supposed that it was her husband who was dallying with her, and like a
woman who knew what that meant, she gave him a hearty kiss. Robineau
submitted to the caress; he rather liked it; moreover, he did not choose
to undeceive the Auvergnate, and to avoid that, it was necessary for him
to play the part of the husband. He had been doing so for several
minutes, when the same object which had driven him from his bed, came
gambolling over the straw and jumped upon the couple who were not
asleep. Again Robineau felt the long beard, and he cried out, thinking
that the devil meant to punish him for his incontinence. Claude’s wife
cried out in her turn; she discovered, rather tardily it is true, that
it was not her husband whom she was kissing. The shepherd woke and cried
out to ascertain what the matter was with his wife.
This uproar awoke the other inmates of the hovel. Alfred and Edouard
rose to find out what was happening; the old man managed to find a
little fire and lighted the lamp. The three boys alone continued to
snore.
Those in the outer room went with the light to inquire as to the cause
of the outcries, and they saw the husband and wife holding Robineau, who
was trying to bury himself under the straw anew, while the goat jumped
upon all the company impartially.
Robineau was gazing with a terrified expression at the goat and the
shepherd. Alfred and Edouard began by laughing at his face, while the
old man cried:
"What’s got into you all?"
"Why, Claudine woke me up by yelling like one possessed," said the
shepherd.
"Pardi!" said Claudine, "I cried for I felt something--I mean someone,
and I wanted to find out what it was."
"What were you there for, so close to my wife?" the shepherd asked
Robineau; "what made you leave your sheepskins?"
"Faith, my dear friends," said Robineau, emerging entirely from beneath
the straw, "I really don’t know just how it happened; but something woke
me up,--I felt a long beard and something walked on me."
"Ha! ha! it was the old goat that woke you, Robineau, and you took him
for the devil or the little sorceress, I’ll bet!"
Robineau opened his eyes to their fullest extent, stared at the goat and
cried:
"What! was it that infernal beast? That’s what comes of sleeping in a
Noah’s Ark!"
"Well, well!" said Claudine, "I don’t see as there’s any great harm done
after all. You got frightened, that’s all."
"That is all, absolutely!" rejoined Robineau, with a furtive glance at
Claudine, who cried:
"Pardi! it wa’n’t worth while to wake up the whole house for such a
little thing! But look you, monsieur, next time you’d better try not to
throw yourself down on us so sudden like; because it--it surprises a
body, you see."
Robineau apologized anew and returned to his sheepskins, happy to have
escaped so cheaply. The Auvergnats went to bed again, and so did Alfred
and Edouard, laughing over the adventure of the goat; and this time
Robineau laughed with them.
The rest of the night was uneventful. At daybreak everybody was out of
bed. The young men accepted a jug of milk and prepared to resume their
journey. Claude himself offered to serve as their guide and to show them
the White House, for he was brave enough to pass it in broad daylight.
Our three travellers left the house therefore, after rewarding the
Auvergnats for their hospitality. As she bowed to Robineau, Claudine
bestowed upon him a furtive little smile of which many a city coquette
would not have been ashamed.
IX
ISAURE
The three friends walked gayly on, admiring the dawn, which is much
finer in the mountains than when seen from a window in Paris, or from
the gravelled path of a garden. Claude went ahead to lead the way; and
Robineau, his spirits lightened by the certainty that he would soon see
his château, rubbed his hands and smiled, apparently at his thoughts.
Alfred and Edouard joked their companion on the smile he had received
from the Auvergnate on taking his leave of her; and, as they recalled
the equivocal situation in which they had found him in the middle of the
night, they put forward certain conjectures. Robineau defended himself
smilingly, with an air of gratified self-esteem; then pointed to the
shepherd who was ahead of them, saying:
"Hush, messieurs, I beg; you will compromise me!"
Suddenly the shepherd halted and called out to them:
"There’s the White House!"
They were on the slope of a hill, and at the point where the mountaineer
had stopped, the road made a bend, disclosing a lovely valley, with
vineyards and fields, and with many tall shade-giving trees which added
variety to the picture.
Alfred and Edouard hastened to the shepherd’s side. They saw in the
centre of the valley a pretty house, built after the modern style,
having a ground floor and an upper-story with a mansard roof. A wall of
considerable length, beginning at the left side of the house, enclosed
the garden, which was evidently very large.
