“No, never in my whole life have I met a woman who can compare with this
Marie-Anne! What grace and what dignity! Ah! her beauty is divine!”
So Martial was thinking while returning to Sairmeuse after his proposals
to M. Lacheneur.
At the risk of losing his way he took the shortest course, which led
across the fields and over ditches, which he leaped with the aid of his
gun.
He found a pleasure, entirely novel and very delightful, in picturing
Marie-Anne as he had just seen her, blushing and paling, about to swoon,
then lifting her head haughtily in her pride and disdain.
Who would have suspected that such indomitable energy and such an
impassioned soul was hidden beneath such girlish artlessness and
apparent coldness? What an adorable expression illumined her face, what
passion shone in those great black eyes when she looked at that little
fool d’Escorval! What would not one give to be regarded thus, even for a
moment? How could the boy help being crazy about her?
He himself loved her, without being, as yet, willing, to confess it.
What other name could be given to this passion which had overpowered
reason, and to the furious desires which agitated him?
“Ah!” he exclaimed, “she shall be mine. Yes, she shall be mine; I will
have her!”
Consequently he began to study the strategic side of the undertaking
which this resolution involved with the sagacity of one who had not been
without an extended experience in such matters.
His debut, he was forced to admit, had been neither fortunate nor
adroit. Conveyed compliments and money had both been rejected. If
Marie-Anne had heard his covert insinuations with evident horror, M.
Lacheneur had received, with even more than coldness, his advances and
his offers of actual wealth.
Moreover, he remembered Chanlouineau’s terrible eyes.
“How he measured me, that magnificent rustic!” he growled. “At a sign
from Marie-Anne he would have crushed me like an eggshell, without a
thought of my ancestors. Ah! does he also love her? There will be three
rivals in that case.”
But the more difficult and even perilous the undertaking seemed, the
more his passions were inflamed.
“My failures can be repaired,” he thought. “Occasions of meeting shall
not be wanting. Will it not be necessary to hold frequent interviews
with Monsieur Lacheneur in effecting a formal transfer of Sairmeuse?
I will win him over to my side. With the daughter my course is plain.
Profiting by my unfortunate experience, I will, in the future, be as
timid as I have been bold; and she will be hard to please if she is
not flattered by this triumph of her beauty. D’Escorval remains to be
disposed of----”
But this was the point upon which Martial was most exercised.
He had, it is true, seen this rival rudely dismissed by M. Lacheneur;
and yet the anger of the latter had seemed to him too great to be
absolutely real.
He suspected a comedy, but for whose benefit? For his, or for
Chanlouineau’s? And yet, what could possibly be the motive?
“And yet,” he reflected, “my hands are tied; and I cannot call this
little d’Escorval to account for his insolence. To swallow such an
affront in silence is hard. Still, he is brave, there is no denying
that; perhaps I can find some other way to provoke his anger. But even
then, what could I do? If I harmed a hair of his head, Marie-Anne would
never forgive me. Ah! I would give a handsome sum in exchange for some
little device to send him out of the country.”
Revolving in his mind these plans, whose frightful consequences he could
neither calculate nor foresee, Martial was walking up the avenue leading
to the chateau, when he heard hurried footsteps behind him.
He turned, and seeing two men running after him and motioning him to
stop, he paused.
It was Chupin, accompanied by one of his sons.
This old rascal had been enrolled among the servants charged with
preparing Sairmeuse for the reception of the duke; and he had already
discovered the secret of making himself useful to his master, which was
by seeming to be indispensable.
“Ah, Monsieur,” he cried, “we have been searching for you everywhere, my
son and I. It was Monsieur le Duc----”
“Very well,” said Martial, dryly. “I am returning----”
But Chupin was not sensitive; and although he had not been very
favorably received, he ventured to follow the marquis at a little
distance, but sufficiently near to make himself heard. He also had
his schemes; for it was not long before he began a long recital of the
calumnies which had been spread about the neighborhood in regard to the
Lacheneur affair. Why did he choose this subject in preference to any
other? Did he suspect the young marquis’s passion for Marie-Anne?
