IN WHICH THREE WORDS CONTAIN A GOOD DEAL OF INFORMATION
It was not so easy for Angelot to make his peace with Uncle Joseph, who
was more than a little angry with him.
"Yes, my boy, you were foolish, as well as ungrateful. It was a chance,
it was a moment, that will not occur again. It was better that the idea
should seem to come from me, not from you, and it seemed the only way to
save that pretty girl from some marriage she will hate. I thought you
would at least be ready to throw yourself at her feet--but you were not
even that, Angelot. You refused her--you refused Mademoiselle Hélène,
after all you had told me--and do you know what that mother of hers has
been planning for her? No? Don't look at me with such eyes; it is your
own doing. Madame de Sainfoy would arrange a marriage for her with
General Ratoneau, if Hervé would consent. He says he will not, he says a
convent would be better--"
"Ah!" Angelot gave a choked cry, and stamped violently in the sand. "Ah!
Ratoneau or a convent! Dieu! Not while I live!"
"Very fine to say so now!" said Monsieur Joseph, shaking his head.
He was ready to go out shooting in the fresh morning air. His gun leaned
against the bench where he was sitting, and his dog watched him with
eager eyes. His delicate face was dark with melancholy disgust as he
looked at the boy he loved, tramping restlessly up and down between him
and the fir trees.
"You don't listen to me, Uncle Joseph; you don't understand me!" Angelot
cried out passionately. "What do you take me for? It was for her sake
that I answered as I did. It was because she had told me, one minute
before, that her mother would kill her if she knew that she--that I--"
He sprang to the bench, threw himself down by Monsieur Joseph, flung his
arm around his shoulders.
"Ah, little uncle, voyons, tell me everything. You said you would help
me--"
"Help you! I am well repaid when I try to help you!" said Joseph, with a
short laugh.
"But that was not the way! Come, come!" and Angelot laid his head
against the little uncle's shoulder, coaxing and caressing him as he
might have done ten years before, as Riette would do now.
"Ah, diable! what would you have? I offered them you in the place of
Ratoneau or a convent, and you would not even wait to hear what they
said. Nonsense about her mother! Mothers do not kill their children in
these days. Mademoiselle is a little extravagant."
"I don't believe it. She knows her mother. I think Madame de Sainfoy
would stop at nothing--no ill-treatment--to force her own way. I saw it
in her face, I met her eyes when you dragged me into the room. Uncle
Joseph, I tell you she hates me already, and if she thinks I am an
obstacle to her plans, she will never let me see Hélène again."
"Where were you, then, when I called you, good-for-nothing?"
"I was on the stairs, talking to her. Her mother had sent her out of the
room--"
"On my word, you snatch your opportunities!"
"Of course! And when you were young--"
"There--no impertinence--"
"Dear uncle, I asked you days ago to talk to my father and mother. Why
did you never do it? Then I might have been beforehand with that man--as
to him, of course, he is an utter impossibility, and if Cousin Hervé
sees that, we are safe--but still--"
"Ah! there is a 'but' in the affair, I assure you. Madame would do
anything for a nearer connection with her beloved Empire--and Ratoneau
might be Napoleon's twin-brother, but that is a detail--and not only
madame, your father is on the same side."
"My father!"
"He thinks there could not be a more sensible marriage. The daughter of
the Comte de Sainfoy--a distinguished general of division; diable! what
can anybody want more? So my Angelot, I was not a false prophet, it
seems to me, when I felt very sure that what you asked me was hopeless.
Your father would have been against you, for the sake of the Sainfoys;
your mother, for opposite reasons. There was one chance, Hervé himself.
I saw that he was very angry at the Ratoneau proposal; I thought he
might snatch at an alternative. I still think he might have done so, if
you had not behaved like a maniac. It was the moment, Angelot; such
moments do not return. I was striking while the iron was hot--you, you
only, made my idea useless. You made me look even more mad and foolish
than yourself--not that I cared for that. As to danger from her mother,
why, after all, her father is the authority."
