the ravine! at night! What in the world do you want to go there for?”
“From curiosity.”
“The deuce! you must be mighty curious, then!”
“Is it dangerous to go by there?”
“Bless me! this much is sure, that nobody round here would want to go
through the ravine at night. As soon as you get near it, you hear groans
and complaints.--It’s the dead man come back, for sure.”
“I don’t believe in ghosts myself.”
“It’s plain you don’t belong round here. Well, if you take the road I
told you, you’re bound to pass, not through the ravine, but by one end
of it. Good-night, mesdames.”
“Will you let us take your ass to return to Chelles? we will pay
whatever you choose.”
“No, no; I don’t let my ass to folks who want to go to the dead man’s
cross! No, thank you! Besides, Julie wouldn’t go, either; she’d balk.
Come, away with you, my poor Julie!”
And the peasant who gave her jenny the name of Julie went her way,
driving the beast before her.
“We know our way now,” said Honorine; “let’s make haste, for it will
soon be entirely dark.”
“The thunder is still rumbling.”
“That isn’t what I am afraid of.”
“Do you mean to say that you believe in that peasant woman’s nonsense,
and the groans that are heard in the ravine?”
“I’ll tell you this, that when we pass the place, I shall run. Mon Dieu!
how dark it is!”
“Here we are on the main road, at all events. We must turn to the left
again.”
“I can hardly see, and I am beginning to be very tired.”
“Oh! look, my dear, this narrow path between those two little hills must
be the ravine.”
“Well! perhaps you would like to go in there, to delay us still more?”
“Oh! I entreat you, just a minute, to see the cross. I don’t know what
is taking place in me, but it seems to me that I must go there, and--and
pray for the unhappy man who met his death there.”
“Why, Agathe, you are positively foolish! I am not willing to stop.”
“Ah! listen! did you hear?”
“No, I heard nothing.”
“Nothing? listen again.”
This time a prolonged groan was heard by them very distinctly. Honorine
began to tremble. She tried to hasten on, but her legs gave way; she
could only cling to Agathe’s arm, saying:
“You see--the peasant did not deceive us. This is a ghastly place! Mon
Dieu! I should say that someone was running toward us now.”
“That is true; but it’s no man running so fast as that.”
Agathe had hardly finished speaking when Ami, the noble Newfoundland,
was beside her. After running around the two friends several times, as
if to see if they were alone, he went to the girl, rubbed his head
against her, wagged his tail, and stood on his hind legs, fixing his
intelligent eyes upon her as if to express the joy he felt at seeing
her.
“It’s Ami! it’s Ami!” cried Agathe, patting the dog. “Oh! now I am not
afraid any more; for, if we should be in any danger, he would defend
us.”
“It certainly is Monsieur Paul’s dog; if he is here, his master cannot
be far away.”
“At this moment, I should not be at all sorry to meet him. See,
Honorine, Ami is going into the ravine; now he stops and comes back to
us, and now he turns back again. He certainly is urging us to follow
him; come.”
“But we can’t see where we are going; and those groans that we
heard----”
“The dog is with us, and I am not afraid any more.”
Honorine allowed herself to be led into the ravine by Agathe, who had
taken her hand.
The dog trotted before them. It was very dark in that sunken road, but
they had taken scarcely twenty steps when a brilliant flash of lightning
furrowed the clouds and enabled them to see distinctly everything within
thirty yards. They then saw the owner of the Tower on his knees beside a
grassy mound at one side of the road, in the centre of which stood a
wooden cross.
At that strange apparition the two women halted, grasping each other by
the hand; then Agathe murmured very low:
“Do you see that?”
“Yes, it’s Monsieur Paul; and he is kneeling by the cross on that
grave.”
“Isn’t it very strange? What can he be doing by that cross?”
“One would think that he was weeping; listen, listen! I believe he is
speaking.”
It was true that Ami’s master, believing himself to be alone on that
spot which the people round about were careful to avoid, especially at
night, uttered these words:
“Forgive me, unfortunate victim of the most dastardly treachery. Ah, me!
if only I could have fulfilled your last wishes, it seems to me that you
might forgive me for your death. But it was impossible; all my efforts
were fruitless!”
“Did you hear?” murmured Honorine to her companion; “he said: ‘You might
forgive me for your death.’--So it must have been he who killed the
person who is under that cross! Why, this is frightful!”
“It isn’t possible,” said Agathe; “we couldn’t have heard right.”
At that moment, Ami, who had reached his master’s side, looked up in his
face and began to yelp, but softly, not angrily. It was his way of
informing his master that he was no longer alone.
