expression to his sour face, Freluchon could not restrain a burst of
laughter, which greatly disconcerted the two gentlemen. Chamoureau did
not know which way to turn, and Remplumé began to cough as if he
proposed to tear his throat to tatters. Edmond stood aside, and Paul
waited for the visitors to speak.
At last the little, lame man stopped coughing and began thus:
“Messieurs! we come here as Monsieur Luminot’s seconds, entrusted with
full powers by him. It is a serious matter--very serious; nothing less
than----”
“It’s entirely useless to tell us what it’s all about, for we know,”
said Freluchon; “I was present, I believe, and we have fully informed
Monsieur Duronceray here.”
“Yes,” said Paul, “we know that Monsieur Luminot gratuitously slandered
and insulted two ladies who deserve the respect and esteem of the whole
world.--We assume that he was urged on to utter those abominable
calumnies by certain persons, who desired to cause this quarrel.”
“That is my opinion also!” said Chamoureau.
“It is mine--hum! hum!--mine also--hum! hum!--I will say more: I agree
with you.”
“In that case, messieurs, we are all agreed.”
“That being so, we can go away!” observed Chamoureau.
“Oh, no! Wait a moment, Chamoureau.--Your Monsieur Luminot has received
a blow; he richly deserved it, but he wants to fight and he is entitled
to.--So you are his second, are you, Chamoureau?”
“They insisted on it. I didn’t want to be. I hope you don’t take it ill
of me.”
“Oh! not at all.”
“It was my wife who insisted on it.”
“She’s a very nice person, is your wife; she does things well. But how
does it happen that the other second isn’t your intimate friend, the
famous Baron von Schtapelmerg, who fought against the Turks?”
“And who won two hundred francs from me last night at écarté!”
“He cheated you, my dear boy; I would stake my head on it!”
“Oh! messieurs!” cried Chamoureau, “can it be that you suspect that
worthy Bavarian of being a Greek?”
“I suspect it because I am certain that that unprepossessing person, who
claims to be a German baron and can’t speak German, is simply your
wife’s brother!”
“What! the brother of--then my wife is a baroness----”
“No more than he’s a baron; he gave himself away several times when he
had drunk too much. However, I hope to see him again, and to find out
just what to think. Where is he now?”
“Gone to Paris, on urgent business, so my wife said.”
“Messieurs,” interposed Edmond, “it seems to me that you are forgetting
what brings you together; be good enough to complete your arrangements
for the duel.”
“Well, messieurs, what do you propose? we are waiting to hear from you.”
“To-morrow morning, at eight o’clock----”
“Why not finish it up to-day?”
“Presumably because that would not suit Monsieur Luminot. If you
interrupt us so soon--hum! hum!--we shall never finish.”
“True; go on, monsieur.”
“To-morrow morning, at eight o’clock, in the little wood behind what
used to be the keeper’s house, as you go down the hill toward Raincy.”
“Very good,” said Paul, “I know the place.”
“Monsieur Luminot chooses pistols.”
“Agreed.”
“And he will fire first.”
“That may be open to discussion,” said Freluchon; “for your man began
the attack by his slurring remarks.”
“No, no discussion!” exclaimed Edmond; “let him fire first--I agree.”
“Then, messieurs, as everything is arranged,--hum! hum!--we have only to
salute you.”
“I beg pardon, monsieur,” said Paul, addressing himself to Monsieur
Remplumé, who strove to maintain a surly expression; “if your opinion
concerning the ladies insulted by Monsieur Luminot agrees with his, you
too will have to deal with us; for you understand, messieurs, that _no
one_ may hereafter repeat those slanders, under pain of being chastised
by us!”
The little, lame man turned green; Chamoureau sank upon a chair and put
his handkerchief to his eyes, stammering:
“How can you believe me capable of speaking unkindly of those ladies,
for whom I bought Monsieur Courtivaux’s house! I carry their images in
my heart. I give no thought now to anything except the age of trees----”
“Enough! enough! we believe you!” said Freluchon.
Monsieur Remplumé made the same protestations as Chamoureau.
“That is all very well, messieurs,” said Paul; “but you will simply have
the kindness to repeat this profession of faith in public, when we
request you to do so.”
Luminot’s two seconds promised all that they were asked to promise, and
hastened to take their leave.
“Now,” said Edmond, “as the rest of the day is ours, let us go at once
to those ladies, who, I am sure, are surprised not to have seen us yet.
But not a syllable concerning the duel!”
“Very good,” said Freluchon; “provided that some infernal gossip hasn’t
told them of it already.”
“Let us go; look, messieurs, see how Ami gazes at us and runs to the
door! Ah! he divines that we are going to see the persons to whom he is
so attached; he is showing us the way.”
