A DANGEROUS ACQUAINTANCE.
Daumon was not a native of this part of the country, and no one knew
from whence he came. He said that he had been an attorney’s clerk, and
had certainly resided for a long time in Paris. He was a little man
of fifty years of age, clean shaved, and with a sharp and cunning
expression of countenance. His long nose, sharp, restless eyes, and thin
lips, attracted attention at first sight. His whole aspect aroused a
feeling of distrust. He had come to Bevron, some fifteen years before,
with all his provisions in a cotton handkerchief slung over his
shoulder. He was willing to make money in any way, and he prospered
and rose. He owned fields, vineyards, and a cottage, which is at the
juncture of the highway to Poitiers and the cross road that leads
to Bevron. His aim and object were to be seen everywhere, to know
everybody, and to have a finger in every pie in the neighborhood around.
If any of the farmers or the laborers wanted small advances, they went
to him, and he granted them loans at exorbitant rates of interest. He
gave most disputants counsel, and had every point of law at his
fingers’ ends. He could teach people how to sail as close to the wind as
possible, and yet to be beyond the reach of the law. He affected to be
only too anxious to ameliorate the lot of the peasant class, and yet he
was drawing heavy sums from them by way of interest. He endeavored by
every means in his power to rouse their feelings of animosity against
both the priesthood and the gentry. His artful way of talking, and
the long black coat which he wore, had given him the nickname of the
“Counsellor” in the district. The reason why he disliked the Duke was
because the latter had more than once shown himself hostile to him,
and had taken him before the court of justice, from which Daumon only
escaped by means of bribery of suborned witnesses. He vowed that he
would be revenged for this, and for five years had been watching his
opportunity, and this was the man whom Norbert met when he went to
deliver his corn to the miller. As he was coming back with his empty
wagon, Daumon asked for a lift back as far as the cross road that led to
his cottage.
“I trust, sir,” said he with the most servile courtesy, “that you will
excuse the liberty I take, but I am so utterly crippled with rheumatism
that I can hardly walk, Marquis.”
Daumon had read somewhere that the eldest son of a Duke was entitled
to be styled _Marquis_, and it was the first time that Norbert had been
thus addressed. Before this he would have laughed at the appellation,
but now his wounded vanity, and his exasperation at the unhappy
condition in which he found himself, tempted him to accept the title
without remonstrance.
“All right, I can give you a lift,” said he, and the Counsellor
clambered into the cart.
All the time that he was showering thanks upon Norbert for his courtesy
he was watching the young man’s face carefully.
“Evidently,” thought the Counsellor to himself, “something unusual has
taken place at the Chateau de Champdoce. Was not the opportunity for
revenge here?”
Long since he had decided that through the son he could strike the
father. But he must be cautious.
“You must have been up very early, Marquis,” said he.
The young man made no reply.
“The Duke,” resumed Daumon, “is most fortunate in having such a son as
you. I know more than one father who says to his children, ‘See what an
excellent example the young Marquis de Champdoce sets to you all. He
is not afraid of hard work, though he is noble by birth, and should not
soil his hands by labor.’”
A sudden lurch brought the Counsellor’s eloquence to a sudden close, but
he speedily resumed again.
“I was watching you as you hefted the sacks. Heavens! what muscles! what
a pair of shoulders!”
At any other moment Norbert would have gloried in such laudation, but
now he felt displeased and annoyed, and vented his anger by a sharp cut
at his team.
“When people say that you are as innocent as a girl,” continued Daumon,
“I always say that you are a sensible young fellow after all, and that
if you choose to lead a regular life, it is far better than wasting your
future fortune in wine, billiards, cards, or women.”
“I don’t know that I might not do something of the kind,” returned
Norbert.
“What did you say?” answered his wily companion.
“I said that if I were my own master, I would live as other young men.”
The lad paused abruptly, and Daumon’s eyes gleamed with joy.
“Aha,” murmured he to himself; “I have the game in my own hands. I will
teach his Grace to interfere with me.”
Then, in a voice which could reach Norbert’s ears, he continued,--
“Of course some parents are far too strict.”
An impatient gesture from Norbert showed him that he had wounded him
deeply.
“Yes, yes,” put in the wily Counsellor, “as the head grows bald, and the
blood begins to stagnate, they forget,--they forget the days when all
was so different. They forget the time when they were young, and when
they sowed their wild oats with so lavish a hand. When your father
was twenty-five, he was precious wild. Ask your father, if you do not
believe me.”
At this moment the wagon passed the cross road, and Norbert pulled up.
“I cannot thank you enough, Marquis,” said the Counsellor as he alighted
with difficulty; “but if you would condescend to come and taste my
brandy, I would esteem it a great honor.”
