"There!"
"But monsieur remembers that Madame de Beaudrillart especially said--"
For the third time the one word shot out:
"There!"
Jean scratched his head again, looked round helplessly, and then stared
at the sky. Finding no suggestion for extricating himself from the
dilemma, he ended by submitting to M. Raoul's order, and, with a sigh
of perplexity, turned in the direction indicated. He had lived long
enough at Poissy to have learned that it was often difficult to
reconcile opposing wills, and that, as they were strong, there was
always the risk of being crushed by them. Moreover, he was not without
hope. The way they had taken was scarcely wide enough for the
carriage--branches whipped their faces, and they were bumped
relentlessly over the rough ground. Jean groaned loudly, and glanced
back at his master to see how he liked it. But M. Raoul showed no sign
of discomfiture; he sat erect, smiling, and now and then flourishing
something which he held tightly grasped in his hand. Presently they
reached a grassy opening enclosed with trees. The carriage halted, and
Jean advanced towards it, reins in hand.
"Monsieur sees for himself that we can go no farther."
M. Raoul did not give him time to reach him. Before Jean could realise
what he was doing, he had slipped out of the carriage on the opposite
side, and plunged into an undergrowth of bushes which clothed a steep
bank, and crept down to the river. Jean made an ineffectual effort to
follow and stop him, but the small pony, excited by M. Raoul's
triumphant cry, began to back and kick and show signs of bolting, so
that his driver was forced, to return to his head. Jean was a person
slow to make up his mind, and with a strong objection to
responsibilities. He had remarked that they generally brought one into
trouble. If Mme. de Beaudrillart, or either of the young ladies,
madame's daughters, happened to be walking in the grounds, as was too
likely, and met the carriage and pony without a driver, it was
impossible to say what might not happen; and as it was out of the
question to keep both the carriage and M. Raoul in view, and he had
unbounded confidence in M. Raoul's capabilities, Jean resolved to stick
to the carriage. But though occasionally stupid, he was not a fool, and
he recognised the need of letting some one know of M. Raoul's vagaries.
He therefore pushed the pony as quickly as possible through the tangled
path, and when he found himself again in a wider road, set off at a fast
trot towards the chateau, hoping quickly to meet his father or another
of the gardeners. Unfortunately, however, the first person he
encountered was the last to whom he would have desired to tell his
story.
Mlle. Claire de Beaudrillart was the younger of the two sisters who
lived with their mother, her son and his wife, at the chateau. Both
sisters were some years older than their brother, and Mlle. Claire
would never again see her thirty-seventh birthday. Not so handsome as
her mother, she was still a striking-looking woman, tall, thin, and
carrying herself well. Like all the Beaudrillarts, she was dark; like
them, too, her chin was strongly moulded, her nose straight. Once when
there were tableaux at Poissy, and old dresses had been drawn from a
great armoire, it might have been supposed that the very Claire of two
centuries back had stepped out of her frame in the picture-gallery. She
was invariably exquisitely neat even in the house, and if her temper was
quick, it seldom placed her at a disadvantage. Yet, when Jean caught
sight of her, he looked from side to side with helpless longing to
escape, and finding it impossible, an ugly, sullen expression gathered
in his face, which up to this point had only displayed embarrassment.
Mlle. Claire detected the look in a moment, and stopped, him by a sign.
"Where have you been, Jean?"
She used the "you" contemptuously.
"Round the estate, mademoiselle."
"Alone?"
He brought out M. Raoul's name.
"You should have said so at once. And where is Monsieur Raoul?"
This was exactly the question which Jean would have been glad to answer
to himself; but his face only became more stolid as he replied:
"Mademoiselle must know that he has gone down to the river."
"To the river! With Monsieur de Beaudrillart?"
He hung his head.
"With Madame Leon! No! With whom, then?" As he remained silent, she
added, quickly, "You do not tell me that he is alone?"
Jean burst out with "Mademoiselle--" and stopped helplessly.
"Well?"