"Ah, but you are too romantic," sighed Angelot. "He would never have
accepted me. He would never really oppose his wife, if her mind was set
against him."
"He opposes her now. He plainly said that his daughter should marry a
gentleman, therefore not Ratoneau. And where have all your fine
presumptuous hopes flown to, my boy? The other day you found yourself
good enough for Mademoiselle Hélène."
"Perhaps I do still," Angelot said, and laughed. "But I did not then
quite understand the Comtesse. I know now that she detests me. Then,
too, she had not seen or thought of Ratoneau--Dieu! What profanation!
Was it quite new, the terrible idea? I saw the brute--pah! We were
handing the coffee--"
"Yes," said Monsieur Joseph. "As far as I know, the seed was sown, the
plant grew and flowered, all in that one evening, my poor Angelot.
Well--I hope all is safe now, but women are very clever, and there is
your father, too--he is very clever. If it is not this marriage, it will
be another--but you are not interested now; you have put yourself out of
the question."
"Don't say that, Uncle Joseph--and don't imagine that your troubles are
over. You will have to do a good deal more for me yet, and for Hélène."
He spoke slowly and dreamily, then added with a gesture of despair--"But
my father--how could he! Why, the very sight of the man--"
"Ah! Very poetical, your dear father, but not very sentimental. I told
him so. He said the best poetry was the highest good sense. I do not
quite understand him, I confess. Allons! I am afraid I do. He is a
philosopher. He also--well, well!"
"He also--what?"
"Nothing," said Monsieur Joseph, shortly. "What is to be done then, to
help you?"
"I am afraid--for her sake--I must not go quite so much to Lancilly. Not
for a few days, at least, till last night is forgotten. I cannot meet
her before all those people, with their eyes upon me. I believe Madame
de Sainfoy saw that I was lying, that I would give my life for what I
seemed to refuse."
"Do you think so? No, no, she laughed and teased and questioned me with
the others."
"Nevertheless, I think so. But I must know that Hélène is well and safe
and not tormented. Uncle Joseph, if you could go there a little
oftener--you might see her sometimes--"
"How often?"
"Every two days, for instance?"
Monsieur Joseph smiled sweetly.
"No, mon petit. What should take me to Lancilly every two days? I have
not much to say to Hervé; his ideas are not mine, either on sport or on
politics. And as to Madame Adélaïde--no--we do not love each other. She
is impatient of me--I distrust her. She has Urbain, and one in the
family is enough, I think. Voyons! Would your Mademoiselle Moineau do
any harm to Riette?"
"Ah! But no! I believe she is a most excellent woman."
"Only a little sleepy--hein? Well, I will change my mind about that
offer I refused. I will send Riette every day to learn needlework and
Italian with her cousins. She will teach more than she learns, by the
bye! Yes, our little _guetteuse_ shall watch for you, Angelot. But on
one condition--that she knows no more than she does already. You can ask
her what questions you please, of course--but no letters or messages,
mind; I trust to your honour. I will not have the child made a
go-between in my cousin's house, or mixed up with matters too old for
her. She knows enough already to do what you want, to tell you that
Mademoiselle Hélène is safe and well. I will have nothing more, you
understand. But I think you will be wise to keep away, and this plan may
make absence bearable."
He turned his anxious, smiling face to Angelot. And thus the entire
reconciliation was brought about; the two understood and loved each
other better than ever before, and Riette, as she had herself suggested,
was to take her part in helping Angelot.
Neither Monsieur Urbain, in his great discretion, nor his wife, in her
extreme dislike of Lancilly and all connected with it, chose to say a
word either to Angelot or his uncle about the strange little scene that
had closed the dinner-party. It was better forgotten, they thought. And
Angelot was too proud, too conscious of their opinion, to speak of it
himself.
So the three talked that night about Sonnay-le-Loir and the markets
there, and about the neighbours that Urbain had met, and about certain
defects in one of his horses, and then about the coming vintage and its
prospects.