After her conversation with Paul, Honorine had hardly been able to sleep
at all. Happiness frequently causes insomnia; it often keeps us wider
awake than grief.
As soon as day broke, Honorine watched for Agathe to wake; it seemed to
her that she slept much longer than usual. At last the girl opened her
eyes; and she instantly read on her friend’s face that something
extraordinary had happened. Having nothing in her head but her love, her
first impulse was to cry:
“What has happened to Edmond?”
“To Edmond? Why, nothing new, I imagine. He went to that party, and
probably passed the night there. As you may imagine, I haven’t seen him
to-day; it isn’t seven o’clock.”
“Then why do you look at me so, my dear love? You certainly have
something to tell me!”
“Yes, my dear child, I have to speak to you of your father--to tell you
at last why your poor mother never saw him again.”
“Mon Dieu! can it be possible? You know that? Who can have told you?”
“Monsieur Paul Duronceray.”
“He knew my father?”
“Yes.”
“He has seen him, and spoken to him?”
“Yes.”
“My poor father! he is dead, of course; otherwise he would not have
abandoned us.”
“He is dead!”
“Oh! my dear love, tell me quickly everything that happened to
him!--Speak! speak! I long to hear!”
“I shall have to say much of Monsieur Paul.”
“Speak--I will not lose a word!”
Honorine seated herself on Agathe’s bed and told her the story of the
fatal liaison between Paul and Thélénie, which resulted in the duel and
in her father’s death. She concluded thus:
“You have witnessed the regret, the remorse of the man who was the
victor in that duel. From that day to this he has never ceased to try to
find out what had become of you.--Will not you forgive him, as your
father did?”
Agathe wept bitterly.
“My heart has no hatred,” she murmured; “it has nothing but regret.--So
that cross in the ravine--that is the place.--Ah! that explains the
inexplicable emotion that I felt. Poor father!--Oh! my dear, come, come
quickly! You know where, don’t you?”
In a very few minutes, the two young women were ready to go out. Agathe
went into the garden and gathered a bunch of flowers; then, with the
bouquet in her hand, she took Honorine’s arm and they walked hastily, in
silence and meditation, toward the ravine near the park of the Tower.
They reached the cross erected in that solitary place. Agathe knelt in
front of it and prayed a long while; then, as she laid her nosegay on
the grave, she spied, at the foot of the cross, some faded flowers, the
remains of other bouquets laid there before her own. She picked up some
of those flowers and placed them in her bosom. Then, leaning on
Honorine’s arm, she took, more slowly now, the road leading back to
Chelles.
The two friends had returned from that pious pilgrimage when Paul,
Edmond and Freluchon made their appearance. Edmond ran forward and
kissed the girl’s hands, crying:
“I know all! I am very happy in your happiness!”
Paul remained in the background; he dared not go forward. But Agathe
went to meet him. He bent his knee before her; whereupon she held out
the flowers she had taken from her father’s grave and said:
“These have told me that you too mourn for him; is it not equivalent to
telling me to forgive you?”
The time passes very quickly with those who love one another, and who
are engaged in forming the most delicious plans of happiness for the
future.
Freluchon passed his time caressing the noble dog, of whom he too had
made a friend.
For one moment, however, Agathe’s felicity was disturbed; it was when a
chance remark informed her that Madame de Belleville was the very woman
who had caused her father’s death.
The color fled from her cheeks and she murmured:
“Ah! now I understand the feeling of repulsion that that woman aroused
in me. You won’t go to her house any more, Edmond, will you?”
“I will not, indeed; I give you my word, dear Agathe; and if I had known
this distressing story sooner, I certainly would not have gone to her
party last night.”
“Nor would I,” said Freluchon.
“And nothing unpleasant happened to you there?”
The three men exchanged rapid glances, and Edmond replied:
“What could have happened to us?”
“Mon Dieu! I don’t know--but I was terribly depressed last night,
knowing that you were there.”
“A single word from you, and I would not have gone!”
“But I should not have dared to say it.”
“That is a pity!” thought Freluchon.
While the hours seemed so short in Honorine’s modest abode, the wealthy
proprietress of Goldfish Villa waited impatiently, with her eyes
fastened on a clock, for the moment when she was to meet her brother.
At last the clock struck six, and Thélénie, hastening across the garden
and the little park, opened a gate leading into a lonely path, where she
had arranged to meet Croque.
She soon saw approaching her a man in a canvas jacket and full duck
trousers, with his face half-hidden by a sort of coal-burner’s hat, and
blackened and reddened in spots. But she recognized Croque by the scar
on his cheek.
