THE VOW REDEEMED
The third road, constructed between the two lines which met at Creil,
passing, the one by way of Chantilly, the other, by Pontoise, was not in
existence in 1871, when, after the war, Jeanne and Henri de Prerolles
went to visit the spot, already unrecognizable, where they had passed
their childhood. L'Ile-d'Adam was at that time the nearest station; to
day it is Presles, on the intermediate line, which they now took.
"This is our station," said Madame de Montgeron, when the train stopped
at Montsoult. They descended from the carriage, and found on the
platform two footmen, who conducted them to a large char-a-banc, to which
were harnessed four dark bay Percherons, whose bridles were held by
postilions in Zibeline's livery, as correct in their appearance as those
belonging to the imperial stables, when the sojourn of the court was at
Compiegne or at Fontainebleau.
"Where are we going now, Jeanne?" asked Henri, whose heart seemed to him
to contract at the sight of Maffliers, which he knew so well.
"A short distance from here," his sister replied.
The horses set off, and, amid the sound of bells and the cracking of
whips, the carriage reached the national road from Paris to Beauvais,
which, from Montsoult, passes around the railway by a rapid descent, from
the summit of which is visible, on the right, the Chateau of
Franconville; on the left, the village of Nerville perched on its crest.
One of the footmen on the rear seat held the reins, and a quarter of an
hour later the carriage stopped just before arriving at the foot of
Valpendant.
Valpendant had formerly been a feudal manor within the confines of Ile-
de-France, built midway upon a hill, as its name indicated. On the side
toward the plain was a moat, and the castle itself commanded the view of
a valley, through which ran the little stream called Le Roi, which flows
into the river Oise near the hamlet of Mours. Acquired in the fifteenth
century by the lords of Prerolles, it had become an agricultural
territory worked for their profit, first by forced labor, and later by
farmers.
Even recently, the courtyard, filled with squawking fowls and domestic
animals of all kinds, and the sheds crowded with agricultural implements
piled up in disorder, presented a scene of confusion frequent among
cultivators, and significant of the alienation of old domains from their
former owners.
"We have arrived!" said the Duchess, alighting first.
"What, is it here?" Henri exclaimed, his heart beating more quickly.
"Your old farm was for sale just at the time that Mademoiselle de Vermont
was seeking an appropriate site for the Orphan Asylum. This spot
appeared to her to combine all the desirable conditions, and she has
wrought the transformation you are about to behold. It might as well be
this place as another," the Duchess added. "In my opinion, it is a sort
of consolation offered to us by fate."
"Be it so!" said Henri, in a tone of less conviction.
He followed his sister along the footpath of a bluff, which as children
they had often climbed; while the carriage made a long detour in order to
reach the main entrance to the grounds.
The footpath, winding along near the railway embankment, ended at a
bridge, where Zibeline awaited the three visitors. A significant
pressure of her hand showed Henri how little cause he had had for his
apprehensions.
They entered. Seen from the main entrance, the metamorphosis of the
place was complete.
The old tower that had served as a barn alone remained the same; it was
somewhat isolated from the other building, and had been repaired in the
style of its period, making a comfortable dwelling for the future
director of the Asylum. Mademoiselle de Vermont occupied it temporarily.
On each side of the grounds, standing parallel, rose two fine buildings:
on the ground floor of each were all the customary rooms and accessories
found on model farms; on the upper floors were dormitories arranged to
receive a large number of children of both sexes. There were
schoolrooms, sewing-rooms, a chapel-in short, nothing was lacking to
assist in the children's intellectual and manual education.
"You have done things royally," said the Duke to the happy donor, when,
having finished the inspection of the premises, they returned to the
directors' room, indicated by a plate upon its door.
As for Henri, silent and absorbed, he hesitated between the dread of
facing a new emotion and the desire to go once more to gaze upon the
tower of Prerolles, hardly more than two kilometres distant.
"What is the matter with you, General?" Zibeline asked, observing that
he did not appear to take pleasure in the surprise she had prepared.
"I lived here many years a long time ago," he replied. "I am thinking of
all that it recalls to me; and, if you would not consider it discourteous
on my part, I should like to leave you for a little time to make a
pilgrimage on foot around the neighborhood."
"Would you like to have me take you myself? I have a little English cart
which can run about anywhere," said Zibeline.
The proposition was tempting. The sweetness of a tete-a-tete might
diminish the bitterness of recollections. He accepted.
She ordered the cart brought around, and they climbed into the small
vehicle, which was drawn by a strong pony, driven by Zibeline herself.
"Which way?" she asked, when they had passed through the gates.
"To the right," he said, pointing to a rough, half-paved slope, an
abandoned part of what had been in former days the highway, which now
joins the new road at the Beaumont tunnel.
Passing this point, and leaving on their left the state road of l'Ile-
d'Adam, they drove through a narrow cross-cut, between embankments, by
which one mounts directly to the high, plateau that overlooks the town of
Presles.
The hill was steep, and the pony was out of breath. They were compelled
to stop to allow him to rest.
"It is not necessary to go any farther," said Henri to his companion. "I
need only to take a few steps in order to see what interests me."
"I will wait for you here," she replied, alighting after him. "Don't be
afraid to leave me alone. The horse will not move; he is used to
stopping."
He left her gathering daisies, and walked resolutely to the panoramic
point of view, where a strange and unexpected sight met his eyes!
All that had once been so dear to him had regained its former aspect.
