In spite of M. Bourget's assumption of indifference, he was secretly
tormented by anxiety as to what was going on in Paris. Nathalie wrote
to him every day, though seldom more than a few lines. He never
answered her letters, but he devoured every word, and hungered for more.
It was the same with, the newspapers. He would not have missed a line,
notwithstanding the pang their comments, especially those of the radical
press, caused him. If his self-consciousness could have permitted it he
would have gone to Paris, not to have joined his daughter, but, unknown
and in secret, to have haunted the courts, especially after the trial
had begun; his restlessness longing to hear the evidence with his own
ears, and to listen to the remarks with which he did not doubt all Paris
rang. If France had been at this moment in the throes of a revolution,
M. Bourget would have expected to find its interest second to that
excited by seeing Baron Leon de Beaudrillart, of Poissy, on his trial
for theft. But if all France were occupied in watching M. de
Beaudrillart, Tours, he was equally persuaded, watched M. Bourget. For
him to show himself at the railway station would be immediately to
excite curiosity, for before an hour was over it would be known that his
indifference had been only simulated, and that he was in his heart as
anxious as Leroux represented him.
M. Georges, meanwhile, whose faithfulness was only strengthened by what
he heard and saw, had gone to Poissy, and, established there, was
bravely engaged in fighting the dreary hopelessness which weighed upon
the chateau. His disbelief in anything which could touch the young
baron's honour was so sincere and enthusiastic that, had it been
possible, it might have persuaded Claire. As it was, it soothed her.
With M. Georges she was less sharp, less angular, more forgiving. He
was the only person, except her mother and sister, to whom she would
speak, for, strangely enough, the trouble produced the same effect of
gloomy reticence in her and in the man with whom she would have vowed
she had least in common--M. Bourget. Like him, she shrank from a touch
on the wound; like him, she read pitying contempt in the faces she
looked at; like him, she exaggerated trifles. But it was impossible to
misjudge M. Georges. He was so confident that M. Leon was the victim
of some monstrous fraud, so undoubting in his belief that it must,
somehow, be cleared up, so unchanged in his respect, so unfailing in his
hopefulness, that his talk was incapable of inflicting the smallest
wound. Mme. de Beaudrillart he saw but seldom. Once or twice he
fancied that she must have had some sort of seizure to account for the
great alteration in her person and manner. She was thinner than ever,
but no longer upright. Her speech was hesitating, and she looked at
Claire before uttering an opinion. From the redness of her eyes it was
evident that she wept a good deal, yet at times he fancied that she
imagined her son to be in the house or out in the grounds, and that she
listened anxiously.
As for Felicie, there was no doubt that his confidence had given her
courage. Unlike her sister, she was always anxious to talk about her
brother, and the prospects of his trial; and M. Georges's fixed opinion
ended in implanting in her the idea that Leon, suffering unjustly, might
be regarded as a martyr, and therefore as a credit to the house. If the
Abbe Nisard did not share her idea, he took care not to contradict what
proved a fervent source of consolation. Felicie returned to her daily
tasks, to her embroideries and reparations, and though she cried, her
tears were not bitter, and perhaps were caused as often by her sister's
impatience as by Leon's imprisonment.
Raoul attached himself, tyrannically, to M. Georges. The boy felt,
without understanding, the cloud on the family; he missed his father,
his mother, his lessons, his drives. M. Georges at once undertook his
education, to the great relief of the others, for whom Raoul had
succeeded in making it almost unendurable. But here, in his new tutor,
he found a patience which it was so impossible to tire out that he gave
up the task, and, in order to gain a fishing expedition, learned his
lessons to perfection.
There came a day, however, when all M. Georges's cheerfulness could not
lighten the gloom. Nathalie's letters had been intended to prepare
them; but until the newspaper arrived, full of details, and commenting
upon the attitude of the accused, they had tacitly refused to realise
that the trial was to begin that very week. As it happened, Felicie had
been the first to see it, or it would never have met her eyes, for when
Claire came she seized the paper, carried it to her room, and when she
had devoured every word, tore it into shreds. M. Georges, to his
despair, had not a glimpse of it; but that afternoon, as he was going
off with Raoul to the river, he met Mlle. Felicie on her way back from
the church, armed with a feather brush, with which she had been dusting
the altar ornaments. She greeted him with eagerness.
"Oh, Monsieur Georges, you did not see that dreadful newspaper?"
"No, mademoiselle, to my great regret, for I gathered that there was
something fresh. But no doubt Mademoiselle Claire exercised a wise
discretion in not allowing it to lie about. Perhaps--"
He lifted his eyebrows interrogatively, and she nodded.
