wake his master and did not know what answer to make to the workmen who
applied to him for orders concerning different repairs. Edouard spent a
moment examining the work, gave some instructions, and succeeded at last
in ridding himself of them all. But François had no sooner left him than
the gardener came toward him, and begged him to take a look at the
improvements which he had planned in the garden. There was no way to get
rid of Monsieur Vincent without doing what he wished. Edouard went into
the garden, declared everything charming, admirable, delightful; and
while the gardener was still talking, left him there and hurried back
from the garden to the courtyard. There the concierge was awaiting him;
Monsieur Cunette was not tipsy, but he had already breakfasted, and he
was in a loquacious mood; he absolutely insisted upon showing Edouard
the cellars of the château; he had the keys in his hand and had already
lighted the lantern.
"I don’t want to see your cellars," said Edouard, pushing him aside,
"show them to your master all you please, but I care nothing about
making their acquaintance."
"Then monsieur must have changed his mind," said the concierge, putting
the keys into his pocket.
"What do you mean by changed my mind?"
"Why, this morning your friend, Monsieur de Marcey, told us that you
were determined to see the cellars, the gardens, and the works that were
going on. He told us that we must show you everything."
"What! you have seen Alfred already? Where is he, pray?"
"Oh! he must be a long way off by this time if he is still going. To be
sure, he took the big horse that was in the carriage yesterday, you
know. Bless my soul! how he made him go!"
Edouard saw that it was Alfred who had set everybody upon him, to detain
him in the château; he divined his motive, and his heart beat faster.
Alfred had determined to arrange for himself a tête-à-tête with Isaure,
and he had feared that Edouard might find him there. What could he have
to say in secret to that girl? Edouard guessed only too well, and he
would have gladly given all that he possessed to be at the White House
at that moment.
"Is there no way to find another horse?" he asked the concierge who was
blowing out his lantern.
"A horse--to put in the carriage?"
"Why, no, to ride."
"Ah, I see what it is; monsieur wishes to join his friend. You will have
hard work, for he has a long start, and then, you see, he rode so fast!"
"I ask you for a horse."
"Let me see; there is Nicolas, he has his little mare, that’s lame. But
never mind; she still has three legs that she works very handily."
"Go, fetch her for me! Here, take this money; but I beg you to make him
hurry."
"So you really don’t want to see the cellars to-day?"
"No, no! for heaven’s sake, bring me a horse!"
The concierge hurried away, and Edouard paced the courtyard excitedly.
He realized how difficult it would be for him to prevent Alfred from
going to see Isaure without him; he had no right, no reason to be
offended with him; and yet his heart sank and his brain was in a whirl
at the thought that another than himself was with the pretty goatherd
and that that other might be making love to her.
Cunette returned at last, with Nicolas’s mare, and Edouard jumped upon
her back. As he was about to leave the château, Monsieur Férulus entered
it, carrying under one arm a small bundle containing his effects, and
under the other a score of volumes, tied together with a cord, with
which he proposed to start the library of the château.
"In the saddle already, my dear confrère!" said Monsieur Férulus,
stopping beside Edouard. "Oho! we are starting out very early in search
of rhymes."
"‘Oh! you who, burning with an ardor danger-fraught,
Follow the thorny path of literature,
Go not--’"
"Stand aside, Monsieur Férulus, stand aside, I beg you! I am in a great
hurry."
"I simply wanted to show you a very valuable book which I have under my
arm. I found it among some old trash; it is a precious pearl for a
scholar. But you must know it: _Aurum ex stercore Ennii_."
Edouard was not listening to Monsieur Férulus; he urged his horse, and
left the scholar untying his books in the middle of the courtyard.
Spurred on vigorously by her rider, Nicolas’s mare made very good speed.
The more heated she became, the less she limped, and Edouard did not
allow her to slacken her pace. The road soon became difficult for a
horse; but they drew nearer the valley, and soon he would see Isaure’s
abode; that thought calmed Edouard’s excitement a little. He longed to
know how the girl had received Alfred, and if she had manifested more
liking for him than for himself. But how was he to learn what they had
said to each other? Suddenly he heard a noise; it was made by the big
carriage horse, which was tied near at hand. Edouard at once dismounted,
fastened his steed near Alfred’s, and then walked down into the valley,
with a weight at his heart, thinking bitterly how short a time the
happiness had endured which he had enjoyed in that spot only the day
before.