According to this report, Lacheneur--he no longer said “monsieur”--was
unquestionably a rascal; the complete surrender of Sairmeuse was only
a farce, as he must possess thousands, and hundreds of thousands of
francs, since he was about to marry his daughter.
If the scoundrel had felt only suspicions, they were changed into
certainty by the eagerness with which Martial demanded:
“How! is Mademoiselle Lacheneur to be married?”
“Yes, Monsieur.”
“And to whom?”
“To Chanlouineau, the fellow whom the peasants wished to kill yesterday
upon the square, because he was disrespectful to the duke. He is an
avaricious man; and if Marie-Anne does not bring him a good round sum as
a dowry, he will never marry her, no matter how beautiful she may be.”
“Are you sure of what you say?”
“It is true. My eldest son heard from Chanlouineau and from Lacheneur
that the wedding would take place within a month.”
And turning to his son:
“Is it not true, boy?”
“Yes,” promptly replied the youth, who had heard nothing of the kind.
Martial was silent, ashamed, perhaps, of allowing himself to listen
to the gossip, but glad to have been informed of such an important
circumstance.
If Chupin was not telling a falsehood--and what reason could he have for
doing so--it became evident that M. Lacheneur’s conduct concealed some
great mystery. Why, without some potent motive, should he have refused
to give his daughter to Maurice d’Escorval whom she loved, to bestow her
upon a peasant?
As he reached Sairmeuse, he was swearing that he would discover this
motive. A strange scene awaited him. In the broad open space extending
from the front of the chateau to the _parterre_ lay a huge pile of all
kinds of clothing, linen, plate, and furniture. One might have supposed
that the occupants of the chateau were moving. A half dozen men were
running to and fro, and standing in the centre of the rubbish was the
Duc de Sairmeuse, giving orders.
Martial did not understand the whole meaning of the scene at first. He
went to his father, and after saluting him respectfully, inquired:
“What is all this?”
M. de Sairmeuse laughed heartily.
“What! can you not guess?” he replied. “It is very simple, however. When
the lawful master, on his return, sleeps beneath the bed-coverings of
the usurper, it is delightful, the first night, not so pleasant on the
second. Everything here reminds me too forcibly of Monsieur Lacheneur.
It seems to me that I am in his house; and the thought is unendurable.
So I have had them collect everything belonging to him and to his
daughter--everything, in fact, which did not belong to the chateau in
former years. The servants will put it all into a cart and carry it to
him.”
The young marquis gave fervent thanks to Heaven that he had arrived
before it was too late. Had his father’s project been executed, he would
have been obliged to bid farewell to all his hopes.
“You surely will not do this, Monsieur le Duc?” said he, earnestly.
“And why, pray? Who will prevent me from doing it?”
“No one, most assuredly. But you will decide, on reflection, that a
man who has not conducted himself _too_ badly has a right to some
consideration.”
The duke seemed greatly astonished.
“Consideration!” he exclaimed. “This rascal has a right to some
consideration! Well, this is one of the poorest of jokes. What! I give
him--that is to say--you give him a hundred thousand francs, and that
will not content him! He is entitled to consideration! You, who are
after the daughter, may give it to him if you like, but I shall do as I
like!”
“Very well; but, Monsieur, I would think twice, if I were in your place.
Lacheneur has surrendered Sairmeuse. That is all very well; but how can
you authenticate your claim to the property? What would you do if, in
case you imprudently irritated him, he should change his mind? What
would become of your right to the estate?”
M. Sairmeuse actually turned green.
“Zounds!” he exclaimed. “I had not thought of that. Here, you fellows,
take all these things back again, and that quickly!”
And as they were obeying his order:
“Now,” he remarked, “let us hasten to Courtornieu. They have already
sent for us twice. It must be business of the utmost importance which
demands our attention.”