"Mademoiselle will comprehend that when monsieur says he _will_ go--"
She looked at him from head to foot, and said in a low voice, perfectly
modulated, yet which cut like a whip:
"I have always maintained that you, Jean Charpentier, were
untrustworthy, and now I am absolutely convinced of it. It was your
duty not to let Monsieur Raoul out of your sight, and you have suffered
him to go alone to the river--to the river! It is a case of gross
neglect, and I shall consult with Monsieur de Beaudrillart about your
dismissal."
The boy stood staring at her, open-mouthed, water beginning to gather in
his round eyes. He, whose family for generations past had lived and
died at Poissy; he, whose pride was to continue in the service, and whom
the other lads regarded with envy--he to be condemned as untrustworthy,
and threatened with dismissal! And he had done his best. It was not
his fault if he could not carry out the impossible. All this was slowly
heaving in his mind, when a second unwelcome personage came along the
path.
She was a young lady of some four or five and twenty, tall, fair, and
almost childlike in the soft lines of her face. Her hair was
reddish-brown, the colour which painters love; her eyes clear, hazel,
frank, steady, and true; her mouth firm, but a little large; her throat
delicately white. She looked healthy, and carried a hat in her hand, as
if she courted sun and air, and she was walking quickly; but on seeing
Mlle. Claire, hesitated, fearful of interrupting. The next moment
another impulse brought her to her side, and she, too, cried eagerly to
Jean:
"But where is Monsieur Raoul?"
He was silent, and Claire answered:
"I have told Jean that, since he is not to be trusted, I shall take care
that he is not permitted to drive Monsieur Raoul any more."
"Not to be trusted!" The new-comer had grown pale, her eyes wandered
questioningly from one face to the other, and when she repeated her
question it was in a faltering voice. "But where is he?"
"Apparently he has gone to the river."
"To the river! Not alone?"
Mlle. Claire said, frigidly:
"Yes, it is inexcusable; but you may leave me to arrange matters. Take
the carriage to the stables, Jean, without loitering by the way, and
wait there until you are sent for. Come, Nathalie, we will go and look
for him."
Young Mme. de Beaudrillart, who had stood motionless for a moment,
raised her hand and checked Jean as he was moving off.
"Pardon, Claire, that is not the best plan; for neither you nor I know
anything. If you will be good enough to take charge of the carriage,
the boy shall go with me and point out exactly where he lost sight of
him. Come, Jean, at once." And before her sister-in-law had time to
recover from the amazement into which this unusual self-assertion had
thrown her, she had walked rapidly away, followed by the reluctant Jean.
He, too, was bewildered. In the storm of difficulty and reproach which
he foresaw, the last person by whom he wished to find himself was Mme.
Leon. If she were even disposed to befriend him, she would be
ineffective. He had always been tacitly encouraged to disregard her
orders, and under other circumstances would not have hesitated to do so
now. But something strangely imperative in her tone, something so
unexpected that it had discomfited even Mlle. Claire, completed his
degradation, and compelled him against his will to follow. He wept, as
much for shame as fear, as he stumbled along behind the quick, firm
steps of his young mistress, and more than once when she flung him a
question as to M. Raoul's disappearance answered so helplessly that she
turned upon him at last with sharp impatience.
"For Heaven's sake, Jean, don't be a fool! Show me the path, and cry
when there is nothing else to be done. Was it here?"
"No, madame," murmured Jean, astonished into obedience; "the next."
She quickened her steps almost to a run.
"And how could you allow him to go alone? You knew, did you not, that
he was put into your charge?"
He hesitated.
"Madame sees that when Monsieur Raoul jumped out there was the pony and
the carriage to see to; and the pony began to be wicked, as he sometimes
is. Madame de Beaudrillart would have been very much displeased if
anything had happened to the pony, and I was going as fast as I could to
fetch some one when I met Mademoiselle Claire, who stopped me to
inquire, and would hear it all--"
"Yes, I understand," said Nathalie, curbing her anguish by an effort,
though still hastening along. "I understand perfectly, and I do not
think you were to blame." But under her breath Jean heard her cry, "Oh,
Raoul, Raoul!"