“What! is there someone here?” cried Paul, springing hastily to his
feet; “where, Ami? where, I say?”
The dog ran back to the two friends who stood a short distance away,
trembling, afraid to go forward or to retreat, especially since they had
heard the words uttered by that mysterious man.
“What! ladies?” cried Paul, stopping in front of them. “Why, this is
strange; so far as the darkness permits me to distinguish your features,
I seem to recognize the ladies whom I escorted back to Chelles a few
weeks ago.”
“Yes, monsieur, it is we,” replied Agathe, who was the first to recover
her courage. “It is we again, and sorely embarrassed; for we were
surprised by the storm, then by the darkness; we lost our way, and I do
not know what would have become of us, but for your dog. He met us and
recognized us; and we followed him, having no idea where he was leading
us.”
“But you are a long way from Chelles; did you find no protection from
the storm?”
“Only some big trees. It is so deserted about here.”
“Is madame indisposed?”
This question was addressed to Honorine, who, pale as a statue, had not
yet uttered a word, because she recalled too distinctly those uttered by
their companion when he believed himself to be alone before the cross on
the grave.
But, feeling that her companion was nudging her, Madame Dalmont said in
a faltering tone:
“No, monsieur, no; I am not ill; but I had a fright, and----”
“She was afraid of the storm,” interposed Agathe hastily; “and just now
she admitted to me that she could not walk.”
“Oh! that’s all over, and I can walk very well now.”
“Since chance has placed me in your path again, mesdames, you will allow
me to act as your guide once more, and to take you home.”
“Oh! I thank you, monsieur, but if you will be kind enough to take us as
far as the bridge at Gournay, that will be sufficient. Really, you might
well conceive a strange idea of us, when you constantly find us
wandering about the country at night, and always obliged to call upon
you for assistance!”
“When I am able to render a trifling service, madame, my thoughts do not
go beyond it, and I do not try to guess by what circumstances the
occasion was brought about. I am simply doing my duty, and you owe me no
gratitude.”
“Oh, dear! I believe it is beginning to rain again!” cried Agathe; “for
my part, monsieur may think what he pleases, but I am very glad that we
met him, and I accept his arm with pleasure.”
And the girl took Monsieur Paul’s arm without more ado. He looked at
Honorine, who, after a moment’s indecision, decided at last to take his
other arm, and they started off at a rapid pace, escorted by the
faithful Ami.
But Honorine’s arm trembled so in her cavalier’s that he finally said:
“How you tremble, madame! is it with cold, or with fear of the storm? It
is passing over, and you will reach home safely.”
“Yes, monsieur, it’s the thunder; it has upset me completely.”
“Pray lean on me, madame; one would think that you were afraid of tiring
me, and I can hardly feel you.”
“Thanks, monsieur, thanks; I am leaning on you as much as I need.”
“We were altogether lost when we saw you, thanks to your dog,” said
Agathe; “that is a very lonely spot where you were, monsieur!”
“Yes, mademoiselle; yet it is quite near my house.”
“That road, monsieur, is the ravine where there is a cross, is it not?”
If Honorine had been next to Agathe, she would have pinched her
viciously, to make her regret her question, but their escort separated
them; so that she could only make a convulsive movement, which she
instantly checked, pretending that she had made a misstep.
“Yes, mademoiselle,” replied Paul curtly, “that is the ravine of the
cross.”
“We have been told a very sad story about that cross--that a young man
was found dead on that spot, nine or ten years ago, I believe. Is it
true, monsieur?”
Honorine would have beaten Agathe with the greatest satisfaction; she
began to cough as if she would tear her throat to tatters.
“I too have heard of that occurrence, mademoiselle,” replied their
companion in a gloomy tone.
“And the unfortunate man’s assassins have never been discovered?”
“Assassins!” exclaimed Paul in a loud voice, raising his head proudly.
“Who told you, mademoiselle, that the person found dead on that spot had
been assassinated?”
“Oh! mon Dieu! no one, monsieur, no one. I said that, because the people
who tell the story----”
“The world almost always judges falsely; it never knows the true
inwardness of things; and as it is more disposed to believe evil than
good, as soon as a stranger is found dead by the roadside, it says: ‘He
was murdered!’--You are still very young, mademoiselle! Distrust the
judgments of the world; you will often have occasion to realize their
injustice.”
“Here is Gournay bridge,” said Honorine; “will monsieur leave us now?”
“No, madame; unless you bid me to do so, I shall not leave you,
trembling as you are, out in the country, at night. I shall escort you
to your home.”
