am delighted to hear it! These people are not worthy of having you for
guests! When you and I are gone, I ask you what clever people will
remain at the château?--Are you going back to Paris?"
"Perhaps so; we intend to travel a little."
"You do not need an interpreter, do you, in the countries which you
propose to visit?"
"No, we know enough to make ourselves known where we shall go."
"You don’t happen to have any children whose education needs to be
attended to?"
"No, Monsieur Férulus, not at the moment."
"In that case, messieurs, I will bid you farewell; _vale et me ama._"
The scholar walked sadly away; the young men would have been glad to
induce him to accept their purses, in order to keep from dying of
starvation a man who sought only to exalt his fellowmen to immortality;
but they did not know how to go about it, for fear of wounding his
self-esteem. Meanwhile Férulus, as he moved slowly and regretfully away,
dropped a volume from the bundle which he held, and kept on, without
noticing the loss he had sustained. Alfred picked up the volume,
concealed his purse underneath it, called to the scholar, who instantly
stopped, and running after him, placed the book and the purse in his
hand, saying:
"Monsieur Férulus, you dropped this book."
"Jehovah! it is Seneca’s treatise on Contempt of Wealth."
"Perhaps you might have missed it."
The ex-librarian instantly closed the hand into which the two articles
had been slipped, smiled agreeably at Alfred, then hurried away as if he
were afraid that he might wish to take back what he had just given him.
Alfred and Edouard returned to their apartments and remained there until
the hour for breakfast. Then they went to the salon, where the family
had assembled. Although he had passed the night with his wife, Robineau
seemed no less timid than before with her; but Cornélie hardly took
pains to reply to her husband; she scolded each servant in turn, and had
already informed her husband that Jeannette, the groom and Monsieur
Cunette would speedily follow Monsieur Férulus. Robineau had no time to
approve his wife’s resolution, because, whenever he attempted to speak,
his father-in-law cut him short by saying:
"Son-in-law, allow your wife to do as she pleases, and never thwart her,
or by heaven! you will have to deal with me."
The young men informed the company that they were going to leave the
château, and Eudoxie said in an undertone:
"It will be very amusing here now! I certainly shall not stay long!"
Madame de la Roche-Noire received this news very coolly; the young men
had not seemed sufficiently dazzled by her charms for her to regret
them. But Robineau, who was beginning to discover that since he had been
married he did not enjoy himself as much as he hoped, exclaimed:
"What! you mean to leave us already? to go away? When, for heaven’s
sake?"
"This very day," said Alfred.
"To-day! Oh! On my word, I won’t--we won’t allow it, it will cause my
wife much distress. Just a few days more,--it isn’t right to go away so
abruptly."
"Very well, we won’t go until to-morrow," replied Edouard, who had
seemed lost in profound thought for some minutes.
"To-morrow it is then," said Alfred, who was surprised, however, that
Edouard consented to defer their departure.
The guests soon separated, each to do what pleased him best. Eudoxie
doubtless wished that Alfred should pay his last farewells to her, for
she asked him for his arm for a walk in the garden; and Cornélie, left
alone with Robineau, said to him:
"Why do you presume to keep these gentlemen at the château without
finding out whether I would like it?"
"My love, I thought that----"
"Your friends are very agreeable, are they not, to pass all their time
travelling about no one knows where, and coming here only to eat?
Hereafter, monsieur, I will invite the persons whom I wish to receive."
"Very well, my dear love, if you wish, I will go and tell Alfred and
Edouard that they can go at once, that we don’t care."
"Another absurd remark! No, monsieur, say nothing, do nothing, meddle in
nothing,--that is all I ask of you."
And with that, Cornélie left Robineau, who, when he was alone, stamped
the floor viciously, saying:
"I will not thwart her, because this is our honeymoon; but I know that I
am master, and that is enough for me."
After walking for a sufficiently long time with Eudoxie, Alfred
returned to the château; he arranged everything for his approaching
departure and then joined Edouard.
"What was your reason for consenting to defer our departure?" said
Alfred; "I supposed that you were in a hurry to leave this region and
these mountains."
"Yes, yes, of course," replied Edouard, with some embarrassment; "but
before leaving Auvergne, to which I shall never come again, I would
like,--you will scold me, Alfred!"
