resentment, how dareyou remind me of them?"

"If they are serious," replied Emile, "I certainly know nothing of them;for what I have been told is so frivolous that I am entirely unable tocredit it, seeing how angry you are with me."

"Frivolous! frivolous! In heaven's name what has anyone told you? Behonest: don't hope to deceive me!"

"Since when, pray, have I given you the right to suspect me of anythingso base as falsehood?" retorted Emile, becoming a little heated in histurn.

"Monsieur Cardonnet," said the marquis, taking the young man's arm in ahand that trembled like the leaf fluttering in the autumn breeze, "I donot think that you will seek to make sport of my suffering. Speak,therefore, and tell me what you know, for I must hear it."

"I know what people say and no more. They say that you broke off afriendship of twenty years' standing because of a quarrel about a deer.One of those creatures, which you had tamed for your amusement, escapedfrom your enclosure, and Monsieur de Châteaubrun, having fallen in withit a short distance from your park, was inconsiderate enough to kill it.It would have been exceedingly inconsiderate, it is true, as there areno deer in this region, so that he must have known that it was one ofyour pets; Monsieur de Châteaubrun has always been very absent-minded,and that is not an injury of the sort for which one cannot forgive afriend."

"He has never mentioned the subject to me. It was Jean, the carpenter,another man whom you won't talk about, although you have been very kindto him, who told me that he has never known of any other reason formisunderstanding between you."

"And from whom did he obtain this interesting explanation? from themaid-servant, doubtless?"

"No, monsieur le marquis. The servant never mentions you any more thanthe master does. What I have told you is the story generally believedamong the peasants."

"And the basis of it is true," rejoined Monsieur de Boisguilbault, aftera long pause, which seemed to restore his tranquillity entirely. "Whyshould you be surprised, Emile? Don't you know that it only takes a dropof water to make a lake overflow?"

"But if your lake of bitterness was filled with such drops of wateronly, how can I fail to be surprised by your sensitiveness? I candiscover no other fault in Monsieur de Châteaubrun than constantinertia and heedlessness. If it was a series of absent-minded freaks andgaucheries that made his presence insupportable to you, I must saythat I do not recognize your accustomed good judgment and tolerantspirit. I, whom you often call a volcano in eruption, should have beenmore patient than you, for Monsieur Antoine's fits of abstraction amuseme rather than irritate me, and I see in them a proof of his openness ofheart and the artlessness of his mind."

"Emile, Emile, you are not qualified to judge of such matters," rejoinedMonsieur de Boisguilbault with an embarrassed air. "I am veryabsent-minded myself, and I suffer from my own mistakes. Those of otherpeople are evidently more than I can stand, you see. Affection livesonly upon contrasts, they say. Two deaf or two blind men are sadly boredtogether. In short, I was tired of that man! say no more to me abouthim."

"I cannot believe that prohibition is intended seriously. O mynoble-hearted friend, turn your wrath upon me alone; if I insist; but itis impossible for me to avoid seeing that this rupture is one of theprincipal causes of your sadness. At the bottom of your heart youreproach yourself with it as an act of injustice; and who can say thatit is not the only source of your misanthropy? We find it difficult totolerate other men when there is in the depths of our minds somethingfor which we cannot give ourselves absolution. I believe, and I dare totell you, that you would be comforted if you should repair the injurywhich you inflicted on one of your fellow-men so many years ago."

"The injury I inflicted on him? What injury, pray? What revenge did Itake on him? to whom did I ever say an unkind word of him? to whom haveI complained? what do you yourself know of my inmost feelings towardhim? The miserable fellow had better hold his peace! he will commit agreat sin if he complains of my conduct."

"He does not complain of it, monsieur le marquis, but he deplores theloss of your friendship. That regret disturbs his sleep and sometimesobscures the serenity of his amiable and resigned heart. He does not ofhis own accord mention your name, but if anybody mentions it in hispresence, he speaks of you in the highest terms and his eyes fill withtears. And then, too, there is some one very near to him who sufferseven more than himself in his sorrow, some one who respects you, whofears you and who dares not implore you, but whose affection andgratitude would be a blessing in your loneliness and a support in yourold age."

"What do you mean, Emile?" said the marquis, painfully affected. "Areyou speaking of yourself? Does your friendship for me depend upon thatcondition? That would be very cruel on your part."

"There is no question of me in this matter," Emile replied. "Myattachment to you is too profound, and my sympathy too instinctive forme to put any price on them. I am speaking of some one who knows youonly through me, but who had already divined your character and who doesfull justice to your noble qualities; of a person a thousand times moreestimable than I, whom you would love with a father's affection if youknew her; in a word, I am speaking of an angel, of Mademoiselle Gilbertede Châteaubrun."

Emile had no sooner pronounced that name, upon which he relied as amagic charm, than he saw his host's expression change in an alarmingmanner. The knobs of his thin, sallow cheeks flushed purple; his eyesstarted from their sockets; his arms and legs twitched convulsively. Hetried to speak and stammered unintelligible words. At last he succeededin saying this:

"Enough, monsieur, that is enough, too much. Never be so misguided as tomention thatdemoiselle's name to me!"

And, leaving the cliff in the park, where this conversation took place,he entered the chalet and closed the door violently behind him.

XIX

THE PORTRAIT

Emile did not return to Boisguilbault for several days. His sorrow wasdeep-seated. At first he was annoyed and angry at the marquis'sdistressing and incomprehensible caprice. But soon, after reflectingupon that strange episode, he conceived an immense pity for thatdiseased mind, which, amid ideas so lucid and instincts so affectionate,nourished a deplorable sort of mania, paroxysms of hatred or resentmentclosely akin to mental alienation.

That was the only explanation that the young man could conceive of theviolent effect produced on his venerable friend by the adored name ofGilberte. He was so dismayed by the discovery, that he no longer feltthe courage to pursue so hopeless an undertaking and determined toinform Mademoiselle frankly of his failure.

He bent his steps toward the ruins one evening, depressed by hisdiscomfiture, and for the first time he was sad on his arrival. But loveis a magician who overturns all our anticipations by unexpected favorsor cruelties.

Gilberte was alone. To be sure, Janille was not far away; but as sheleft the house to find one of her goats, and as Gilberte did not know inwhat direction she had gone, so that they could not go to meet her, theyhad a plausible excuse for indulging in a tête-à-tête. Gilberte alsoseemed a little sad. She would have been sorely embarrassed to say why,or how it happened that, after passing five minutes with Emile, sheentirely forgot that she had had any gloomy thoughts prior to hisarrival.

They had dined at Châteaubrun long before: according to a custom ofmany years' standing, they ate at the same hours as the peasants, thatis to say, in the morning, at noon, and after the day's work—aperfectly logical arrangement for those who do not turn night into day.

The sun was sinking when Emile arrived: it was the hour when all thingsare lovely—grave and smiling at once. Emile fancied that he had neverbefore appreciated Gilberte's beauty, he was so impressed by it at thatmoment; as if it were the first time, as if he had not been living forsix weeks in an ecstasy of contemplation.

No matter; he persuaded himself that he had hitherto noticed only thehalf of her hair and only the hundredth part of the charms contained inher smile, of her grace of movement, of the inestimable treasures of herglance.

He had some important things to say to her, he remembered nothing. Hecould think of nothing but looking at her and listening to her. All thatshe said was so striking, so novel to him! How redolent she was of therichness of nature, how she made him realize the perfection of its mosttrivial details! If she showed him a flower, he discovered shades ofcoloring therein whose delicacy or beauty he had never beforeappreciated; if she spoke in terms of admiration of the sky, hediscovered that he had never seen the sky so lovely. The landscape atwhich she gazed assumed a magical aspect and he could think of nothingto say, except:

"Oh! yes, how lovely it is! Oh! you are right. Of course, of course,what you see and what you say is so true!"

There is a delicious stupidity in the mind of a lover: everything meansI love you! and it would be a vain task to seek any other meaning totheir monotonous agreement on all subjects. Still, although she was evenless experienced than Emile, Gilberte, being a woman, understood alittle more clearly what she herself felt, whereas Emile loved, as webreathe, without reflecting that a problem or a prodigy is connectedwith every minute of our lives.

Gilberte questioned herself more and was more overcome withastonishment. She speedily made an effort to change the form of theirconversation, in which, by dint of saying nothing at all, they said fartoo much.

She mentioned Monsieur de Boisguilbault, and Emile was compelled to saythat he had no hope. All his disappointment reawoke at that admissionand he bitterly lamented the destiny that deprived him of his soleopportunity to make himself useful to Monsieur de Châteaubrun and togratify Gilberte.

"Oh! have no fear on that score," said the girl innocently, "I shall benone the less under obligation to you; for thanks to your zeal andcourage my mind is at rest on the main point. Let me tell you whatworried me most. In view of the marquis's haughty obstinacy and myfather's generous humility, an intolerable suspicion had found its wayinto my mind. I fancied that my dear father might have inflicted somegrave injury upon him—unintentionally, I am sure,—and I wasanxious to discover the secret so that I could take upon myself to repairit. Oh! I would have done it at the cost of my life! But now——"

"But now! well, now," said Monsieur Antoine, suddenly appearing around aclump of wild shrubs, and smiling with his usual expression of franktrustfulness, "what the deuce are you telling in such a serious tone,and what is it that you would repair at the cost of your life, my dearlove? I see, Emile, that she has taken you for her confessor, and thatshe is accusing herself of killing a fly with too much temper. What isit? Come, speak out; for your embarrassed air makes me long to laugh.Can it be by any chance that you have secrets from your old father?"

"Oh! no, father! I never will have a secret from you!" cried Gilberte,throwing an arm around Antoine's neck and laying her pink cheek againsthis copper-colored one. "And then you listen at keyholes in the openair, so you are going to be compelled to hear what is underconsideration. If you find any reason to blame us, remember that youhave forfeited the right to do it by taking me by surprise andcriticising my words. Listen, Monsieur Emile, I am going to tell himeverything, for it is much better that he should know it. My dearfather, you are unhappy over Monsieur de Boisguilbault's unjustresentment against you on account of a mere trifle."

"Ah!diantre! do you propose to talk about that? What's the use? Youknow well that it's a painful subject to me!" said Monsieur Antoine, hisgood-humored face suddenly becoming clouded.

"You must talk about it, as it is for the last time," said Gilberte."What I am going to say will pain you, and yet I am sure that it willtake a great weight off your heart. Come, come, dear father, don't turnyour head away, and don't put on that careworn expression that makesyour Gilberte feel so pained. I know very well that you don't want me tomention the marquis's name before you; you say that it's none of myaffair and that I can do nothing to bring you together. But it is toobad to treat me as a little girl, and I am quite old enough to know alittle something of your sorrows so that I can help you to findconsolation for them. Very good; I was making inquiries of MonsieurCardonnet,—who sees Monsieur de Boisguilbault frequently, and to whomhe has given his confidence on many important matters,—as to thatgentleman's frame of mind toward us. I was saying to him that to relieveyou from the regret which you still feel for having unintentionallywounded him, I would give my life—wasn't that what I was saying?"

"And then?" queried Monsieur de Châteaubrun, putting his daughter'spretty hand to his lips with a preoccupied air.

"And then," she continued, "Monsieur Emile had already told me what Iwanted to know, namely, that Monsieur de Boisguilbault still nourishesan intense resentment, but that we need think no more about it, becauseit is founded upon nothing at all, and you have, thank God! nothing withwhich to reproach yourself! Indeed, I was sure of it, dearest father; Isimply dreaded one of your fits of absent-mindedness. But now you canset your mind at rest, although you will be distressed, I am sure, atyour old friend's deplorable condition. Monsieur de Boisguilbault reallyis what he is said to be, and you must recognize it as everybody elsedoes—the poor man is mad."

"Mad!" cried Monsieur Antoine, terror-stricken and grief-stricken atonce, "really mad? Have you heard him talk wildly, Emile? Does he suffermuch? does he complain? has he been pronounced mad by the doctors? Oh!that is horrible news to me!"

And honest Antoine, sinking upon a bench, tried in vain to repress hissobs. His robust breast swelled as if it would burst.

"O mon Dieu! see how he loves him still!" cried Gilberte, throwingherself on her knees at her father's feet and covering him with kisses."Oh! forgive me, forgive me, father dear! I spoke too hastily! I havepained you! Come and help me to console him, Emile."

Emile started when Gilberte, in her excitement, forgot for the firsttime to call himmonsieur. It seemed that she looked upon him as abrother, and, in an outburst of emotion, he too knelt beside poorAntoine, who seemed to be threatened with an apoplectic stroke, he wasso red and so oppressed.

"Never fear," said Emile, "matters have not reached that point and neverwill, I trust. Monsieur de Boisguilbault is not ill; he has the fullenjoyment of all his faculties. His monomania, if we may so describe hisprofessed repulsion for your family, is not a new disease; only, findingthat strange freak in a man so tranquil and tolerant in all otherrespects, I believed for a long while that there must be some seriousreasons for it, and I am forced to admit now that there are none; thatit is a streak of temporary madness, which he will forget if it is notstirred up again, and that you are not the sole object of it, sinceother persons, of whom he has never had any reason to complain, and whomhe does not know at all, inspire the same unhealthy feeling of horrorand repulsion."

"Explain yourself," said Monsieur Antoine, beginning to breathe oncemore; "who are these other persons?"

"Why, Jean, for one," replied Emile. "You know very well that he has noreason to dread his presence as he does, and that excellent man isentirely at sea as to any possible cause of ill-will the marquis canhave toward him."

"He has no reason to reproach him, nor anyone else; but I know very wellwhat he imagines. Go on! if Jean is the only other one, the marquis isnot mad in the least degree, he is simply unjust or mistaken as to ourfriend the carpenter. But it is as impossible to convince him of hismistake as to close the wound that is bleeding in his heart. PoorBoisguilbault! Ah! Gilberte, I would gladly sacrifice my life to enablehim to forget the past. Let us say no more about it."

"One word more," said Gilberte, "for that word will enlighten you,father. Jean Jappeloup is not the only one whom the marquis detests sobitterly; he has the same feeling against me, whom he has hardly seen,who have never spoken to him, and of whom he most assuredly can have noreason to complain. Upon mentioning my name, with the purpose of calminghim, Monsieur Cardonnet, who will tell you so himself, found that hisanger sprang up afresh, and he slammed the door, shouting, as if he hadheard the name of a mortal enemy:

Monsieur de Châteaubrun hung his head and sat for some moments withoutspeaking. Several times he wiped the perspiration from his broad browwith his coarse blue and white handkerchief. Then he took Gilberte'shand and Emile's in his, unconsciously placing them so that theytouched, so engrossed was he by every other subject except thepossibility of their love.