“This is excellent; you are unrecognizable,” said Thélénie; “besides,
there is no one hereabout who knows you very well. But how did you
manage to obtain these clothes?”
“Parbleu! with plenty of blunt you can get whatever you want; the
peasants are as fond of money as city folk! I should say, more so.”
“Tell me what you have done.”
“I easily found the widow Tourniquoi’s house; and there I recognized the
Jacqueline I saw yesterday; the little boy was playing in the yard.”
“Well?”
“I presented myself in my best clothes; a fine outside inspires more
confidence.”
“You did well.”
“And yet, when I told that woman that I came from the Baronne de
Mortagne, who wanted her to bring her son to her, she wouldn’t believe
me; she was suspicious. But the three hundred francs in gold soon
scattered all her doubts. When I told her further that the baroness
would pay her in full for all the time she had kept the child, and that
at three hundred and sixty francs a year for eight years she’d get near
three thousand francs--Gad! then it was not joy, it was delirium!--I
told her that she must go to Dieppe right away with young Emile. She
would have started for China to get her three thousand francs! I gave
her the address that you gave me, and she began to pack up at once.”
“When does she start?”
“To-night, on the eight o’clock train. She goes to Paris, and from there
to Dieppe at the double quick; she’ll be there to-morrow.”
“That is good--very good! Now my mind is at rest in that direction.”
“It seems to me that I managed the affair rather well.”
“Yes; but there’s another affair, which you must manage as well.”
“Tell us about it; while my hand is in, it won’t cost any more!”
“Monsieur Luminot and Edmond are to fight at eight o’clock to-morrow
morning.”
“Ah! the famous duel is to come off! Well?”
“It is to be in a little wood, some distance from here, at the other
side of the village. I am confident that Edmond will not have mentioned
the duel to the two women at the little house yonder.”
“Probably not; he wouldn’t want to frighten them.”
“Now listen: can you swim?”
“Like a gudgeon. Why?”
“To-morrow morning, at eight o’clock--or a little before eight--you will
be on the shore of the Marne, near the bridge that crosses to Gournay.”
“I know the place, for I have gone in that direction on my promenades.”
“Then you know how deserted that neighborhood is. One often walks there
a whole day without meeting a living soul.”
“Well? let us come to the point!”
“You will have a small boat in readiness; you say yourself that with
money one can obtain whatever one wants.”
“You give me money enough and I will have a boat; that doesn’t embarrass
me.”
“No one with you, you understand.”
“No one but the boat.”
“You will stay on the bank of the river, like a boatman taking a rest.
You will see two women coming.”
“The ladies from the little house! Do you think that they’ll come?”
“I tell you that they will come, in the utmost distress, looking for a
boat to take them to one of the little islands that lie just above the
mill.”
“Where the obstructions are, and the rapids. _Fichtre!_ it’s no sport
handling a boat there! The Marne is dangerous enough anyway; but in that
place, it wouldn’t take long to upset a boat!”
“They will see yours and they will beg you to take them to the nearest
island.”
“I begin to understand.”
“You will accept; you will row them as near as possible to the
obstructions you speak of; then you will lose your oars in the river,
and in order to recover them you will jump into the water.”
“_Fichtre!_ that’s rather dangerous!”
“Not for you, who know how to swim; you can select a spot where you can
jump in without danger. Then you will swim ashore, paying no attention
to the shrieks of those women, who will be left in the boat without
oars to guide it, and who, I am glad to believe----”
“Will turn upside down with their boat! Oh! as to that, there isn’t the
slightest doubt of it; especially if no one comes to their help.”
“Who do you suppose will risk his life for them? In the first place, the
banks are always deserted just there, and it often happens that not a
boat of any sort passes along that part of the river for half a day at a
time.”
“But what about the fellows who fight those women’s battles? I shouldn’t
like to meet that young Freluchon, who played ball with Luminot.
_Bigre!_ he’d play something else with me!”
“Don’t be afraid; the duel will be fought in the opposite direction, and
those men will not be in that neighborhood.”
“All right!”
“Well! is it agreed? will you do exactly as I have told you? do you
understand me perfectly?”
“Unless I am an idiot, I should say that you have made it plain enough.
You want to drown those two----”
“Hush! hold your tongue! there are things one must never say.”
“To be sure, it’s quite enough to do them.”
“Can I rely on you?”
“Hum! it will cost a great deal. I take a big risk.”
“Here, this roll contains a thousand francs in gold.”
“Ah! that’s very pretty! But it’s only a payment on account, eh?”
“To-morrow, here, at this same hour, I will give you twice as much more,
if all has gone as I desire.”