"What! is that the haunted house?" Alfred asked the shepherd. "Why,
really, it is not terrifying to look at. The location is delightful;
this valley is a charming spot, and if the devil has taken up his abode
here, we must agree that he has excellent taste."
The shepherd made no reply, but contented himself with looking at the
house with a timid expression. Robineau, who had remained behind, cried:
"I’d much rather see La Roche-Noire than all your peasants’ hovels!"
"Where is young Isaure’s house?" Edouard asked.
"Yonder, messieurs, near the White House. Don’t you see? here on your
right."
"Oh, yes! A rustic house of most attractive aspect, surrounded by fine
trees, and with flowers in the windows.--So that is where the little
sorceress lives!--But let us go on, let us go down into the valley; we
shall have a better view at close quarters."
They kept on to the foot of the hill; but the mountaineer no longer
walked ahead; he remained near the travellers, and they observed that he
was guiding them toward a road which, while it led through the valley,
did not directly pass the White House.
"I will act as guide now," said Alfred, "for I see, my good man, that
you are leading us away from the place we wish to see."
"Why, messieurs, I’m taking you by the road that leads to Saint-Amand,
and you don’t need to go right by the White House."
"Worthy Claude is right," said Robineau; "for after all, messieurs, it
isn’t this house, where nobody lives, that we’re going to, but my
château."
"And I tell you I don’t propose to pass through this valley, close by
this famous habitation, without having a good look at it.--Come,
Edouard, let us go to the right."
Alfred and Edouard walked rapidly in the direction of the White House;
the shepherd followed them with a hesitating step, and Robineau brought
up the rear, consigning his companions to the devil.
They arrived in front of that house, which the mountaineers never
mentioned without a thrill of terror. Claude halted ten paces away,
having no inclination to go any nearer. Robineau remained with Claude
and seated himself on the grass, saying:
"Go on, messieurs, satisfy your curiosity, although I don’t see anything
very curious about the house. It was not worth while to turn aside from
our road for this. Upon my word, you act like schoolboys."
Paying no heed to Robineau, Alfred and Edouard went close to the house.
The ground-floor windows were closed by shutters, those on the first
floor by blinds only. The young men examined everything with interest;
and, when they came to the front door, where there was an iron knocker,
Alfred cried:
"Parbleu! we must make sure whether there is anyone in this pretty
little house."
As he spoke, he seized the knocker and was about to knock, when the
shepherd, who had not lost sight of him, cried out in dismay:
"Monsieur! monsieur! don’t knock! oh! don’t do anything like that!"
"Why not, pray, my friend?" said Alfred with a laugh; "if there’s no one
here, what difference does it make whether I knock or not? And if there
are people here, we shall make the acquaintance of the proprietor, and
he will excuse travellers for so trifling a liberty."
"No matter!" cried Robineau, "it’s most improper to knock; indeed, it’s
absurd, and----"
Robineau’s sentence was interrupted by the sound of the knocker, with
which Alfred was belaboring the door. At the sound the shepherd
retreated even farther, in dire alarm; he evidently expected that some
terrifying creature would open the door. Robineau turned pale and hummed
a tune. Alfred and Edouard listened; but the blows of the knocker echoed
inside the house and finally died away, unanswered.
"No one!" said Edouard.
"Let us try again," said Alfred. He knocked twice more in quick
succession, louder than before; but the blows were followed by the same
silence.
"You are wasting your time, you see, messieurs!" said Robineau, rising;
"you might knock until to-morrow, to no purpose, as there’s no one
there!"
"Or else they won’t answer," muttered the shepherd, who had drawn a
little nearer.
"It’s a pity!" said Alfred; "I would have liked to see a legion of
phantoms come out--just to see what sort of a face Sire de la
Roche-Noire would have made."
"My face would not have changed, messieurs; I don’t believe in these old
grandmothers’ tales, as you do; that is why I don’t see the need of
knocking at doors when I know there’s no one inside."
"Oh! you wouldn’t have to knock like that at midnight!" said the
shepherd, shaking his head. "You’d find a difference then, I tell you!"
"Well," said Alfred, "as we can’t get into the White House unless by
scaling the walls, which would be a little too much after the style of
the sons of Aymon or Ogier the Dane, let us try the cottage; perhaps we
shall be more fortunate there."
"Oh! you won’t find anybody there either, messieurs," said Claude, "for
at this time of day Isaure always drives her goats to pasture in the
mountain."
"In that case," said Robineau, "it seems to me that we might dispense
with knocking at every door we see."
