THE ALTERCATION.
Savin Barrau was naturally a soldier. As Catherine was a beautiful
woman, so was Savin a distinguished-looking man. His regular-featured
face wore an expression of hauteur and valor, as though he often had
stood in the face of death. But upon his lips one could have fancied
there lurked a smile both touching and tender. His handsome dark eyes
brightened his face to an extraordinary degree. Brave and noble he
seemed as he stood gazing upon the scene.
“Ah, ha,” said the vindictive Andoche, “I have brought trouble to our
charming Madame Catherine with my remarks, I fear. Another time I shall
hold my tongue.”
Savin approached, carrying his gun in his left hand. His dog Patachaud
was still bounding at his side. A feeling of restlessness possessed
the crowd, hitherto so joyous. A jealous glitter suddenly came into
Barrau’s eyes. He could not disguise his disapproval of his wife’s
frivolity.
Every one thought Catherine would discontinue the game and run to meet
him. But no. Either bravado or the testy consciousness of her virtue
led her to continue it. Firmin, who as yet had not perceived Barrau,
darted after her with increased zest. The gamekeeper came forward with
even tread.
“Ah, some game seems to be in progress,” said he as he halted.
His wife and Firmin now disappeared from view. A look of displeasure
clouded Savin’s features. With a military gesture he rested his hand
on his knee. The dog continuing to leap upon him, he shouted: “Down,
Patachaud, down, sir!” a little rudely.
A profound silence enveloped the scene. Every one was impressed, for
all knew the keeper’s mood. Why indeed should the coquettish Catherine
so vex her brave husband? Presently she again came in sight. Merrily
she went toward Savin, smiled up at him, and seizing his shoulders
swung around him, without a thought of abandoning the game.
Certainly Savin’s look of displeasure should have warned her to
desist, but that look she obstinately refused to see. Fortified by her
husband’s tall figure, Catherine stood panting and laughing, while
Firmin foolishly advanced toward her in pursuit.
At this juncture, the gamekeeper, impatiently tapping the ground with
his foot, exclaimed: “Come, come! this is a little too bold.”
“Now for a storm,” murmured Andoche. “Firmin would have passed the time
better by drinking a couple of glasses of beer with me.”
Firmin stupidly stared at Barrau, with an air of indifference; while
Catherine, vexed at Savin’s interference, addressed him brusquely in
these words: “Well, what are you going to do about it?”
“Not much. You have played too long. You must go and rest.”
“But we have not yet gathered the berries.”
“Well, let the others do that. Come, let us go.”
“Oh, no, indeed,” said Catherine, perversely. “You may go on if you
like, but I----”
“Come along, Catherine. Do not provoke me.”
A hard look entered her eyes. To be led away before everybody appeared
to her, at that moment, the acme of humiliation. It was wiser to
concede to her husband’s wishes, she well knew, for he loved her
ardently, and had only her welfare at heart. But she did not wish to
seem so meek before her friends. Indeed, she would show them that she
was not to be bullied.
“It would have been surprising had you not come to spoil all our sport.
But, as I said before, you may go. I shall remain longer.”
“Poor little one,” said Andoche, hatefully.
The gamekeeper’s wife turned toward a group of peasants, some of whom
were regarding her approvingly, others with displeasure.
“Catherine,” said Barrau, in vibrating tones, “I am the master, you
understand, and never shall I submit to being laughed at by a Firmin.”
“Pooh! You always see evil in everything. Am I doing wrong? Whenever
I try to enjoy myself you are angry. In order to please you, I ought
always to stay at home. But I don’t care for that sort of life--not I.”
“Come!”
“No.”
Savin was visibly disturbed. His resolute face looked pained. He said
nothing, but going straight up to his wife, he took her by the arm and
forced her to go by his side. Vexed with rage, she attempted to free
herself, but in vain. Her husband held her closely. But rather than go
with him she fell to the ground, sobbing.
“Catherine, my girl, come,” urged Savin, more gently. “Do not be a
baby; come willingly. People are mocking at us.”
Did the young woman believe her husband would weaken? Or did she think
it dramatic to make a scene? Who knows? At all events, she raised
her hand to strike her husband on the face, when he, foreseeing the
intention, arrested the blow. His movement was so rapid that he did not
realize what strength he exerted in seizing her fingers. Held as firmly
as though she were in a vice, Catherine uttered a little cry of pain.
“You hurt me, Savin. See! You hurt me!”
But the gamekeeper, swayed by his anger, did not listen to her
complaint.
“A blow!” cried he. “You wished to strike me--_you_! Before all these
people!”
Catherine reiterated her complaint.
“Be quiet,” said her husband, in tones of thunder. “Do not forget that
I am Savin Barrau. You will have cause to remember this twentieth of
July. Ask my pardon!”
At these words Catherine made another effort to release herself from
his grasp, but Savin held her all the more firmly.
“Apologize, I tell you!”
“I will not!”
Pride overcame her pain. Her arm was aching terribly, but--she would
never yield. Drops of perspiration stood on her forehead. Her heart
within her seemed to stop beating. Though ready to faint, she still
would have resisted, but her suffering was too great.
“Pardon me,” she cried, at length, in a grieved voice.
“You will not do so again?” demanded Savin, severely.
“No, no. Release me!”
“You will never again do so rude a thing?”
“No. Oh, how you hurt me!”
Savin dropped her arm and pushed her toward the pathway.
“Come, let us go,” said he.
Catherine, humiliated and angry, did not resist. Without once turning
her head, Madame Barrau walked away, bewildered and wretched.
No one had thought of interfering between the man and wife. Country
people, as a rule, have great respect for strength and authority.
Savin’s behavior seemed to them quite the natural sequence of
Catherine’s.