Urbain fetched down a precious book, considerably out of date now, the
_Théâtre d'Agriculture_ of Olivier de Serres, Seigneur du Pradel, and
began studying, as he did every year, the practical advice of that
excellent writer on the management of vineyards. The experience of
Angelot, gained chiefly in wandering round the fields with old Joubard,
differed on some points from that of Monsieur de Serres. He argued with
his father, not at all in the fashion of a young man hopelessly in love;
but indeed, though Hélène was the centre of all his thoughts, he was far
from hopeless.
There was a bright spring of life in Angelot, a faith in the future,
which kept him above the most depressing circumstances. The waves might
seem overwhelming, the storm too furious; Angelot would ride on the
waves with an unreasoning certainty that they would finally toss him on
the shore of Paradise. Had not Hélène kissed him? Could he not still
feel the sweet touch of her lips, the velvet softness of that pale
cheek? Could his eyes lose the new dream in their sleepy dark depths,
the dream of waking smiles and light in hers, of bringing colour and joy
into that grey, mysterious world of sadness! No; whatever the future
might hold--and he did not fear it--Angelot could say to his fate:--
"To-morrow do thy worst, for I have lived to-day."
There was such a glory of happiness behind the present clouds that the
boy had never seemed to his mother more light-hearted. She listened to
his talk with his father, the smiling dispute as to what age of the moon
was the most lucky for beginning the vintage. Monsieur de Serres, with a
kindly word of indulgence for those who thought much of the moon,
contented himself with recommending fine weather and a convenient day.
Joubard, and Angelot with him, held to the old country superstition of
the waning moon.
This would throw the vintage later than Monsieur Urbain wished, and he
pointed out that De Serres was a sensible man and a philosopher. Silly
fancies, lunatical, astrological, were not much in his line.
"He is also a Calvinist," said Madame de la Marinière. "He has no
religion--no real religion. He believes in nothing but what he can see.
Take my advice, leave Olivier on the shelf, and stick to the old ways of
the country."
"Ah, bah! and do you know why my farming has always succeeded?" said her
husband, laughing. "Because I have been guided by the wisdom of De
Serres. He is a rare man. He has as little superstition as Montaigne
himself."
"And is as worthy of a bonfire!" said Anne, but she smiled.
She was sitting at her tapestry frame, beside her two wax candles, and
while her needle went industriously in and out, her eyes were
constantly lifted to where those two sat talking. Urbain turned over
the leaves of his fat, red-edged quarto, lingering lovingly on favourite
pages. Angelot laughed and chattered, leaning easily on the table. The
adventure of last night seemed to have left no impression upon him.
"How foolish that dear Joseph was!" his mother thought. "But oh, what a
contrast to that odious dinner-party! Now, this is peace, this is what I
have prayed for, to have them both happy at home, and free of Lancilly."
But when she kissed her boy that night, looking eagerly into his face,
something cold touched her heart. For his look was far away, and the
smile in his eyes was not for her at all.
"Urbain," she said, "are you sure that all is right with Ange?"
"All, my beloved, except a little superstition about the moon, of which
life will cure him," her husband answered with his queer smile.
"The moon! Yes, he talked last night about the moon," she said. "That is
what I mean, Urbain, not your moon for the vintage."
"Oh! la belle Hélène!" he said lightly. "Don't derange yourself. I did
not tell you--I found her mother this morning in a resolute state of
mind. She does not intend to have the young lady on her hands long. If
not one marriage, it will be another, you will see. Hervé will find he
must leave the matter to his wife. Ange! bah! children's fancies are not
worth a thought. If you lived more in the world, you would be happier,
my poor Anne."
"I don't think so," Anne said as she turned away.
The next morning Monsieur Urbain stayed indoors till breakfast time.
This was often enough a habit of his, but he was generally buried in his
books and did not care to be disturbed. To-day he wandered about the
house, took a turn into the porch, observed the clouds, looked at his
watch, and behaved generally with a restlessness that Anne would have
found unaccountable; but she was out with a sick woman in the village.