"No; tell me frankly what hope you have."
"I have no hope at all, but I cannot resist the longing to see Isaure
once more, to bid her a last farewell!"
"I suspected as much."
"I left her so abruptly, and yet I did not then know all her treachery;
but never fear, it is not for the purpose of reproaching her uselessly,
that I wish to see her--far from it. I will tell her that I forgive her
all the pain that she has caused me, that I hope that she may be happy,
that her image will never--Oh, no! I will not tell her that, and
yet--Ah! blame me for my weakness, my friend, but I believe that I love
her more dearly than ever."
"You mean to go to see Isaure again? Why, how can you think of such a
thing? Suppose you should find--suppose you should meet the baron
there?"
"I will watch for a moment when she is alone, you know very well that
she passes only a little time at the White House; I must see her again,
even though I may be able to speak to her but a moment. Remember,
Alfred, that it will be the last time."
"Very well, I will go with you. Yes, I will go with you; at all events,
I shall be more certain that you will commit no imprudence, and I shall
be able to see to it that no one surprises you with her."
"Dear Alfred! how kind you are!"
"I must needs become wise when you make a fool of yourself; each in his
turn. I will go and tell the groom to have the horses ready for us
to-night, for I do not see the necessity of going on foot again. We will
start at the hour when the others go to bed, having alleged our
departure to-morrow as an excuse for retiring early.--Edouard, you will
take no weapons, I trust?"
"What an idea! Oh, no! I only want to see her, I only want to bid her
farewell before leaving this place forever!"
Everything having been agreed upon, the young men returned to the
guests. As Férulus had predicted, the dinner was much less merry than
usual. Alfred and Edouard had too much to think about to try to keep up
the conversation. Eudoxie seemed bored; Monsieur de la Pincerie was in
bad humor, because he foresaw that there would no longer be anybody to
play whist with him in the evening; Cornélie maintained her haughty air,
and hardly spoke; even Mignon himself did not seem very well pleased,
because his niece had given him a thousand things to do in the château;
lastly, Robineau treated his two friends with extreme coolness, hoping
thereby to please his wife.
In the evening, the young men made their farewells.
"It is possible," said Alfred, "that we shall start to-morrow before you
ladies have risen."
"As you please, messieurs," said Robineau; "indeed, if it will give you
pleasure to go this evening, you may----"
Monsieur de la Roche-Noire did not finish his sentence, because his wife
pulled his coat-tail so that she almost tore it. Alfred and Edouard
glanced at each other with a smile; and after several hours’
conversation, interrupted by frequent yawns on the part of the marquis
and by the stifled sighs of Madame de Hautmont, they bade one another
farewell and separated.
The young men gave their hosts time to shut themselves up in their
rooms; then they went down into the courtyard, found the horses saddled,
and bade the concierge open the gate for them, saying to him:
"We shall return in two hours."
"You can return when you please, you will find the gate open," replied
Cunette, who was drunk as usual. "The mistress has told me that I could
look for another place. So you see I don’t propose to bother my head
about her gate. I am going to bed, and I will leave everything open;
what is planted may come up; I don’t care a fig; I don’t propose to put
myself out."
XXVIII
A CRIME
"We shall have ridden over this country at night quite often," said
Alfred, as he trotted beside Edouard. The roads were very bad; the rain
which had fallen during the evening had made them soft and slippery; and
only by taking great precautions could the two horsemen proceed without
accident.
Edouard answered his friend only by heaving a profound sigh. Alfred
understood that as Edouard was about to see Isaure for the last time, he
was naturally engrossed by his memories and his regrets; and so,
respecting his friend’s silence and his distress of mind, he rode close
beside him, but did not speak to him again.
They had travelled only a third of the distance; a cold rain was
falling; Edouard tried to urge his horse, but twice already the animal
had nearly fallen. The road had become steep, and they had to resign
themselves to go at a walk.
"I believe that we could travel faster on foot," said Edouard
impatiently.
"Haven’t we time enough?" replied Alfred; "There is no hurry about our
returning to the château; and you don’t need the whole night to bid
Isaure farewell."
"I don’t know what the matter is with me, but it seems to me as if I
cannot reach her side soon enough. Gloomy thoughts oppress me.--Alfred,
do you believe in presentiments?"