"My children," he said, "you thought that you were doing me good, andyou have added to my grief. I thank you none the less for your kindintentions, but I wish you both to give me your word not to refer tothis subject again with me, nor with each other, nor in Janille'spresence or Jean's, nor you, Emile, with Monsieur de Boisguilbault.Never, never—do you understand?" he added, in the most solemn andimpressive tone of which he was capable. Then, addressing Emile moreparticularly, and pressing his hand against Gilberte's with lessconsciousness than before of his acts:

"My dear Monsieur Emile," he said, with emotion, "you have been led byyour friendship for me to do a very imprudent thing. Remember that thefirst time you went to Boisguilbault I said to you: 'Do not mention myname in that house, if you do not wish to injure my friend Jean!' Andnow you have injured me myself by forgetting my injunction. All that Ican tell you is that Monsieur de Boisguilbault is no more insane thanany of us three, and that, if he is unjust to Jean or my daughter, whoare both innocent of my wrong-doing, it is because one naturallyincludes an enemy's friends and kindred in the hatred which he inspires.Monsieur de Boisguilbault would be very cruel not to forgive me if hecould read my heart; but his suffering is too great to allow him to doit. Respect his grief, therefore, Emile, and do not call a man insanewhose misfortunes deserve the consolation of your friendship and all theconsideration of which you are capable. Come! promise me that you willnot conspire together for my repose any more, for whatever you do willreally be conspiring against it."

Emile and Gilberte promised, trembling with excitement; whereuponAntoine said to them: "That is well, my children; there are incurablediseases and griefs that one must learn to submit to in silence. Now letus go to see if Janille has found her goat. I have in my basket someapricots I have been picking for you two; for I saw Emile coming up thepath, and I was determined to regale him with the first ripe fruit frommy old trees."

After divers efforts, Antoine recovered his cheerful humor—withgreater ease than Gilberte and Emile. The latter dared make no furthercomments or investigations; for whatever concerned Gilberte was sacredto him, and Antoine's earnest injunction to give no more thought to thematter was sufficient inducement for him to try and put it out of hismind. But there were many other subjects of anxiety in his heart, andlove had taken such deep root there that he fell into fits ofabstraction more complete than Monsieur Antoine's.

When he found himself on the road to Gargilesse, at the point where theroad to Boisguilbault branches off, his horse, which was equallyattached to both places, turned toward Boisguilbault. Emile did notnotice it at first, and, when he did notice it, he said to himself thatProvidence willed it so; that he had left the melancholy old man, whomhe had promised to love as his father, all alone for three days; andthat, at the risk of being coldly received, he must go at once andobtain his pardon.

The gates of the park were not closed for the night when he arrived atthe foot of the hill. He entered and rode in the direction of thechalet, expecting that, even if he did not find the marquis there, hewould surely arrive as soon as it was dark.

Having hitchedCorbeau to the balcony rail of the ground floor, heknocked softly at the door of the Swiss chalet, and, as a little breezehad sprung up with the sunset, it seemed to him that he could hearsounds inside and the marquis's feeble voice bidding him come in. But itwas a pure illusion, for when he had opened the door he noticed that theinterior was empty.

However, Monsieur de Boisguilbault might be in the invisible room towhich he was accustomed to retire at night. Emile coughed and stamped onthe floor to give notice of his presence, determined to go away withoutseeing him, rather than pass through the door that was closed toeverybody without exception.

As no sound replied to the noise he made, he concluded that the marquiswas still at the château, and he was about to walk in that directionwhen a gust of wind blew a window violently open, also a door at the endof the room. He turned toward the door, expecting to see Monsieur deBoisguilbault, but no one appeared, and Emile found himself looking intoa small study, the disorderly arrangement of which was as noticeable asthe scrupulous neatness of the apartments at the château.

He would have considered it an impertinence on his part to enter theroom or even to scrutinize from a distance the cheap, common furnitureand the mass of old books and papers which he saw confusedly at thefirst glance. But there was one thing that arrested his attention inspite of himself—a life-size portrait of a woman, hung at the fartherend of that den, directly opposite him, so that it was impossible forhim not to see it, to say nothing of the fact that it would have beendifficult not to gaze at so fine a painting and so charming a face.

The lady was dressed in the style of the Empire; but a sky-blue shawlrichly embroidered and draped over her shoulders, concealed the apparentdeformity produced by the fashionable short waist of that period. Thearrangement of her hair, in so-called natural curls, was most becoming,and the hair itself was of a magnificent golden hue.

Nothing could be more refined and charming than that youthful face;doubtless it was Madame de Boisguilbault, and our hero forgot himselfaltogether as he gazed with deep interest at the features of that woman,whose life and death must have had so vast an influence on the destinyof the recluse.

But it rarely happens that a portrait gives us a just idea of theoriginal; indeed, in the majority of cases one may say that nothingresembles the person so little as his image.

Emile had thought of the marchioness as a pale, melancholy creature; hesaw a fashionable beauty, with a proud, sweet smile, with a noble andtriumphant bearing. Was she like that before or after her marriage? Orwas hers a nature entirely different from what he had supposed?

One thing of which he was certain was that he had before him a mostfascinating face, and, as it was impossible for him to look upon theimage of youth and beauty without thinking instantly of Gilberte, hebegan to compare the two types, in which it seemed to him that hediscovered points of resemblance. The light was rapidly failing, and, asEmile dared not take a step toward the mysterious study, the outlines ofthe portrait soon became very indistinct. The white flesh and goldenhair, standing forth from the shadow, produced so powerful an illusionupon him, that he thought that he had a portrait of Gilberte before him,and when he could no longer see aught but a sort of mist filled withdancing sparks, he had to make a strong effort of his will to rememberthat in his first impression, the only reliable one under suchcircumstances, there had been no thought of a resemblance between Madamede Boisguilbault's face and Mademoiselle de Châteaubrun's.

The same silence and solitude reigned in the courtyard. He mounted thestairs in the turret, but did not as usual meet Martin coming toannounce him in that ceremonious tone from which he never departed, evenwith the only habitué of the house.

At last he reached the salon, which was always very dark, the blindsbeing closed night and day; and, seized with a vague alarm, as if deathhad entered that house in which there was so little life at the best, heran through the other rooms and at last found Monsieur de Boisguilbaultlying on a bed. He was as pale and motionless as a corpse. The last raysof daylight cast a vague and melancholy reflection into the room, andold Martin, whose deafness prevented him from hearing Emile's approach,had every appearance of a statue as he sat at his master's pillow.

Emile darted to the bed and seized the marquis's hand. It was burning;and as the two old men awoke, one from the troubled sleep of fever, theother from the drowsiness of fatigue or inaction, the young man soonsatisfied himself that the marquis's indisposition was in itself oflittle consequence. However, the ravages which two days of illness hadwrought in that feeble, worn out frame were most disquieting for thefuture.

"Ah! you have done well to come!" said Monsieur de Boisguilbault,pressing Emile's hand feebly; "ennui would soon have consumed me if youhad abandoned me!"

And Martin, who had not heard his master's words, but seemed to receivehis thoughts on the rebound, repeated in a louder voice than hesupposed:

"Ah! Monsieur Emile, you did well to come! Monsieur le marquis wassuffering terribly from ennui because you didn't come."

Thereupon he told him that monsieur le marquis had been taken with thefever as he was about to go to the park two nights before, and hadtranquilly made up his mind that he was going to die. He had insisted ongoing to bed in that very room, although he was not accustomed to sleepthere, and he had given him instructions as if he never expected to getup again. He had a very restless night and the next morning he said tohim:

"I feel much better; this will not amount to anything; but I feel astired as if I had made a long journey and I need to rest a little.Perfect silence, Martin; little light, little nursing and no doctor;those are my orders. Don't be alarmed about me."

"And as I couldn't help being frightened," continued the old retainer,"monsieur le marquis said to me:

"Is monsieur le marquis subject to such attacks?" Emile inquired; "arethey serious? do they last long?"

But he had forgotten that Martin could hear nobody but his master, and,at a signal from the latter, he had already left the room.

"I allowed the poor old deaf fellow to have his say," said Monsieur deBoisguilbault, "for it would have been of no use to try to interrupthim. But don't take me for a coward from his story. I am not afraid ofdeath, Emile; I used to long for it; now I await it calmly. I have beenconscious of its approach for a long time; but it comes slowly, and Ishall die as I have lived, without haste. I am subject to intermittentfevers which take away my appetite and my sleep, but which no one everdiscovers because they leave me enough strength for the little I have todo. I do not believe in medicine; thus far it has found no means ofcuring disease without attacking the vital principle. In whatever formit assumes, it is empiricism, and I prefer bending under God's hand toleaping and capering under the hand of a man. This time I was harder hitthan usual; I felt weaker mentally, and I will confess without shame,Emile, that I realized that I could no longer live alone. Old men arelike children for falling in love with a new pleasure; but when it comesto losing it, they are not easily consoled like children. They becomeold men again and die. Don't be embarrassed by what I say: it is thefever that makes me so talkative. When I am cured, I shall not say it, Ishall not even think it; but I shall always feel it as an instinctbeneath my apathy. Do not feel that you are chained henceforth to my sadold age. It is of little importance whether I live a year more or less,or whether a friendly hand closes the eyes of him who has lived alone.But I thank you for coming again. Let us talk no more of me, but of you.What have you been doing during these sad days?"

"I have been sad myself because I have passed them away from you," Emilereplied.

"Is it possible! Such is life, such is man. To make oneself suffer bymaking others suffer! That is a convincing proof of the brotherhood ofsouls."

Emile passed two hours with the marquis, and found him more confidentialand more affectionate than he had ever been. He felt that his attachmentto him became stronger, and he determined that he would cause him nomore suffering. And when, upon taking his leave, he expressed someanxiety because he had allowed him to talk so earnestly, the marquisreplied:

"Never fear. Come again to-morrow and you will find me on my feet. Thatis not the kind of thing that tires one; it is the absence ofopportunities for pouring out one's heart that dries up and kills."

XX

THE FORTRESS OF CROZANT

The marquis was in fact almost well on the following day, andbreakfasted with Emile. Thenceforth nothing disturbed that curiousfriendship between an old man and a very young man; and, thanks toMonsieur de Châteaubrun's final declarations, the painful apprehensionsof insanity no longer impaired the pleasure which Emile took in Monsieurde Boisguilbault's society. He refrained, as he had promised Antoine,from ever mentioning his name, and made up for it by opening his heartto the marquis concerning all his other secrets; for it was impossiblefor him not to describe his past life, not to impart to him his plansfor the future, and, as a consequence thereof, the suffering, allayedfor a time, but inevitably lasting, which his father's opposition hadcaused him and was certain to cause him at the first provocation.

Monsieur de Boisguilbault encouraged Emile in his projects of respectand submission; but he was amazed at the pains Monsieur Cardonnet hadalways taken to stifle the legitimate instincts of a son so wellinclined to work and so richly endowed.

The liking for agriculture and the intelligent understanding of itdisplayed by Emile seemed to point to a noble and generous vocation forhim, and the marquis said to himself that if he had had the good fortuneto possess such a son, he would have been able to make use in hislifetime of the great fortune which he had destined for the poor, but ofwhich he had been unable to make any use in the present.

He could not refrain from saying with a sigh that a man was blessed ofheaven who found in a son, in a friend, in another self, a mind fertilein invention and the means of completing in all seriousness the work ofhis destiny. In his heart he accused Cardonnet of seeking to consecrateto evil purposes the forces and the instruments which God had given himto assist him in doing good, and he looked upon him as a blind andobstinate tyrant, who placed money above the happiness of his fellowsand his own, as if man were the slave of material things and not theservant of truth before all else.

Monsieur de Boisguilbault was not however essentially religious. Emilefound him always too indifferent in that respect. When the marquis hadsaid: "I believe in God," he thought that he could dispense with saying:"I adore Him." When his thoughts, taking the highest flight of which hewas capable, rose to a sort of invocation which was not so much prayeras homage, he said to God: "Thy name is wisdom!" Emile added: "Thy nameis love!" Whereupon the old man would reply: "It is the same thing;" andhe was right.

Emile could hardly contradict him; but in that disposition to insistupon the sublime character of the divine logic and rectitude, one couldbut be conscious of the absence of that exalted passion for theinexhaustible loving-kindness of the Omnipotent, which Emile bore in hisbosom. But, when the facts, the miseries of life, human weakness, andall the evil that is done on earth seemed to give the lie to that theoryof a merciful Providence, and Emile became in a measure discouraged, theold logician triumphed in the superiority of his faith.

He never doubted, he could not doubt. He did not need to see in order toknow, he said, and the coming and going of the plagues of this world nomore disturbed in his eyes the moral order of eternal affairs than thepassing of a cloud over the sun disturbed their physical order. Hisresignation was not due to a feeling of humility or affection; for headmitted that he had never been able to reconcile himself to his ownsorrows except outwardly; but he believed in a well-spring of optimisticfatalism for the universe at large which was in striking contrast withhis personal pessimism, and which formed the most unique feature of hismind and his character.

"Just see," he would say, "logic is everywhere! It is infinite in theworks of God; but it is incomplete and intangible in everything, becauseeverything is finite, even man himself, although he is the mostimpressive reflection of the infinite on this little earth. No man canunderstand infinite wisdom except as an abstract idea; for, if he lookswithin himself and about him, he cannot grasp it or fix it in his mindin any way. You often call me a logician; I accept the name: I lovelogic and cultivate it. I have a tremendous craving for it and I carefor nothing that is not akin to it. But am I logical in my acts and myinstincts? Less than any one on earth. The more I test myself, the moreconscious I am of the abyss of contradictions, the chaotic confusionwithin me. Very good; I am a special example of what man is in general;and the more illogical I am in my own eyes, the more strongly I feelthat the logic of God is soaring over my poor feeble head, which wouldgo astray without that celestial compass and would foolishly hold theearth responsible for its own weakness."

Once he took Emile into the country and they explored, on horseback, themarquis's vast estates. Emile was struck by the small income produced bysuch territorial wealth.