She came in soon after ten, followed by Angelot from his shooting.
They sat down to breakfast, that warm day, with doors and windows open.
The old, low room with its brick-paved floor was shady and pleasant,
opening on the stone court where the porch was; the polished table was
loaded with fruit. Angelot's dog lay stretched in a patch of sunshine;
he was ordered out several times, but always came back. When the heat
became too much he rose panting, and flung his long body into the shade;
then the chilly bricks drove him back into the sun again.
The three were rather silent. Urbain, who always led their talk, was a
little preoccupied that morning. After finishing his second large slice
of melon, he looked up at Angelot and said, "After breakfast I will go
with you to La Joubardière. We must settle with Joubard about the
vintage; it is time things were fixed. I say the first of October. As to
his moons, I cannot listen to such absurdities. He must arrange what
suits me and the weather and the vines. First of all, me."
"That is decided," said Angelot, smiling. "Joubard will shake his head,
but he will obey you. You are a tyrant in your way."
"Perhaps!" Urbain said, screwing up his mouth. "A benevolent despot.
Obedience is good for the soul--n'est-ce pas, madame? I give my commands
for the good of others, and pure reason lies behind them. What is it,
Négo?"
The dog lifted his black head and growled. There was a sharp clank of
footsteps on the stones outside.
"A bas, Négo!" cried Angelot, as a soldier, with a letter in his hand,
appeared at the window.
The dog sprang up, barking furiously, about to fly at him.
"See to your dog! Take him away!" Monsieur Urbain shouted to Angelot.
The young man threw himself on the dog and dragged him, snarling, out of
the room. Anne looked up with surprise at the soldier, who saluted,
standing outside the low window-sill. Urbain went to him, and took the
letter from his hand.
"It is Monsieur de la Marinière?" said the man. "At your service. From
Monsieur le Général. Is there an answer?"
"Wait a moment, my man," said Urbain.
He broke the large red seal, standing by the window. One glance showed
him the contents of the letter, for they were only three words and an
initial.
--"_Tout va bien. R._"--
But though the words were few, their significance was great, and it kept
the sturdy master of La Marinière standing motionless for a minute or
two in a dream, with the open letter in his hand, forgetful alike of the
messenger waiting outside, and of his wife behind him at the table. A
dark stain of colour stole up into his sunburnt face, his strong mouth
quivered, then set itself obstinately. So! this thing was to happen.
Treason to Hervé, was it? No, it was for his good, for everybody's good.
Sentiment was out of place in a political matter such as this. Sacrifice
of a girl? well, what was gained in the world without sacrifice? Let her
think herself Iphigenia, if she chose; but, after all, many girls as
noble and as pretty had shown her the way she was to go.
"All goes well!" he muttered between his teeth. "This gentleman is
impatient; he does not let the grass grow. Odd enough that we have to
thank our dear Joseph for suggesting it!" Then he woke to outside
things, among them the waiting soldier, standing there like a wooden
image in the blaze of sunshine.
"No answer, my friend," he said.
He took out a five-franc piece and gave it to the man, not without a
glance at the splendid Roman head upon it.
"He only needs a little idealising!" he said to himself; then aloud to
the soldier: "My best compliments to Monsieur le Général. Go to the
kitchen; they will give you something to eat and drink after your ride."
"Merci, monsieur!" the soldier saluted and went.
Urbain folded the letter, put it into his pocket, and returned silently
to his breakfast. Something about him warned his wife that it would be
better not to ask questions; but Anne seldom observed such warnings, for
she did not know what it was to be afraid of Urbain, though she was
often angry with him. With Angelot it was different; he had sometimes
reason to fear his father; but for Anne, the tenderness was always
greater than the severity.
They were alone for a few minutes, Angelot not having reappeared. While
Urbain hurriedly devoured his sorrel and eggs, his wife gazed at him
with anxious eyes across the table.
"You correspond with that odious General!" she said. "What about, my
dear friend? What can he have to say to you?"
"Ah, bah! the curiosity of women!" said Monsieur Urbain, bending over
his plate.