Norbert hesitated for an instant: his reasoning powers urged him to
decline the offer, but he refused to listen to them, and, fastening his
horses to a tree, he followed Daumon down the by-road. The cottage was
an excellent one, and extremely well furnished. A woman, who acted as
Daumon’s housekeeper, served the refreshments. The office--for he
called his room an office, just as if he was a professional man--was
a strange-looking place. On one side was a desk covered with account
books, and against the wall were sacks of seed. A number of books on
legal matters crowded the shelves, and from the ceiling hung a quantity
of dried herbs. The Counsellor welcomed the heir to the dukedom of
Champdoce with the greatest deference, seated him in his own capacious
leathern arm-chair, and pressed the brandy which he had refused upon
him.
“I got this brandy from a man down Arcachon way in return for a kindness
that I did him; for, without boasting, I may say that I have done
kindnesses for many people in my time.” He raised his glass to his lips
as he spoke. “It is good, is it not?” said he. “You can’t get stuff with
an aroma like that hereabouts.”
The extreme deference of the man, coupled with the excellence of the
spirit, opened Norbert’s heart in a very short space of time. Up to the
present the conduct of poor Norbert had been blameless, but now, without
knowing anything of the Counsellor’s character or reputation, he poured
out all the secret sorrows of his heart, while Daumon chuckled secretly,
preserving all the time the imperturbable face of a physician called in
to visit a patient.
“Dear me! dear me!” said he; “this is really too bad. Poor fellow! I
really pity you. Were it not for the deep respect that I have for the
Duke, your father, I should feel inclined to say that he was not quite
in his right senses.”
“Yes,” continued Norbert, the tears starting to his eyes, “this is
just how I am situated. My destiny has been marked out for me, and I am
helpless to alter it. I had better a thousand times be lying under the
cold greensward, than vegetate thus above ground.”
The peculiar smile on Daumon’s lips caused him to pause in his
complaint.
“Perhaps,” he went on, “you think that I am childish in talking thus?”
“Not at all, Marquis, you have suffered too deeply; but forgive me if
I say that you are foolish to despond so much over the future that lies
before you.”
“Future!” repeated Norbert angrily, “what is the use of speaking to me
of the future, when I may be kept in this horrible servitude for the
next thirty years? My father is still hale and hearty.”
“What of that? You will be of age soon, and then you will have full
right to claim your mother’s fortune.”
The extreme surprise displayed by Norbert at this intelligence convinced
the Counsellor that he was much more unsophisticated than he had
supposed him to be.
“A man,” continued he, “can, when he attains his majority, dispose of
his inheritance as he thinks fit, and your mother’s fortune will render
you independent of your father.”
“But I should never dare to claim it; how could I venture to do so?”
“You need not make the application personally; your solicitor would
manage all that for you; but, of course, you must wait until you are of
age.”
“But I cannot wait until then,” said Norbert; “I must at once free
myself from this tyranny.”
“Luckily there are ways.”
“Do you really think so, Daumon?”
“Yes, and I will show you what is done every day. Nothing is more common
in noble families. Would you like to be a soldier?”
“No, I do not care for that, and yet----”
“That is your last resource, Marquis. First, then, we could lay a plaint
before the court.”
“A plaint?”
“Certainly. Do you suppose that our laws do not provide for such a case
as a father exceeding the proper bounds of parental authority? Tell me,
has the Duke, your father, ever struck you?”
“Never once.”
“Well, that is almost a pity. We will say that your father’s property
is worth two millions, and yet you derive so slight a benefit from this
that you are known everywhere as the ‘Young Savage of Champdoce’!”
Norbert started to his feet.
“Who dares speak of me like that?” said he furiously. “Tell me his
name.”
This outburst of passion did not in the smallest degree discompose
Daumon.
“Your father has many enemies, Marquis,” he resumed, “for his manners
are overbearing and exacting; but you have many friends, and among
them all you will find none more devoted than myself, humble though my
position may be. Many ladies of high rank take a great interest in you.
Only a day or two ago some persons were speaking of you in the presence
of Mademoiselle de Laurebourg, and she blushed crimson at your name. Do
you know Mademoiselle Diana?”
Norbert colored.
“Ah, I understand,” replied Daumon. “And when you have broken the
fetters that now bind you, we shall see something one of these days. And
now--”
But at this moment Norbert’s eyes caught a glimpse of the old-fashioned
cuckoo clock that hung on the wall in one corner of the room. He started
to his feet.
“Why, it is dinner-time!” said he. “What upon earth will my father say?”
“What, does he keep you in such order as that?”
But, never heeding the sarcastic question of the Counsellor, Norbert had
regained his cart, and was driving off at full speed.