"All these farms are let at the lowest possible price," said themarquis; "when one is unable to escape from the present economicalnotions, the best he can do is to bear as lightly as possible on thehard-working cultivator of the soil. These people are grateful to me, asyou see, and wish me long life. God save the mark! They consider me verykind, although they do not much like my face. They do not know that I donot care for them as they understand the word, and that I see in themonly victims whom I cannot save, but whose executioner I do not chooseto be. I know very well that, under logical legislation, this estateshould produce a hundred times as much as it does. My dissatisfaction isallayed when I think of it; but in order to think of it and to sustainmyself with the certainty that it will some day be the instrument of thevoluntary labor of a multitude of prudent men, I must avoid seeing it inits present state, for this spectacle saddens me and turns me cold; forthis reason I very rarely expose myself to it."

It was in fact about two years since Monsieur de Boisguilbault hadvisited his farms and made the circuit of his domain. He could make uphis mind to do it only in case of absolute necessity. He was greetedeverywhere with demonstrations of respect and affection which were notwithout a touch of superstitious terror; for his solitude and eccentrichabits had given him the reputation of a sorcerer with many peasants.

Many a time, during a storm, they had said sadly: "Ah! if Monsieur deBoisguilbault chose to prevent the hail, he could do it! but, instead ofdoing what he can, he is always looking for something else that nobodyknows and that he will never find perhaps!"

"Well, Emile, what would you do with all this, if it were yours?" saidthe marquis as they rode home; "for in asking you to make this tiresomeround of visits with me, I had no other purpose than to question you."

"Of course," said the marquis, "I would try to found a genuinecommune if I could. But I should try in vain, I should fail. Andyou, too, perhaps!"

"That is the generous, insane cry of youth: what does it matter if youfail, providing only that you are doing something, eh? You yield to acraving for activity and do not see the obstacles. There are obstacles,however, and the worst of all is this: that there are no men. In thatsense your father is right in appealing to a brutal but none the lesspowerful fact. Men's minds are not ripe, their hearts are notwell-disposed; I see much land and many arms, but I do not see a singlemind detached from theego which governs the earth. A little moretime, Emile, for the idea to bloom and spread; it will not be so long aspeople think; I shall not see it, but you will. Be patient, therefore!"

"No, but it will do nothing without usall. There are times when oneshould be consoled for not being at work, if one is learning; then comesthe time when one can learn and work at the same time. Do you feel thatyou are strong?"

"So much the better! And I believe it!—Well, Emile, we will talk someday—soon perhaps, in my next attack of fever, when my pulse beats alittle faster than it does to-day."

In such conversations as this Emile found strength to live through thehours that he could not pass with Gilberte. There was something lackingin his friendship with Monsieur de Boisguilbault: it was the being ableto speak to him of her and to tell him of his love. But there is inhappy love a something superb which can do very well without advice ofothers, and the time when Emile would feel the need of complaining andof seeking a support under the burden of despair had not yet arrived.

In what did this happiness consist, do you ask? In the first place, hewas in love—that is almost enough for him who loves dearly. And thenhe knew that he was loved, although he had never dared to ask the questionand she would have dared even less to tell him so.

Meanwhile clouds were gathering on the horizon and Emile was destined tofeel the approach of the storm. One day Janille said to him as he wasleaving Châteaubrun: "Don't come again for three or four days; we havesome business to attend to in the neighborhood and we shall be away."Emile turned pale: he thought that he was receiving his sentence, and hehardly had strength to ask what day the family would have returned toits penates. "Oh! toward the end of the week, I suppose," said Janille."Indeed it is probable that I shall stay here; I am too old to run aboutover mountains, and you might come in as you ride by and ask if MonsieurAntoine and his daughter have returned."

"You will allow me then to call upon you?" said Emile, striving toconceal his mortal suffering.

"Why not, if your heart bids you?" replied the little old woman, drawingherself up with an air in which the distrustful Emile fancied that hecould detect a touch of malice. "I am not afraid of being compromised!"

"It's all over," thought Emile. "My assiduity has been observed, andalthough Monsieur Antoine and his daughter have no suspicion as yet,Janille has made up her mind to turn me out. Her power here is absoluteand the critical moment has arrived. Well, Mademoiselle Janille," hesaid, "I will come to see you to-morrow. I shall take great pleasure intalking with you."

"How well that happens," said Janille; "I am very anxious to talk too!But I have some flax to pick to-morrow and I shall not expect you untilthe next day. That is understood; I shall be at home all day; don't failto come. Good-night, Monsieur Emile, we will have a good friendly talk.Oh! you see I too am very fond of you!"

There was no longer any doubt in Emile's mind; the housekeeper atChâteaubrun had opened her eyes to his love. Some officious neighborwas beginning to be surprised to see him so often on the road to theruins. Antoine knew nothing as yet, nor Gilberte; for the latter, whenshe told him that her father was going away for a few days, could nothave foreseen that Janille would arrange for her to go with him. Theshrewd housekeeper had laid her plans well: first to get Emile out ofthe way, and then to arrange for Gilberte to go away unexpectedly, thusmaking sure of a few days in which to avert the little outbreak whichshe anticipated on the young man's part.

"Well, then, I must speak," said Emile to himself; "and why should Irecoil from the inevitable end of my secret aspirations? I will tell herloyal governess and her excellent father that I love her and aspire toher hand. I will ask for a little time to broach the subject to myfather and come to an understanding with him as to my choice of acareer, for I have made none as yet, and my fate must be decided. Therewill be a fierce struggle, but I shall be strong, for I love. It is nota question of myself alone, so I shall have invincible courage, I shallhave the gift of persuasion, I shall carry the day!"

Despite all this confidence, Emile passed the night in horribleperplexity. He imagined the conversation he was about to have withJanille, and he could have written out the questions and answers, sowell he knew the little woman's self-possession and outspokenness.

"Ah! but you must speak to your father first of all,monsieur,"—she would surely say,—"and have an understandingwith him; for it is quite useless to disturb Monsieur Antoine's mindwith a conditional request, with projects that may not be realized.Meanwhile, do not come here any more, or come very little, for no one issupposed to be aware of your intentions, and Gilberte is not the girl tolisten to you unless she is sure that she can be your wife."

Then, too, he feared that Janille, who was very matter-of-fact, wouldtreat the possibility of Monsieur Cardonnet's consent as a puredelusion, and would forbid him to make frequent visits unless he shouldproduce satisfactory proof that he was at liberty to choose for himself.

Thus was it fully demonstrated that Emile must enter upon the conflictwith his father first of all, and must govern his actions accordingly;that is to say, go infrequently to Châteaubrun until he had reason toentertain a strong hope of victory, or, if he had no ground for hope, toabstain forever from destroying the happiness of the family ofChâteaubrun by fruitless overtures—in a word, he must go away andrenounce Gilberte.

But it was utterly impossible for Emile to include that alternativeamong the possibilities. The idea of death would find its way moreeasily into an infant's head than that of renouncing the woman he lovesinto the head of a man who is deeply in love.

Thus Emile could more readily conceive the possibility of blowing outhis brains before his father's eyes than of yielding to his will. "Verywell!" he said to himself, "I will speak to-morrow to this terriblemaster, and I will speak to him in such a way that I shall be able toappear at Châteaubrun with my head erect."

And yet, when the morrow came, Emile, instead of feeling inspired by allthe force of his determination, felt so exhausted by insomnia, and sooverwhelmed by sadness, that he feared his own weakness and did notspeak. Indeed, what can be more painful, when the heart has revelled ina blissful dream, than to find oneself brought suddenly face to facewith a cruel reality? When one has enjoyed all by oneself the delicioussecret of a chastely hidden passion, to be forced to reveal it in coldblood to those who do not understand it or who scorn it?

Whether Emile should make the avowal to his father or to Janille, hemust lay bare his heart, filled as it was with a modest languor and aholy ecstasy, to hearts that had never known or had long been closed tosentiments of that nature. And he had dreamed of such a sublimedénouement! Should not Gilberte, alone with him under the eye ofGod, be the first to receive in her heart the sacred word love when itshould escape from his lips?

The world and the laws of honor, so unfeeling in such cases, were todeprive the virginity of his passion of all that was purest and mostideal about it! He suffered intensely, and it seemed to him that acentury of bitter sorrow had elapsed between his dreams of the daybefore and the gloomy day that was beginning.

He mounted his horse, determined to seek at a distance, in some solitaryspot, the calm and resignation necessary to enable him to withstand thefirst shock. He intended to avoid Châteaubrun; but he found himselfnear the ruin, unconscious how he had come thither. He rode by withoutturning his head, ascended the rough road where, in the howling storm,he had first seen the château by the light of the lightning flashes. Herecognized the rocks behind which he had found shelter with JeanJappeloup, and he could not realize that more than two months had passedsince that night when he was so light-hearted, so self-controlled, sodifferent from what he had since become.

He rode on toward Eguzon, in order to see once more the whole of theroad he had then passed over, as he had not visited it since. But whenhe reached the first houses, the sight of the villagers scrutinizing himcaused the same thrill of horror and misanthropy which Monsieur deBoisguilbault would have been likely to feel at such a time. He turnedsharply into a dark, wooded road at his left and rode into the country,without any definite goal.

This rough but fascinating road, passing now over broad, flat rocks, nowover the fresh green sward, now over fine sand, and bordered byvenerable chestnuts with furrowed trunks and enormous roots, conductedhim to vast moors, where he rode slowly along, content to be alone atlast in a desolate region. The road stretched before him, sometimes inzigzag fashion, sometimes straight up and down, through fields coveredwith broom and furze, and over sandy hillocks intersected by brooks thathad no well-defined bed and no fixed course.

From time to time a partridge skimmed along the grass at his feet, or akingfisher flew like an arrow across a swamp, a flash of blue and fieryred.

After an hour's ride, being still absorbed in his thoughts, he saw thatthe path became narrower, plunged into the bushes, and finallydisappeared under his feet. He raised his eyes and saw before him,beyond steep precipices and deep ravines, the ruins of Crozant risinglike a sharp arrow over curiously jagged peaks of such extent that onecould hardly embrace the whole at a single glance.

Emile had already visited that interesting fortress, but by a moredirect road, and as his preoccupation had prevented him from taking hisbearings, he was uncertain for a moment where he was. Nothing could bemore consonant with his frame of mind than that wild locality and thosedesolate ruins. He left his horse at a hut and descended on foot thenarrow path that led down to the bed of the torrent by a series of stepscut in the rock. Then he ascended by similar means and buried himself inthe ruins, where he remained for several hours, a prey to an intensityof suffering which the aspect of a spot that was so horrifying and sosublime exalted at times almost to delirium.

Few fortresses so advantageously situated as that of Crozant wereerected in the first centuries of feudalism. The mountain on which itstands descends perpendicularly on all sides, to two mountain streams,the Creuse and the Sédelle, which unite tumultuously at the end of thepeninsula and keep up a constant roaring as they leap over hugefragments of stone. The sides of the mountain are very peculiar,bristling everywhere with long, grayish rocks, which rise from the abysslike giants or hang like stalactites over the torrent.

The ruins of the château have taken on so completely the color andshape of the surrounding rocks that in many places one can hardlydistinguish them at a little distance.

It is hard to say which was the bolder and the more tragically inspiredin that spot, nature or man, and one cannot imagine, upon such a stage,other than scenes of implacable fury and unending despair.

A drawbridge, several dark posterns and a double encircling wall,flanked by towers and bastions, the remains of which can still be seen,made this fortress impregnable before the invention of cannon. And yetalmost nothing is known of the history of a place that was of suchimportance in the wars of the Middle Ages.

A vague tradition attributes its construction to certain Saracen chiefswho are said to have defended themselves there for a long while. Thefrost, which is severe and of long duration in that region, accelerateseach year the destruction of those fortifications which cannon-ballshave shattered and years have reduced to dust. The great square donjon,however, which has the aspect of a Saracen structure, still stands inthe centre, and, being undermined, threatens to fall at any moment, likeall the rest. Several towers, of which a single side only is standing,planted upon cone-shaped points of rock, present the appearance of sharprocky peaks around which clouds of birds of prey scream incessantly.

The circuit of the fortress cannot be made without danger. In manyplaces there is no trace of a path, and the foot trembles on the brinkof precipices over which the water plunges headlong.

The approach of the enemy could be detected only from the top of thetowers of observation; for on a level with the lower portions of thebuildings and the summit of the mountain, the view was restricted byother barren mountains. But to-day there are gaps in their rocky sides,patches of fertile soil where noble trees grow freely, often uprooted bythe rising of the waters when they have reached a considerable height.

A few goats, less wild than the wretched children who guard them, clingto the ruins and climb fearlessly over the precipitous cliffs.

The whole spot is so magnificently desolate and so rich in contraststhat the painter knows not where to stop. The imagination of the artistwould find a superfluity of material in that gorgeous panorama of terrorand menace.

Emile passed several hours there, plunged in the chaos of hisuncertainty and his projects. As he had left home at daybreak, he wasconsumed by hunger, but paid no heed to the physical discomfort whichaggravated his mental distress. Stretched out upon a rock, he waswatching the vultures hovering overhead and thinking of the tortures ofPrometheus, when the distant sound of a man's voice, which seemed notunfamiliar to him, sent a thrill through his whole being. He rose andran to the edge of the precipice and saw three persons descending thepath on the opposite side of the ravine.

A man in a blouse and broad-brimmed gray hat rode ahead, turning fromtime to time to warn those who came behind to be careful; next to himcame a peasant leading a donkey by the bridle, and on the donkey was awoman in a faded lilac dress and a simple straw hat.

Emile darted to meet them, without asking himself if Janille had spoken,if they were on their guard against him, if they were likely to greethim coldly. He ran and leaped like a stone thrown down the steep side ofthe ravine. He ran as the crow flies, crossing the stream, which boundedwith empty threats over the slippery stones, and reached the other slopeto receive a hearty welcome from honest Antoine, and to take from thehands of Sylvain Charasson the bridle of the modest steed who boreGilberte and her sweet smile and her blushing cheek and the joyous airwhich she tried in vain to restrain. Janille was not there. Janille hadnot spoken!

How much sweeter joy seems after sorrow, and how quickly love makes upfor the time wasted in suffering! Emile no longer remembered the daybefore and thought no more of the morrow.

When he was among the ruins of Crozant once more, leading his beloved intriumph, he broke off all the branches he could reach and threw themunder the donkey's feet, as the Hebrews of old strewed pearls along thetrack of the divine Master's humble beast.

Then he took Gilberte in his arms to put her down upon the loveliest bitof greensward he could find, although she needed no such assistance toalight from so small and placid a creature. Emile was no longer timid,for he was mad; and if Antoine had not been the least clear-sighted ofmankind, he would have realized that it was of no more use to think ofholding in check that exalted passion, than of preventing the Creuse orthe Sédelle from flowing and roaring.