Honorine bowed and they walked on. But they were silent, for Agathe
dared not speak since their guide had almost lost his temper in
answering her last question.
They reached Honorine’s house, and Paul bowed to the ladies, saying:
“You are at home now, I believe?”
“Yes, monsieur. I do not know how to thank you----”
“For what, madame, pray? I have simply done my duty.”
“Adieu, Ami; adieu, my good dog!”
The dog and his master took their leave.
“Oh! I could have beaten you!” said Honorine, “when you questioned that
man about the story of the cross!”
“Why so? You heard him answer that the young man who was found there was
not murdered.”
“But since he was the one who killed him, could you expect him to admit
it?”
“That man an assassin! Nonsense! it’s impossible. Do you believe it, my
dear love?”
“I believe--Mon Dieu! I don’t know what to believe; but this much is
certain, that I will not walk in that direction again. Let’s go to bed;
what with the fright, excitement, fatigue and the storm, I am completely
exhausted; and you?”
“I? Oh! I regret that we didn’t go as far as the cross in the ravine. I
would have liked to pray for him who lies there!”
VI
CALUMNY
Several days had passed since the memorable evening of the storm.
Honorine and Agathe had promised each other never to breathe a word of
what they had seen and heard that evening by the cross in the ravine.
There are some subjects with respect to which the slightest indiscretion
is a crime, in that it may have the most serious consequences; and the
words which the owner of the Tower had uttered when he was on his knees
beside the cross, were of those which one regrets having heard, and
which one tries to forget.
However, there was no reason why the two friends should not discuss the
subject between themselves, and in fact they often did.
Agathe, who always defended Paul, would exclaim:
“No, that man is not an assassin! I am absolutely convinced of it.
Indeed, the very emotion that he showed when I said that a stranger had
been murdered in the ravine, and the warmth with which he repelled that
suggestion prove that it is false.”
“It is a fact that he did seem keenly wounded by your words. But why,
then, did he ask the forgiveness of the man who is buried there?--When
one has fought a duel, loyally and honorably, it is no crime; the victor
may regret his victory, but he does not accuse himself of it as of a
criminal act.”
“But how can we tell how it happened--what brought it about?”
“Well, let us say no more about it; that will be the better way.”
“You are right; let us never mention it again.”
But it rarely happened that the following day passed without Honorine
herself leading the conversation to the subject of the owner of the
Tower. And after talking about him, the young woman would be thoughtful
and melancholy for a long while.
Agathe noticed this fact, but she was very careful not to mention it to
her friend; women very quickly understand the secrets of the heart, and
know when it is advisable not to seem to have divined them.
Edmond had returned to Chelles; he had passed several days in Paris,
because he had been led to hope for a very well-paid position in a
banking house; but it had been given to another and the young man was
not cast down. He still had about twenty thousand francs; with that
amount, with love in one’s heart, and with a great hope of its being
reciprocated, one has before one a whole future of happiness.
One morning the two ladies were working in the garden and Père Ledrux
was raking a path a short distance away, when Honorine suddenly said:
“It’s a long while since we have had a call from Doctor Antoine
Beaubichon; I wonder if he can be sick?--Père Ledrux, do you know
whether Doctor Antoine is well?”
“Oh, yes!” replied the gardener; “I saw him this very morning going to
Madame Droguet’s.--Tutu-turlututu.”
“It’s strange that he hasn’t been to see us for a fortnight.”
“Well! perhaps it’s because he agrees with the rest--that you have
enough company without him!”
“What’s that? enough company? I don’t understand. What do you mean by
that, Père Ledrux?”
“I--nothing at all; in the first place, you understand it don’t make any
difference to me, it ain’t any of my business; you can have whole
regiments come to see you for all me; you’re your own mistresses, and I
ain’t the one to find fault!--But you know, there’s some folks who do
nothing but meddle with what don’t concern ‘em, and talk--why, just for
the sake of talking!”
“Do you understand one word of all that he says, Agathe?”
“Not very well; but it seems that people think that we receive a great
deal of company. Isn’t that what they say, Père Ledrux?”
“Yes, they say that you receive a good many men; that you’ve had some
come from Paris, without counting those from this part of the country,
who go to walk with you in the evening.--Tutu--turlututu.”
“You hear, Agathe; what do you think of that?”
“Why, I think that it’s an outrage, and that people in the country are
even more unkind than they are in large cities.--Poucette, is it true
that many men come here?”