"Yes, I can tell you every word, and I long for your opinion."
"Raoul, my friend," said M. Georges, diplomatically, "old Antoine says
there is a superb trout which lies always close under the bridge. Shall
we try to ensnare him?"
The temptation was irresistible to a born fisherman, although the boy
had a feeling that he would like to hear what was to be talked about.
He kept M. Georges by his side as long as he could, but at last became
absorbed, and Felicie and her companion, standing on the bridge, talked
in low tones. He murmured:
"Now, permit me to hear."
"They say," she began, tremulously, "that Leon does not deny it. Oh,
monsieur, that cannot be possible, can it?"
"I, for one, should not believe it, whatever he said," announced M.
Georges, stoutly.
"You would not? You would think there was a mistake?"
"Beyond a doubt."
"Ah, what a comfort it is to speak to you!"
"Mademoiselle, you are goodness itself," answered the delighted M.
Georges. "But can you recall more particulars?"
"Oh, there was a whole column!" cried Felicie, with a shudder. "So far
as I could make out, what they said was that they understood that
Monsieur de Beaudrillart admitted having taken the money, but said that
he immediately informed Monsieur de Cadanet of what he had done, and
that he looked upon it as a loan."
"Exactly, exactly!" exclaimed M. Georges, triumphantly. "That is what
I thought."
"That he took it!"
"As a jest, no doubt, and as a loan. The difference is immense.
Immense!" he repeated, opening his arms. "And how noble of Monsieur
Leon to admit it!"
"Ah," said Felicie, relieved.
M. Georges was here called off by Raoul to superintend an imaginary
bite. He returned eagerly to Felicie, whose shortsighted eyes appeared
to him quite charming in their pathos.
"What you have said has given me the greatest satisfaction," he said,
"because it explains everything so admirably. That there must be an
explanation I knew, but one puzzled one's head with thinking what it
could be."
Felicie smiled delightedly. To hear that her explanation was admirable
seemed to give her the credit of having offered it, and the many snubs
she had received of late from Claire made this appreciation the more
valuable.
"And no doubt," pursued her companion, "Monsieur de Beaudrillart either
has repaid or was intending to repay all?"
"Yes, the paper said that would be his defence--you must excuse me if I
do not use the right terms, for I had scarcely time to glance at it."
"Mademoiselle, you are clearness itself."
Her small features took an expression of beatitude, but of beatitude
that suffers unjustly. She said:
"I do not often complain, but indeed, Monsieur Georges, you cannot fail
to see that Claire is so--so determined that one does not dare to oppose
her. If I say anything of which she does not approve, there is really
such a storm that I prefer to be silent."
"Mademoiselle Claire is suffering acutely, I am sure," he returned, with
a loyal impulse of defence.
"We all suffer," said Felicie, uttering a sound between a gasp and a
sob; "but I have always learned that our own sufferings should not
either absorb us or render us harsh to others. No one can have felt
this affliction more than I, but I try to rouse myself and to draw good
out of a terrible dispensation, as the abbe advised. I assure you,
monsieur, that I have much, very much, to endure from Claire."
He murmured sympathy.
"If it were not for the relief of having you here to talk things over
with, I do not think I could bear it at all. Figure to yourself,
monsieur, that she prophesies all manner of terrible humiliations for us
in the future! She says we can never again hold up our heads, and she
has quite made up her mind that no visitors shall be ever admitted. I
do not know myself that I could bear to see Mme. Lemballe; she has a
small mind, and it is quite possible that she might permit herself to
say something disagreeable. And just at present, of course, I am ready
to sacrifice myself for our poor dear Leon. But--never! Never!
Conceive how terribly doll to be cut off from all society, and to be
unable to go to the houses of our friends when I have any church
collection on hand. Oh, monsieur, the thought is unendurable. I would
rather die!"
Into the quiet current of M. Georges's thoughts at this instant there
dashed an idea so wild and unwarrantable that he blushed violently, and
was seized with a sudden tremor lest it might be read in his face.
Could such a thing be possible? Oh, never, never! He chased it out,
and to hide his embarrassment murmured something to the effect that
Raoul's line was caught in the weeds, and hurried to the boy.
"Go away," said Raoul immovably, his whole being concentrated upon the
trout as to which M. Georges had so basely deceived him.
"I think now it must have been higher up that Antoine meant," said that
gentleman, meekly. Raoul was on his feet in a moment.
