HOW MONSIEUR URBAIN SMOKED A CIGAR
These days before the vintage were very peaceful at La Marinière.
Monsieur and Madame Urbain were practical people, and idleness, as a
rule, had a bad time of it with them; but September was a holiday month,
and there was little work going on, except the hammering of barrels in
the yard, and other preparations for busy October. September was usually
the month when Angelot could shoot and ramble to his heart's content,
when Urbain had leisure to sit down with a book at other times than
evening, when Anne, her poor people visited, nursed, comforted, her
household in quiet old-fashioned order, could spend long hours alone
praying and meditating in the little old church.
Lancilly had brought disturbance into September. It occupied Urbain's
thoughts and time, it seemed now to be throwing its net over Angelot.
Anne longed still more for peace and refuge under the low white arches
of the church, in her visits to _le bon Dieu;_ and even here her
thoughts distracted her.
She came back from early mass, the morning after the dinner party, to
find Angelot already gone out with his gun, and her husband just
starting for Lancilly.
"He is not gone that way, I hope?" she said quickly.
"No, no, he is gone across the fields towards Les Chouettes. I told him
to bring back some partridge and quail, and a hare or two, if possible.
I think he is gone to make his peace with Joseph."
"I should like to know the meaning of all that. I must talk to him when
he comes in."
"My dear Anne, do nothing of the sort. Let the boy alone. If he has a
fancy for his cousin, and if Joseph guessed it, which I suspect, it is
better for us to ignore it altogether."
"I am afraid he has, do you know. I did not think so till last
night--but then I saw something. So did Monsieur de Mauves. He said as
much. He advised sending Ange into the army--but you will never do that,
Urbain!"
A gold mist filled the valley, hiding Lancilly, and through it rose the
glittering points of the poplars. She walked with him to the garden
gate, past the trim box hedges, and then down the lane towards the
church. Apple-trees, heavy with red fruit, bent over the way, as safe on
that village road as in any fenced orchard.
"I do not want to send him into the army," Urbain said, and he looked at
her tenderly.
He had long doubted whether, to please her, he was not spoiling and
wasting the boy's life. He was sometimes angry with himself for his
weakness; then again philosophy came to his aid: he laughed and shrugged
his shoulders. It had always been so: on one side the bringing up of his
son according to his own mind; and on the other, domestic peace. For his
little Anne, with all her religion, perhaps because of it, was anything
but meek as a wife and mother. It was fortunate for all parties, he now
thought, that the present slight anxiety found her and himself on the
same side, though for different reasons.
"Hélène is an astonishingly pretty girl," he said, "and the sooner she
is married the better. Young men will be foolish."
"More than pretty--beautiful, I think. A little lifeless--I don't know
that I should fall in love with her. Yes--but a good marriage, poor
girl. Not to that monster! Adélaïde amazes me."
Urbain's ugly face curled up in a rather sardonic smile. He took his
wife's hand and kissed it.
"My little lady, Adélaïde is to be admired. You are to be adored. Go and
say your prayers for us all."
He disappeared into the morning mist, which just then moved and swept
away under a light wind, opening to view all the opposite slope and the
gorgeous, sun-bathed front of Lancilly.
"Ah, mon Dieu!" murmured Anne. "To lose both of them to Lancilly--come,
it is too much. You shall not have Ange, you horrible old walls--no!"
By this time Urbain had disappeared round the corner of the church, and
was hurrying down the hill. She slipped in at her own little door, to
her place near the altar, so lately left. All was silent now, the Curé
was gone; she knelt there alone and prayed for them all, as Urbain had
said. His words were mockery, she knew; but that only made her prayers
more earnest.
The misty autumn morning grew into a cloudless day. Urbain came home to
breakfast between ten and eleven, but Angelot did not appear. Urbain was
grave and full of business. A short talk with Hervé, who was going out
shooting, a much longer and more interesting talk with Adélaïde, had the
consequence of sending him off that very day to the town of
Sonnay-le-Loir, the Prefect's residence and General Ratoneau's
headquarters.
It was not exactly a pleasant errand, to convey Monsieur and Madame de
Sainfoy's refusal of his offer to a man like the General. It could have
been done quite as easily by the post, thus sparing trouble and
annoyance to the faithful cousin who had borne so much. But there were
complications; and a careful talking over of these with Adélaïde, after
Hervé was gone, had led Urbain to suggest going himself. He had a double
reason for wishing to soften the effect of his cousin's rather short and
haughty letter. It must go, of course, whatever his own and Madame de
Sainfoy's disapproval; but there were things that diplomacy might do,
without, as it seemed, any serious consequences to recoil on the
diplomatists. Madame de Sainfoy might gain imperial favour, Monsieur de
la Marinière might help her and save his foolish boy, and no one in the
family, except themselves, need know what they were doing.
It was not an uncommon thing for Urbain to drive over to Sonnay, though
he generally started much earlier. On this occasion he said nothing of
his real errand to his wife, only telling her when she mentioned
Hélène's marriage that Hervé continued in the same mind. Many things
wanted for the house and the farm had come conveniently to his memory.