“Oh! my word, mamzelle, I haven’t ever seen anybody come but our
neighbor Monsieur Edmond, and then two or three times his friend,
Monsieur Freluchon, who’s so full of mischief.--Oh! what a scamp that
little man is!”
“Where did you hear all this about us, Père Ledrux?”
“Bless me! a word here and a word there; you hear people jabbering; you
may not listen, but you hear all the same. In the first place, when I’m
working in Madame Droguet’s garden, she’s always talking about her
neighbors, and I heard her say to Madame Jarnouillard the other day--or
Madame Remplumé, I don’t just know which; in fact, I think they was all
three there--and Madame Droguet, she says:
“‘You know Monsieur Durand has let that nice house of his close by,
almost opposite me; but what you don’t know perhaps is that he’s let it
to a young dandy from Paris, who’s come there to live all alone, without
any servants; Mère Lupot opposite does his housework.’
“‘And what can one man all alone do with that big house, where there’s
room enough for two families?’ says Madame Jarnouillard.
“‘Oh! you understand, mesdames, the young dandy has his reasons for
going to such an altogether useless expense. He’s settled here because
he’s on intimate terms with the two newcomers in the Courtivaux house.’
“When they talk about you, they always say: ‘the ladies in the
Courtivaux house,’ as a matter of habit, because, you see, Monsieur
Courtivaux lived here a long time.”
“Very well, Père Ledrux; go on.”
“‘Yes,’ says Mame Droguet, ‘he goes there night and morning; he’s always
prowling round there. Which of ‘em is he in love with? no one knows;
perhaps it’s both.’”
“Oh! my dear love!”
“Hush! let him go on.”
“‘And then,’ says Mame Droguet, ‘he’s got a friend who looks like a
regular good-for-nothing; it’s the same fellow who had the face to knock
at my door very late one night, to ask if we had seen his friend Edmond
Didier; and with such a sly, impertinent air! humming his tra la la!’
“‘Oh! what do such people amount to anyway!’ says La Remplumé; ‘this
gives me a very poor opinion of the women in the Courtivaux house.’
“‘But that ain’t all,’ says La Droguet; ‘guess who we saw walking home
with ‘em the other night--at quite a late hour?’
“‘The two young men from Paris?’
“‘No. Oh! they’ve made other acquaintances here. They came home
arm-in-arm with Monsieur Paul and his dog!’
“‘Is it possible?’
“‘Did they have the dog’s arm too?’
“‘I didn’t say they had the dog’s arm! I said the dog was in the party.
And it was very lately, the night of the storm--don’t you remember?’
“‘Perfectly! I’m afraid of the thunder, and I stuffed my head in a
butter crock so as not to see the flashes! I put it in so far that I
couldn’t get it out again, and I says to my husband: “Break the crock,
Jarnouillard, I can’t move my head;” and he replied, as calmly as you
please: “That would be a pity; it’s almost new!” So I was obliged to
break it myself by banging my head against a wall.’
“‘Never mind about your crock!’ says Mame Droguet impatiently; ‘we’re
talking about these newcomers. How does it happen that after living in
this part of the country such a short time, they’re already on intimate
terms with the owner of the Tower--that disgusting man, that ogre, who
won’t speak to anybody? It seems to me more than extraordinary.’
“‘It is very mysterious, that’s so.’
“‘I should say that it was suspicious even.’
“‘Well! birds of a feather flock together, as the proverb says. The bear
of the Tower must have found these ladies to his taste!’
“‘As for me,’ says Mame Droguet, ‘I have a very bad opinion of the
persons in the Courtivaux house.’
“‘It isn’t Monsieur Courtivaux’s, since he has sold it.’
“‘That don’t make any difference. Besides, we don’t know whether these
fine ladies have paid for the house; there’s so many people who buy and
then don’t pay.’
“At that, you see, I couldn’t help putting in my word.
“‘So far as that goes,’ says I, ‘I’m very sure that Madame Dalmont has
paid for the house. I had a letter from the notary telling me to give
’em the keys and everything.’”
“Thanks, Père Ledrux, thanks for defending us on that point; but pray
understand that the remarks, the insults of those ladies affect us very
little! When one knows that one has no reason for self-reproach, one
should hold oneself above the sneers of calumny! But we congratulate
ourselves now that we have not called on that woman, that we have not
made a friend of her.”