"Well, I am dying of hunger," said Monsieur Antoine, "and before Iinquire how it happens that we meet so opportunely, I should like tohear something about luncheon. One guest more does not alarm us, forJanille has stuffed us with provender. Open your game-bag, you youngrascal," he said to Sylvain, "while I go and cut a hole in the bag thatmy daughter hasen croupe. Then Emile will run to the house yonderand obtain a supply of brown bread. Let us stay by the stream, it is purewater from the rock and is excellent when taken in small quantities witha generous quantity of wine."

The repast was soon spread on the grass, Gilberte took a huge lotus leaffor a plate, and her father carved with a sort of sabre which he calleda clasp-knife. In addition to the bread, Emile brought milk for Gilberteand wild cherries which were voted delicious, their bitter taste havingat all events the merit of stimulating the appetite. Sylvain, perchedlike a monkey on an overhanging bough, had as generous a share as theothers and ate with the more enjoyment, he said, because MademoiselleJanille's eyes were not there to count his mouthfuls with an air ofreproof. Emile was satisfied in a moment. Laugh as you will at theheroes in novels who never eat, it is very certain that lovers havelittle appetite, and that therein novels are as true as life itself.

What bliss for Emile, after believing that when he saw Gilberte again,she would be stern and distrustful of him, to find her as he had lefther the day before, entirely without constraint and overflowing withdignified trustfulness! And how he loved Antoine for being incapable ofa suspicion and for displaying the same open-hearted gayety.

Never had he felt so light-hearted himself; never had he seen a lovelierday than that mild September day, never a more cheerful and enchantedspot than that frowning fortress of Crozant! And Gilberte wore that dayher lilac dress, which he had not seen for a long while, and whichreminded him of the day and hour when he had fallen madly in love withher!

He learned that they had set out to visit a relative at La Clavièrebefore going to Argenton for two days, and that, finding no one at thatchâteau, they had determined to make a detour to Crozant and remainthere until evening; and it was only midday! Emile imagined that he hadall eternity before him. Monsieur Antoine lay down in the shade afterluncheon and slept soundly. The two lovers, followed by Charasson,undertook to make the circuit of the fortress.

XXI

MONSIEUR ANTOINE'S NAP

The page of Châteaubrun amused the young couple for a few moments withhis ingenuous remarks; but he was speedily vanquished by the longing torun, and started off in pursuit of the goats, narrowly escaped havingtrouble with their keepers, and ended by making it up with them andplaying at quoits on the bank of the Creuse, while Emile and Gilberteattempted to follow the course of the Sédelle on the other side of themountain.

As the torrent has eaten away the base of the cliff in many places, theyhad sometimes to crawl, sometimes to retrace their steps, sometimes tostep on stones that were level with the water, and all of this notwithout some difficulty and some danger. But youth is adventurous andlove is afraid of nothing.

A special providence protects both alike, and our lovers came bravelyforth from all the perils of their undertaking,—Emile trembling withan emotion very different from fear when he lifted Gilberte or held her inhis arms; Gilberte laughing to conceal her confusion or to forget it.

Gilberte was strong, active and brave, like a true child of themountain; and yet, by dint of passing over a constant succession ofobstacles, she became breathless, sank on the moss beside the leapingstream, and threw her hat on the grass, having to put up her hair whichhad fallen over her shoulders.

"Do go and pick me that lovely digitalis over yonder," she said toEmile, thinking that she would have time to rearrange her locks beforehe returned. But he went and came again so quickly that he found herstill inundated by the golden flood which her little hands could hardlygather up into a single braid.

Standing beside her, he gazed in admiration at those treasures which shetwisted up behind her head with more impatience than pride, and whichshe would have cut off long before as being an annoying burden, ifAntoine and Janille had not strenuously objected.

At that moment, however, she was grateful to them for refusing to allowit; for, although she was little inclined to coquetry, she saw thatEmile was lost in admiration, and she had done nothing to arouse it. Ifthere are some triumphs of beauty, which love cannot refuse to enjoy,they are those above all which are unforeseen and involuntary. Thatbeautiful hair would have been a genuine compensation to an ugly woman,and in Gilberte's case it was a lavish outlay of nature added to all herother gifts.

It should be said that Gilberte, like her father, was industrious ratherthan clever with her hands, and moreover, she had lost all her pinswhile running and the heavy braid, hurriedly twisted, twice burst itsbonds and fell to her feet.

Emile's eyes were still fixed upon her; Gilberte did not see them, butshe felt them, as if the atmosphere were filled with the fire of thatpassionate gaze. She soon became so confused that she forgot to bemerry, and finally, as ordinarily, made an effort to relieve, by a jest,their mutual emotion.

"I wish this hair wasmy own," she said; "then I would cut it offand throw it into the stream."

There was an opportunity for a well-turned compliment; but Emile wascareful not to take advantage of it. What could he say about that hairwhich would express the love he bore it? He had never touched it and hewas dying with the longing to do so. He glanced furtively about. Acircle of rocks and shrubs isolated Gilberte and himself from the wholeworld. There was no spot on the mountain from which they could be seen.One would have said that she had selected that sheltered retreat totempt him, and yet the innocent maiden had not thought of it, nor didshe think that she was in any danger there.

Emile was no longer master of himself. Insomnia, alarm, grief and joyhad kindled fever in his blood. He knelt beside Gilberte and took ahandful of her rebellious hair in his trembling hand; then, as shestarted, he dropped it again, saying:

"You frightened me," said Gilberte, shaking her head; "I thought it wasa snake."

Meanwhile Emile's hand was clinging to her hair and could not let it go.On the pretext of assisting Gilberte to collect the scattered locks ofwhich the breeze disputed possession with her, he touched it a hundredtimes, and at last put his lips to it stealthily. Gilberte did not seemto notice it, and hurriedly replacing her hat upon the ill-assured mass,she rose and said with an air which she strove to render unconcerned:

But she was trembling; a sudden pallor had driven the brilliant colorfrom her cheeks; her heart was ready to burst; she staggered and leanedagainst the rock to keep from falling. Emile was at her feet.

What did he say to her? He did not know himself, and the echoes ofCrozant did not retain his words. Gilberte did not hear them distinctly;she had the roar of the torrent in her ears, increased a hundredfold bythe throbbing of the blood in her arteries, and it seemed to her thatthe mountain, seized with convulsions, was swaying to and fro over herhead.

She had no legs with which to fly, indeed she did not think of it. Invain does one fly from love; when it has found its way into the heart,it takes root there and accompanies it everywhere. Gilberte did not knowthat there was any other peril in love than that of allowing her heartto be taken by surprise, and, in truth, there were no others for herwith Emile. That danger was great enough, Heaven knows, and the vertigoit caused was full of irresistible delights.

All that Gilberte could say was to repeat with a sort of terror,instinct with regret and pain:

"That means that you hate me then!" rejoined Emile; and Gilberte turnedher face away, for she had not the courage to lie. "Very well," hecontinued; "if you do not love me, what harm does it do for you to knowthat I love you? Let me tell you so, since I can conceal it no longer.It is a matter of indifference to you, and one does not fear what onedespises. Know that it is true then, and if I leave you, if I am to seeyou no more, at all events understand why it is: it is because I amdying for love of you, because I cannot sleep or work, because I amlosing my wits and shall soon find myself telling your father what I amtelling you now. I would rather be driven away by you than by theothers. So drive me away; but you shall hear me now, because my secretis suffocating me; I love you, Gilberte, I love you so that it is killingme!"—And Emile's heart was so full that it overflowed in sobs.

Gilberte attempted to leave him; but she sat down only a few feet awayand began to weep. There was more joy than bitterness behind thosetears. So that Emile soon went to her to comfort her and was sooncomforted in his turn; for there was naught but affection and regret inthe terror that she felt.

"I am a poor girl," she said, "you are rich and your father, they say,thinks of nothing but increasing his fortune. You cannot marry me, and Iought not to think of marrying in my position. It would be by merechance if I should fall in with a man as poor as myself, who hadreceived a little education; and I have never counted on that chance. Isaid to myself long ago that I must make the best of my lot, in order toaccustom myself to a sense of true dignity, which consists in notenvying others and in forming oneself to simple tastes and honorableemployment. So I do not think of marriage at all, since it wouldprobably be necessary to change my way of thinking in order to find ahusband. I must tell you that Janille got an idea into her head severaldays ago that troubles me a great deal. She wants my father to seek ahusband for me. Seek a husband! Isn't that shameful and humiliating? Canyou imagine anything more repulsive? And yet the dear old soul cannotunderstand my objection, and as my father was going to Argenton toreceive the quarterly payment of his small pension, she suddenly decidedthis morning that he must take me and introduce me to some of hisacquaintances. We can't resist Janille, so we started; but my father,thank heaven! doesn't know how to find husbands, and I shall be socunning about helping him not to think of it, that this little excursionwill result in nothing. You see, Monsieur Emile, that you mustn't payyour court to a girl who has no illusions and who has made up her mind,without regret or shame, to remain unmarried. I supposed that you wouldunderstand this, and that your friendly sentiments would prevent youfrom seeking to ruffle my quiet life. So forget this folly which haspassed through your mind, and look upon me simply as a sister, who willforget what you have said, if you promise to love her with a calm andbrotherly love. Why should we part? it would be a great sorrow to myfather and me!"

"It would be a great sorrow to you, Gilberte?" said Emile; "why is itthat you weep when you say such cold words to me? Either I do notunderstand you, or you are concealing something from me. And do you wantme to tell you what I think that I divine? that you have not enoughesteem for me to listen to me with confidence. You take me for a youngmadman, who prates of love without religion or conscience, and you thinkthat you can treat me like a child to whom you would say: 'I forgiveyou, don't do it again.' But, if you believe that a genuine, seriouspassion can be allayed by a few cold words, you are a child yourself,Gilberte, and you have no feeling at all for me in the depths of yourheart. O my God, can it be possible? and do those eyes that avoid mine,that hand that spurns me, mean contempt or incredulity?"

"Haven't I said enough? Do you think that I can consent to love you,with the certainty that you will belong to another sooner or later? Itseems to me that love means living together forever: that is why, when Irenounced the thought of marriage, I had to renounce the thought oflove."

"I understand it so, too, Gilberte: love means living together forever!To my mind not even death can put an end to it; did I not say all thatto you when I told you that I loved you? Ah! cruel Gilberte, you failedto understand me, or else you do not choose to understand me; but if youloved me you would not doubt. You would not tell me that you are poor,you would forget all about it as I do."

"Omon Dieu! I do not doubt you, Emile; I know that you are asincapable as myself of being guided by self-interest. But I ask youagain, are we stronger than destiny, than your father's will, forinstance?"

It is quite useless to repeat the remainder of the interview. We mightdescribe certain interludes of dismay and discouragement, when Gilberte,becoming reasonable, that is to say miserable, once more, pointed outobstacles and manifested a pride which, while not strongly marked, wassufficiently intense to lead her to prefer eternal solitude to thehumiliation of a struggle against arrogance and wealth. We might tell bywhat honorable and manly arguments Emile sought to restore herconfidence. But the strongest arguments, those to which Gilberte foundno reply, are those which we cannot transcribe, for they were allenthusiasm and ingenuous pantomime.

Lovers are not eloquent after the manner of rhetoricians, and theirwords written down have never had much meaning for those to whom theywere not addressed. If we could remember in cooler moments theinsignificant remark that caused us to lose our wits, we should notunderstand how it could be and should jeer at ourselves.

But the tone and the glance find magical resources in passion, and Emilesoon succeeded in persuading Gilberte of what he himself believed atthat moment: namely that nothing was simpler or easier than for them tomarry, consequently that nothing was more legitimate and necessary thanthat they should love each other with all their strength.

The noble-hearted girl loved Emile too dearly to harbor the thought thathe was a rash and presumptuous youth. He said that he would overcome anypossible resistance on his father's part, and Gilberte knew nothing ofMonsieur Cardonnet except by vague rumors. Emile guaranteed his lovingmother's consent and that assurance set Gilberte's conscience at rest.She soon shared all his illusions, and it was agreed that he shouldspeak to his father before applying to Monsieur Antoine.

A selfish or ambitious girl would have been more prudent. She would havemade the avowal of her feelings depend upon harsher conditions. Shewould have refused to see her lover again until such time as he shouldcome prepared to go through with all the formalities, including therequest for her hand. But Gilberte's mind never entertained suchprecautions.

She felt in her heart a something infinite, a faith in and respect forher lover's word, which had no bounds. She was no longer disturbed saveby one thing; the thought that she might become a source of discord andaffliction in Emile's family on the day that he spoke to his father.

She could entertain no doubt of the victory which he was so certain ofwinning; but the thought of the battle pained her and she would haveliked to postpone the awful moment.

"Listen," she said, with angelic naïveté, "there is no hurry; we arehappy as we are, and young enough to wait. I am afraid indeed that willbe your father's principal and strongest objection; you are onlytwenty-one, and he may fear that you have not made your choice withsufficient care, that you have not examined your fiancée's characterclosely enough. If he talks to you about waiting, and asks for time toreflect, submit to every test. Even if we should not be united forseveral years, what does it matter, provided that we see each other,since we cannot doubt each other's constancy?"

"Oh! you are a saint!" Emile replied, kissing the edge of her scarf,"and I will be worthy of you."

When they returned to the place where they had left Antoine, they sawhim at some distance talking with a miller of his acquaintance, and theywent to the foot of the great tower to meet him.

The hours passed for them like seconds, and yet they were as full ofevents as centuries. How many things they said to each other, and howmany more they did not say! Then the happiness of looking at each other,of understanding and loving each other, became so intense that they wereseized with a wild gayety, and, joining hands, ran down the steepslopes, leaping like deer, throwing stones to the foot of theprecipices, so transported with an unfamiliar joy that they were no moreconscious of danger than young children.

Emile pushed the débris from his path or jumped over it excitedly. Onewould have said that he fancied that he was confronted by obstaclesplaced in his way by destiny. Gilberte had no fear, either for him orfor herself. She laughed aloud; she shouted and sang like a bird in theair, and forgot to fasten up her hair, which floated in the wind, andsometimes completely enveloped her like a veil of fire.

When her father surprised her in the midst of her excitement she rushedto him and embraced him passionately, as if she wished to communicate tohim all the joy with which her heart was flooded. The good man's hatfell off during this sudden embrace and started to roll into the ravine.Gilberte darted like a flash to catch it, and Antoine, terrified by herimpetuosity, darted to catch his daughter. Both were in great dangerwhen Emile passed them, seized the flying hat on the wing, and, as hereplaced it on Antoine's head, took his turn at pressing that fondfather in his arms.