“In that case, it’s a bargain.”
“You swear?”
“Is there any need of swearing between us? Get your yellow boys ready
for to-morrow.”
“Until then avoid showing yourself in the village.”
“Never fear; I will keep out of sight in some wine-shop, at a little
distance. It will soon be dark; to-morrow morning will soon be here.”
“I may rely on you?”
“Of course, as it’s a bargain. Adieu!”
XXV
THE DOG
It was seven o’clock in the morning; the sky was clear and the weather
superb. In the country it is a keen delight to enjoy a lovely morning;
nature has more attractions, more charms; the grass is fresher, the
foliage a deeper green; the flowers exhale a sweeter perfume; although
one may justifiably be lazy in the city, it is a great fault when one
lives amid the fields.
Honorine and Agathe loved to enjoy the awakening of nature; they were
always in their garden at seven o’clock. And now that so great a change
had taken place in their position, now that the future appeared so sunny
and happy, they had too many things to say to each other to pass their
time in sleep.
The gentlemen had left them rather late the night before; but when they
went away, they had said: “Until to-morrow.”
“And come earlier than you did to-day!” Agathe had said to Edmond.
He had answered yes, but his voice had not its usual distinctness. One
cannot always control one’s voice; that organ almost always betrays the
sentiments that agitate us.
Honorine had shown to Paul the letters of Adhémar to Julia Montoni, and
Paul had no doubt that, when he should send them to the count’s uncle,
the old man would recognize Agathe as his grand-niece.
Meanwhile, Monsieur Duronceray insisted that half of his fortune should
constitute the girl’s dowry; then, in an undertone, almost in a whisper,
he had offered the other half to Honorine, with the title of his wife.
She had listened to that proposal without uttering a word, but her eyes
had answered for her; it seemed to her so sweet to love and to be loved,
that she could hardly believe in her happiness.
“Don’t you think,” Agathe asked her friend, “that Edmond seemed very
distraught last evening when he bade us good-night?”
“Why, no; I didn’t notice it.”
“Oh! because you didn’t look at anybody but Monsieur Paul.”
“Well! are you displeased because someone loves me?”
“Ah! my dearest dear, on the contrary, I am very happy. But I divined
that love of his a long while ago!”
“Really?”
“And yours too!”
“Ah! but I thought that I concealed very carefully, in the depths of my
heart, what I felt for him!”
“You will be happy, dear Honorine. And my happiness would be complete,
if----”
“If what?”
“Why, I don’t know what the matter is with me! it still seems to me as
if Edmond had something on his mind last night.”
“Don’t, for heaven’s sake, create imaginary torments for yourself. What!
can it be that it is I who am called upon now to restore mademoiselle’s
good spirits! What can you be afraid of?”
“I keep thinking of that wicked woman. She has already caused my poor
father’s death, and something, I don’t know what, tells me that she
means to injure me still more!”
“Agathe, you are not reasonable. Luckily Edmond’s presence will drive
away these black ideas.--Poucette! doesn’t Père Ledrux come to work in
the garden to-day?”
“Yes, madame, it’s his day; he’s a little late, for it’s after half-past
seven.--But wait! I think I hear him now.”
The old peasant entered the garden with the basket on his arm in which
he always carried his gardening tools.
“Tutu--tutu--turlututu! I’m a trifle late; a tenant of mine is the cause
of it.”
“Have you a tenant, Père Ledrux?”
“Yes, only since a couple of days. I don’t think he’ll stay here long; I
don’t know what he’s up to, but he goes in and out all the time. He’s a
fine gentleman. Oh! yes, he’s one of the swells! I thought at first he’d
come down for the fête at the Bellevilles; but no, he didn’t go to it;
and yet it seems he knows ‘em.”
“Ah! do you think so?”
“Yes, yes, he knows ‘em well.--I think I’ll water these beds a little;
they’re dry as can be!”
“Do so, Père Ledrux.”
In a few moments the gardener returned to the two friends with his
watering pot.
“Tutu--turlututu.--After all, my tenant did just as well not to go to
that party--at the goldfish place.”
“Why so, Père Ledrux?”
“Well! it was mighty fine, they say; but when things end in a
fight--why, that ain’t so amusing! I don’t like that, myself!”
“What’s that? What do you mean by a fight?”
“Why, yes, a fight, quarrelling, blows. And it seems they went at it in
good shape, for Monsieur Droguet lost six or seven teeth, and Monsieur
Luminot got a crack that echoed like a blow on a drum!”
The young women gazed at each other in surprise.
“Are you quite sure of what you say, Père Ledrux?”
“What’s that? am I sure? Why the whole village knows it as well as I
do.”
