lives here must, in fact, be nothing better than a bear, a person who
has no friends to entertain--for no one would ever come to see him. He
is probably some old miser, or some newly-rich tradesman who knows
nothing of society. But whoever he may be, I propose to inform the owner
of this place that he has a very badly bred dog, that bites horses; and
that, if he doesn’t muzzle him, I will have him shot the first time I
fall in with him. I am curious to see what answer this man will make,
who, they say, is such a savage. Such manners don’t frighten me.--Mon
Dieu! is there no end to this park? Ah! there’s a gate, at last!”
Thélénie dismounted and rang a loud peal at the gate. An old, decrepit
peasant woman answered the bell and asked her what she wanted.
“Is the owner of this place at home?”
“Monsieur Paul?”
“Paul or Pierre; I don’t know his name, but I presume he has some other
than that. But no matter, is this gentleman at home?”
“Yes, madame; he has just come back from a visit to Paris.”
“I wish to speak with him; take me to him.”
“Bless me! you see, I don’t know whether monsieur will want to see you;
he doesn’t like visits.”
“You’re a fool! I tell you that I have something to say to your master,
that I want to see him. I am not a person to be kept waiting. Come, off
you go!”
Old Mère Lucas was hesitating when Ami suddenly appeared in the
courtyard and planted himself, growling, in front of Thélénie, as if to
bar her passage.
“That dog again, that infernal dog! It’s he that I came to complain
about. Call him away, old woman; you see that he prevents me from
passing.”
“Come, good Loulou, come, my boy; come with me and don’t stand in front
of madame like that.”
But Ami paid no heed to what Mère Lucas said. He continued to block the
amazon’s path, and began to bark at her.
“Look you, servant, I advise you to call your dog away; if he doesn’t
get out of the way I’ll curry him with my crop, after a fashion he won’t
like!”
“Don’t do that, madame, or you’ll be sorry for it; the dog isn’t ugly,
but if anybody besides his master should strike him--and his master
never strikes him--why, then he’d bite you, he’d throw himself on you.”
“But you see that he won’t let me pass; that he stands in front of me
all the time.”
The master’s arrival put an end to this scene.
Paul had come from the house, surprised to hear his dog bark so
persistently.
“What’s the matter?” he said, coming forward; “what’s going on here?
whom are you barking at, Ami?”
Thélénie had taken two or three steps toward Paul; when she heard his
voice, she looked at him a moment, then stopped; she seemed like one
stupefied; she turned deathly pale and fixed her eyes on the ground.
Paul meanwhile had scanned the features of the woman before him, and
started back as if he had seen a serpent. The dog became somewhat calmer
at sight of his master, but he took his stand between him and the
visitor, and fixed his intelligent eyes upon her, as if to say:
“You shall not come near him!”
Thélénie soon recovered from the first paroxysm of dismay, and faltered:
“What! is it you, Monsieur Duronceray? here, in this solitude, living
like a hermit! I confess that I hardly expected this meeting.”
“I can well believe, madame, that you would not have come here if you
had expected to find me. For my part, I hoped that this spot would not
be sullied by your presence.”
“Monsieur! this insult----”
“I do not insult you; indeed, you are well aware that there are people
whom it is impossible to insult. But you know also that I am justified
in speaking to you as I am doing.”
“Take care, monsieur! I am married now!”
“You are married! Who, then, is the unhappy wretch who has given you his
name? an idiot or a knave--it must be one or the other!”
Thélénie bit savagely at the head of her crop, but she tried in vain to
recover her usual self-possession.
“Come, madame,” continued Paul, “tell me why you came here. Tell me at
once and let us hasten to put an end to an interview which, I trust,
will never be repeated.”
“Monsieur, I came--your infernal dog is the cause of my coming. If he
hadn’t thrown himself at me--at my horse--not long ago, to defend a
little boy who was throwing stones at me, I shouldn’t have tried to find
out to whom he belonged.”
“Doubtless Ami recognized you, madame; he has a better memory than you;
he always recognizes my friends, and my enemies as well.”
“What! is this that great gaunt creature that you used to have? He has
grown so big and strong! I confess that I didn’t recognize him; I
thought at first that he belonged to a lady who foolishly took sides
with the little good-for-nothing.”
“So you are Madame de Belleville, are you?” cried Paul, to whom Honorine
had described her adventure with the handsome equestrian.
“To be sure! does that surprise you?”
“Nothing could astonish me on your part.”