He started with his groom at twelve o'clock, in the high, hooded
carriage, with a pair of strong horses, which made short work of the
rocky lanes about La Marinière. The high road towards Sonnay was smooth
compared with these, running between belts of dark forest, and along it
Monsieur Urbain drove at a good rattling pace of twelve miles an hour.
Sonnay-le-Loir was a beautiful and picturesque town, once strongly
defended, both by walls and a deep river which flowed round below them.
There was a good deal left of the old ramparts; the gates still stood,
the narrow streets of tall old white houses, each with its court and
carriage entrance and shady garden behind, went climbing up the hill to
the large square where the Cathedral towered on one side, the town-hall
and public offices filled up another, the Prefecture a third, and an old
hotel, now used as military quarters, the fourth.
Though it was not market-day, the white cobbled square was cheerful
enough; a few stalls of fruit and vegetables, sheltered by coloured
umbrellas from the strong sunshine, were lodged about the broad steps of
the Cathedral; peasants and townspeople were clattering about in their
sabots, soldiers were being drilled in front of the hotel. The bells
were chiming and clanging; high up into the blue air soared the tall
pinnacles of the Cathedral, delicate stone lacework still fresh and
young at five hundred years old, spared by the storm which twenty years
ago had wrecked so much down below that was beautiful. A crowd of
blue-grey pigeons flapped and cooed about the towers or strutted softly
on the stones in the square.
Monsieur Urbain put up his horses at an old posting hotel in the street
near the gateway, and walked up into the square. Finding that General
Ratoneau was at home, he left Monsieur de Sainfoy's letter with his own
card, and a message that he would have the honour of calling to see the
General, later in the afternoon. He then went away to do his
commissions. At the appointed time he returned to the hotel, and was at
once shown upstairs to a large room at the back, looking on a broad,
paved court surrounded by barracks.
Neither the room nor its inmate was attractive, and Urbain's humorous
face screwed itself into a grimace of disgust as he walked in; but he
did not, for that, renounce the errand with which Madame de Sainfoy had
entrusted him. The floor was dusty and strewn with papers, the walls
were stained, the furniture, handsome in itself, had been much ill-used,
and two or three chairs now lay flung where it was tolerably evident
that the General had kicked them. The western sun poured hotly in; the
atmosphere was of wine, tobacco, and boots; dirty packs of cards were
scattered on the table among bottles and glasses, pipes and cigars.
General Ratoneau lay stretched on a large sofa in undress uniform, with
a red face and a cigar in his mouth. Hervé de Sainfoy's letter, torn
across, lay on the floor beside him.
He got up and received his visitor with formal civility, though his
looks said plainly, "What the devil do you want here?"
Urbain was cool and self-possessed. He acted the _rôle_ of an ordinary
visitor, talking of the country and the news from Spain. The General,
though extremely grumpy, was still capable of ordinary conversation, and
his remarks, especially on the Spanish campaign, were those of an
intelligent soldier who knew his subject.
"If the Emperor would send me to Spain," he growled, "I would teach
those miserable Spaniards a lesson. As to the English, it is the desire
of my life to fight them. They are bull-dogs, they say--sapristi, I am
something of a bull-dog myself--when I lay hold, I don't often let go.
You don't know me yet, monsieur, but you will find that that is my way.
I am not easily thwarted, monsieur."
"A fine quality, Monsieur le Général!" said Urbain, calmly. "It is true,
I hardly know you. I had heard of you from my brother, Joseph de la
Marinière--"
"Your Chouan brother, ha, ha!"
"My Royalist brother, suppose we say. Every one has a right to his own
private opinions, Monsieur le Général."
"A dangerous doctrine, that!"
"As long as he keeps them to himself, and does not disturb the public
peace. I have acted successfully on that principle for the last thirty
years, and it has carried me comfortably through various changes."
"What are you, monsieur?"
"A philosopher. I take life as it comes. That way happiness lies."
The General laughed. "I think differently. My idea is to make life come
as I want it."
"That is a fine idea, too," Urbain said serenely. "Only it does not
always seem to be within the limits of the possible."
"Ah, there I agree with the Emperor. He will not have the word
'impossible' in the dictionary."
"The Emperor is a great man," said Urbain, with his inscrutable smile.
It was certainly on Ratoneau's tongue to answer, "So am I!" but he only
laughed again and muttered something about strength of will.
The dark, watchful eyes followed his visitor's to the floor, where
Monsieur de Sainfoy's letter lay; that letter which seemed to belie his
bull-dog boasting. Something he wanted in life had been refused him
point-blank; in ceremonious terms, but with uncompromising plainness.
The Comte de Sainfoy did not even trouble himself to find reasons for
declining the offer of marriage that General Ratoneau had done
Mademoiselle de Sainfoy the honour to make.
