AGNELETTE
The Baron took the weapon which Engoulevent handed him, and carefully
and deliberately examined the boar-spear from point to handle, without
saying a word. On the handle had been carved a little wooden shoe, which
had served as Thibault’s device while making the tour of France, as
thereby he was able to recognise his own weapon. The Baron now pointed
to this, saying to Thibault as he did so:
“Ah, ah, Master Simpleton! there is something which witnesses terribly
against you! I must confess this boar-spear smells to me uncommonly of
venison, by the devil it does! However, all I have now to say to you is
this: You have been poaching, which is a serious crime; you have
perjured yourself, which is a great sin; I am going to enforce expiation
from you for the one and for the other, to help towards the salvation of
that soul by which you have sworn.”
Whereupon turning to the pricker, he continued: “Marcotte, strip off
that rascal’s vest and shirt, and tie him up to a tree with a couple of
the dog leashes--and then give him thirty-six strokes across the back
with your shoulder belt, a dozen for his perjury, and two dozen for his
poaching; no, I make a mistake, a dozen for poaching and two dozen for
perjuring himself, God’s portion must be the largest.”
This order caused great rejoicing among the menials, who thought it good
luck to have a culprit on whom they could avenge themselves for the
mishaps of the day.
In spite of Thibault’s protestations, who swore by all the saints in the
calender, that he had killed neither buck, nor doe, neither goat nor
kidling, he was divested of his garments and firmly strapped to the
trunk of a tree; then the execution commenced.
The pricker’s strokes were so heavy that Thibault, who had sworn not to
utter a sound, and bit his lips to enable himself to keep his
resolution, was forced at the third blow to open his mouth and cry out.
The Baron, as we have already seen, was about the roughest man of his
class for a good thirty miles round, but he was not hard-hearted, and it
was a distress to him to listen to the cries of the culprit as they
became more and more frequent. As, however, the poachers on His
Highness’s estate had of late grown bolder and more troublesome, he
decided that he had better let the sentence be carried out to the full,
but he turned his horse with the intention of riding away, determined no
longer to remain as a spectator.
[Illustration: A YOUNG GIRL SUDDENLY EMERGED FROM THE UNDERWOOD]
As he was on the point of doing this, a young girl suddenly emerged from
the underwood, threw herself on her knees beside the horse, and lifting
her large, beautiful eyes, all wet with tears, to the Baron, cried:
“In the name of the God of mercy, my Lord, have pity on that man!”
The Lord of Vez looked down at the young girl. She was indeed a lovely
child; hardly sixteen years of age, of a slender and exquisite figure,
with a pink and white complexion, large blue eyes, soft and tender in
expression, and a crown of fair hair, which fell in luxuriant waves over
neck and shoulders, escaping from underneath the shabby little grey
linen cap, which endeavoured in vain to imprison them.
All this the Baron took in with a glance, in spite of the humble
clothing of the beautiful suppliant, and as he had no dislike to a
pretty face, he smiled down on the charming young peasant girl, in
response to the pleading of her eloquent eyes.
But, as he looked without speaking, and all the while the blows were
still falling, she cried again, with a voice and gesture of even more
earnest supplication.
“Have pity, in the name of Heaven, my Lord! Tell your servants to let
the poor man go, his cries pierce my heart.”
“Ten thousand fiends!” cried the Grand Master; “you take a great
interest in that rascal over there, my pretty child. Is he your
brother?”
“No, my Lord.”
“Your cousin?”
“No, my Lord.”
“Your lover?”
“My lover! My Lord is laughing at me.”
“Why not? If it were so, my sweet girl, I must confess I should envy him
his lot.”
The girl lowered her eyes.
“I do not know him, my Lord, and have never seen him before to-day.”
“Without counting that now she only sees him wrong side before,”
Engoulevent ventured to put in, thinking that it was a suitable moment
for a little pleasantry.
“Silence, sirrah!” said the Baron sternly. Then, once more turning to
the girl with a smile.
“Really!” he said. “Well, if he is neither a relation nor a lover, I
should like to see how far your love for your neighbour will let you go.
Come, a bargain, pretty girl!”
“How, my Lord?”
“Grace for that scoundrel in return for a kiss.”
“Oh! with all my heart!” cried the young girl. “Save the life of a man
with a kiss! I am sure that our good _Curé_ himself would say there was
no sin in that.”
And without waiting for the Baron to stoop and take himself what he had
asked for, she threw off her wooden-shoe, placed her dainty little foot
on the tip of the wolf-hunter’s boot, and taking hold of the horse’s
mane, lifted herself up with a spring to the level of the face of the
hardy huntsman, and there of her own accord offered him her round cheek,
fresh, and velvety as the down of an August peach.
The Lord of Vez had bargained for one kiss, but he took two; then, true
to his sworn word, he made a sign to Marcotte to stay the execution.
Marcotte was religiously counting his strokes; the twelfth was about to
descend when he received the order to stop, and he did not think it
expedient to stay it from falling. It is possible that he also thought
it would be as well to give it the weight of two ordinary blows, so as
to make up good measure and give a thirteenth in; however that may be,
it is certain that it furrowed Thibault’s shoulders more cruelly than
those that went before. It must be added, however, that he was unbound
immediately after.
Meanwhile the Baron was conversing with the young girl.
“What is your name, my pretty one?”
“Georgine Agnelette, my Lord, my mother’s name! but the country people
are content to call me simply Agnelette.”
“Ah, that’s an unlucky name, my child,” said the Baron.