"Vive Dieu!" cried Antoine, ordering them back to a less perilousspot, "you both receive me very warmly, but you frighten me even more!For God's sake did you meet the devil's goat that makes those whom itbewitches with its glance run and jump about like lunatics? Is it themountain air that makes you so wild, little girl? All the better say I,but don't run such risks as that. What color! What a sparkling eye! Isee that I must take you out for a walk often, that you don't haveenough exercise at the house. She has made me anxious lately, do youknow, Emile? She doesn't eat, she reads too much, and I have beenthinking of throwing all your books out of the window if it goes on.Luckily she seems different to-day, and, that being the case, I amtempted to take her as far as Saint-Germain-Beaupré. It's a fine placeto look at. We will pass the day there to-morrow, and if you choose tocome with us we will have a royal good time. Come, Emile, what do yousay? What does it matter if we go to Argenton a day later, eh, Gilberte?And even suppose we spend only one day there?"

"Or don't go there at all?" said Gilberte, jumping for joy. "Let's go toSaint-Germain, father; I have never been there. Oh! what a fine idea!"

"We are on the road," continued Monsieur de Châteaubrun, "but we mustgo to pass the night at Fresselines, for staying here is not to bethought of. However, Fresselines and Confolens are well worth seeing.The roads are not good, and we must start before dark. MonsieurCharasson, go and give poor Lanterne some oats. She likes journeys, forthey are the only opportunities she ever has for feasting. You will takethe donkey back to the people who lent him to you, up at Vitra, and thengo to wait for us, with the barrow and Monsieur Emile's horse, on theother side of the stream. We will be there in two hours."

"And I," said Emile, "will write a line to my mother, so that she won'tworry over my absence, and I will find a child somewhere to carry mynote."

"Send one of these little savages so far? that won't be easy. Upon myword! we are in luck, for yonder is someone from your place if I am notmistaken."

Emile turned and saw Constant Galuchet, his father's secretary, who hadjust thrown his coat on the grass, and, having enveloped his head in apocket handkerchief, was engaged in baiting his hook.

"Oh! no indeed, monsieur," replied Galuchet, with a serious air, "Icherish the hope of catching a trout."

"Certainly, monsieur. Your father didn't want me to-day, so he gave mepermission to take the whole day; but as soon as I have caught my trout,please God, I shall leave this wretched spot."

"Then I shall curse still more bitterly the idea that occurred to me ofcoming so far to see such a hovel. What a horrible place, monsieur? Cananyone imagine a more melancholy country and a château in worsecondition? And to think that tourists tell you that it's superb, andthat nobody should live on the Creuse without going to see Crozant!Unless there are fish in this stream, I'll be hanged if you ever catchme here again. But I have no faith in their stream. This clear water isdetestable for angling, and the constant noise makes your headache. I amsick with it."

"I see that you haven't had a very pleasant walk," said Gilberte, whohad never seen Galuchet's absurd face before, and who was sorely temptedto laugh at his prosaic scorn. "But you must agree that these ruins arevery impressive; at all events they are unique. Have you been up in thegreat tower?"

"God forbid, mademoiselle!" replied Galuchet, flattered by Gilberte'sattention, and gazing at her with his wide-open round eyes, which wereextraordinarily far apart and separated by a curious little bunch ofsandy eyebrows. "I can see the interior of the barrack from here, as itis open on all sides like a lantern, and I don't think it's worth thetrouble of breaking one's neck." And taking Gilberte's smile forapproval of this stinging satire, he added, in a tone which heconsidered jocose and clever: "A fine country, on my word! not evendog-tooth will grow here! If the Moorish kings were no better housedthan that, I congratulate them! Those fellows had vile taste, and theymust have cut a curious figure! Doubtless they wore clogs and ate withtheir fingers."

"That is a very wise historical commentary," said Emile to Gilberte, whowas biting her handkerchief to avoid laughing outright at MonsieurGaluchet's knowing tone and comical countenance.

"Oh! I see that monsieur is very sarcastic," she replied. "He isentitled to be, as he comes from Paris where everybody is witty and hasfine manners, while here he is among savages."

"I cannot say that at this moment," retorted Galuchet, shooting akilling glance at the fair Gilberte whom he found very much to hisliking; "but frankly, this province is a little behind the times. Thepeople are very dirty. Look at those barefooted, ragged children! InParis everybody has shoes, and those who haven't any don't go out onSunday. I tried to get something to eat at a house to-day: there wasnothing except black bread that a dog wouldn't eat, and goat's milk thatsmelt decidedly rank. Those people have no shame, to live so miserably!"

"May it not be that they are too poor to do better?" said Gilberte,disgusted by Monsieur Galuchet's aristocratic tone.

"It is rather because they are too lazy," he replied, somewhatbewildered by that suggestion, which had not occurred to him.

"What do you know about it, pray?" retorted Gilberte, with anindignation which he did not understand.

"This young woman is very piquant," he thought, "and her little air ofdetermination pleases me immensely. If I should talk to her long, Iwould show her that I am no blockhead of a provincial."

"Well," said Emile to Gilberte, while Constant hunted for worms underthe stones, in order to bait his hook, "you have seen the features of aperfect idiot."

"Come, come, children, you are not indulgent," observed honest Antoine."That young man is not handsome, I agree, but he seems to be a goodfellow, and Monsieur Cardonnet is well satisfied with him. He is veryobliging and has offered several times to do little favors for me.Indeed he once gave me a very nice line, such as we can't findhereabout; unfortunately I lost it before I went home, so that Janillescolded me that day almost as much as she did the day I lost my hat. Bythe way, Monsieur Galuchet," he added, raising his voice, "you promisedto come to fish in our neighborhood; I don't disturb my fish much, Ihaven't your patience, so that you are likely to find some. I count uponseeing you one of these days; come to breakfast at the house and then Iwill take you to a good place; there are plenty of barbel, and they aregood sport."

"You are too kind, monsieur," said Galuchet; "I will certainly come someSunday, since you are pleased to overwhelm me with your courtesy."

And Galuchet, enchanted to have perpetrated that sentence, bowed asgracefully as he could and took his leave, after Emile had given him hismessage for his parents.

Gilberte was somewhat disposed to find fault with her father for suchexcessive benevolence to so dull and unattractive a subject; but she wastoo kind-hearted herself not to overcome her repugnance very quickly,and in a moment she had ceased to think of it, the more readily becauseon that day it was impossible for her to feel vexed at anything.

Thanks to their frame of mind, our lovers found all the incidents of theremainder of their journey agreeable and amusing. Monsieur Antoine's oldmare, hitched to a sort of open buggy, which he was justified in callinghis wheelbarrow, performed prodigies of skill and courage in theshocking roads that they had to follow to reach their destination. Thevehicle had room for three persons, and Sylvain Charasson, seated in themiddle, drove the peaceful Lanternesuperlatively—to use hisown expression.

The horrible jolting of a carriage so poorly hung in no wise disturbedGilberte and her father, who were accustomed to occasional discomfortand never allowed their plans to be disarranged by the weather or thestate of the roads.

Emile rode in front on horseback, to give warning and to help them toalight when the road became too dangerous. Then, when they came out onthe soft sandy soil of the moors, he dropped behind, to chat with theothers, and above all to look at Gilberte.

Never was dandy in the Bois de Boulogne, darting his eyes into histriumphant mistress's superb calèche, so happy and so proud as Emile,as he followed the lovely country girl whom he adored, along theill-defined roads of that desert, by the light of the first stars.

What did it matter to him whether she was seated on a sort of litterdrawn by a sorry nag, or in a fine carriage? whether she was dressed insilk and velvet, or in a faded calico? She wore torn gloves which showedthe tips of her pink fingers resting on the back of the wagon. To saveher Sunday scarf she had folded it and placed it on her knee. Hergraceful figure, slender and willowy, was even more graceful without it.The soft evening breeze seemed to caress with zest her alabaster neck.Emile's breath mingled with the breezes and he was bound like the slaveto the chariot of the conqueror.

There was one time when the vehicle, owing to Sylvain's lack of caution,stopped short, and nearly came in collision with Emile's horse's head.

Monsieur Sacripant had placed one paw on the step, to signify that hewas tired and that they must take him inside. Monsieur Antoine alightedto seize him by the skin of his neck and toss him in on the floor of thewagon, for the poor beast no longer had enough spring in his legs tojump so high. Meanwhile Gilberte patted Corbeau's nose and passed herlittle hand through his black mane. Emile felt that his heart wasbeating as if a magnetic current conveyed her caresses to him. He was onthe point of making some remark concerning Corbeau's happiness, asnaïve as those Galuchet would have been likely to make on such anoccasion; but he contented himself with being stupid silently. One is sohappy when, having no lack of wit, he is conscious of an attack of suchstupidity!

It was quite dark when they reached Fresselines. The trees and rocks hadbecome simply black masses, whence the solemn and majestic roar of thestream came forth.

A delicious lassitude and the cool night air cast Emile and Gilberteinto a sort of blissful drowsiness. They had before them the whole ofthe next day, a whole century of happiness.

The inn at which they alighted, and which was the best in the village,had only two beds, in two different rooms. They decided that Gilberteshould have the better room, and that Monsieur Antoine and Emile shouldshare the other, each taking a mattress. But when they came to inspectthe beds, they found that there was but one mattress to each, and Emiletook a childish pleasure in the thought of sleeping on the straw in thebarn.

This arrangement, which threatened Charasson with a like fate, seemedsorely to displease the page of Châteaubrun. That young man liked hiscomfort, especially when he was travelling. Being accustomed to attendhis master in all his journeys, he made amends for the austere régimeof Janille at Châteaubrun by eating and sleeping to his heart's contentwhen away from home.

Monsieur Antoine, while making sport of him with a rough sort of gayety,overlooked all his whims and made himself his slave, talking to him asto a negro all the while. Thus, while Sylvain made a pretence ofgrooming the horse and harnessing him, it was always his master whohandled the curry-comb and lifted the shafts.

If the child fell asleep while driving, Antoine would rub his eyes, pickup the reins, and struggle against sleep rather than wake his page.

If there were only one portion of meat at supper, Monsieur Antoine wouldsay to Charasson, as he feasted his eyes on the appetizing dish: "Youmay share the bones with Monsieur Sacripant;" but the goodman would,almost unconsciously, gnaw the bones himself and leave the best piecefor Sylvain. Thus the crafty urchin knew his master's ways, and the morehe was threatened with having to go hungry and work and lose his sleep,the more surely he relied on his lucky star.

However, when he saw that Monsieur Antoine paid no attention to thematter of his sleeping accommodations, and that Emile was content withthe straw, he began, while he was serving the supper, to yawn andstretch, and to observe that they had a long journey, that infernalplace was at the world's end, and that he had really thought they wouldnever get there.

Antoine turned a deaf ear to it all, and, although the supper was farfrom dainty, ate with excellent appetite.

"This is how I like to travel," he said, clinking his glass againstEmile's every other minute, as a consequence of the habit he had falleninto with Jean Jappeloup; "when I have all the comforts and everybody Ilove with me. Don't talk to me about taking long journeys in apost-chaise or on a ship, wandering about the world, alone andmiserable, in quest of fortune. It's very nice to enjoy the little moneyone may have, riding about a beautiful region where you know everybodyyou meet by name, and every house, every tree and every rut! Am I notjust as comfortable here as at home? If I had Jean and Janille at thetable, I should think I was at Châteaubrun, for I have my daughter hereand one of my best friends; and my dog, too, and even MonsieurCharasson, who is as pleased as a king to see the world and be quarteredaccording to his deserts."

"It pleases you to say that, monsieur," replied Charasson, who, insteadof waiting on the table, had seated himself in the chimney corner; "thisis an abominable inn, and they make you sleep with the dogs."

"Well, you good-for-naught, isn't that too good for you?" retortedMonsieur Antoine, in his sternest voice; "you're very lucky not to besent to perch with the hens! Deuce take it, you sybarite, you have strawto sleep on; but I suppose you are afraid of dying of hunger in thenight, eh?"

"If that's so, you can lie on the floor at the foot of my bed, to teachyou to complain. You stand like a hunchback, so a hard bed like thatwill do you a deal of good. Go and prepare your master's bed and spreadthe horse blanket for Monsieur Sacripant."

Emile wondered what would be the end of this jest, which MonsieurAntoine seemed determined to carry on to the end with a sober face, and,when Gilberte had gone to her room, he followed Monsieur Antoine to histo find out whether he would persuade his page to make the best of thestraw.

The count amused himself by causing himself to be waited on like a manof quality. "Come," he said, "pull off my boots, give me my nightcap andput out the lights. You can stretch yourself on the bricks here, andlook out for yourself if you are unlucky enough to snore! Good-night,Emile. Go to bed; you won't be vexed with the company of this rascal,who would prevent you from sleeping. He'll sleep on the floor, to punishhim for his absurd complaints."

After about two hours' sleep, Emile was awakened with a start by thefall of a heavy body on the straw beside him. "It's nothing, it's onlyI," said Monsieur Antoine; "don't let me disturb you. I undertook toshare my bed with that good-for-naught; but my gentleman, on the pleathat he is growing, must needs have the fidgets in his legs, and hekicked me so many times that I abandoned the field to him. Let him sleepin a bed, as he's so set upon it! for my part, I shall be much morecomfortable here."

Such was the exemplary punishment which the page of Châteaubrununderwent at Fresselines.

XXII

INTRIGUE

We will leave Emile to forget his appointment with Janille, and towander over hill and dale with the object of his thoughts; and we willtake up the thread of the events in which his destiny is involved, atthe Cardonnet factory.

Monsieur Cardonnet was beginning to be seriously annoyed by Emile'scontinual absences, and to say to himself that the time would soon cometo keep watch on and regulate his actions. "Now that his mind isdiverted from his socialism," he thought, "it is time for him to takehold of some profitable reality. Argument will have little effect on amind so addicted to discussion. It seems that his hobby-horse is in thestable for a while, and I won't do anything to make him take him out;but let us see if we cannot replace theories by practice. At his age aman is led by instinct rather than by ideas, although he proudly fanciesthat the contrary is true; first of all let us bind him down to somepractical work and make him devote himself to it, against his will, ifnecessary. He is too hard-working and intelligent not to do well what heis compelled to do. Gradually whatever employment I may have providedfor him will become a necessity to him. He was always like that. Evenalthough he detested the study of the law, he learned the law. Verygood, let him finish his law-studies, even if he is destined to hate itmore and more, and to relapse into the aberrations which have disturbedme so. I know now that it won't take very much time or a very clevercoquette to rid him of the coat of pedagogy of the new schools."