Alfred and Edouard left their companion to confide his reflections to
the shepherd. They walked toward the cottage, which was surrounded by
fine trees and by small squares of ground in which flowers were
cultivated with care.
"This place looks like a palace beside the hovel where we slept last
night," said Alfred; "we may look upon this cottage as the château of
Chadrat."
"Yes, it’s a charming spot," said Edouard, stopping to examine the
rustic structure. "These beautiful trees whose shade seems to protect
this modest abode--and the flowers--and the turf!--Do you know, my dear
Alfred, I would gladly pass my life here!"
"Your life! oh! that is too long; but a week, with a lovely woman--I
don’t say no to that.--But let us see if the mistress of this cottage
corresponds with the idea I have formed of her."
The door was closed and locked. Alfred knocked, called, looked in the
windows; no one appeared, but they heard on the other side of the door
the barking of a dog who seemed anxious to interview the visitors.
"The house is well guarded, at all events," said Alfred.
"What’s that?" exclaimed Robineau.
"It’s Isaure’s dog," said the shepherd; "he’s a big fellow, I tell you!
and I’ll bet no two men could handle him! He’s a--wait--he’s a dog of
some kind of a land--what do you call it?"
"Do you mean Newfoundland?"
"Yes, monsieur, Newfoundland, that’s it."
"And how does it happen that this girl has a dog of that breed, which is
so rare in this country?"
"Oh! monsieur, that’s another one of those mysterious things that proves
that there’s something crooked. Isaure’s had this big dog since André’s
widow’s death; somebody asked her where she got him, and she said a
traveller made her a present of him because she took him in and gave him
something to eat. I ask you if it’s likely that a traveller would
deprive himself of his trusty companion?"
"No, it isn’t conceivable," said Robineau, "and I begin to agree with
the shepherd, that this young girl--It’s a most extraordinary thing."
"Do you know what the dog’s name is?" Edouard asked the shepherd.
"Yes, monsieur, he goes out with his mistress sometimes, and we hear her
calling him ‘Vaillant’ here and ‘Vaillant’ there."
Edouard walked to the door and tapped softly, calling Vaillant. The dog
at once replied, but his bark was less loud; he seemed to ask what was
wanted rather than to threaten the strangers.
The two friends listened to the dog with interest, and the shepherd with
attention; but Robineau, who was striding to and fro, stamping the
ground angrily, cried:
"Messieurs, I don’t know whether you came to Auvergne to talk with dogs
and to knock at every door.--As for myself, as I have a different
object, I am going to have the honor of bidding you adieu if you don’t
choose to go forward."
"Nonsense, Robineau! don’t get excited; we are coming right along. I
confess that I would have liked to see this girl."
"So would I!" said Edouard.
"But since she is absent, and you don’t feel like taking another little
walk into the mountains, we will go with you, reserving the right to
come back without you to see the little sorceress."
"There she is! there she is!" cried the shepherd at that moment,
pointing toward the mountain. The young men at once turned their eyes in
that direction and saw a young girl, who was coming quickly down into
the valley, driving a herd of goats before her.
Alfred and Edouard remained where they stood and followed the girl with
their eyes. Her gait was light and active; sometimes she ran after her
goats, again she turned to call the stragglers. When she descended a
steep slope, her feet seemed hardly to touch the ground, and she leaped
as if in sport over deep excavations. At last she reached the valley,
where they were better able to distinguish her features: her great
deep-blue eyes were shaded by long black lashes, and her eyelids, often
half lowered, added to the sweetness of her expression, which was at
once artless and shy. Her nose was small and well shaped, her mouth,
which was rather large, revealed when she smiled teeth as white as
ivory; her fair hair fell in great curls over her brow, and was arranged
with taste and with more care than is usual among the women of the
mountains; her complexion was but slightly darkened by the sun, from
which it was sheltered by a broad-brimmed straw hat. She was of medium
height, but slender and graceful; her foot and hand were small and
shapely. A brown skirt and a waist of the same material, with a little
red and white apron, comprised her whole costume; but there was in her
manner of wearing them a grace that did not at all resemble the heavy
and awkward carriage of the women of Auvergne.
"She is charming!" said Alfred.
Edouard said nothing, but his eyes followed Isaure’s every movement.
"Yes," said Robineau, "she’s very pretty for a peasant."
The little goatherd approached her dwelling. Ere long she stopped in
surprise and made a gesture which implied that she had just discovered
the strangers. But she walked on after a moment, and came cheerily
toward them. Alfred and Edouard stepped forward to meet her.