“Yes, monsieur, I have married Monsieur de Belleville, a very worthy
man, a young man--in good society. I have nearly forty thousand francs a
year, I have my own carriage, and not long ago we bought a beautiful
estate in Chelles.”
“What! you were not afraid to buy a house in this neighborhood?”
“Pray, monsieur, why should I be afraid of this neighborhood? Please
tell me what I have to dread here?”
“Oh! nothing! such a woman as you never feels remorse.”
“Remorse! because I left you when I had ceased to love you! Ha! ha!
Really, monsieur, anyone can see that you no longer go into society,
that you live like a wolf! You seem to have forgotten entirely what is a
daily occurrence in society. Two people form a liaison, they adore each
other for a while; but there comes a day when one of them ceases to love
the other, and then----”
“And then, madame, that one says so frankly, and does not continue to
feign love for the man she is deceiving.”
“Mon Dieu! messieurs, if we were always perfectly frank with you, you
would cut a sorry figure too often! I believe that most men would rather
be deceived than know what there is in the bottom of our hearts; and
they are wise! for they would make such painful discoveries!”
“A truce to your jests, madame! If you had done nothing more than
deceive me, than feign a love which you no longer felt, when no
sacrifice was too great for me to give you pleasure, when I balked at
nothing to prove my love for you, I should have no reproaches for you!
Indeed, I should be very foolish to complain, for your conduct would
have differed in no respect from that of those women who pride
themselves on paying for every benefaction by an infidelity.--Don’t be
alarmed; that was not my reason for becoming a hermit!--But you were
more than unfaithful to me--you were cowardly, inhuman. In order to
conceal from me the identity of your real lover, you had the cunning to
make me suspect, accuse, insult a young man who was not thinking of
you, but whom, by some fatality, or rather by means of some perfidious
scheme prepared beforehand, I found alone with you when I was seeking
your lover. When you heard me, in my blind jealousy, accuse and
challenge Comte Adhémar de Hautmont, you could with a word have put an
end to my error. You had only to say to me: ‘It is not this gentleman
who is your rival, but Beauregard, your dear friend Beauregard, your
intimate, inseparable friend!’ Far from that, you did your utmost to
make my misunderstanding complete! Nor did Comte Adhémar, when I
insulted him, try to undeceive me; he had received one of those affronts
which a gallant man does not forgive; he demanded prompt, immediate
satisfaction, and I, for my part, wanted nothing better than to fight.
You saw us go out together, without seconds, without attendants, from
that fatal house at Couberon, where I found the count with you. You saw
us both, frantic with rage, armed with pistols; you knew that we were
going to fight, and you did not try to prevent that fatal duel; yes,
fatal, in very truth, for I was unfortunate enough to be the victor. The
ill-fated Adhémar, mortally wounded, told me the whole truth.
“He had received an urgent invitation from you to come to your country
house at Couberon; but it had never occurred to him to make love to you,
for he loved another woman, he had a child, a daughter whom he adored;
his death was certain to drive to despair a young woman to whom he
expected soon to be married! Those two beloved beings had no one but him
to depend upon; he was on the point of naming them to me, of telling me
his last wishes, when death closed his lips; and he left no paper, no
sign to enable me to discover those unfortunate creatures whose lives I
had wrecked! Thanks to you, to your atrocious treachery, I had killed a
young man who had done me no wrong; and with the same shot I deprived a
child of its father, a mother of her husband!--That, madame, that is
what I have never forgiven myself: that I became a criminal for you--for
a Thélénie!”
“Monsieur!”
“Hush, wretched creature! and since you have had the audacity to return
to this neighborhood to live, go to a spot close by, in the ravine near
the Noisy road; it was there that Adhémar and I fought on leaving your
house. It was there that the unfortunate man fell, dying, at my feet.
Poor fellow! with his last breath he forgave me; he gave me his hand;
but those two poor creatures whom he loved so dearly, and with whom he
begged me to replace him--that woman and that child; he was on the point
of telling me their names, and where I could find them; but he could
not! To no purpose did I resort to the most minute and painful search; I
discovered nothing; I could never learn the whereabouts of those two, to
whom I would gladly have offered my whole fortune, in compensation for
the injury I had done them.