But it was the middle of vacation, and Monsieur Cardonnet had noimmediate pretext for sending Emile back to Poitiers. Moreover, he hadgreat hopes of his stay at Gargilesse; for, little by little, Emileovercame his repugnance to the occupations which his father marked outfor him from time to time, and seemed to be no longer engrossed by theobject for which he had fought so earnestly. All the work that Emile didhe did in a superior way and Monsieur Cardonnet flattered himself thathe could drive love from his mind when he chose, without impairing thesubmission and the talents of which he sometimes reaped the fruits.

Nothing was farther from Madame Cardonnet's intention than to call herhusband's attention to Emile's strange conduct. If she could havedivined the joy which her son derived from absenting himself thus, andthe secret of that joy, she would have assisted to save appearances andwith more affection than prudence, would have become his accomplice. Butshe imagined that Monsieur Cardonnet's manner, which was often cold andsarcastic, was the only cause of the discomfort Emile suffered in hisfather's house; and, nursing a secret grudge against her lord and mastertherefor, she suffered bitterly because she enjoyed so little of herson's society. When Galuchet returned with the information that MonsieurEmile would not be at home until the evening of the next day or the nextbut one, she could not restrain her tears, and said in an undertone:"Now he has begun to pass the night away from home! He is not willingeven to sleep here; he must be very unhappy!"

"Upon my word, that's a pretty subject for lamentation!" said MonsieurCardonnet with a shrug. "Is your son a girl, that you are so frightenedfor him to pass a night away from home? If you begin this way, you arenot at the end of your troubles; for this is only the beginning of theescapades a young man is likely to indulge in! Constant," he said to hissecretary when they were alone, "who were the people in whose companyyou met my son?"

"Oh! a very agreeable party, monsieur. Monsieur Antoine de Châteaubrun,who is a high-liver, a stout, jovial man, altogether agreeable in hismanners; and his daughter, a superb woman, with a perfect figure, themost attractive creature you can imagine."

"I see that you are a connoisseur, Galuchet, and that you missed none ofthe damsel's charms."

"Dame! monsieur, when a man has eyes, he uses them," said Galuchet,with a loud laugh of self-satisfaction; for it very rarely happened thathis employer did him the honor to talk with him on a subject unconnectedwith his duties.

"And it is with these same persons, I suppose, that my son continued hisromantic excursions?"

"I think so, monsieur; for I saw him in the distance on horseback, as ifaccompanying them."

"Yes, monsieur, I went there once when the masters were absent, and if Ihad known that I should find no one there but the old servant I wouldn'thave been such a fool."

"Because I might have seen the château for nothing at another time, Ihave no doubt; whereas that old witch, after showing me around her den,demanded fifty centimes, monsieur, as the price of her condescension!It's a shame to bleed people for showing them such a ruin!"

"Repairs, monsieur! it's a pitiful sight! They have rebuilt one corner,about as big as your hand, and they didn't even have money enough to putwall-papers on their rooms. The master isn't half so well lodged as I amin your house! It's a depressing place, inside! Heaps of stones in thecourtyard to break your legs over, nettles, brambles, no door under agreat archway that resembles the entrance to the château of Vincennesand which would be pretty enough if they would give it a coat of plasterof Paris; but all the rest in such a state! Not a wall secure, not astaircase that doesn't shake, cracks big enough to hold a man, ivy thatthey don't even take the pains to tear down, although it would be easyenough, and rooms that have neither floor nor ceiling! On my word, thepeople hereabout are genuine Gascons for boasting about their oldchâteaux, and sending you about on break-neck roads, to findwhat?—ruins and thistles! Crozant is a stupendous fraud, andChâteaubrun is little better than Crozant!"

"So you were not charmed with Crozant either? But my son seemed to likeit immensely, I'll be bound?"

"Monsieur Emile might very well like it, with such a pretty slip of agirl on his arm! If I had been in his shoes I shouldn't have complainedovermuch about the place; but for my part, as I went there hoping tocatch a trout and didn't get as much as a gudgeon, I am not very wellsatisfied with my walk, especially as it is twenty kilometres each way,making four myriameters on foot."

"Yes, monsieur, very tired and very dissatisfied! they'll never catch mein their Moorish kings' fortress again."

And Galuchet, recalling with pride his jest of the morning, repeatedcomplacently and with a cunning smile:

"Those kings must have cut a curious figure! doubtless they wore clogsand ate with their fingers."

"You are very bright to-night, Galuchet," rejoined Monsieur Cardonnet,not deigning to smile; "but, smitten as you are, if you were brighteryou would find some pretext for calling on old Châteaubrun from time totime."

"I need no pretexts, monsieur," replied Galuchet in an important tone."I am well acquainted with him; he has often invited me to fish in hisstream, and again to-day he urged me to go to breakfast with him someSunday."

"Very well, why don't you go? I am glad to allow you a little recreationfrom time to time."

"You are too kind, monsieur; if you don't need me, I will go nextSunday, for I am very fond of fishing."

"I tell you, my dear fellow, you are an idiot," Cardonnet calmlyrepeated. "You think of nothing but catching gudgeons, when you might bepaying court to a pretty girl."

"Oh! I don't know about that, monsieur!" said Galuchet, scratching hisear with a fatuous air; "I should like the girl well enough, that'strue! she's a jewel! blue eyes, fair hair that's a metre and a halflong, I'll wager, superb teeth, and a mischievous little glance. I couldbe dead in love with her, if I chose!"

"Dame! if I had ten thousand francs of my own, I might suit her! butwhen one has nothing, one is hardly a suitable match for a girl who hasnothing."

"Why her income is contingent, and old Janille, who is supposed to be hermother—I must confess, it would be a little distasteful to me to bethe son-in-law of a servant,—old Janille would certainly insist on asmall sum to begin housekeeping with."

"I have no idea; but it seems to me that those people have no right tobe very ambitious. Their hovel isn't worth four thousand francs; themountain, the garden, a bit of meadow on the edge of the stream, allovergrown with rushes, and the orchard where there are some fruit treesgood for nothing but to burn,—all those together wouldn't bring in ahundred francs a year. They say Monsieur Antoine has a little capital ingovernment securities. It can't be much, judging from the life theylead. But, if I were sure of a thousand francs a year, I would arrangematters with the girl. She pleases me and I am old enough to settledown."

"But, although he has recognized her, she is a natural daughter andentitled to only half of it."

"Of course you would need a little capital. We might be able to findthat for you, Galuchet, if your happiness absolutely depended on it."

"Well, monsieur, even though you should call me a fool again, I will saywhat I think. I think that Monsieur Emile is paying court to that younglady."

"If monsieur is not aware of it, I should be very sorry to be the causeof trouble between him and his son."

"I don't know whether people are talking about it; I pay littleattention to gossip; but I myself have noticed that Monsieur Emile goesto Châteaubrun very often."

"That is as monsieur may choose to think, and it is all the same to me.I simply meant to say that if I had any idea of marrying a young woman,I should not be very well pleased to come in second."

"I can imagine that. But it is hardly likely that my son would payserious attention to a young woman whom he neither would nor couldmarry. My son has lofty sentiments, he would never descend to afalsehood, to false promises. If the girl is virtuous, be assured thather relations with Emile are entirely innocent. Isn't that youropinion?"

"That is altogether too accommodating! If you were in love withMademoiselle de Châteaubrun, wouldn't you try to find out the truth foryourself?"

"Certainly, monsieur; but I can hardly be in love with her, having seenher but once."

"Well, listen to me, Galuchet: you can do me a service. What you havejust told me makes me a little more anxious than it makes you, and allthat we have been saying, by way of conjecture and jest, will have atall events, the serious result of having warned me of certain dangers. Itell you again that my son is too honorable a man to seduce a penniless,inexperienced girl; but it might happen to him, if he sees her toooften, to conceive for her somewhat too warm a feeling, which wouldexpose them both to temporary but unnecessary suffering. It would bevery easy for me to cut the whole thing off short by sending Emile awayat once; but that would interfere with the plan I have formed oftraining him to share my occupations, and I regret to be compelled forso unimportant a reason to part with him under present circumstances.Consent therefore to help me. You are sure of a warm welcome atChâteaubrun; go there often, as often as my son; make yourself thefriend of the family. Père Antoine's unsuspecting nature will assistyou. Look about you, observe, and report to me all that happens. If yourpresence annoys my son, it will be a proof that the danger exists; if hetries to have you turned out, stand your ground, and pose unhesitatinglyas an aspirant to the young lady's hand."

"You must be very simple if with time and address you can't find outabout that, as you are going there in the quality of an observer."

"I shall have made a ridiculous campaign, and Monsieur Emile will bearme a grudge for it."

"Galuchet, I don't ask anything for nothing. Certainly, all this can'tbe done without some ennui and some unpleasantness for you; but there'sa good bonus at the end of all the sacrifices I ask you to make."

"That's enough, monsieur, and I have only one other word to say; andthat is that in case the girl should suit me, and I should suit her too,I should be too poor at this moment to go to housekeeping."

"We have already anticipated that contingency. I would assist you tomake a position for yourself. For example, you undertake to work for mefor a certain time, and I make you an advance of five thousand francs onyour salary, and a bonus of five thousand francs in addition, ifnecessary."

"This is no longer a jest, a conjecture, I suppose?" said Galuchet,scratching his head harder than ever.

"Very good, monsieur; you are too kind to me. I will plant myself besideMonsieur Emile, and he will be very shrewd if I lose sight of him!"

"He will be shrewder than you, and that will not be difficult," thoughtMonsieur Cardonnet as soon as Galuchet had retired; "but a rival of yoursort will be enough to make him feel humiliated by his choice, verysoon; and if she prefers a dull lout like you for a husband to ahandsome chance suitor like him, he will have received a useful lesson.In that event a trifling sacrifice for Monsieur Galuchet's establishmentwould not be draining the sea dry, especially as that would keep him inmy service and cut short his ambition to leave me. But that is the worstpossible result of my plan, and Galuchet has twenty chances to one ofbeing shown the door sooner or later. Meanwhile I shall have had time tothink of something better, and I shall at all events have succeeded inworrying Emile, in disenchanting him, in fastening to his sides an enemywhom he will hardly know how to combat—ennui in the shape of ConstantGaluchet."

Cardonnet's idea did not lack depth, and if it had not been too soon ortoo late for Emile to renounce his illusions, it might have beensuccessful. Any sort of competition stimulates vulgar minds, but arefined mind suffers from an unworthy rivalry. An exalted nature willinfallibly be disgusted with the being who takes pleasure in the homageof stupidity; the mere fact that the object of his adoration toleratessuch homage too patiently may be enough to cause him to blush and takehimself away. But Cardonnet reckoned without Gilberte's pride.

Emile returned from his excursion more inflamed with passion than ever,and in such a state of blissful enthusiasm that it seemed to himimpossible that he should not triumph over everything. The generousGilberte had powerfully assisted his illusion by sharing it, and thereinshe had shown herself, by her lack of prudence and her openness ofheart, the worthy child of Antoine. Emile might well have reproachedhimself, however, for having gone so far with her without having firstmade sure of Monsieur Cardonnet's consent. That was a terribleimprudence; indeed it was culpable rashness; for, unless a miracleshould happen, he could reckon on his father's refusal. But Emile was inthat state of delirious excitement in which one reckons on miracles anddeems himself almost a god because he is loved.

However, he returned to Gargilesse without having made up his mind atwhat moment he would announce his sentiments to his family; for Gilbertehad insisted that he should do nothing suddenly, and had received hispromise to begin by gradually appealing to the affection of his parents,by governing his conduct in accordance with their wishes. Thus Emile wasto make amends for an absence which had doubtless caused them someanxiety, by staying with them all the rest of the week and workingzealously at whatever his father chose to give him to do. "You must notcome to see us until next Sunday," Gilberte had said when they parted,"and then we will arrange our plans for the following week." The poorchild felt that she must live from day to day, and, like Emile, shederived infinite pleasure from caressing in her thoughts the mystery ofa love of which they alone realized the charm and the depth.

Emile kept his word. He did not absent himself from home during theweek, and contented himself with writing Monsieur de Boisguilbault anaffectionate letter to set his mind at rest concerning his sentiments,in case the suspicious old man should take alarm because he did not seehim. He followed his father like a shadow; he even asked him foremployment, and devoted himself to the construction of the factory likeone who took the deepest interest in the success of the undertaking.But, as it is not natural to do violence to one's own heart for long, itwas impossible for him to push the indolent workmen. Monsieur Cardonnetderived no sort of benefit from the employment of men of thatdescription. They lacked energy, and the rivalry of the more activeproduced discouragement in them instead of emulation. They were wellpaid, but, as they saw, from the master's dissatisfaction, that theywould not be retained long, they determined to make the most of thepresent, and consequently economized in their food. When Emile saw themsitting on the damp stones, with their feet in the mud, eating a pieceof black bread and raw onions, like the Hebrew slaves employed inbuilding the Pyramids, he had such a feeling of compassion for them thathe would have preferred giving them his own blood to drink, toabandoning them to that slow death of toil and starvation.

Thereupon, he tried to persuade his father, since he could not save allthose numerous lives, to afford them at all events some temporary reliefby feeding them better than they fed themselves, or by giving them, atleast, a little wine. But Monsieur Cardonnet reminded him, only toojustly, that, as all the vines were frozen in the preceding year, theycould not obtain wine in that country except at a very high price, andthat it was for the table of the bourgeois only. Where no general systemof economy was practised, it was easy to prove that economy in specialdirections was powerless to bring about any important amelioration, andto demonstrate, by the unanswerable evidence of figures, that they musteither abandon the idea of building or compel the mechanic to undergothe unpleasant necessities of his position. Monsieur Cardonnet did hisutmost to remedy the evil, but that utmost was confined within narrowlimits. Emile submitted and sighed; he could give Gilberte no strongerproof of his love than to hold his peace.

"Well," said Monsieur Cardonnet, "I see that you will never be verysharp in the matter of superintending; but when I am no longer in thisworld, it will be enough if you realize the need of having a goodsuperintendent in my place. The material part of the work is the leastpoetic; you will find your field of activity in the direction of art andscience, which have their place in manufacturing as in everything else.Come to my study, help me to understand the things that escape mycomprehension, and place your genius at the service of my energy."