The boy had a sudden impulse.
"If I were madame," he said, shyly, "I should have no fear. Monsieur
Raoul is so clever, he will find his way."
He would not have ventured to offer consolation to any other of the
family, but no one stood upon ceremony with Mme. Leon, and his
momentary awe was subsiding. She was no longer angry, but she did not
answer, and he made no further remark until he indicated a spot on their
right.
"It was there that Monsieur Raoul went down."
Where he pointed, the shrubs, which all along grew wildly and untrimmed,
presented a still more tangled mass of underwood, so thickly matted
together that Mme. Leon had to thrust the branches aside with her
strong young hands, pushing them to right and left, as she plunged into
their midst, Jean clipping down after her. A soft rush of sound, which
for some time had been in their ears, resolved itself now into the cool
flow of running water, and the ground, still densely wooded, fell
precipitously, evidently forming the high bank of the stream. Nathalie
was active and light in movement; she scarcely hesitated, though often
forced to swing by the help of flexible branches, or to scramble, as
best she could, down sandy slopes. At the foot of the bank ran a narrow
grassy strip, fringed with a thick growth of water-plants and broad
burdock leave beyond which raced a broad river, broken here and there by
pebbly shoals, but in other places flowing deep and strong. The first
breath of autumn was carried in the air; it was all fresh, vigorous, and
a little keen, but the beauty passed unnoticed by Mme. Leon. She stood
still, and, shading her eyes with her hand, looked eagerly on either
side. Jean clambered to a little height. "Do you see him?" she called,
anxiously.
"No, madame. But madame will recollect that monsieur was going that
way"--pointing to his right--"to fish. Possibly he may be there."
She thought for a moment.
"I will take that direction, and do you ran towards the bridge. Only
make haste, and if you find him, do not leave him again, but bring him
back at once; and call as you go."
"If it were any one but Monsieur Raoul, now," the boy said to himself as
he went off, "she would not have ventured to give an order.
Mademoiselle Claire stared finely when she found herself told to take
care of the carriage. It was good! Madame Leon is twenty times better
than Mademoiselle Claire, who speaks as if one were a pig; but, then,
Mademoiselle Claire is one of the old Beaudrillarts, and has the right,
while Madame Leon is bourgeoise. There's the difference. Nobody would
mind if she _did_ speak. Monsieur Raoul! Hi, Monsieur Raoul!"
Nathalie, meanwhile, was walking swiftly in the opposite direction, her
eyes devouring the bank and the unfeeling river, which gave her at all
times an unconquerable dread. The ground was rough and broken, and she
often stumbled where the long grass hid cracks and dips. A small
out-jutting promontory for some time hid a bend of the river from her
sight. It was covered with thin straggling bushes, which had the
appearance of hurrying helter-skelter to dip their green branches in the
water. It was necessary to push her way through them, and her dress
would have been torn had not an unconscious instinct led her, even at
this absorbed moment, to wrap it carefully round her, and avoid the
jagged wood-splinters. When she had crossed these obstacles, she called
to a fisherman at work some couple of hundred feet away. "Leon, Leon!"
she cried, breathlessly.
He turned, nodded, and began deliberately to reel his line. Before he
had finished his wife was by his side.
"Leon--Raoul! Have you seen Raoul!"
"I? No. Why should I have seen him?"
"Because he got out of the carriage and made his way down to the river--
to the river--alone! Oh, Leon!"
"He will be all right; he has sense enough," said her husband, easily.
"What was that little imbecile Jean about?"
"Dear, I can't blame him. What was he to do? He has been ordered never
to leave the carriage."
"Do? He might have done something. It is ridiculous to suppose that he
could not have prevented it. Who gave him those orders?"
"Your mother."
"Oh, well, of course it wouldn't do for the pony to run wild. However,
don't worry yourself; depend upon it, it's all right." He began to hum
an air. "I believe, after all, I will go with you, if only to keep you
quiet. And besides the pleasure of seeing you, I am not sorry that you
have come. Fishing is horribly stupid work all by one's self. I was
beginning to think I was sick of it, and from the relief I feel, I am
sure. Stop! Where are you going?"