“Then I was overwhelmed with shame; I conceived a horror of that
society, where, under the mask of love and friendship, I had found
nothing but falseness and perfidy. But I wished to be able to weep over
my victim’s grave, to be where I could go every day to beg his
forgiveness for that terrible mistake which has left me a prey to
everlasting remorse. That is why I bought this estate. I returned to
this part of the country, not to cut a dash and give great parties, but
to be near the unfortunate Adhémar’s grave.”
Thélénie listened to these last words without wincing, without the least
trace of emotion. Her contracted eyebrows and the disdainful expression
of her mouth alone disclosed the secret wrath which agitated her heart.
But when his master ceased to speak, Ami stepped nearer to the visitor
and showed his teeth.
“My dog recognized you,” continued Paul; “he is able to distinguish
unerringly between my friends and my enemies; he was always hostile to
you, and I might have learned from him your real sentiments toward me.
He is just the same to-day to you. Dogs do not change; they set a useful
example to men; and that is the reason, I presume, why the latter beat
them so often; they are humiliated to find in a beast virtues which they
do not possess.--Now, madame, I fancy that you have nothing more to say
to me, and I am glad to believe that you have no further business here.”
With that, Paul turned his back on Thélénie and walked away, motioning
to his dog to follow him, which he did not do until he had walked around
the amazon several times, growling most significantly.
Thélénie was furious; her pride was irritated by Monsieur Duronceray’s
outspoken contempt. She had been so long accustomed to be flattered and
adulated, that she longed to crush the man who had treated her so
disdainfully.
Finding that she was alone in the courtyard, for Mère Lucas had retired
long before, the magnificent creature struck with her crop everything
within her reach; but her wrath expended itself on a few boxes of
flowers and empty pots.
At last she left the place, returned to her horse which was tied to the
gate, sprang to the saddle, gave him the rein and galloped away along
the first road that she spied. That road was broad and smooth at first,
but soon narrowed and became stony. On both sides rose hills in which
the road was boxed, as it were; on these hills were trees whose shade
imparted a gloomier and more melancholy aspect to the road.
“What a horrible path I chose!” said Thélénie to herself, with an
indefinable feeling of alarm. “No one seems to be passing; I have lost
my way; I certainly did not come this way. Come, Brillant! let us make
haste to get out of here.--Well! what’s the matter with the beast? he
won’t go forward a step! What are you afraid of, coward? Oh! I tell you
that you’ve got to go on.”
As she spoke, she dealt the horse a violent blow on the side with her
crop. But he, instead of going forward, jumped like a sheep, then shied
so violently that, an excellent rider though she was, Thélénie lost her
balance, fell backward and rolled on the ground at the foot of a cross
standing by the roadside. It was that cross that had frightened her
horse.
Although slightly bruised by her fall, Thélénie rose and looked about
her, and her eyes fell on the wooden cross on its little mound of earth.
She realized that she had fallen on a grave, and after examining the
place more carefully, she faltered:
“Mon Dieu! this solitary path, this ravine--this is where they fought,
and beneath this cross lies the body of Comte Adhémar! What fatality
brought me here? If he had seen me, he would say that it was
Providence!”
Summoning all her strength, Thélénie hurried away from the scene of her
fall. Her horse was waiting for her some thirty yards away. She mounted
again, much less proudly than before; the accident which had happened to
her had calmed her rage very sensibly.
XVIII
THE BEGINNING OF A FÊTE
As she approached the village, Thélénie’s terror rapidly vanished and
her schemes of vengeance acquired new force in her mind.
“How that man treated me!” she thought; “how contemptuously he drove me
from his presence! Ah! if I ever have an opportunity to show him how I
hate him, I will not let it slip.--Shall I mention this meeting to
Croque? No! He would be afraid of dog and master alike, and would be
quite capable of flying the country on the instant; I must, on the
contrary, conceal from him the fact that Duronceray lives in the
neighborhood.”
Many people from Paris, who had been invited for the whole day, had
already arrived at Goldfish Villa. Mademoiselle Héloïse was of the
number, as well as several others of Thélénie’s old friends, before whom
she was very glad to parade her new splendor.
Chamoureau, who was unacquainted with most of his wife’s guests, was
greatly embarrassed in doing the honors of his house to so many people,
and was impatiently awaiting Thélénie’s return.
At last the majestic equestrian appeared and her husband ran to meet
her, crying:
“Hurry, hurry, my dear love! More than twenty people have come already,
and I don’t know any of them, except Mademoiselle Héloïse, whom I know a
little. I have no idea how to entertain so many people.”