"Yes," Anne said, smiling faintly. "It exists, and therefore it must be
gratified. Is not that a doctrine after your own heart? What was that
letter about, tell me? You could not hide that it interested you
deeply."
He shrugged his shoulders.
"Remember, we never talk politics, you and I. Not even the politics of
the department."
"It has something to do with the Chouans, then? With Joseph? Ah, but do
not trust that man, Urbain! he has a horrid face. Did you see him
yesterday? Did he say anything about Joseph--and about Ange? He has a
spite against Ange, I believe."
"Do not be uneasy," Monsieur Urbain replied. "I did see him yesterday,
if you must know, my dear Anne. He is friendly; well, you can see the
letter. I do not choose to explain it altogether, but it speaks for
itself."
He took out the letter, unfolded it, and handed it to her with a curious
smile.
"_Tout va bien!_" Anne read aloud. "What does he mean?"
"He means, I suppose, that my mind may be at rest. You see that he is in
a good temper."
"It looks like it, certainly. But that is strange, too. Had Hervé de
Sainfoy sent him an answer? When you saw him, did he know--"
"Yes, he knew."
"How did he bear it?"
"Like a man."
"Really! One dislikes him a little less for that. But still, Urbain,
why should you have anything to do with him? Is it not enough that the
Prefect is so friendly to us all? With his protection, Joseph and Ange
are not in any real danger."
"It is best to have two strings to one's bow," answered Urbain. "I
prefer Ratoneau a friend to Ratoneau an enemy."
"I should like best no Ratoneau at all," said Anne. She flicked the
letter back to him from the tips of her fingers, lightly and scornfully.
"How could Adélaïde talk to him for a whole evening!" she sighed.
"Adélaïde is a woman of the world, as we have decided before," said
Urbain. "Say no more; here is the boy. It is best that he should know
nothing of this--do you understand?"
Anne understood, or thought she did; and a nod and smile from her went a
long way towards reassuring Angelot, who had been a little puzzled by
the sudden appearance of the soldier. But he was not curious; his father
was by no means in the habit of telling him everything, making indeed a
thin cloud of wilful mystery about some of his doings. It had always
been so; and Angelot had grown up with a certain amount of blind trust
in the hand which had guided his mother and himself through the thorny
years of his childhood.
At this moment he was distracted by a very serious attack on Négo. The
dog would have to be shot, Monsieur Urbain said, if he received people
so savagely; and in defending Négo the rest of Angelot's breakfast-time
was spent.
Later on he was a little surprised by his father's telling him to go
alone to La Joubardière and arrange about the vintage. Urbain had
remembered business, he said, which called him to Lancilly. He turned
away and left the room without a word, without seeing, or perhaps
choosing to see, the sudden flame of irritation in Anne's dark eyes, the
light of another feeling in Angelot's.
The young fellow lingered a moment in the dining-room window, and
watched the sturdy figure walking away in linen clothes and a straw hat,
the shoulders slightly bent from study, the whole effect that of honest
strength and capacity, not at all of intrigue and ruse. Then he turned
round and met his mother's eyes. For a moment it seemed as if they must
read each other's soul. But Anne only said: "Do not delay, my boy. Go to
Joubard; arrange things to please your father. We must remember; he is
wiser than we are; he does the best for us all."
"Yes, my little mother," said Angelot. "Only--Négo shall not be shot.
Yes, I am going this instant."
He took her hand and kissed it. She pushed back his hair and kissed his
forehead.
"And what are you going to do?" he said. "Come with me to see the old
Joubards."
"No, no. I must go to the church," she said. "I was hurried this
morning."
As Urbain crossed the valley, going through the little hamlet, down the
white stony lane, between high hedges, then by field paths across to the
lower poplar-shaded road, then along by the slow, bright stream to the
bridge and the first white houses of Lancilly, he thought with some
amusement and satisfaction of that morning's diplomacy. He had not the
smallest intention of taking his dear and pretty Anne into his
confidence. The little plot, which Adélaïde and he had hatched so
cleverly, must remain between them and the General.