When the young man was in the valley, he looked restlessly about in
every direction; he had not yet discovered those whom he wished, and at
the same time feared, to see. He went up on the hill where he had sat
beside Isaure on the previous day; he found the spot that they had
occupied; but the hill was deserted, the goatherd had not brought her
flock thither. Therefore they must be in her cottage. Edouard, more
agitated than ever, walked hastily toward the house, which on the day
before he had not dared to enter, because it had seemed to him more
proper not to enter her abode the first time he was with her. But Alfred
evidently had not been so considerate. He was in the girl’s house, and
perhaps had been there a long while.
Edouard soon reached the cottage; he ran to the door, which yielded to
his touch, and entered abruptly. Isaure was seated and working, with
Vaillant at her feet. A short distance away was Alfred, seated by a
table on which was fruit which he had not touched, and his eyes were
amorously fastened on the girl, who kept her own lowered.
At the noise which Edouard made on entering the room, she raised her
head, and a pleased smile added to the beauty of her face. Vaillant
walked around the young man without growling. But Alfred’s features
contracted, and an angry expression gleamed in his eyes.
"I beg pardon!" said Edouard, stopping in the doorway; "I entered rather
suddenly, but I came--I was looking----"
"Why all this beating about the bush?" said Alfred; "you came here in
search of the mistress of this house, and you came in a great hurry
because you suspected that I was with her."
Edouard made no reply, but Isaure rose and offered him a chair, saying
with a charming grace:
"You will breakfast with me too, will you not?"
"With pleasure," said Edouard, "you invite me so graciously, that I
cannot decline."
As he spoke he seated himself opposite Alfred, who thereupon decided to
eat. Isaure, after bringing them the best that her garden afforded,
returned to her work. She seemed less cheerful, less at her ease than
usual. Edouard noticed it, but he dared not question her. Alfred looked
at them both, and several moments passed in this mutual constraint, the
two young men seeming eagerly intent upon watching each other. At last
Alfred said to Edouard:
"Tell me why you did not confess the truth yesterday, when I asked you
where you had been? Were you not at perfect liberty to come here if you
chose? Why make a mystery of it with me? Had you promised anyone to keep
it secret? At all events she has been more discreet than you."
"Since when have I been obliged to account to you for all my actions?"
inquired Edouard angrily; "What difference does it make to you whether I
came or did not come to this valley? A friend may receive our
confidences, but he should not try to pry into what we choose to keep
secret from him."
"A friend!" exclaimed Alfred sarcastically; "that name is as common as
it is rarely deserved!"
"True enough! A man is no longer our friend when he seeks to open our
eyes to the consequences of our passions, or to prevent us from doing
some new foolish thing!"
"It is very fine to give advice to others, when one needs similar advice
oneself!"
Again the young men were silent. Isaure looked from one to the other
with amazement mingled with anxiety, but she dared not speak to them.
After a little time, Alfred burst out laughing as he looked at Edouard,
and then exclaimed:
"Upon my word, my dear Edouard, we are like two great children! The idea
of having a row, of being sulky with each other, just for a pretty face,
for a pair of lovely eyes; in short, for this lovely child, who perhaps
will not listen to either of us."
"Alfred," cried Edouard, "is it decent to speak thus before her?"
"Bah! why not? For I do not conceal what I think! Ask Isaure; I have
already told her that I adore her, that I am mad over her, that I wish
to make her happy, that I can’t get her pretty little face out of my
head.--Is it not true, Isaure, that I have told you all that?"
The girl blushed, and without raising her eyes, said:
"I don’t remember what you said to me."
"The deuce! In that case it would seem that my declaration did not
produce a very deep impression upon your heart."
"Alfred, how can you talk so frivolously to this girl? You think that
you are dealing with one of your Parisian ladies. But the solitude in
which Isaure lives should make us consider it a duty to treat her with
the greater respect. Remember that we are under her roof, that she
receives us here trustfully, and that it would be shocking to abuse her
trust."
"Oh! you assume to preach, and yet you heave sighs and cast languishing
glances! My dear Edouard, every man has his own way of making love, and
with an innocent girl, yours is the more dangerous, I believe. For my
part, I don’t beat about the bush, I say instantly whatever I feel. What
harm is there, pray, in thinking Isaure lovely, in loving her? Is she
not her own mistress? Is she not free to dispose of her heart? Why
should I not try to make it my own? However, Isaure is safer than you
think. I tried to kiss her--just a little kiss, that isn’t much to ask.