“Why, monsieur, you must tell everyone to do what he pleases; no sort of
restraint; that’s how people amuse themselves in the country. Isn’t the
baron here, to help you to do the honors?”
“Monsieur de Schtapelmerg is playing, madame; he’s an indefatigable
gambler, you know. Whenever he can get hold of anybody to play with him,
he goes at it. At this moment he is at a game of billiards with
Monsieur Luminot, who has just arrived; and the baron is making some
magnificent shots.”
“I hope, monsieur, that you won’t both drink too much to-day as you did
yesterday; I understand that the baron fell into a mud-hole.”
“Not at all; he slipped, made a misstep; that may happen to anybody.”
“For shame, monsieur! the idea of a man who has a fine house, and horses
and carriages, getting tipsy like any porter!”
“I swear, madame----”
“If the baron doesn’t behave better, I’ll turn him out of doors.”
“Turn Monsieur de Schtapelmerg, your old friend, out of doors!”
“Well, well! I must go and dress. Send Héloïse to me.”
“What! my dear love, aren’t you coming to the salon to receive your
guests?”
“The idea of my appearing in this costume! that would be very nice.”
“Ah, yes! that’s true; you are in your riding habit. Why, your back’s
all covered with dirt! did you fall?”
“I never fall from my horse; I leave that for you to do! Have Monsieur
Edmond and Monsieur Freluchon arrived?”
“Not yet; I imagine that they won’t come till evening. By the way, my
dear love, I have something to tell you that will please you.”
“Later, monsieur; I haven’t time to listen to you at this moment.”
And Thélénie went up to her apartment, while Chamoureau said to himself:
“I’ll tell her that by-and-by, at table; at the same time that I tell
her of my invention, my marvellous invention for ascertaining the age of
trees.--Ah! that will confer honor on me, and will cause my name to be
handed down to posterity!”
Chamoureau returned to the salon rubbing his hands, and with such a
self-satisfied air, that Doctor Antoine, who had just arrived, and who
had his share of curiosity, at once went up to him and asked him the
reason.
“You have received some pleasant news, I’ll be bound, Monsieur de
Belleville,” he said; “rubbing one’s hands is always a sign of
satisfaction, unless it means that one is cold. But as this is August
and the weather is fine, it can hardly be the last reason that makes you
rub yours.--Some little surprise you are arranging for the fête, eh?
Tell me what it is; I won’t breathe a word to anyone.”
“My dear doctor, I am in truth rather well pleased with myself; but my
satisfaction has nothing to do with our fête; I have two reasons for it,
in fact, I may say three. In the first place, after long and fatiguing
studies, I have succeeded in making a discovery which will be of great
benefit to science.”
“What! are you interested in science, Monsieur de Belleville?”
“I am interested in everything, doctor; I am always meditating, although
I may not have that appearance.”
“Really! And this scientific discovery has a bearing upon hygiene?”
“What did you say?”
“I asked you if it related to hygiene, to therapeutics--in short, if it
is a discovery of interest to the medical profession?”
“Oh! not at all, doctor; there’s not the least bit of medicine in my
discovery. It is--you won’t mention it to anybody yet?”
“I will be dumb.”
“It’s a method of ascertaining, the moment you look at a tree, how old
it is.”
“Oho! one can tell pretty nearly now, by observing the size of the trunk
and the lines of the bark; but one can never be quite sure; it is only
probable.”
“Well, thanks to me, doctor, there will be no more doubt, no more
guessing; we can be absolutely sure of not making a mistake of a month,
or even of a day!”
“This strikes me as a very interesting thing; how in the devil do you go
to work to determine it with such certainty?”
“Ah! that is my secret, but I will disclose it at dinner; I am keeping
it for dessert, as well as a pleasant surprise I am arranging for my
wife.”
“You might tell me now.”
“No; I want the effect I produce to be universal.--But excuse me; I see
Monsieur and Madame Droguet, I must go to receive them.--Ah! there’s
Freluchon too. This is very good of him; he didn’t promise to come to
dinner. When I say that it’s good of him, I mean, if he doesn’t call me
Chamoureau!”
Freluchon had arrived among the first, because he was very curious to
see the company that assembled at his old friend’s house since he had
married the fair Thélénie. The specimen that he had met the preceding
evening, in the person of the Baron von Schtapelmerg, had simply
redoubled his curiosity; moreover, he had determined to keep an eye upon
that gentleman, of whose titles of nobility he was exceedingly
suspicious.