“It’s just that thing that’s vexed her most, I tell you! And she only
says all these nasty things about you from spite because you haven’t
been to see her. But what I can’t understand is how there’s anybody
who’ll allow himself to be taken in by all that tittle-tattle. It’s just
because Mame Droguet invites ‘em to dinner. She says to Monsieur
Luminot: ‘You must choose between the society at the Courtivaux house
and mine, monsieur. My husband and I are determined not to receive
people who go to see those ladies.’--She puts her husband forward, the
poor dear man! but he doesn’t meddle in such things; so long as he can
dance in the evening in front of a mirror, with himself for his
vis-à-vis, he’s satisfied! But Monsieur Luminot--you see, he thinks a
lot of Mame Droguet’s dinners.”
“And as we do not give dinners, the gentleman is very wise to choose her
society. But Madame Droguet has no suspicion that she gratifies us
exceedingly by ridding us of Monsieur Luminot’s visits--eh, Agathe?”
“Oh! yes, my dear; and we must hope that Monsieur Jarnouillard will
follow Monsieur Luminot’s example.”
“Oh! that won’t stop him! he ain’t pleasant very often, Monsieur
Jarnouillard; and then, I don’t like money-lenders, I don’t.--I’ll go
and take a look at the hens; I’m sure the black one beats the others; if
she does, we ought not to leave her in the coop.”
The gardener went away and Agathe looked at Honorine, with a sigh.
“Oh! my love! how cruel the world is!”
“Yes, even more so in small villages than in the large cities. That is
easy to understand: these people here have nothing to do most of the
time, and their principal occupation is to attend to their neighbors’
affairs. In a small place everybody is everybody else’s neighbor.”
“The idea of saying that we receive men!”
“Oh! I suspected that Monsieur Edmond’s appearance in this village, a
short time after we settled here, and his frequent visits to us, would
give occasion for gossip.”
“And I am the cause of it, my love! You are going to be angry with me.”
“No, indeed! That young man is honorable, his company is agreeable; and
we will not deprive ourselves of the only society we have here, just
because Madame Droguet is displeased.”
“Oh! how right you are! how good you are!”
“As for this gentleman--from the Tower, he is not an acquaintance. We
have met him twice, and both times his assistance was quite necessary to
us; he escorted us as far as our gate, but he has never entered the
house, and probably never will.”
“Ah! my dear friend, suppose Madame Droguet had heard that strange man’s
words in the ravine, beside the cross! what fine tales she would have to
tell!”
“Hush, Agathe, hush, for heaven’s sake! I shudder in spite of myself
when I think of that. I feel that it would distress me to be compelled
to have a bad opinion of that man.”
“Especially as he has very refined manners, and a very _comme il faut_
air, has this Monsieur Paul. I am sure that he would be very
fine-looking, if he hadn’t so much hair on his face.”
“Oh! I didn’t notice that; I hardly looked at him. He has black eyes,
hasn’t he?”
“Not exactly--brown; but very soft.”
“Do you think so? And a scornful mouth?”
“Oh, no! his smile is very agreeable.”
“What! did he smile while he was talking to us?”
“When I slipped and almost fell, I clung to him, and that made him
smile.”
“It’s strange; I remember nothing of all that.”
“Oh! the storm was so violent!--Well, I am sure, for my part, that it
makes Madame Droguet furious to see we already know that gentleman, who
has refused to have anything to do with anyone in the neighborhood!
Just for that reason, I am delighted that she saw him bringing us home.”
The conversation of the two friends was interrupted by sobs from
Poucette, who tried in vain to check them. They rose at once to inquire
the cause of their servant’s grief.
VII
A SALE BY AUTHORITY OF LAW
Little Claudine, Poucette’s cousin, had just arrived; her eyes were red,
and she too was crying; evidently it was something that she had told
Poucette which caused the young peasant to sob so bitterly.
“What is the matter, my child; what makes you so unhappy?” Madame
Dalmont asked her servant.
But she, according to the custom of country people, continued to sob and
made no reply.
“And you, my girl,” said Agathe to Claudine, “you are crying too; is it
something you have told your cousin that is making her cry?”
“Yes--yes--mamzelle.”
“What misfortune has come upon you? Come, speak.”
“Ye--Ye--yes, madame!”
“Come, Poucette, tell us about it; this child will never be able to, you
see.”
The young peasant succeeded at last in forcing back her sobs.
“Madame, Claudine has just told me that they’re very unhappy at home. My
poor uncle--poor aunt! what is going to become of them! They’re going to
sell everything in their home to-day, furniture and everything! Mon
Dieu! mon Dieu! and turn them out of their cottage, which won’t belong
to them any more! What is going to become of them! Here, Claudine, I’ve
got three francs left out of my wages, and I’ll give ‘em to you. Oh! if
I had more!”
“You can’t have any more, when you give us all you earn!”