But deuce take it! that attempt came near costing me dear; mademoiselle
defended herself--and her dog--he saw it all, and for a moment I thought
that he was going to swallow me whole! Parbleu! if I ever marry, I’ll
have such a dog to leave with my wife!"
Isaure hung her head over her work and said nothing. Edouard rose
angrily and paced the floor for several minutes; but on looking at the
girl he saw that tears were rolling down her cheeks, although she
lowered her eyes to conceal them.
"See, see, Alfred! This is your work!" cried Edouard; "here you hardly
know her, and already you make her weep!"
"What do you say? She is weeping! Is it possible? And I am the cause of
it! Isaure, dear Isaure, tell me that you forgive me."
As he spoke, Alfred ran and threw himself at the girl’s feet and seized
one of her hands, although Vaillant raised his head and uttered a low
growl of evil omen.
"How distressed I am to have made you unhappy!" continued Alfred; "I
swear to be more considerate in the future! Edouard is right; I am a
thoughtless fellow; I don’t know what I do. But you are so pretty! you
fairly turn my head; really it isn’t my fault."
"Now you are beginning again, Alfred," said Edouard, who was not in the
least amused by this scene.
"No, no, let me alone! I must excuse myself, I must try to obtain
forgiveness."
"Rise, monsieur," said Isaure in a sad, soft tone; "I bear you no ill
will, it was not you who made me weep; but I was thinking of my
situation, I was thinking that I have no parents, that I have lost my
adopted mother. When she was with me, no one tried to kiss me."
"There! you see that it was I who caused you to make these melancholy
reflections!" said Alfred, rising. "Well, I realize that I was wrong,
but I will not distress you again. Look you--in order to be more certain
of behaving myself, which is not always easy for me, I will not come
again alone to see you. Edouard shall always be with me. That I trust
is a praiseworthy resolution."
"Oh, yes! that is very satisfactory," said Edouard.
"Very satisfactory--yes! But it is coupled with one little condition,
and that is, my dear friend, that you will not come without me to see
this charming child."
Edouard was no longer so well pleased at Alfred’s project; but Isaure
looked at him as if she feared that he would refuse, and he answered
with a sigh:
"Well, yes, I agree; we will come together."
"Good!" said Alfred; "that is a resolution worthy of our chivalrous
ancestors. But I am inclined to think that it’s time for us to say adieu
to the lady of our thoughts for to-day.--Come, Edouard, let us return to
the château.--Au revoir, my sweet child; we shall see you again
to-morrow, but I trust that those lovely eyes will shed no more tears."
Isaure bestowed a gentle smile on the two young men as they left her
abode and returned to their horses.
"Ha! ha!" said Alfred; "you followed my example, and took a horse.
Faith, we are equally well mounted. It is agreed that everything is
common between us, until the little one has made her choice, and that
cannot be long. It would be a deuced strange thing, agreeable and comely
as we both are, if one of us should not succeed in pleasing a peasant
girl, after making so many conquests at Paris!"
Edouard did not share Alfred’s merriment; he did not treat so lightly as
his friend the sentiment that he felt for Isaure.
"My friend," said he, "I am really sorry that you are thinking of that
girl."
"What’s that? Why so? You are thinking of her yourself."
"But I am thinking of her in rather a different way."
"Oh! my dear Edouard, you can’t make me believe that you have formed a
plan of marrying this little goatherd! You would like perhaps to have me
suppose so, so that then,--respecting so pure and spotless a love, I
would not go again to talk nonsense to the girl. That would be very
clever!"
"Alfred, you judge your friend very ill!"
"I know that friends cease to be friends as soon as love comes in
between them. However, because you pretend to love this girl seriously,
why should you not believe that I may love her too?"
"Look you, Alfred, a very bright woman said to me not long ago, at
Paris: ‘There’s a vast difference between _desire_ and love’; you desire
to possess Isaure, but you do not really love her."
"My dear Edouard, your lady friend told you nothing new; I learned long
ago that to desire and to love are not synonymous; but because one
loves, that is no reason for not desiring; and the fact that one desires
does not prove that one does not love. You may say that to the lady from
me, when you see her.--However, how do you know that Isaure won’t prefer
me to you?"
"Oh! I don’t know it, of course!" Edouard replied, forcing back a sigh.
After that they were both silent, and returned, deep in thought, to the
château.