"We met last night at Lancilly, monsieur," said Ratoneau, "but I did not
expect the politeness of a visit from you--at any rate so soon. But I
understand that you are your cousin's messenger. You brought me that
letter--neither did I expect that so soon."
He pointed to the fragments on the floor. His manner was insolent, and
La Marinière felt it so; even to his seasoned cheek a little warmth
found its way. Something of him was on Hervé's side, while he was
prepared and resolved to serve Adélaïde in this matter.
"My own affairs brought me to Sonnay," he said. "My cousin wished you to
receive his letter as soon as might be. I therefore took charge of it."
"Do you know what it is about?"
To this abrupt question Urbain answered by a bow.
The General frowned angrily. "Then what brought you here, monsieur? Do
you want to report my disappointment to your aristocratic fool of a
cousin? Merci!" and he swore a few hearty oaths. "There are plenty more
pretty girls in France, and plenty of their fathers who would gladly be
linked with the Empire. Take that message back to your cousin, if you
please."
"But no, Monsieur le Général," said Urbain, smiling and shaking his
head. "If I were to repeat all you have just said, my cousin might send
me back to you with a challenge. And I am a man of peace, a philosopher,
as I tell you. No, I did not come to report your disappointment. And
indeed, to tell you the truth, my cousin did not know that I was going
to visit you at all. And I do not think he will ever be wiser."
Ratoneau stared at him. "May I be extinguished if I understand you!"
"However," said Urbain, rising from his chair, "I am glad, personally,
that you take the matter so well. As you say, the young ladies of
France, and their _fathers_, will not all be so shortsighted."
"Thousand thunders! Sit down again, monsieur. Take one of these
cigars--I had them from Spain--and try this Château Latour. Rather a
different sort of thing from the stuff that son of yours expected me to
enjoy at Les Chouettes, the other day. That's right. I like you,
monsieur. You are a man without prejudices; one can talk frankly with
you. Your health, monsieur!" and glasses were clinked together, for
Urbain did not refuse the soldier's hospitality.
"Now tell me all about it!" cried the General, in a much better humour.
"I understand your emphasis just now, sapristi! That was what puzzled
me, that Madame la Comtesse should seem to have played me false. Last
night, I assure you, she encouraged me to the utmost. At first, it's
true, she muttered something about her daughter being too young, but I
very soon convinced her what a foolish argument that was. I tell you,
monsieur, when I left her, I considered the promise as good as made. She
said her husband had a way of indulging his daughter's fancies--but
after all, I took her to be a woman who could turn husband and daughter
and everybody else round her little finger, if she chose. So this rag of
a letter came upon me like a thunderbolt. Is that it? Has the young girl
taken a dislike to me? Why, mille tonnerres, she has not even spoken to
me, nor I to her!"
"No, Monsieur le Général," said Urbain, "Mademoiselle de Sainfoy has not
been asked for her opinion. The decision comes from her father, and
from him alone. Madame de Sainfoy was loyal to you; she urged your
cause, but unsuccessfully. My cousin, I must say, much as I love him,
showed a certain narrowness and obstinacy. He would hear nothing in
favour of the marriage."
"Were you present when they discussed it?"
"I was. I am always on the advanced, the liberal side. I spoke in your
favour."
"I am obliged to you. Your glass, monsieur. How do you find that cigar?"
"Excellent."
"Now, monsieur, give me your advice, for I see you are a clever man.
First, is any other marriage on the tapis for Mademoiselle de Sainfoy?"
"Decidedly no, monsieur. None."
"Shall I then insist on seeing her, and pleading my cause for myself?"
"I should not advise that course," said Urbain, and there was something
in his discreet smile which made the General's red face redder with a
touch of mortification.
"Well, I should not eat her," he said. "Her mother found me agreeable
enough, and a shy young girl rather likes a man who takes her by storm."
"Nevertheless, I think that plan would not answer. For one thing, my
cousin would object: he considers his refusal final. In fact--after much
thought--for I agree with Madame de Sainfoy as to the probable
advantages of a connection with a distinguished man like yourself--in
fact, there is only one faint possibility that occurs to me."
"What is that, monsieur?"
Urbain hesitated. He sat looking out of the window, frowning slightly,
the tips of his fingers pressed together.
"I wonder," he said--something, perhaps conscience, made the words long
in coming--"I wonder if some day, in the course of the reports that he
is bound, I believe, to make to the Emperor, it might occur to Monsieur
le Préfet to mention--"
General Ratoneau stared blankly. "Monsieur le Préfet?"
"Well, am I wrong? I heard something of an imperial order--a list of
young ladies--marriages arranged by His Majesty, without much consulting
of family prejudices--"
General Ratoneau brought down his heavy fist on the table, so that the
glasses jumped and clattered. His language was startling.
"Monsieur de la Marinière, you are the cleverest man in Anjou!" he
shouted. "And Madame la Comtesse would not be angry?"
"I think not. But a command from the Emperor--a command coming
independently from the highest quarter--would naturally carry all before
it," said Urbain.