A profound silence reigned for several minutes. By tacit consent all
waited until the gamekeeper and his wife were beyond hearing, and then
soon enough each tongue began to wag. Catherine was very pretty, and
therefore could not escape calumny. More than one venomous smile was to
be seen on the lips of her enemies.
“Did you see what a look she gave him when they started?”
“And how vexed she was because he came?”
“She could have strangled him,” said Andoche, wickedly.
“Poor Barrau! how sad!”
Bruno alone was silent. Now and then he opened his mouth as though
he had something to say, but he closed it again without speaking.
Amid the babble Firmin ventured a word. He had been a valet in Paris,
and more than one pretty chambermaid had smiled upon him: so he felt
himself to be quite a squire of dames.
“Madame Barrau is such a fine-looking woman that her husband ought to
be satisfied if--if--don’t you know?”
Every one save Bruno burst into laughter. He turned pale, clinched
his fists, and muttered something to himself. Finally he said with
vehemence, as he planted himself before Firmin: “You are a scoundrel.
You, at least, have no right to say anything. I repeat, you are a
scoundrel!”
“Ah, my dear fellow, how excited you are!”
“You know very well that Madame Catherine is an honest woman. I will
answer for it, and I forbid you to say a word to the contrary.”
“You forbid me! You forbid me!” retorted Firmin, pale and exasperated.
“And what if I laugh in your face?”
“I will break your head as I would a cat’s,” cried Bruno, more and more
enraged.
“Ah, ha!” said Andoche, in his maddening way: “_you_ are then in love
with Madame Catherine?”
“I also forbid you to speak like that, Andoche. Indeed, one ought never
to allow drunkards in company.”
He must be a hot-brained fellow to speak like that--this young Bruno.
Fair-skinned, slight, graceful, and blond, the son of Mother Mathurine
would have been taken anywhere for a gentleman. But he could not boast
that strength of limb and muscle which distinguished the young fellows
with whom he had often come in contact, and who were always ready for a
quarrel.
Firmin was as strong as an ox, and Andoche, the old blacksmith, had
sinews of steel. Young Bruno could hardly expect to enter the lists
with either, and he was rather foolhardy to challenge a dispute.
Firmin and Andoche Grignon were both well enough settled in life, in a
pecuniary way; while young Bruno was but the son of a poor mother, who
passed as a good woman, though his father had insisted upon remaining
away from home for over twenty years.
Bruno’s last remark lent a sharp piquancy to the situation. The women
were quite elated at the prospect of a dispute; while the men crowded
around, fearing lest they should lose a word. Andoche frowned and his
face assumed an ugly expression. He never hesitated to give a blow, and
his two short arms had a terrible reputation at Quarré, Rouvray, and
Trinquelin.
“Who ever saw such an insolent cur?” said he, livid with rage.
For an answer Bruno struck his fist full upon the fat, red face of the
stupefied Andoche. The blacksmith, for such he was, in his ill-fitting
clothes, stood gaping, with his mouth and eyes wide open--struck dumb
for a moment by the young man’s temerity. Had he been inebriated, as
was often the case, he would not have hesitated. But now he seemed half
afraid, until Firmin’s jeering voice goaded him to violence.
“Good heavens!” roared Andoche, desperately, “take that!” And he
planted a cruel blow upon Bruno’s chest. Poor Bruno! he fell in a heap
upon the grass. Andoche, making the most of his advantage, then leaped
upon his adversary. The unfortunate fellow, brave to the last, rose
to his knees only to receive another stinging blow. Firmin, meanwhile,
showed himself the coward by urging the blacksmith to greater violence.
Andoche again furiously seized the young man by the throat and would
have strangled him, but for a new-comer, a man brawny and wiry, who
stepped forward, suddenly took the blacksmith himself by the throat and
pressed him so hard that, muttering a cry of pain, he relaxed his hold
upon Bruno and tried to get away.
“The Bear!” he cried, in a stifled voice. He scarcely found himself
released, when in a spasm of rage Bruno’s adversary started to punish
the man who had interfered. But the tables were turned. With no great
effort “the Bear” took Andoche between his iron hands, raised and
hurled him to the ground. A stronger man than Andoche was master of the
field.
“It is cowardly,” said he, “to beat a fellow like that. Andoche, let
Firmin and Bruno settle the dispute. Bruno is courageous, and Firmin is
cowardly. That statement is but just. But you! I should have thought
you more honorable!”
“What a shock you gave me!” pitifully cried Andoche, who had no desire
to prolong the fight.
“What caused the row? Bruno is not the lad to be incensed for nothing.”
“They were doubting the purity of Madame Catherine,” said Bruno.
“The gamekeeper’s wife?” queried “the Bear,” with some agitation.
“Yes, Madame Barrau, if you please.”
“Well, well,” said “the Bear,” with an assumed nonchalance. Then after
a slight pause he added: “It is none of my affair. But if again I catch
you attacking a man like little Bruno, Andoche, I will dash you to
pieces.”
The blacksmith, remembering his last lesson, hung his head and said
nothing.
“Bruno, my lad, come with me,” said “the Bear,” as he turned to go. But
Bruno did not wish to retreat under another’s protection like a coward.
“No, thank you,” he said: “I will remain.”
“So be it,” returned “the Bear.” “Man is a free agent.”
And the shaggy-haired, strongly built man shambled away without asking
if Andoche intended to renew the fight, which was far from Andoche’s
wish. He had received a lesson. The women, however, continued to score
and revile Catherine. Said one old gossip: “Well, that fool of a Savin
has no more than he deserves. When a man marries he ought not to choose
a girl who is neither a peasant nor a lady.”
“Come, come!” said Bruno, irritably.
“Ah, ha! you are sensitive on the subject, eh?”
But the interest in the discussion soon flagged, and presently they
began to pick berries.
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