"Have you been knocking at my door, messieurs?" she asked, in a very
sweet voice, with a curtsy to the travellers.
"Yes, my lovely child," Alfred replied.
"I was not mistaken! I heard Vaillant. You see, he warns me instantly
when anyone comes. But you wish to step in and rest, no doubt, and have
something to eat? Come, messieurs, I will let you in."
"You are too kind," said Edouard; "but we are sorry to have brought you
home."
"Why so? As if I had not time enough to pasture my goats! And is it not
a pleasure to be useful to travellers?"
As she spoke, the girl ran ahead to unlock the door.
"My friend, she is pretty enough to paint!" said Alfred in an undertone.
"Yes; everything about her charms and interests one!"
"What drivelling idiots these mountaineers must be to be afraid of such
a lovely child! For my part, I would gladly sell myself to the devil
with her!"
"Well, messieurs! do you propose to go in here?" inquired Robineau,
walking toward his companions.
"Oh! my dear Robineau, you must certainly agree that we cannot refuse
this sweet child’s invitation. Besides, we have had nothing but milk
this morning, and it seems to me that a little fruit would not do us any
harm."
"But, messieurs, at my château you will have chickens and----"
"I am fully persuaded that we shall have geese and turkeys at your
château; but, pending the time when we shall enjoy their society, let us
make this young woman’s acquaintance. Come, Robineau, just this one
concession--it will be the last."
"Great God! how many concessions I have made since yesterday!--You are
making me pay very dear for my château!"
"I will write you a poem for your installation, Monsieur Jules."
"Well, if you insist upon it, let us go into the girl’s house for a
minute; but beware of her dog!"
Isaure had opened the door. A superb dog, with long silky white hair,
leaped upon her, then smelt each one of the visitors--a formality which
did not please Robineau.
As they entered the cottage, Alfred turned and exclaimed:
"Why, where’s our guide? I don’t see him."
The shepherd had departed as soon as the girl appeared.
"He seems to have left us," said Edouard.
"Still another delay!" muttered Robineau.
"We can do without him quite well, and I will guarantee that we will be
at your house within two hours. Meanwhile, let us enter the abode of the
little sorceress, whose lovely eyes have turned my head already."
The young men entered a room on the ground floor, furnished with common
articles, but spotlessly clean. At the rear could be seen a small yard,
with the garden beyond.
"Would you like to see my garden while I am getting your breakfast
ready, messieurs?" asked Isaure.
"With pleasure," said Alfred.
"Come, Vaillant, escort these gentlemen to the garden."
Vaillant understood his mistress’s signs and led the way. The young men
followed him, Robineau saying to himself:
"It seems that it’s the dog who does the honors of the house."
They passed through the yard, where there were hens and pigeons, and
Vaillant led them into the garden; it was small, but tastefully
arranged, with fruit, vegetables and flowers all growing there without
the least confusion. Edouard gazed at everything with deep interest, and
Alfred with surprise; he could not understand how so pretty a girl could
live alone in that cottage, where everything seemed to point to
comfortable circumstances and orderly habits.
The dog walked in front of them; when they stopped, he did the same, and
turned to look at them; then he would walk on, turning his head from
time to time, to see if they were following him. He led the travellers
thus to every nook and corner of the garden; then took them back to the
house.
"This dog is an extraordinary creature," said Edouard; "a peasant could
not have played the cicerone better."
"He is magnificent," said Alfred, "a genuine Newfoundland. He seems to
be young still; I’ll wager that his like cannot be found in the whole
district; he is worth more than six hundred francs."
"You must agree, messieurs," said Robineau, "that it’s surprising to
find such a fine animal in a peasant girl’s house. For my part, I agree
with the shepherd, that it’s very strange that a traveller should have
given him to her,--unless the little one, in exchange, gave him her most
precious possession."
"Oh! Monsieur Robineau, what an idea!" cried Edouard angrily. "To assume
evil at once! to cast a slur upon this child’s virtue."
"Faith, my dear fellow," said Alfred, "it may well be that Robineau is
right; we do not know this girl, but she lives alone, and----"
"And that’s a very suspicious circumstance," said Robineau; "but these
poets are amazing creatures--they are determined to find prodigies of
innocence and virtue everywhere."