The kitchen-gardens had given place to the rich pastures, where yearling
colts frisked gayly. The factory had disappeared, and the chateau had
been restored to its original appearance. The walls enclosing the park
had been rebuilt, and even several cleared places indicated the sites of
cottages that had been pulled down.
Henri de Prerolles could hardly believe his eyes! Was he the sport of a
dream or of one of those mirages which rise before men who travel across
the sandy African deserts? The latitude and the position of the sun
forbade this interpretation. But whence came it, then? What fairy had
turned a magic ring in order to work this miracle?
A crackling of dry twigs under a light tread made him turn, and he beheld
Zibeline, who had come up behind him.
The fairy was there, pale and trembling, like a criminal awaiting arrest.
"Is it you who have done this?" Henri exclaimed, with a sob which no
human strength could have controlled.
"It is I!" she murmured, lowering her eyes. "I did it in the hope that
some day you would take back that which rightfully belongs to you."
"Rightfully, you say? By what act?"
"An act of restitution."
"You never have done me any injury, and nothing authorizes me to accept
such a gift from Mademoiselle de Vermont."
"Vermont was the family name of my mother. When my father married her,
he obtained leave to add it to his own. I am the daughter of Paul
Landry."
"You!"
"Yes. The daughter of Paul Landry, whose fortune had no other origin
than the large sum of which he despoiled you."
Henri made a gesture of denial.
"Pardon me!" Zibeline continued. "He was doubly your debtor, since this
sum had been increased tenfold when you rescued him from the Mexicans who
were about to shoot him. 'This is my revenge!' you said to him, without
waiting to hear a word from him. Your ruin was the remorse of his whole
life. I knew it only when he lay upon his deathbed. Otherwise--"
She paused, then raised her head higher to finish her words.
"Never mind!" she went on. "That which he dared not do while living, I
set myself to do after his death. When I came to Paris to inquire what
had become of the Marquis de Prerolles, your glorious career answered for
you; but even before I knew you I had become the possessor of these
divided estates, which, reunited by me, must be restored to your hands.
You are proud, Henri," she added, with animation, "but I am none less
proud than you. Judge, then, what I have suffered in realizing our
situation: I, overwhelmed with riches, you, reduced to your officer's
pay. Is that a satisfaction to your pride? Very well! But to my own,
it is the original stain, which only a restitution, nobly accepted by
you, ever can efface!"
She paused, looking at him supplicatingly, her hands clasped. As he
remained silent, she understood that he still hesitated, and continued:
"To plead my cause, to vanquish your resistance, as I am trying now to
triumph over it, could be attempted with any chance of success only by a
dear and tender friend; that is the reason why I sought to establish
relations with--"
"With Eugenie Gontier?"
"But she would not consent to it--all the worse for her! For, since
then, you and I have come to know each other well. Your prejudices have
been overcome one by one. I have observed it well. I am a woman, and
even your harshness has not changed my feelings, nor prevented me from
believing that, in spite of yourself, you were beginning to love me.
Have I been deceiving myself?--tell me!"
"You know that you have not, since, as I look at you and listen to you,
I know not which I admire more-your beauty or the treasures of your
heart!"
"Then come!"
"Whither?"
"To Prerolles, where all is ready to receive you."
"Well, since this is a tale from the Arabian Nights, let us follow it to
the end! I will go!" said Henri.
Browsing beside the road, the pony, left to himself, had advanced toward
them, step by step, whinnying to his mistress. Valentine and Henri
remounted the cart; which soon drew up before the gates of the chateau,
where, awaiting them, reinstated in his former office, stood the old
steward, bent and white with years.
The borders of the broad driveway were of a rich, deep green. Rose-
bushes in full bloom adorned the smooth lawns. The birds trilled a
welcome in jumping from branch to branch, and across the facade of the
chateau the open windows announced to the surrounding peasantry the
return of the prodigal master.
At the top of the flight of steps Valentine stepped back to allow Henri
to pass before her; then, changing her mind, she advanced again.
"No, you are at home," she said. "It is I that must enter first!"
He followed her docilely, caring no longer to yield to any other will
than hers.
Within the chateau, thanks to the complicity of the Duchess, the
furnishings resembled as closely as possible those of former days. The
good fairy had completed successfully two great works: the restoration of
the chateau and the building of the asylum. The inhabitants of the one
would be so much the better able to foresee the needs of the other.
Having explored one of the wings, they returned to the central hall.
Mademoiselle de Vermont made a sign to the steward to remain there, and
beckoned to Henri to accompany her to the historic gallery. After they
had entered it, she closed the door. The family portraits had been
rehung in their former places, in chronological order, and, in its proper
place, figured that of the General of Division the Marquis de Prerolles,
in full uniform, mounted on Aida, the portrait being the work of Edmond
Delorme.
At this sight, touched to the depths of his heart, Henri knelt before
Valentine, and carried her hand to his lips.
"I adore you!" he said, without attempting to hide the tears of
gratitude that fell upon those generous hands.
"Do you, indeed?" Zibeline murmured.
"You shall see!" he replied, rising. "Come, in your turn."
He led her before the portrait of the ancestral marshal of France, and
said:
"Twenty-three years ago I vowed before that portrait either to vanquish
the enemy or to regain with honor all that I had lost at play. I have
kept my word. Will you be my wife?"
"Ah, you know my heart is yours!" Zibeline whispered, hiding her face
upon his shoulder.
The door at the end of the gallery opened; the Duc and the Duchesse de
Montgeron appeared. Henri took Zibeline's hand and approached them.
"The Marquise de Prerolles!" he said, presenting her to his sister and
her husband.