"Nonsense! what childish folly! when one has had some trouble, when one
has been deceived, betrayed in one’s affections, one dreads some new
misfortune every instant; we call that having a presentiment, whereas it
is simply the result of our frame of mind. Lucky people, those with whom
everything succeeds, never have presentiments; and yet unpleasant things
sometimes happen to them; but they have never foreseen them, because
they don’t look at the dark side of things.--This infernal horse! he
absolutely insists upon kneeling. François told me that at Clermont,
where he went the other day, there were two very good horses for sale;
if you would like to travel that way, I will buy them."
Edouard did not reply; he had relapsed into his reflections, and emerged
from them only to say in a low voice:
"How dismal and gloomy this night is! what a difference from last
night!"
"Yes," said Alfred; "I begin to think that in winter, life in Auvergne
is not very hilarious."
"Ah! If she had loved me, as she said; if I might have lived with her,
these snow-covered mountains, these glaciers, this wild landscape, would
always have been cheerful in my eyes!"
"Come, come, Edouard, be sensible; time will console you. I, too, loved
Isaure dearly; oh, yes! I was mad over her; but I succeeded in
triumphing over that love."
Edouard made no reply, but he sighed and said to himself: "He was very
far from loving her as I do!"
At last they reached the path leading down into the valley; they halted
and left their horses at the usual place, then walked toward the
cottage. Alfred took Edouard’s arm; the latter’s excitement doubled as
they approached Isaure’s abode.
"She is at home!" cried Edouard, as they perceived a light in the window
of the first floor. "Ah! my friend, let us stop a moment; my heart is
beating so violently. She is in her room! I was so afraid that I should
not see her again; I was in despair lest we should not arrive soon
enough. Ah! you were right, Alfred; when one is in trouble, one adds to
it by one’s imagination! But her window is closed; I cannot see her as I
could last night. I would like to see her without her knowing that I am
here!"
"As you mean to speak to her for the last time, of course she must know
that you are here. Shall we not knock? Or do you prefer to call her?"
"I don’t know--wait a moment; suppose there was someone with her! Do you
see any light in the White House?"
"No."
"How can we make sure that she is alone? Suppose that your father were
there? Let us wait; perhaps she will open her window, or will come out
to go to the White House."
The young men waited several minutes; Edouard kept his eyes fixed on the
window in which the light shone.
"It is very strange," he said at last; "I can see no shadow through the
curtains, the light does not move at all, and there is not the slightest
sound to indicate that she is there. And yet, in this lonely valley, the
least movement can easily be heard. Alfred, there is something
absolutely terrifying in this stillness."
"More of your black ideas! For heaven’s sake, what do you suppose has
happened to her? Are thieves or brigands ever seen in this region?"
"Come, let us go near the house, perhaps we shall hear something."
Alfred followed Edouard; they went close to the door; but the most
profound silence continued to reign in Isaure’s home.
Suddenly Edouard, struck by a sudden thought, exclaimed:
"Great heavens! here we are standing close against the door, and
Vaillant does not bark, although he always divines the presence of a
stranger a long distance away!"
"That is strange, in very truth," said Alfred.
"I cannot resist any longer, let us knock."
Edouard knocked on the door, gently at first, then a little louder; but
no sound indicated that anyone proposed to admit them.
"Isaure! Isaure! it is I," said Edouard, standing under the window; "I
have come to bid you farewell before going away from here. Are you not
willing to see me?"
There was no reply. Edouard’s distress and excitement were extreme.
"Can it be that she has sworn never to speak to me again, not to listen
to me?" he cried; and in his anger he knocked loudly on the door.
Thereupon a low groan, a plaintive sound, which seemed to come from
behind the house, answered the clamor that Edouard was making.
"Did you hear?" he asked Alfred.
"Yes, I thought----"
"There, listen again; that mournful sound echoed in my heart. Some
calamity has happened to Isaure. We must go into this house."
Alfred, who now fully shared Edouard’s fears, seconded his efforts to
force the door of the cottage. The lock alone held it; that broken, the
two young men entered the lower room, where it was pitch dark.