During that week Emile had to read, to study, to comprehend and tosummarize several works on hydrostatics. Monsieur Cardonnet did notthink that he really needed to have that work done, but it was one wayof testing Emile, and he was overjoyed by his rapidity and mentalkeenness. Such studies could arouse no disgust in a mind occupied withtheories. Anything connected with science may have some usefulapplication in the future, and when one has not under his eyes thedeplorable conditions through which social inequality compels the men ofthe present day to pass, in the execution of any work, he may wellbecome deeply interested in the abstract theories of science. MonsieurCardonnet recognized Emile's lofty intelligence and said to himselfthat, with such eminent faculties, it was not possible that he wouldalways close his eyes to what he called evidence.

When Sunday arrived, it seemed to Emile that a century had passed sincehe had seen that enchanted palace of Châteaubrun, where, in his eyes,nature was lovelier, the air softer and the light more glorious than inany spot on earth. He began with Boisguilbault however; for heremembered that Constant Galuchet was to breakfast at Châteaubrun, andhe hoped that uninteresting individual would have departed or would bebusy with his fishing when he arrived; but he was far from anticipatingMonsieur Constant's Machiavelism. He found him still at table withMonsieur Antoine, a little overburdened by the native wine, to which hewas not accustomed, shuffling about on his chair and making commonplaceremarks, while Gilberte, sitting in the courtyard, waited impatientlyuntil a relaxation of vigilance on Janille's part should enable her togo out on the terrace and watch for her lover's coming.

But Janille did not relax her vigilance; she was prowling about in everycorner of the ruins and was on the spot to receive half the salutationwhich Emile addressed to Gilberte. But Emile saw, at the first glance,that she had said nothing.

"Really, monsieur," she said, lisping with more affectation than usual,"you are not polite, and you have nearly caused a rivals' quarrelbetween my girl and me. What! you lead me to hope that you will come andkeep me company in her absence, you even go so far as to appoint a day,and then, instead of coming here, you go and enjoy yourself taking anexcursion with mademoiselle, on the pretext that she is forty yearsyounger than me! as if that was my fault, and as if I am not as light offoot and as lively to talk with as a mere girl! It was very rude on yourpart, and you have done well to let my anger lie for a few days; for ifyou had come sooner you would have had a very cold reception."

"Hasn't Monsieur Antoine justified me," rejoined Emile, "by telling youhow entirely unforeseen our meeting at Crozant was, and that our trip toSaint Germain was suggested by him on the spur of the moment? Forgiveme, dear Mademoiselle Janille, and be sure that nothing less than beingten leagues away would have induced me to break my appointment withyou."

"I know, I know," said Janille, in a meaning tone, "that it was MonsieurAntoine who did all the harm; he is so inconsiderate! but I should havethought that you would be more reasonable."

"I am very reasonable, my dear Janille," replied Emile in the same tone,"and I have proved it by passing the week with my father, working toplease him, in spite of my longing to come and obtain my pardon."

"You will be satisfied with me hereafter," said Emile, glancing atGilberte, "and my father has already forgiven me for the time I havewasted. He is very kind to me, and I will show my appreciation of hiskindness by forcing myself to undergo the most painful sacrifices, eventhat of seeing you a little less frequently henceforth, MademoiselleJanille; so scold me to-day, quickly, but not too hard, and forgive meeven more quickly, for I shall probably be able to come here very seldomfor several weeks. I have much work to do, and my courage would fail meif I knew that you were angry with me."

"Well, well, you are a good boy, and no one can bear you a grudge," saidJanille. "I see," she added with a knowing air, lowering her voice,"that we understand each other perfectly without any furtherexplanation, and that it's a good thing to have people of honor and goodsense like you to deal with."

This result of the explanations threatened by Janille relieved Emilefrom a great anxiety. His position was quite serious enough, withoutbeing complicated by the alarms and questions of that faithful retainer.The advice Gilberte had given him, to come more rarely and to let timedo its work, was thus proved to be most judicious, and if she had been atrained diplomatist, she could not have acted more shrewdly on thatoccasion. In very truth, how many marriages between persons of unequalfortune would become possible, did not the woman, by her exactions, herpride or her suspicion, involve the man enamored of her in a labyrinthof suffering and anxiety, amid which his prudence and courage inovercoming obstacles fail him! With Gilberte's childlike innocence wasblended calm common sense and unselfish courage. She did not look uponher union with Emile as possible until after several years, and she feltthat her love was strong enough to wait. That cruel future appeared toher heart, overflowing with faith, like a day radiant with sunshine; andtherein she was not so foolish as some might think. It is faith and notprudence that moves mountains.

XXIII

THE DEVIL'S ROCK

Emile had forgotten even Constant Galuchet's name when he found himselfonce more within the walls of the dear old château; and when he went into salute Monsieur Antoine, the stupid features of his father's clerkproduced the same effect upon him that a caterpillar produces upon onewho puts out his hand unsuspiciously to pluck a fruit. Galuchet hadprepared to greet Emile with the assured air of a man who has takenpossession first of a coveted seat, and who can afford an affablegreeting to those who come too late. A little more and he would havedone the honors of the château to Emile. But the young man's cold andmocking glance, as he replied to his familiar and effusive salutation,disconcerted him sadly; that glance seemed to say to him:

Meanwhile Galuchet, who thought much more of earning MonsieurCardonnet's liberality than of winning Gilberte's good graces, made amighty effort to recover his self-possession, and his face, while notexpressing actual hostility, assumed an unaccustomed air of insolencewhich was, under the circumstances, as injudicious as possible.

Emile had determined to make the best of the native wine, and, in ordernot to offend Monsieur de Châteaubrun, he did not refuse to drink withhim on his arrival. It may be that, by virtue of the utter fascinationwhich took possession of him in the place where Gilberte passed herdays, he really considered that thin, sour beverage better than all thechoice wines in his father's cellar. But on this occasion it seemedbitter to him, when Galuchet, assuming the air of a man who condescendsto howl with the wolves, put out his glass toward his, proposing totouch glasses after the manner of Monsieur de Châteaubrun. Heaccompanied this familiarity with an unpleasantly vulgar movement of theelbow and shoulder, thinking to imitate in jovial mood MonsieurAntoine's patriarchal simplicity.

"Monsieur le comte," said Emile, ostentatiously treating Antoine witheven more respect than usual, "I fear that you have induced MonsieurConstant Galuchet to drink too much. See how red his eyes are and how hestares! Be careful; I warn you that his head is very weak."

"My head weak, Monsieur Emile! why do you say that my head is weak?"retorted Galuchet. "You have never seen me drunk, so far as I know."

"This will be the first time that I shall have had that pleasure, if youcontinue to drink as you are doing."

"Very good," said Galuchet, rising, "if Monsieur Antoine cares to take awalk, I shall be glad to offer my arm to Mademoiselle Gilberte, and thenyou can see if I walk crooked."

"I prefer not to risk the experiment," said Gilberte, who was sitting atthe door of the pavilion, caressing Monsieur Sacripant.

"So you take sides against me, too, Mademoiselle Gilberte?" rejoinedGaluchet, walking toward her; "do you believe what Monsieur Emile says?"

"My daughter takes sides against no one, monsieur," said Janille, "and Idon't understand why you bother your head about somebody who doesn'tbother her head about you."

"If you forbid her to take my arm," replied Galuchet, "I have nothing tosay. It seems to me, however, that it's no breach of true Frenchcourtesy to offer a young lady your arm."

"My mother does not forbid me to accept your arm, monsieur," saidGilberte, sweetly but with much dignity; "but I thank you for yourcourtesy. I am not a Parisian and I can hardly appreciate the custom oftaking a support in walking. Besides, our paths do not permit thatcustom."

"Your paths are no worse than those at Crozant, and the rougher they arethe more need there is for people to help one another. I saw you plainlyenough at Crozant put your lovely hand on Monsieur Emile's shoulder, togo down the mountain; oh! I saw it, Mademoiselle Gilberte, and I wouldhave liked right well to be in his place!"

"Monsieur Galuchet, if you had not drunk beyond all reason," said Emile,"you would not concern yourself so much about me, and I beg you not toconcern yourself about me at all."

"Hoity-toity! now you are losing your temper, are you?" said Galuchet,trying to adopt a good-natured tone. "Everybody is hard on me here,except Monsieur Antoine."

"Perhaps that is because you are a little too familiar with everybody,"retorted Emile.

"What's going on here?" said Jean Jappeloup, entering the room. "Are youquarreling? Here am I, to make peace. Good-day,ma mie Janille;good-day, my Gilberte du bon Dieu; good-day, friend Emile; good-day,Antoine, my master: and good-day, you," he said to Galuchet; "I don'tknow you, but it's all the same. Ah! it's Père Cardonnet's man ofbusiness!—Ah! good-day to you, my dear Monsieur Sacripant; I didn'tnotice your greeting."

"Vive Dieu!" cried Antoine, "better late than never; but do youknow, Jean, you are going wrong? When we only have one day a week to seeyou,—and God knows how long the week is without you!—you gethere at noon on Sunday!"

"What if I choose to call you so? I was your master long enough, and itwould be a bore to me to give orders all the time. Now, I choose to beyour apprentice, for a little change. Come, give me something fresh andcool to drink, quickly, Janille. I am warm! Not that I am hungry; theywouldn't let me go after mass, my good friends at Gargilesse! I mustneeds stop and chatter a little with Mère Laroze, and you can't keepyour throat from getting dry when you talk without drinking. But I camefast, because I knew you would be thinking about me here. You see,Gilberte, since I came back to the old place the Sunday would have to beforty-eight hours long to allow me to satisfy all the friends who areglad to see me!"

"Well, my dear Jean, if you are happy, that consoles us a little forseeing you less often," said Gilberte.

"Happy?" rejoined the carpenter; "there's no happier man than I on theface of the earth!"

"That's easy to see," said Janille. "See how he has cheered up since heceased to be tracked every morning like an old rabbit! And then heshaves every Sunday now, and he has new clothes that look very well onhim."

"And who was it who spun the wool for this pretty drugget?" said Jean."Why,ma mie Janille and the good Lord's child! And who gave thewool? my master's sheep. And who paid the cost? it is paid in friendshiphere. You don't have coats like this, bourgeois. I wouldn't change myfustian jacket for your black broadcloth swallow-tail."

"I would be satisfied with the spinstress," observed Galuchet, glancingat Gilberte.

"You?" said Jean, good-humoredly bringing his hand down on Galuchet'sshoulder with force enough to crush an ox; "you have spinstresses likethis one? Why,ma mie Janille is too young for you, my boy; and asfor the other, I would kill her if she should spin a bit of wool as long asyour nose for you!"

Galuchet was wounded by this allusion to his flat nose, and retorted,rubbing his shoulder:

"Look you, peasant, your manners aretoo touching; joke with yourequals, I have nothing to say to you."

"What's this gentleman's name?" Jean asked Monsieur Antoine. "I can'tremember his devil of a name."

"Come, come, Jean, you go a little too fast, old fellow," repliedMonsieur Antoine. "Don't undertake to tease Monsieur Galuchet; he's avery worthy young man, and, furthermore, he is my guest."

"Well said, master! Let us make peace, Monsieur Maljuché. Will you havea pinch of snuff?"

"I don't use it," replied Galuchet, haughtily. "With Monsieur Antoine'spermission, I will leave the table."

"At your pleasure, young man, at your pleasure," said the châtelain."Monsieur Emile doesn't enjoy long sessions either, and you can strollabout a bit. Janille will show you the château, or, if you prefer to godown to the brook, get your lines ready. We will join you directly, andtake you where you will find good sport."

"Oh! yes," said the carpenter, "he's a fisher of small fry! He doesnothing else every evening at Gargilesse, and when anyone speaks to himhe makes a wry face because it disturbs his fish. Well, we will godirectly and help him to catch something better than his small fry. Lookyou, Monsieur Maljuché, if I don't put you in the way of carrying homea salmon for your supper, I'll agree to change names with you. You don'tneed to be in such a hurry. The boat should be in good condition, for Inailed a plank in its belly not long ago. We'll find an old harpoonsomewhere, and theDevil's Rock, where the salmon usually go to takea nap in the sun, isn't far away. But it's a dangerous place, and you mustnot go alone."

"We will all go," said Gilberte, "if Jean manages the boat. It's veryinteresting sport, and the place itself is magnificent."

"Oh! if you are coming, Mademoiselle Gilberte, I will await yourpleasure," said Galuchet.

"Hear that! wouldn't anyone think she was going on your account,paper-scratcher? This youngster is impertinent beyond everything. Iseverybody like that where you come from? Oh! don't put on that indignantexpression and look over your shoulder, for it doesn't frighten me much.If you choose to be agreeable, I will be, too; but if, just because youare dressed in black like a notary, you think you can leave the tablewhen I remain, you are much mistaken. Sit down, sit down, Maljuché! Ihaven't finished drinking, and you are going to drink with me."

But the carpenter would have broken him in two like a lath rather thanlet him go. He forced him to sit down again on the bench and swallowseveral more bumpers, Galuchet striving to show a bold front toevil-fortune, and Monsieur Antoine shielding him ineffectually againsthis old friend's malicious shafts, although he did not share theantipathy which the secretary's face and manners aroused in the rest ofthe family.

Emile had slowly followed Gilberte and Janille into the courtyard, and,despite the little old woman's jealous watchfulness, he had succeeded intelling his sweetheart that he had obeyed her orders zealously, and thathe found his father in such a favorable frame of mind that he couldsafely risk some overture in the following week. But Gilberte thoughtthat the risk would be too great, and urged him to persevere in thatsedentary, laborious life. Courage seemed easy to them both. Now thatEmile was sure that he was loved, he was so happy that he thought thathe could demand nothing more of fortune for a long while. There was adivine tranquillity in the depths of his heart. Gilberte's clear andsearching glance said so many things to him now!

There is, in the dawn of a lover's happiness, a moment of tranquilbeatitude, when the most penetrating observer would have difficulty indetecting the secret on the surface. The desire to see and speak to eachother every hour seems to disappear with the anxious longing to reach anunderstanding. When their hearts are bound together by a mutual avowal,neither witnesses nor separation can embarrass them or part them inreality. Thus the clear-sighted Janille was deceived by their peacefulmerriment and by the prudence which comes only when suffering and doubtare at an end. The perturbation which Janille had often noticed in youngCardonnet, the sudden flush that rose to Gilberte's cheeks at certainwords of which she alone had grasped the meaning, her sadness and herill-designed agitation when he was late in coming, all had vanishedsince the trip to Crozant, and Janille was amazed that an incident theconsequences of which she had dreaded had caused a favorable change inthe state of affairs.