"Dear Leon, I am so uneasy! You can follow."
"Heartless woman! But I don't let you off so quietly. Haven't I told
you that my own society fatigues me? haven't I welcomed your coming? and
yet you have the unkindness to propose to leave me! Come, be
reasonable. Help me with this detestable rod, which your fingers can
manage twice as well as mine, and then we go together."
But to his amazement his wife only turned her head.
"I cannot stay, Leon; I am too anxious. Come as quickly as you can."
He stared after her as she hastened away, his face losing some of its
easy expression. Dark, like the De Beaudrillarts, his features were
small, and their lines rounded. He was of medium height, and broadly
made about the shoulders; his eyes were brown, and the eyebrows
straight. He laughed readily, yet occasionally a certain haggard look,
curiously at variance with the roundness of his cheek, crept over his
face and aged it. Now, after a momentary hesitation, he flung his rod
and basket on the ground and ran after his wife.
"Women must always have their own way at once, of course," he said, with
a touch of petulance like a child's. "You might have waited a minute."
"Ah, forgive me, Leon! If it had been any other time!"
The ruffle had already passed. He smiled gayly.
"Yes, yes, that is what you all say. However, I will own that it is not
often you are so unreasonable."
She flung him a grateful look, and asked, with an effort:
"Have you caught many fish?"
"Only three, and those I gave to old Antoine as he went by. No one can
be expected to fish with such a sun shining on the water. Just look at
it!"
She looked and shuddered. By way of saying something, she remarked:
"Claire persists that old Antoine is a vaurien."
"Probably. From what my mother remembers, I suspect his family has been
worthless for so many generations as to deserve a reward for
consistency, if for nothing else. Claire is dreadfully down upon poor
sinners. Must we walk as if a mad dog were at our heels! These bushes
scratch. They might as well be trimmed. Do you agree? But you are not
attending."
"Yes, indeed, Leon, I think with you. And with your rod--but where is
your rod?"
"Left with my basket. Your fault--you would not wait."
She half paused.
"Oh, but I am sorry, very sorry! Your new rod! Will it not be hurt?"
"It is extremely probable that old Antoine will find an excellent
opportunity for exercising his hereditary inclinations."
She slipped her hand in his and repeated, regretfully: "I am very sorry!
It was so good of you to let everything go that you might come with me,
for I am terribly frightened. Where can he have hidden himself?"
"My dear child, you are becoming fussy; and if you don't check yourself,
you will develop lines in your pretty face which I should find
unendurable. Raoul is perfectly safe."
"Do you think so! But--the river?"
"The river--bah!"
M. de Beaudrillart was too sweet-tempered to be annoyed with his wife
for her fears, but he was conscious of a failure in the perfect sympathy
to which he was accustomed. When his fishing happened to be
unsuccessful, Nathalie was alert to discover the reasons for failure,
and never by awkward slip set it down to want of skill. If such a
thought knocked at his own mind, her tender touch managed to shut the
door upon the unwelcome intruder. No matter what other affairs occupied
her, they were laid aside to give him her undivided attention, and--what
was more--to be grateful to him for asking it. Perhaps he chose to be
unaware of the isolated position she occupied in the household, since it
had this advantage for him, that with one other he absorbed the warm
affections which were strong enough to flow far and wide, could they
have found space. He liked the concentration. Now, however, he felt
she had not so much as listened; for, when he had finished his relation
of a trout which had been so ill-behaved as to get away, instead of her
usual commiseration, Nathalie did not even utter a remark. Her eyes
were fixed painfully upon the river, which raced along--iron-grey in
colour, except where the shallows broke it into bubbles--with its fringe
of broad-leaved grasses, burdocks, and flags, a vivid green line in the
midst of a somewhat dried-up country. He would have preferred a more
leisurely stroll, but his wife's impatience kept her a pace or two in
advance, so that he was forced to exert himself in order to keep up with
her light and swift steps. His annoyance took refuge in silence, which
she in her anxious absorption did not notice.