"Then why did you say he was here?" he demanded, dragging at his tutor's
hand. "Come along. Aunt Felie, you mustn't come; you keep Monsieur
Georges from attending."
On the whole, M. Georges escaped thankfully, his brain in a whirl. Fly
from such dangerous fascinations he might, but the presumptuous idea
having once found entrance was already battering again at the doors.
Refused admittance, it demanded a parley, and set itself at once to
prove that it was not preposterous.
M. Georges owned with simple vanity that his position had changed for
the better since the days when he had been intendant at Poissy. Now he
was the owner of a small house, of grounds which to him at least looked
spacious, and of a certain solid little sum in rentes. Modest ambition
pointed to becoming mayor, and if he even dreamed of being
conseiller-general, the thing was not beyond the bounds of possibility.
But--Mlle. de Beaudrillart! That, indeed, was preposterous, incredible!
He heaved a sigh of renunciation, and flung it from him, only
permitting a meek hope to remain that when the real Mme. Georges made
her appearance she might have eyes resembling those of Mlle. Felicie.
But it was astonishing how persistent this ludicrous idea became! Even
when the landing of a small fish had been accomplished, Raoul pale and
serious with excitement, his first exclamation, after drawing a deep
breath of relief, was: "How I wish you lived here always, Monsieur
Georges!" M. Georges became crimson. And somehow or other, at this
time, Felicie seemed always to be kept before his consciousness. The
flutter of a dress was sure to belong to her, he heard her voice where
he had never heard it before, he met her in the grounds, he listened to
her praises from the abbe; presently it might be said that, in spite of
heroic resistance, her image was enshrined in his heart, although the
hope of gaining her had not yet ventured to intrude.
What further weakened his powers of resistance was Claire's kindness.
Sometimes he really fancied that she was encouraging his folly. With
him her sharpness was softened, and she deferred quite strangely to his
advice about the farm, with which Felicie never meddled. She was really
capable of managing everything without consultation, and M. Georges was
so well aware of this that he would have been more than man not to have
been flattered by her evident desire to gain his help and to yield to
his opinion. He reflected, however, humbly, that it was probably owing
to the absorption of her thoughts as to the trial, and this seemed the
more likely since on the morning when the trial was to begin Claire shut
herself in her room, and refused to see a soul.
Had it not been for M. Georges, the whole household would have been
disorganised. Despair had seized it, and if the walls of Poissy had
crumbled into ruin, the dismay could hardly have been greater. The
maids darted across the court like frightened birds. Jacques, tearful
and miserable, came to M. Georges to implore him to let him hear the
latest news, and M. Georges thumped his own chest with the effort to
impose self-control on his emotions, and begged him to be calm.
"What I fear," he added, "is Monsieur Raoul's gaining any idea of what
is happening. He has just asked me why every one was crying, and why
Rose-Marie called his father `poor monsieur le baron'? Jacques, my
friend, we men must show these kind souls an example of courage. If I
could trust you not to break down I would carry out an idea, and take
Monsieur Raoul into Tours to see his grandfather."
"Do, monsieur."
"But, to tell you the truth," said M. Georges, fidgeting, "I cannot
take the coachman, for he will be wanted to support you here, and I--I
am not in the habit of driving."
"We will put the quietest of the ponies in the little cart. I feel
certain he will take monsieur safely, and Monsieur Bourget--he is so
shrewd!--he may have something comforting to send back."
With many perturbations M. Georges carried out his idea. There was no
one to ask, for Claire was barricaded in her own room, and Felicie had
flown to the church. To tell the truth, the sight of M. Bourget's
bitter misery had so painfully impressed M. Georges that he had dwelt
upon it ever since, and longed to break it down; and it was for this
that he faced the terrors of the pony. They had many narrow escapes,
for when they met anything in the road M. Georges persistently tugged
at the left-hand rein; but fortunately the road was wide, and the pony
knew much better than his driver. Thanks to his sagacity, they avoided
any serious damage, and pulled up at M. Bourget's door. The door was
open, Raoul tumbled anyhow out of the cart, scrambled up the steps, and
rushed in upon his grandfather before M. Bourget had time to rouse
himself from the gloomy reverie which had seized him after reading his
newspaper for at least the tenth time.
"Grandpapa, I have caught a fish my very own self! Monsieur Georges
didn't touch it--he didn't, truly!--and I have brought it in for Fanchon
to cook for your dinner!"