"I was mistaken," she said to herself. "My girl is not thinking too muchabout him; and if he thinks of her, he will know enough to say nothing,and draw back little by little, rather than endanger our repose. He isbehaving well, and it would be a pity to hurt his feelings, since heunderstood me with half a word, and is carrying out my wishes of his ownaccord."

If Jean Jappeloup had conspired with Emile to take vengeance on Galuchetfor his pretensions, he could have done no better than he did; forduring more than an hour, while the lovers were strolling about withJanille in the neighborhood of the pavilion, he employed sometimescunning raillery, sometimes open force to keep him at the table and makehim drink,willy-nilly. In this test, which was beyond his strength,Galuchet soon lost the little good sense with which nature had endowedhim. He was much scandalized at first by the châtelain's habits andconceived a profound contempt for him whom he regarded as the count'scompanion in debauchery. In a word, Galuchet, who had no trace ofelevation in his feelings or his ideas, and who was not worth a singlehair from the heads of those two rough-spoken worthies, deemed himselfdegraded, and promised himself that he would, in his report to hismaster, depict in startling colors the painful task he had undertaken.But, as he drank, his wits went astray altogether, his vulgar instinctsgained the upper hand of his secret vanity, and he began to laugh, topound on the table, to talk loud, to boast of innumerable feats ofvalor, and to make such a pitiful exhibition of himself, that Jappeloup,who was as refined as his manners were abrupt, took compassion on himand gave him a severe lecture with a cold and serious air.

"You don't know how to drink, my friend," he said; "you are ugly whenyou laugh and you are stupid when you try to be witty. If I ventured togive Monsieur Antoine a piece of advice, it would be to give you a glassof water when you come to breakfast with him, otherwise you might makeremarks before his daughter that would force me to put you out of doors.You thought, when you saw us all so merry and so unceremonious with oneanother, that we were vulgar folk and that you must become vulgar todescend to our level. You made a mistake. Whoever has nothing evil inhis heart or unclean in his mind can let himself go; and even if Ishould be so drunk that I couldn't stand, I shouldn't be afraid that Icould be made to blush the next day for anything I had said. It seemsthat it's not the same with you; that is why you do well to dress inblack from head to foot and make people who don't know you think you'rea gentleman; for if there is a peasant here, you are the man!"

Antoine tried to soften the sermon, and Galuchet tried to get angry.Jean shrugged his shoulders and left the table to avoid having to givehim a lesson more appropriate to the state of his intellect.

When they left the pavilion Galuchet was still walking straight; but hishead was so heavy and so heated, that he dared not utter a word beforeGilberte, for fear of saying one thing for another.

"Well," said Gilberte to Jappeloup, "are we going to the Devil's Rock?It's more than a year since I was there; Janille will never let fathertake me there because she says it's too dangerous and one can't affordto be absent-minded there; but she will let me go with you, my goodJean! Do you feel that your hand is still strong and your eye sureenough?"

"I?" said Jappeloup, "why, I feel as well equal to the task as if I wereno more than twenty-five."

"And you are not tipsy?" said Janille, taking hold of Jean's sleeve andstanding on tiptoe to look into his eyes.

"Look, look all you please," said he. "If you can do this, I will agreethat I am tipsy!" And he placed on his head a pitcher of water thatJanille was carrying, and ran several yards without upsetting it.

"Very good," said Janille; "I could do as much if I chose, but it's nouse; I am sure of you, and I trust my girl with you. For my part, Ihaven't the time to go along. Do you, Monsieur Emile, just keep an eyeon the father, for he is quite capable of trying to step ashore inmid-stream, if he is busy laughing or talking."

"And who will keep an eye on Maljuché?" queried Jappeloup, pointing toGaluchet, who had gone ahead with Monsieur Antoine. "I won't beresponsible for him."

"It's not at all certain that you will succeed," rejoined Jean; "if heisn't drunk, he's something like it. You can't say that he's downrightrich, but he's justcomfortable. A bed would be better forhim than a boat."

"You can notice how he goes down the mountain," suggested Janille; "andif there's danger of his sinking you, leave him on the rocks on thebank."

Galuchet was already in the boat with Monsieur de Châteaubrun when theothers arrived. He was flushed and silent. But when they were inmidstream the swift current made him dizzy and he began to sway soviolently from side to side that Jappeloup, losing patience, took a ropeand bound his body securely to the thwart on which he sat. He fellasleep in that position.

"You have a delightful secretary there," said Gilberte to Emile. "Itrust, dear papa, that you won't invite him to breakfast again."

"Oh! bless my soul, it's not his fault," replied Monsieur Antoine, "butJean's, who made him drink more than he wanted."

"What does a man amount to who can't drink without getting drunk?" saidJean; "he's worse than nobody."

The boat glided swiftly down-stream to a spot where the rocks on eachside approached so nearly that it was impossible to pass without greatdanger. Jean was one of the most powerful men in the province. Hisfearless nature and his strong will added tenfold to his physicalstrength. He was accustomed to enter into the most trivial undertakingswith as much passionate enthusiasm as if he were setting out to conquerthe world; and yet, notwithstanding this youthful excitability, hispresence of mind was wonderful. He guided the boat in the centre of thecurrent, and, when they entered the narrow passage, threw her across thestream and avoided the shock of a collision with the cliff by leaningout and grasping it with his hand. Emile, who seconded him, gallantlyrelieved him from time to time, and, the boat being thus held in place,they made ready the harpoon and waited in silence for the prey to pass.Every one knows that the fish always try to swim up against the current,but they were frightened by the unusual barrier and kept approaching andretreating. The lookout leaned forward, stretching his arms as far as hecould. Monsieur Antoine and Gilberte, kneeling behind him, watched tosee that the movement he made in throwing the harpoon did not sink theboat or drag him overboard. Gilberte, when it was the carpenter's turn,clung to his coat, fearing that he would fall into the water; and whenEmile's turn came, she earnestly urged her father to hold him with allhis strength. But soon, trusting to no one else, she seized his jacketherself, and more than once he felt the touch of her lovely arms, readyto embrace him in case of accident.

In this situation, which was dangerous for all, Jean's attention andAntoine's was completely absorbed by the excitement of fishing, and thesame excitement served the two lovers as a pretext for exchangingglances and words, which Galuchet, although half awake, was in nocondition to observe. What would Monsieur Cardonnet have thought couldhe have seen how well his agent was earning his reward!

At last a salmon was speared, amid frantic shouts from Jean Jappeloup,and Galuchet, partly aroused by the sight of the capture, tried to takea hand in landing him. But his clumsiness and obstinacy spoiledeverything, and Jean, beside himself with wrath, turned the boat around,saying:

"When you want to fish for salmon, you will go with somebody besides me.Gudgeons of this size aren't in your line, and if we stayed here long, Ishould break your head with the shaft of my harpoon."

"God preserve me from coming again with such a boor as you," retortedGaluchet, sitting on the edge of the boat.

"Don't sit there," said the carpenter; "you are in my way, and you woulddo much better to help me pull up against this current, which runs likea mill-race. Here is Monsieur Emile working like a good fellow, and you,stout and strong as you are, fold your arms and watch the sweat roll offus."

"Faith, it's your own fault," retorted Galuchet; "you made me drink andI am good for nothing."

"Very good, but you are heavy, and as you are not working you can goashore. To the bank, to the bank, my little Emile! let us get rid ofbundles that are in the way!"

They headed for the shore; but Galuchet considered the proposed stepinsulting, and refused to land, blaspheming in the most reckless way.

"Ten thousand devils!" cried Jappeloup, thoroughly angry, "you have mademe lose a superb salmon, but you shan't make me break my back in yourservice!"

And he pushed him out of the boat; but Galuchet, because he resisted,fell between the boat and the bank, into the water, up to his waist.

"Faith, that's well done," said Jappeloup, "that will put a little waterin your wine."

And he pulled the boat rapidly out of Galuchet's reach, for, in hisrage, he tried to upset her.

"Ah! the miserable fellow!" cried the carpenter, "confess, that if thereare some good beasts, there are many vicious ones. Let him wallow," hesaid to his companions, who feared that poor Galuchet, because of hisfuddled condition, might drown, although the water was not dangerouslydeep. "If he sinks too far I'll stick my harpoon in his belt and fishhim up like a salmon. Bah! if it were anything of value, we might havereason to be anxious, but things that are good for nothing, dead catsand empty bottles, always float."

This ridiculous incident depressed Gilberte. For the first time shedetected a serious inconvenience in her father's too great good-nature.His rustic and simple manners, which were those of the people about himand were the expression of a kindly and innocent nature, began toterrify her, as not affording such enlightened and judicious protectionas her age and sex demanded.

"I am a poor country girl," she said to herself, "and I can get alongvery well with peasants; but on the condition that no ill-bredsemi-bourgeois undertakes to interfere; for then the peasants become alittle too violent in their wrath, and the life I lead does not put meout of reach of a coward's revenge."

Thereupon she thought of Emile as a protector destined for her byheaven; but she asked herself amid what surroundings he himself wascompelled to live, and the idea that Monsieur Cardonnet employed peopleof the Galuchet species caused her a sort of vague alarm with regard tohis character and habits.

When Jean Jappeloup returned to Gargilesse that evening, he foundGaluchet lying like a dead man in the middle of the road. The poordevil, sobered momentarily by the bath he had taken, had entered awineshop to dry his clothes, and as he was afraid of his health, he hadallowed himself to be persuaded to take a glass of eau-de-vie, which hadfinished him. He was returning home literally on all fours. Jean had hadtime to forget his anger, nor was he the man to leave a fellow-man indanger of being trampled upon by horses' feet. He lifted him up,submitted patiently to his threats and insults, and led him, more thanhalf carrying him, to the factory; and Galuchet, who did not recognizehim, went in, swearing that he would be revenged on the scoundrel whohad tried to drown him.

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Movatterモバイル変換

The Project Gutenberg eBook ofThe Sin of Monsieur Antoine, Volume 1 (of 2)

The Masterpieces of George Sand,
Amandine Lucille Aurore Dupin, Baroness
Dudevant,NOW FOR THE FIRST
TIME COMPLETELY TRANSLATED
INTO ENGLISH THE SIN
OF MONSIEUR ANTOINE, AND LEONE
LEONI BY G. BURNHAM IVES

WITH TWELVE PHOTOGRAVURES AFTER PAINTINGS BY
PIERRE VIDAL

VOLUME I

PRINTED ONLY FOR SUBSCRIBERS BY
GEORGE BARRIE & SON
PHILADELPHIA

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
THE SIN OF MONSIEUR ANTOINE
VOLUME I

INTRODUCTION

THE SIN OF MONSIEUR ANTOINE

I

EGUZON

II

THE MANOR OF CHÂTEAUBRUN

III

MONSIEUR CARDONNET

IV

THE VISION

V

THE DRIBE

VI

JEAN THE CARPENTER

VII

THE ARREST

VIII

GILBERTE

IX

MONSIEUR ANTOINE

X

A GOOD ACTION

XI

A GHOST

XII

INDUSTRIAL DIPLOMACY

XIII

THE STRUGGLE

XIV

FIRST LOVE

XV

THE STAIRCASE

XVI

THE TALISMAN

XVII

THAW

XVIII

STORM

XIX

THE PORTRAIT

XX

THE FORTRESS OF CROZANT

XXI

MONSIEUR ANTOINE'S NAP

XXII

INTRIGUE

XXIII

THE DEVIL'S ROCK

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE

Movatterモバイル変換

The Project Gutenberg eBook ofThe Sin of Monsieur Antoine, Volume 1 (of 2)

The Masterpieces of George Sand,Amandine Lucille Aurore Dupin, BaronessDudevant,NOW FOR THE FIRSTTIME COMPLETELY TRANSLATEDINTO ENGLISH THE SINOF MONSIEUR ANTOINE, AND LEONELEONI BY G. BURNHAM IVES

WITH TWELVE PHOTOGRAVURES AFTER PAINTINGS BYPIERRE VIDAL

VOLUME I

PRINTED ONLY FOR SUBSCRIBERS BYGEORGE BARRIE & SONPHILADELPHIA

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONSTHE SIN OF MONSIEUR ANTOINEVOLUME I

INTRODUCTION

THE SIN OF MONSIEUR ANTOINE

IEGUZON

IITHE MANOR OF CHÂTEAUBRUN

IIIMONSIEUR CARDONNET

IVTHE VISION

VTHE DRIBE

VIJEAN THE CARPENTER

VIITHE ARREST

VIIIGILBERTE

IXMONSIEUR ANTOINE

XA GOOD ACTION

XIA GHOST

XIIINDUSTRIAL DIPLOMACY

XIIITHE STRUGGLE

XIVFIRST LOVE

XVTHE STAIRCASE

XVITHE TALISMAN

XVIITHAW

XVIIISTORM

XIXTHE PORTRAIT

XXTHE FORTRESS OF CROZANT

XXIMONSIEUR ANTOINE'S NAP

XXIIINTRIGUE

XXIIITHE DEVIL'S ROCK

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE

The Masterpieces of George Sand,
Amandine Lucille Aurore Dupin, Baroness
Dudevant,NOW FOR THE FIRST
TIME COMPLETELY TRANSLATED
INTO ENGLISH THE SIN
OF MONSIEUR ANTOINE, AND LEONE
LEONI BY G. BURNHAM IVES

WITH TWELVE PHOTOGRAVURES AFTER PAINTINGS BY
PIERRE VIDAL

PRINTED ONLY FOR SUBSCRIBERS BY
GEORGE BARRIE & SON
PHILADELPHIA

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
THE SIN OF MONSIEUR ANTOINE
VOLUME I

I

EGUZON

II

THE MANOR OF CHÂTEAUBRUN

III

MONSIEUR CARDONNET

IV

THE VISION

V

THE DRIBE

VI

JEAN THE CARPENTER

VII

THE ARREST

VIII

GILBERTE

IX

MONSIEUR ANTOINE

X

A GOOD ACTION

XI

A GHOST

XII

INDUSTRIAL DIPLOMACY

XIII

THE STRUGGLE

XIV

FIRST LOVE

XV

THE STAIRCASE

XVI

THE TALISMAN

XVII

THAW

XVIII

STORM

XIX

THE PORTRAIT

XX

THE FORTRESS OF CROZANT

XXI

MONSIEUR ANTOINE'S NAP

XXII

INTRIGUE

XXIII

THE DEVIL'S ROCK