XV
WHICH PROMISES SOMETHING
Several days had passed, during which Alfred and Edouard had not failed
to pass every morning with Isaure. Faithful to their agreement, they
started together from the château and returned together. It was easy to
see, however, that the compact was displeasing to both, but neither
dared to break it; each was very glad to accompany his rival when he
went into the mountains, but would have liked to return thither alone,
to see the young woman.
Isaure, being accustomed to see the two friends every morning, had
resumed her happy and trustful demeanor with them. She laughed and
romped with Alfred, whose pranks and nonsense seemed to amuse her; then
she would return to Edouard and ask him innocently:
"Why don’t you play with us?"
Whereupon, Edouard would say nothing, but would try to smile; the more
merry Alfred was, the less inclined he felt to share his enjoyment; he
suffered in secret; it seemed to him that Isaure showed a greater
preference for Alfred, that it was he at whom she looked and smiled most
frequently. He tried to conceal the suffering that he felt, but jealousy
was already rending his heart. This condition of affairs could not last
long. Alfred flattered himself that he pleased the girl, but he desired
to acquire the actual certainty of that fact. Edouard was in despair,
but he was determined to avow his suffering to her who was the cause of
it, and to learn from her mouth whether he must abandon the hope of
being loved by her. Isaure, alone at ease in the presence of the two
young men, who had ceased to speak to her of love, passed a certain part
of every day with them, with no suspicion of the danger to herself which
was likely to result from their frequent visits.
Several times on leaving the valley, the young men had noticed the
vagabond, who, sometimes seated on a cliff, sometimes standing in the
middle of a field, would cast a mocking glance at them, and then turn
his head away in order to avoid entering into conversation.
"There’s that extraordinary man with whom you talked," said Alfred one
day as they left Isaure’s house. "What the deuce is he doing here? I
begin to agree with Robineau that that fellow has evil designs. But the
little one must know him; I am curious to know if he has ever spoken to
her. I propose also that the rascal shall tell me why he presumes to
smile when he looks at us; there’s something sarcastic in his expression
which I am going to ask him to explain."
"The man is unfortunate," said Edouard; "we must overlook eccentricities
in him which are perhaps the consequence of the troubles he has
undergone."
"Troubles! He doesn’t seem to have had any; he whistles and sings and
laughs all to himself."
"But with all that, Alfred, one can detect a bitter expression, which
indicates that his gayety is not altogether genuine!"
The next day the young men asked Isaure if she knew the man who was
wandering about the mountains. From the portrait which they drew of him
the girl remembered that she had seen him once or twice; but he had
never spoken to her and had never entered her house.
"If he ever should come here," said Alfred, "I advise you to be on your
guard."
"Why so?" said Isaure; "is he a bad man?"
"I don’t know, but I am not prepossessed in his favor. However, if he
should venture to offer you the slightest affront----"
"Why on earth should he want to injure me? I have never injured
anybody!"
"That’s not always a reason, but I hope that Vaillant will defend you. I
remember the way in which he receives those who try to kiss you."
As he said this, Alfred smiled and took the girl’s hand; she blushed;
Edouard, who was some yards away, said nothing, but his features
betrayed all the suffering of his heart. Isaure glanced at him, and
instantly taking her hand from Alfred’s, she ran to Edouard and said in
a tone which went to his very heart:
"What is the matter, pray? One would think that you were suffering. Can
it be that I have pained you?"
That sweet, tender voice, and the way in which Isaure looked at him,
revived hope in Edouard’s heart, while it produced an entirely contrary
effect upon Alfred. He frowned, moved about impatiently, and exclaimed:
"Let us go, it’s time!"
And he instantly left the cottage, much less satisfied than when he had
entered, dragging away Edouard, who would gladly have remained longer.
Only a word, a glance, a smile from beauty is necessary to make us happy
or to destroy our hopes.
On leaving the cottage the young men saw the stranger seated on the
ground a few yards away. According to his custom, he was watching them,
and his face wore its habitual mocking expression. Alfred dropped
Edouard’s arm and walked toward the vagabond, who remained calmly in
his place. When he stood in front of him, Alfred said to him in a
haughty tone:
"You seem to spy upon all our actions, and you look at us with an
expression that I don’t like. I am not fond of insolent or inquisitive
people, I give you fair warning."
The stranger leaned back, and merely replied:
"I am like you: I am not fond of insolent or inquisitive people. I have
always avoided the latter and have found a way to punish the former."