As for Croque, he had been severely reprimanded by his sister for
getting drunk the night before, and had promised to be abstemious, to
watch himself closely, to refrain from swearing and to let his cane
alone. On these conditions, plus an irreproachable costume, she gave him
permission to play; she even gave him carte blanche if he should happen
to play with Edmond. But he was expressly forbidden to cheat with any
other of the guests.
All the large landowners and all the leading inhabitants of the
neighborhood were assembled in the salons of Goldfish Villa. They
awaited impatiently the appearance of Madame de Belleville, who had not
yet completed her toilet. To pass the time they talked and criticised
their neighbors, according to immemorial usage. The guests who had come
from Paris made sport of the figures, the costumes and the bonnets of
the local celebrities; the latter whispered together and agreed that the
tone and manners and language of the ladies from Paris were decidedly
free.
However, as almost all of these last had inserted a _de_ in their names,
and as their dresses were in the extreme of fashion, these remarks were
made in very low tones and did not prevent a profusion of curtsies and
profound reverences on both sides.
“How are you, my dear fellow!” cried Freluchon, shaking Chamoureau’s
hand; “the devil! but this is simply gorgeous! These salons are
magnificent, and the furniture in the best taste! To be sure, I see some
amusing faces. Oh I what a queer lot! I think we shall have some sport!”
“Freluchon, I beg you, don’t make fun of anyone!”
“You are delightful, really! What difference does it make to you, if I
have a little fun at the expense of that yellow, wizened-up old fellow
in the corner, or of that bulky dame yonder, provided that they don’t
detect it? Don’t you know that one-half of the world makes sport of the
other half?”
“I have never made sport of anybody.”
“Yes, you have; you made sport of us when you pretended to weep for
Eléonore.”
“It seems to me, Freluchon, that the time is ill chosen to remind me of
the past!”
“Then let me laugh at the present. By the way, I recognize the stout
party yonder; it was she who shut her door in my face one night when I
went there to ask for Edmond.”
“That is Madame Droguet, a person in very comfortable circumstances.”
“She doesn’t look as if she were comfortable in her corsets! Poor soul!
she has tried to make her waist small! Who’s that little fellow behind
her, standing on one leg the way canaries do when they sleep?”
“That is her husband; he is crazy over dancing.”
“It will give me pleasure to see him dance.--But where’s your wife?”
“She is dressing; she spends a long time at her toilet; she keeps people
waiting a good while.”
“Because she wants to produce a great effect when she finally
appears.--And the baron of last evening, Monsieur de Schtapelmerg?”
“He is playing billiards.”
“Is he drunk again as he was yesterday?--You were both pretty bad.”
“Oh! Freluchon, don’t go back to that, I beg you!”
“If you refuse to let me laugh, I’ll call you Chamoureau.--Come, come,
be calm, my friend; I don’t mean to make you wretched--I will leave that
to your stunning spouse.--I am going to join Monsieur Thousand
Sauerkrauts; that is a man I am most desirous to know more intimately.”
While Freluchon betook himself to the billiard room, Doctor Antoine went
from one to another of the persons whom he knew, and whispered:
“Monsieur de Belleville has a surprise in store for the dinner.”
“What is it, doctor?”
“I can’t tell; he has discovered a method of telling the exact age of a
tree simply by examining the trunk.”
“Really! how on earth does he do it?”
“Ah! that is what he is going to tell us at dinner.”
“Why at dinner, pray? are we going to have trees for dessert?”
“I have told you all I know.”
“I would never have believed that Monsieur de Belleville would discover
anything.”
“It seems that he isn’t such a fool as he looks.”
These last reflections came from the groups formed by the guests from
Paris. Meanwhile the report that the master of the house had made an
interesting discovery quickly spread through all the rooms, and reached
the ears of Freluchon, who had renewed his acquaintance with the Baron
von Schtapelmerg.
It was Monsieur Jarnouillard who said to them:
“It seems that Monsieur de Belleville is a man of great talent--a
profound student, deeply versed in the abstract sciences!”
“Whom are you talking about?” cried Freluchon.
“Of our host, Monsieur de Belleville.”
“You call Chamoureau a learned man?”
“Who is Chamoureau? where do you find a Chamoureau?”
“I find him here; that is Monsieur de Belleville’s former name.”
“Ah! I didn’t know that circumstance.”
“It makes no difference.--Why do you say that he’s a profound student?”
“Because he has discovered the secret of telling the age of a tree
simply by looking at the trunk.”