"Let us go upstairs, let us go to her room at once," said Edouard,
feeling for the staircase; he found it and ran rapidly up; he soon
reached the room where the light was; the door was not locked. Edouard,
followed by Alfred, entered the girl’s room, but they found it empty,
and observed there a disorder which was not natural. The bureau-drawers
were open, and several female garments were scattered about the floor;
it seemed as if some few things had been taken in haste, and several
pieces of money which lay on the floor indicated that someone had also
taken possession of the cash contained in that piece of furniture.
"She is not here!" cried Edouard, gazing about him in dismay. "But what
is the meaning of this disorder? Has someone taken her away by force?
Has she been torn from this house against her will?"
"Come," said Alfred, taking the lamp; "let us search the house, we may
perhaps discover some clew. Let us find out first where that noise we
heard came from."
They went downstairs, entered every room, called Isaure, and received no
answer; but, as they passed near the yard which separated the house from
the garden, they heard once more the plaintive moan which had impressed
them before. They went into the yard, and traces of blood caught their
eyes. Edouard’s heart stood still; but in a moment he shuddered with
horror as he saw Vaillant lying by the garden gate, wounded in several
places, bathed in blood, but trying to drag himself to those whom he
recognized as his mistress’s friends.
"It is Vaillant! He has been murdered!" cried Edouard. "Ah! some
horrible thing has happened, my friend! Brigands, murderers have forced
their way into this house! But what have they done with Isaure? They
have killed him who tried to defend her, and I was not here! Poor
Vaillant! He seems to be asking me where his mistress is. They must have
taken her away through the garden. Come! come! Let us continue our
search!"
"But Vaillant is not dead," said Alfred; "perhaps these wounds, which
seem to have been made by a sword, are not fatal. Shall we leave without
assistance the only one who dared to defend his mistress? Poor dog! How
he gazes at us! Wait until I bind his wounds. Perhaps your handkerchief
and mine will suffice to stop the flow of blood."
Despite his impatience to fly in search of Isaure, Edouard seconded his
friend in attending to the needs of the girl’s faithful defender.
Vaillant was transported gently to his mistress’s bed, where he was
wrapped in linen. Then the young men went to the garden; they found a
small gate opening into the country still open. Blood stains indicated
that the dog had followed his mistress thus far, and that Isaure had
been taken away in that direction.
Edouard wished to scour the country, to follow the tracks of Isaure’s
abductors; he flattered himself that he could overtake them, and he
asked Alfred for his weapons.
"What do you mean to do now, pray?" asked Alfred. "You have no idea in
what direction they have gone! Which way do you propose to go this dark
night? Is it not better to wait till daylight?"
"Wait! Why, perhaps even now she may be calling to me for help!
Everything seems to indicate that it is not long since this horrible
crime was committed. I implore you, Alfred, give me your pistols! What
have you to fear? I only wish to restore Isaure to your father. If he
had been here, doubtless he would have defended her. Come! come! Let us
search these mountains; perhaps there is still time to save her."
Alfred yielded to his friend’s entreaties; he gave him one of his
pistols, kept the other, and tried to keep up with Edouard, who started
across the country at a rapid pace.
The weather was still unpleasant, and it was difficult to distinguish
objects at a short distance. Edouard frequently stopped and listened to
see whether he could not hear shrieks or footsteps. They had passed the
White House, and were going toward Chadrat, Alfred being some yards
behind Edouard, when they heard footsteps in front of them. Edouard
instantly rushed forward, and before Alfred had time to urge him to be
prudent, he found himself face to face with a person whom he abruptly
stopped:
"Where are you going? Where have you come from?"
The man whom Edouard had arrested took a step backward, and drawing his
arm from beneath his cloak, held a pistol in the young man’s face as he
retorted in a firm voice:
"By what right do you question me?"
At the sound of that voice so familiar to his heart, Alfred darted in
front of Edouard, exclaiming:
"Wretched man! What are you doing? It is my father!"
The Baron de Marcey, for it was he in very truth, uttered a cry of
surprise as he recognized his son; while Edouard stood as if rooted to
the ground.