M. Bourget stood up, grew purple, half turned away, came back, and
opened his arms. It was a happy inspiration of M. Georges to remain in
the street, although he took advantage of the stoppage to get out of the
cart, and stand at the pony's head. Fanchon bustled forth, beaming.
"Well, I declare, if it isn't Monsieur Georges! Drive round to the
hotel, monsieur, and put up the pony, and make haste back."
M. Georges assented, but remarking that it was hardly worth while to
get in for such a short distance, proceeded to lead the pony through two
streets and a half, to the astonishment of such of his acquaintances as
he met. When he got back, he found Raoul, by the aid of some impromptu
reins, driving his grandfather round the room and in and out of the
chairs, with shouts of delight. He took care to make no remark, and
presently M. Bourget sat down by him, wiping his forehead.
"As to that other," he said, significantly, "I haven't changed, but it
is no fault of the boy's. Leroux intends to summon you."
"Let him!" exclaimed M. Georges, valiantly.
"Ay, let him!" chuckled the ex-builder. "And when it comes to the
point, it would not surprise me if he thought better of it. You have
seen the paper? It is all up with that miserable. The defence is a
sham. Run out to Fanchon, my brave, and tell her to cook your fish for
my dinner, and see what jam she can find in her cupboard for you. Yes.
Monsieur Georges, what do you think now of your fine monsieur!"
"That I respect him with all my heart!" cried the other.
"Respect? So, ho! And for what?"
"For having the courage to speak out, monsieur. Which of us might not
have been tempted to deny it altogether?"
"And you still believe him when he says he repaid it?"
"Implicitly. If you believe him when he acknowledges what tells against
him, the least you can do is to take his word for the rest. You doubt
the father of your grandson? Fie, Monsieur Bourget, fie!"
M. Georges swelled with enthusiasm for his cause. M. Bourget got up
and paced up and down the room. He muttered at last:
"Whether he did or not, the result is the same. The Poissy honour is
gone. Not a scoundrel in Tours but will have his say against it."
"The Poissy honour has weathered worse storms," said M. Georges,
quietly. "What does it matter if a few curs bark? And I believe you
are wrong. I believe honest men will respect him for his avowal."
M. Bourget grumbled "Absurd!" under his breath, but said no more. He
called Raoul and marched him out to the toy-shop, and when they were
just starting for Poissy shook M. Georges's hand with a warmth which
surprised him. Raoul, in the intervals of opening all the parcels with
which he was charged, remarked that grandpapa was going to see mamma,
perhaps, "and I asked him if he couldn't take me, but he couldn't, he
said," he added, extracting a magnificent whip, which he proceeded to
smack, to the great disquiet of M. Georges and the pony.
M. Georges pulled the wrong rein more than ever, and their escapes were
hair-breadth. They ran in and out of ditches, they shaved carts;
finally they dashed wildly through the gates of Poissy, and pulled up at
the entrance so suddenly that M. Georges was shot forward, and only
just saved himself from landing on the pony's back. But, on the whole,
he was satisfied with the result of his expedition, and so was Raoul,
who announced that he liked M. Georges's driving better than anybody's.
The little clatter of arrival sounded unfeeling to poor Claire, who sat
nursing her misery in the room adjoining that of Mme. de Beaudrillart.
How could any one move, think, speak, at such a time! And yet it was a
comfort to feel that M. Georges was again in the house. He was
unaltered, though her conviction of the disgrace which hung over them
all was so strong that she read change in the look and manner of all the
servants. As for friends, she had resolved never again to face them.
It seemed to her that the only possible alleviation of her wretchedness
would be a change of name, and a flight to some far-away place where no
one would recognise her as a Beaudrillart. But to gain this object she
was helpless, and the thought of living on at Poissy, pointed at as the
sister of a man in prison, was absolutely terrible. More than once that
day Felicie, whose room was on the other side, and whose troubles were
always comforted by talking about them, had knocked at the door and
begged to be admitted, only to hear a sharp "Go away!" in answer. She
went to her mother, but Mme. de Beaudrillart's state bordered on apathy.