"Do you mean that for a challenge?" said Alfred, with a contemptuous
glance at the stranger.
"A challenge! Oh! dear me, no! I no longer amuse myself in that way.
Other times, other manners. As for your actions, it isn’t necessary to
watch them long to understand them, as well as your schemes."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Parbleu! when young men go to see a young girl, anyone knows what the
result is likely to be, and one need not be very shrewd to guess it.
But, after all, I assure you that it makes no difference to me; I see
nothing out of the common course in it."
"I consider you very presumptuous to dare to indulge in such
reflections. If you were not constantly at our heels, how would you know
where we go? But if you presume to say another word about that girl, I
shall find a way to chastise such insolence!"
The vagabond’s only reply was to stretch himself out on the turf with a
sneering laugh; then he took a snuffbox from his pocket, and after
dipping his own fingers in it, handed it to Alfred, saying very calmly:
"Do you use it? It’s fresh, I bought it this morning at Saint-Amand."
The stranger’s placidity upset all Alfred’s ideas; his wrath redoubled,
and he was on the point of resorting to some act of violence; but
Edouard held him back and stepped between him and the stranger.
"My dear De Marcey, what are you thinking about? and why are you so
incensed with this poor fellow?"
Alfred stopped, blushing as if ashamed because he had been unable to
control himself. But at the name of Marcey, which Edouard had
pronounced, the stranger acted as if he had been struck by lightning;
and a sudden change took place in his whole aspect. His face no longer
wore an expression of indifference or irony, but of surprise, interest
and disquietude. He rose suddenly and walked up to Alfred, scrutinizing
him anxiously; then he said to him:
"I beg pardon, monsieur, but your name, please?"
The stranger’s voice was no longer the same; it had lost the harsh,
stern accent which seemed natural to it and had taken on an entirely new
tone; his changed manner of address was that of a man who is accustomed
to good society.
Alfred and Edouard were struck by the change which had taken place in
the poor devil’s aspect. But he repeated his question and Alfred
replied:
"My name--why, you have just heard it,--Alfred de Marcey."
"Are you the son of the Baron de Marcey who was a colonel of cavalry?"
"Yes, he is my father. How do you know? Did you ever know him?"
"Yes,--that is to say, I have often heard him spoken of. But how old are
you?"
"How old!" said Alfred in surprise; "twenty-four years."
The stranger seemed to reflect and to try to collect his memories; then
he muttered in an undertone:
"Twenty-four years! Oh, yes! I remember, he had a son by his first
wife--I heard that. And have you any brothers or sisters?"
"No, I have none," replied Alfred, whose curiosity was keenly aroused.
"But might I know what interest you can possibly have in knowing about
my family?"
The stranger evidently tried to assume his usual air of indifference as
he replied:
"Oh! I asked you that just for the sake of talking, that is all. Is your
father still alive?"
"To be sure he is."
"But he isn’t in this region?"
"No, he is in Paris. Did you ever serve in his regiment?"
"No; not in his regiment exactly; but I did serve in the army once."
"You have defended your country, and now you are unfortunate and a
vagrant!" cried Alfred. "Oh! forgive me, monsieur! I spoke to you rather
hastily just now; I am a thoughtless fellow; I often make mistakes and
am sorry for them afterward; but Edouard will tell you that my heart is
in the right place. Come, prove that you bear me no grudge by accepting
this purse, and let me have the pleasure of helping an old soldier."
As he spoke, Alfred handed the traveller a purse filled with gold; he
glared at it with covetous eyes, but still his hand repulsed the hand
that was held out to him, and he answered with something like bitterness
in his tone:
"No, I don’t want your money; I am not in need of anything."
"You refuse me," said Alfred; "I see, you bear me ill will for my hasty
speech of a moment ago. Well! as you have known my father, I offer you
this trifling sum in his name."
"In his name!" cried the stranger; and his eye gleamed with repressed
rage. But soon, seeming to obtain control of himself, he continued:
"I say again, I am not in need of anything now; later, it is possible
that your money may be of use to me. Adieu, young man; we shall meet
again."
And the vagabond walked away, after casting upon Alfred a glance of
strange meaning. The young men returned to their horses and rode back to
the château, discussing this meeting, which caused them to forget Isaure
and their rivalry for the moment.
XVI
PREPARATIONS FOR FESTIVITIES