"What! you, Alfred? you, in these mountains, at night, and with----"
"Oh! don’t be alarmed, father," replied Alfred; "it is Edouard who is
with me; and although he did bring you to a halt rather abruptly, you
may be sure that we have not become highwaymen! On the contrary, we are
on the track of the abductors of a young girl; and when he saw you,
Edouard took you for one of the men we are looking for."
"You, in this country; you, here!" said the baron, unable to recover
from his surprise; "and--this girl?"
"Is Isaure!" cried Edouard.
"Isaure! you know Isaure?" rejoined the baron, whose surprise and
excitement increased momentarily. "What! then it was you, Edouard, whom
she had so much to say to me about?"
"Yes, monsieur, it was I who loved her, who love her still, who wished
to give her my hand, and never to part from her again, not knowing that
another had a prior right over her, and that that other was Alfred’s
father! But at this moment, monsieur le baron, let us think only of
finding her, of helping her. Her house is empty; Vaillant is pierced
with wounds, and everything indicates that Isaure has been abducted from
her home."
"Great heaven! the poor child! But she may be in the White House; she
may have succeeded in escaping thither. Come, come! we still have that
last hope; may it not soon be taken away from us!"
The baron strode rapidly forward; the two young men walked beside him;
all three were silent; a single thought, a single desire inspired them
at that moment. They soon reached the White House. The baron opened the
door and went in first. With the aid of a match he soon struck a light,
and all three examined the house and garden; but Isaure was not there.
"How could she have come here in your absence?" said Edouard, looking at
the baron with an expression of curiosity.
"She had a key to the garden of this house," replied Monsieur de Marcey;
"but let us go to her cottage and see if we cannot find some proof which
may help us to discover the authors of this crime!"
They returned to the cottage, they visited and examined every corner;
but except in Isaure’s bedroom, they found nothing disturbed in the
house.
"She has carried away a part of her clothes!" said the baron, who seemed
overwhelmed by Isaure’s disappearance.
"Can she have gone voluntarily?" cried Edouard.
"Voluntarily!" said Alfred; "does not this wounded dog prove, on the
contrary, that someone forced his way into the house to carry Isaure
away? The entrance was effected through the garden. Had Isaure any money
with her?"
"She may have had some fifty louis," said the baron.
"That money is no longer here," cried Edouard; "so it must have been a
robber who came here. But would a robber have taken Isaure away with
him?"
They left the house, and were crossing the yard when Alfred spied
something that glistened against the wall; he held his light to it and
saw at his feet a sword still dripping with blood; it seemed evident
that that was the weapon with which Vaillant had been wounded. They at
once examined the sword with care. It was a weapon which seemed to be
very old, the hilt was broken in several places, and it was impossible
to distinguish the characters which had once been carved on the blade,
which seemed to be of finely tempered steel.
"Such a weapon cannot have belonged to a thief," said the baron.
The young men agreed with him, and they lost themselves in innumerable
conjectures. Suddenly, Alfred exclaimed:
"Stay! something, I don’t know what, tells me that that wretch, that
vagabond, who is always prowling about these mountains, is not
unconnected with this event!"
"What man are you talking about?" asked the baron.
"A villain, whose conduct and speech seem to indicate that he formerly
lived in good society. We have not been able to take a step without
meeting him; he knew you, father--at least he said he did; and when your
name was mentioned before him, it seemed to produce a strange effect on
him. However, I offered him money, and he refused it; but some unknown
motive led him to think ill of Isaure. The villain! if I had followed
his advice, I should have abducted this girl long ago; he considers such
an exploit as a trivial escapade, and constantly told me that a girl
that lived alone did not deserve to be treated differently."
"The scoundrel!" said the baron. "Ah! he did not know my Isaure! Dear
Alfred, how bitterly you would have regretted it, if you had yielded to
a passing passion! You do not know yet who this sweet, interesting girl
is; you have no idea what bond there is between her and myself. I did
not intend to reveal this mystery to you, I wished that it might be kept
concealed forever; but since circumstances have led to your meeting your
father in this place, you shall know everything, you shall learn the
secret which is the cross of my life. You will pity your father, but I
think that you cannot blame him. And you, Edouard, who think perhaps
that you see in me a rival, you shall know how pure and unselfish is my
attachment for Isaure; you shall learn that in seeking to keep her apart
from the world, I had no such purpose as you may have supposed me to
have."