"No, monsieur; poets feed on chimeras less than other men; for they are
surfeited with all forms of fiction; they know how a romance is made,
and they often go behind the scenes, where it is difficult to retain
one’s illusions; but that is no reason for never believing in virtue,
and I do not believe that an innocent girl is a prodigy in this part of
the country."
At that moment Isaure appeared at the door and said:
"When you wish to breakfast, messieurs, everything is ready."
They returned to the cottage, where they found a table laden with fruit,
bread and milk, and butter, all arranged with a daintiness and neatness
that charmed the eye.
"This is more appetizing than the soup of our good friends of Chadrat,"
said Alfred, as he and his companions seated themselves at the table.
"Won’t you sit down with us?" Edouard asked Isaure.
"Oh, no! I have already breakfasted, monsieur; but I will stay to wait
on you, if you require anything."
As she spoke, Isaure seated herself at some little distance from the
table, took some work, and began to sew. Vaillant at once lay down in
front of his mistress, with his face turned toward the visitors, from
whom he did not take his eyes for an instant, like a sentinel stationed
to guard an important post, who never relaxes his watchfulness, so that
he may defend it if attacked.
While they ate, the young men frequently glanced at the girl. There was
on her features an impressible, gentle expression, to which her
ingenuous and candid glance imparted an indefinable charm.
"I agree with Edouard now," said Alfred after a moment, "and I believe
that Robineau is wrong."
"Do you occupy this house all alone?" Edouard asked the girl.
"Yes, monsieur, all alone, for the three years since my dear mother
died."
"Was André’s widow your mother?"
"She took the place of a mother to me, for I never knew my own parents,
who died a long time ago; but kind André and his wife adopted me as
their child. When he died I was very small; but his wife--it’s only
three years since I lost her, and I think of her every day."
The girl’s voice trembled, and she lowered her head over her work; the
young men looked at her and saw tears falling from her lovely eyes.
Vaillant noticed the change in his mistress’s tone; he raised his head,
stood up, and looked at Isaure; then turning his eyes on the strangers,
he gave a low growl as if calling them to account for the girl’s tears;
but she instantly put her hand on him, patted and caressed him,
whereupon the dog became quiet once more and lay down at her feet.
"Forgive us for reviving your grief by our questions," said Alfred; "but
travellers are inquisitive--and you are so pretty, you know!--But you
must be bored, living all alone?"
"Bored? oh! no, monsieur! I have no time for that; I have so many things
to do! My garden requires a great deal of care; and then, have I not
company? my dog, my hens, my goats, and my cow?"
"She calls that company!" exclaimed Robineau with a smile of pity. "But
you must be afraid here, aren’t you?" he asked Isaure.
"Afraid? no, monsieur; there are no thieves in our mountains; and even
if anyone should try to harm me, have I not my faithful Vaillant? Oh! he
would defend me stoutly!"
"I certainly wouldn’t want to fight with him," said Robineau.
"True," said Alfred, "that’s a magnificent dog of yours, and of a very
valuable breed. They are the dogs that help the good monks on Mont Cenis
and Mont Saint-Bernard to find lost travellers, who are often almost
dead in the snow."
"Ah! I am sure that Vaillant would do as much!"
"Did you pay a high price for him?" inquired Robineau with a sarcastic
smile.
The girl did not reply for some seconds; then she lowered her eyes and
said:
"He was given to me--he cost me nothing. The person who made me the gift
told me that he could not give me a more faithful guardian."
"Had I been in his place," said Edouard, "I would have done the same.
Your situation is not without danger, and fidelity is assuredly the
greatest safeguard of innocence and beauty."
Isaure looked up at Edouard and seemed to thank him with a smile; while
Robineau shook his head and stuffed himself with bread and butter.
"But," said Alfred, "you live near a place against which all of
Vaillant’s vigilance would be of no avail, assuming the reports that are
current hereabout to be true."
"Ah! do you mean the house across the way?" said Isaure smiling, "where
the people of the mountains declare that there are ghosts?"
"Exactly.--So you are not afraid of these ghosts?"
"Oh! no, monsieur! I know very well that it’s all nonsense. In my dear
mother’s time, the mountaineers used to tell us sometimes that we ought
to go away from this dangerous valley. But that only made us laugh. We
knew that there was no danger here; for nothing ever happened to us."
"And don’t you ever see lights in the White House at night," asked
Robineau, "or hear noises? Don’t you ever see the black ghost?"
A mischievous smile played about the girl’s lips as she replied:
"I have never seen anything out of the common course, monsieur."