This power of suggesting was a wonderful thing, truly. A word had been
enough to set the whole machinery going. If he rightly understood that
_Tout va bien_, it meant that the Prefect was ready at once to do his
part. That seemed a little strange; but after all, De Mauves would not
have reached his present position without some cleverness to help him,
and no doubt he saw, as Urbain did, the excellence of this arrangement
for everybody all round. Hervé de Sainfoy was really foolish; his own
enemy: Urbain and Adélaïde were his friends; they knew how to make use
of the mammon of unrighteousness. The advantages of such a connection
with the Empire were really uncountable. Urbain was quite sure that he
was justified in plotting against Hervé for his good. Did he not love
him like a brother? Would he not have given him the last penny in his
purse, the last crust if they were starving? And as for misleading Anne
a little, that too seemed right to his conscience. It was only a case of
economising truth, after all. In the end, the Ratoneau connection would
be useful in saving Joseph and his friends, no doubt, from some of the
consequences of their foolishness.
It was with the serenity of success and conscious virtue, deepened and
brightened by the joy of pleasing the beautiful Adélaïde, that Urbain,
finding her alone, put the General's letter into her hand.
There was an almost vulture look in the fair face as she stooped over
it.
"Ah--and what does this mean?"
"It means," Urbain said, "that General Ratoneau has seen the Prefect,
and that that excellent man is ready to oblige him--and you, madame."
"Me?" Adélaïde looked up sharply, with a sudden flush. "I hope you gave
no message from me."
"How could I? you sent none. I am to be trusted, I assure you. I simply
hinted that if the affair could be managed from outside, you would not
be too much displeased."
"Nor would you," she said.
"No--no, I should not." He spoke rather slowly, stroking his face,
looking at her thoughtfully. This pale passion of eagerness was not
becoming, somehow, to his admired Adélaïde.
"Nor would you," she repeated. "Come, Urbain, be frank. You know it is
necessary, from your point of view, that Hélène should be married soon.
You know that silly boy of yours fancies himself in love with her."
"It would not be unnatural. All France might do the same. But pardon me,
I do not know it."
"You mean that he has not confided in you. Well, well, do not lay hold
of my words; you had eyes the night before last; you saw what I saw,
what every one must have seen. You confessed as much to me yesterday, so
do not contradict yourself now."
"Very well--yes!" Urbain smiled and bowed. "Let us agree that my poor
boy may have such a fancy. But what does it matter?"
"Of course it does not really matter, because such a marriage would be
absolutely impossible for Hélène. But it is better for a young man not
to have such wild ambitions in his head at all. You know I am right. You
agree with me. That is one reason why you are working with me now."
"It is true, madame. You are right. But did it not seem to you, the
other night, that Angelot himself saw the impossibility--"
"No, it did not," she said, and her eyes flashed. "He had to protect
himself from his uncle's madness--that was nothing. By the bye, that
wonderful brother of yours has changed his mind about Henriette. He
sent her here this morning with a letter to me, and she is now doing her
lessons with Sophie and Lucie."
"I am delighted to hear it," said Urbain, absently. "But now, to return
to our subject--the Ratoneau marriage--" he paused an instant, and
whatever his words and actions may have been, Madame de Sainfoy was a
little punished for her scorn of his son by the accent of utter disgust
with which he dwelt on the General's name.
For she felt it, and he had the small satisfaction of seeing that she
did. She had trodden on her worm a little too hard, in telling Ange de
la Marinière's father that he might as well dream of a princess as of
Hélène de Sainfoy.
"Yes, yes," she said hastily, and smiled brilliantly on Urbain as much
as to say, "Dear friend, I was joking. We understand each other.--Tell
me everything you did yesterday--what he said, and all about it," she
went on aloud. "Ah, Hervé!" as her husband sauntered into the room--"do
have the goodness to fetch me those patterns of silk hangings from the
library. This dear Urbain has come at the right moment to be consulted
about them."