How much or how little she understood, it was impossible to say. To
Felicie, at any rate, it was a real relief to hear M. Georges's cheery
voice. She ran down the stairs to welcome him with a pleasure which in
a moment brought back all those wild dreams which he had been trying to
forget. In the whirl of his brain he even went so far as to murmur
"Dear mademoiselle!" and Felicie merely blushed a little, and cast down
her eyes. They saw each other constantly that day and the next, for
Claire, silent and rigid, only came down for meals, and retreated
immediately to her own room. M. Georges was very good, and most
delicately respectful to her; but it was impossible to say much in her
presence, and both felt secretly relieved when she had gone. All the
customs of the house seemed to be in abeyance. Felicie would never at
other times have allowed herself the long conversations which now had
the most natural air in the world. She babbled to M. Georges in her
small, precise voice of all the little interests which filled her life,
while she imagined that her talk was only of Leon; and he listened with
the most profound admiration. What could be more estimable than the
good works which occupied her morning, noon, and night! What more
beautiful than her devotion! She showed him with pride the embroideries
and vestments which were under her charge, and he helped her to refold
them, as she said, with far more neatness than Rose-Marie. By the time
this labour was ended, M. Georges's presumptuous little idea which at
first sight had so alarmed him was enthroned triumphantly in his heart.
The third day of the trial had been reached. Nathalie, all day in
court, could only scribble disjointed letters, noting as far as possible
the principal points, and infinitely pathetic in their anguish and their
trust. The newspapers gave minute reports, up to this point occupied by
the opening speech for the prosecution and the interrogation of the
prisoner. The third day would produce Charles Lemaire's evidence, and
on the morning of that day Felicie, pale and agitated, rushed down the
stairs to the small study where M. Georges transacted his business in
old days, and which he now again occupied.
"Oh, Monsieur Georges, come, I beg of you, come at once! Claire has
said something to my mother, and she is most terribly upset. We cannot
soothe her."
Poor Mme. de Beaudrillart was, indeed, in a distressing state. The
tidings which for some days she had not seemed to realise had suddenly
reached her comprehension and produced a painful anguish. She was
sitting at the table, her hands clinched and her eyes wide-open, Claire
kneeling by her side in terror. The instant she saw M. Georges she
cried, in a hoarse voice:
"It is not true, monsieur, say it is not true! Oh, Leon, my son, my
son!"
"Madame," cried M. Georges, hastening to her side, "it is not true that
Monsieur Leon is what they say! There has been a terrible mistake, but
it will come right--it must."
She leaned forward, and said in a whisper which he never forgot:
"But he took it."
"And repaid it, madame. I would stake my life on it." Mme. de
Beaudrillart pointed out Claire by a gesture:
"She says we are disgraced forever--we!" she shuddered. "That we may
hide our heads, for no respectable person will have anything to do with
us. She would like to go away."
"Oh, mademoiselle!" cried M. Georges, turning on her a look of
reproach. "Madame," he said, standing upright, and stiffening with
resolution, "permit me to convince you that it is not so. Mademoiselle
Felicie, Mademoiselle Claire, will you allow me a few minutes alone with
madame?"
Felicie went out demurely, Claire rose up and flung him a questioning
glance. He murmured:
"Mademoiselle, I venture to think you have perhaps divined. Have I the
inestimable encouragement of your approval?"
Poor Claire! She pressed her hands upon her eyes, and said, brokenly,
"Yes, monsieur, yes!"
When they were gone, M. Georges still stood respectfully before Mme. de
Beaudrillart.
"Madame," he said, solemnly, "I am aware that what I have to say will
sound presumptuous, and I could not have ventured upon it but for your
daughter's fancy that you would all suffer from this misfortune of
Monsieur Leon's. My position has improved; I have a small estate, a
yearly income, and perhaps a reasonable hope of advancement. Such as it
is, madame, may I dare to lay it at Mademoiselle de Beaudrillart's
feet?"
Mme. de Beaudrillart turned her dull eyes upon him. She had lost her
sense of wonder.
"You wish to marry Claire?"
"Oh, no, madame!" cried M. Georges, in alarm. "I speak of Mademoiselle
Felicie. At least I would promise her a life's devotion, and a most
earnest endeavour to make up to her for what she would renounce."
"Felicie!" exclaimed her mother. "But she has consecrated her life to
good works."
"Believe me, madame, I should rejoice in aiding her."
"I do not know--it is all like a mist in my brain. Claire--what does
Claire say?"
"She gave me her approval, madame," returned M. Georges in eager good
faith.
Mme. de Beaudrillart sighed, and passed her hand across her forehead.
"She vowed we were all disgraced. As you say, it may be better for one
of them to go away. Felicie and you--it seems strange, but--I think--
everything is strange. If Claire agreed, I cannot oppose her, only--oh,
monsieur, my poor Leon!"
She broke into a fit of incontrollable weeping. M. Georges hurried out
to seek for Felicie, but he had only time for a whisper as he seized and
kissed her hand.
"Grant me an interview presently, mademoiselle. Your mother permits it,
and I am the happiest of men!"