“How is it that Monsieur Edmond and Freluchon, who were at that party,
haven’t told us a word of this?”
“Faith! it’s all the more surprising because it was them as did the
hitting.”
“Oh! that is impossible.”
“It’s true, mamzelle! it’s true! It was Monsieur Edmond who hit Monsieur
Luminot, and it was his friend, the little man--what do you call him?
Monsieur Cornichon--who threw somebody onto Monsieur Droguet and
dislocated his jaw.”
“Mon Dieu! what was the cause of the quarrel?”
“Faith! I don’t know; they say so many things; one has it one way and
one another!”
“Can’t you guess, Honorine? Somebody insulted us at that woman’s house,
and Edmond couldn’t stand it!”
“It is likely; and they have concealed it all from us, in order not to
distress us.”
“But it’s all over now, isn’t it, Père Ledrux?”
“Over! oh! no, mamzelle! You see, Monsieur Luminot, who’s quite a buck,
can’t take a blow like that without drawing his sword. So they’re going
to fight; Monsieur Luminot told everybody so yesterday. He walked all
round the neighborhood on purpose, and sung out to everybody he met:
“‘I say! Here’s something. I’m going to fight, I’ve got a duel with
pistols on hand!’”
“To fight! Do you hear, Honorine? they are going to fight!--Ah! that is
what my heart divined! Tell us, Père Ledrux, when this duel is to take
place?”
“It seems it’s this morning that they’re all to meet with their
seconds--I believe there’s six seconds.”
“Where are they to meet?”
“Faith! I didn’t think to ask; but perhaps they haven’t told, if they
don’t want to be disturbed.”
“Honorine, I don’t want him to fight. Oh! I entreat you, let us go to
him.”
“Wait--someone is knocking at the gate; it’s Edmond or his friend, no
doubt, and we shall learn the truth.”
Poucette appeared with a letter in her hand.
“A little boy just brought this letter for madame,” she said; “he said
there wasn’t any answer and ran right away again.”
Honorine opened the letter and glanced first at the foot of the page.
“No signature!”
“Never mind! read it quickly, my dear!” cried Agathe; “it must be from
one of those gentlemen; read it!”
“‘Madame, at eight o’clock this morning, Monsieur Edmond Didier and
Monsieur Luminot are to fight a duel with pistols on the first island
above the mill, below Gournay bridge. Your presence and Mademoiselle
Agathe’s would doubtless prevent this duel, which may have deplorable
results. Consider what you will do.’”
“What we will do!” cried Agathe. “Oh! my dear love, let us go, let us
run as fast as we can. Look! in ten minutes it will be eight o’clock!”
“Yes, yes; we will go at once! Gournay bridge--that isn’t very far.--And
on an island above the mill--yes, I have noticed some islands there, on
which it seems impossible to land. Mon Dieu! if only we can find a
boat--somebody to row us!”
“Yes, we shall find someone; heaven will help us, it will take pity on
us! you see, somebody has warned us. This note comes from Monsieur Paul,
of course--or from Monsieur Freluchon.”
“Yes; and they won’t let them fight before we arrive. Let us go!”
The young women hastily seized shawls and bonnets, and rushed from the
garden, calling to Poucette, who asked them where they were going so,
without breakfast:
“We are going to prevent them from fighting!”
While Honorine and Agathe hastened at the top of their speed toward the
bank of the Marne, Edmond, accompanied by Freluchon and Paul, betook
himself to the appointed place.
It was a pretty bit of woodland, a short quarter of a league from
Chelles. But it was not far from some houses, and a cabaret, established
in what was once a keeper’s house, was within two hundred yards.
“It is very pleasant here,” said Freluchon; “this little clump of trees
seems to invite one to a picnic rather than to a duel!”
“But for Monsieur Duronceray,” said Edmond, “I should never have been
able to find the place.”
“Perhaps that is what your opponent hoped. But I noticed a little
eating-house yonder, on the walls of which was the sign: _Lapins,
sautez;_[F] the _sauté_ is spelled with a z, which would seem to invite
passers-by to leap, because rabbit is served there. I believe that
Chamoureau hopes that the meeting will end in a
_gibelotte_--rabbit-stew.--And you, my good dog, good old Ami, why do
you keep running so to the right and left?”
[F] Literally: Rabbits, leap; for _lapins sauté,_ stewed rabbit.
“He wants to see if our men are coming, no doubt.”
“No,” said Paul, “Ami has something on his mind; he is restless, he is
not comfortable here, he wants to go away; I can see that by his
eyes.--Patience, good dog!--Ah! I see our adversaries; there’s not a
word to be said, they haven’t kept us waiting.”