“In what way my Lord?” asked the girl.
“Because it makes you a prey for the wolf, my beauty. And from what part
of the country do you come, Agnelette?”
“From Préciamont, my Lord.”
“And you come alone like this into the forest, my child? that’s brave
for a lambkin.”
“I am obliged to do it, my Lord, for my mother and I have three goats to
feed.”
“So you come here to get grass for them?”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“And you are not afraid, young and pretty as you are?”
“Sometimes, my Lord, I cannot help trembling.”
“And why do you tremble?”
“Well, my Lord, I hear so many tales, during the winter evenings, about
were-wolves, that when I find myself all alone among the trees, and can
hear no sound but the west wind, and the branches creaking as it blows
through them, I feel a kind of shiver run through me, and my hair seems
to stand on end; but when I hear your hunting horn and the dogs crying,
then I feel at once quite safe again.”
The Baron was pleased beyond measure with this reply of the girl’s, and
stroking his beard complaisantly, he said:
“Well, we give Master Wolf a pretty rough time of it; but, there is a
way, my pretty one, whereby you may spare yourself all these fears and
tremblings.”
“And how, my Lord?”
“Come in future to the Castle of Vez; no were-wolf, or any other kind of
wolf, has ever crossed the moat there, except when slung by a cord on to
a hazel-pole.”
Agnelette shook her head.
“You would not like to come? and why not?”
“Because I should find something worse there than the wolf.”
On hearing this, the Baron broke into a hearty fit of laughter, and,
seeing their Master laugh, all the huntsmen followed suit and joined in
the chorus. The fact was, that the sight of Agnelette had entirely
restored the good humour of the Lord of Vez, and he would, no doubt,
have continued for some time laughing and talking with Agnelette, if
Marcotte, who had been recalling the dogs, and coupling them, had not
respectfully reminded my Lord that they had some distance to go on their
way back to the Castle. The Baron made a playful gesture of menace with
his finger to the girl, and rode off followed by his train.
Agnelette was left alone with Thibault. We have related what Agnelette
had done for Thibault’s sake, and also said that she was pretty.
Nevertheless, for all that, Thibault’s first thoughts on finding himself
alone with the girl, were not for the one who had saved his life, but
were given up to hatred and the contemplation of vengeance.
Thibault, as you see, had, since the morning, been making rapid strides
along the path of evil.
“Ah! if the devil will but hear my prayer this time,” he cried, as he
shook his fist, cursing the while, after the retiring huntsmen, who were
just out of view, “if the devil will but hear me, you shall be paid back
with usury for all you have made me suffer this day, that I swear.”
“Oh, how wicked it is of you to behave like that!” said Agnelette, going
up to him. “The Baron is a kind Lord, very good to the poor, and always
gently behaved with women.”
“Quite so, and you shall see with what gratitude I will repay him for
the blows he has given me.”
“Come now, frankly, friend, confess that you deserved those blows,” said
the girl, laughing.
“So, so!” answered Thibault, “the Baron’s kiss has turned your head, has
it, my pretty Agnelette?”
“You, I should have thought, would have been the last person to reproach
me with that kiss, Monsieur Thibault. But what I have said, I say again;
my Lord Baron was within his rights.”
“What, in belabouring me with blows!”
“Well, why do you go hunting on the estates of these great lords?”
“Does not the game belong to everybody, to the peasant just as much as
to the great lords?”
“No, certainly not; the game is in their woods, it is fed on their
grass, and you have no right to throw your boar-spear at a buck which
belongs to my lord the Duke of Orleans.”
“And who told you that I threw a boar-spear at his buck?” replied
Thibault, advancing towards Agnelette in an almost threatening manner.
“Who told me? why, my own eyes, which, let me tell you, do not lie. Yes,
I saw you throw your boar-spear, when you were hidden there, behind the
beech-tree.”
Thibault’s anger subsided at once before the straightforward attitude of
the girl, whose truthfulness was in such contrast to his falsehood.
“Well, after all,” he said, “supposing a poor devil does once in a way
help himself to a good dinner from the super-abundance of some great
lord! Are you of the same mind, Mademoiselle Agnelette, as the judges
who say that a man ought to be hanged just for a wretched rabbit? Come
now, do you think God created that buck for the Baron more than for me?”
“God, Monsieur Thibault, has told us not to covet other men’s goods;
obey the law of God, and you will not find yourself any the worse off
for it!”
“Ah, I see, my pretty Agnelette, you know me then, since you call me so
glibly by my name?”
“Certainly I do; I remember seeing you at Boursonnes, on the day of the
fête; they called you the beautiful dancer, and stood round in a circle
to watch you.”
Thibault, pleased with this compliment, was now quite disarmed.
“Yes, yes, of course,” he answered, “I remember now having seen you; and
I think we danced together, did we not? but you were not so tall then as
you are now, that’s why I did not recognise you at first, but I recall
you distinctly now. And I remember too that you wore a pink frock, with
a pretty little white bodice, and that we danced in the dairy. I wanted
to kiss you, but you would not let me, for you said that it was only
proper to kiss one’s vis-á-vis, and not one’s partner.”
“You have a good memory, Monsieur Thibault!”
“And do you know, Agnelette, that during these last twelve months, for
it is a year since that dance, you have not only grown taller, but grown
prettier too; I see you are one of those people who understand how to do
two things at once.”
The girl blushed and lowered her eyes, and the blush and the shy
embarrassment only made her look more charming still.
Thibault’s eyes were now turned towards her with more marked attention
than before, and, in a voice, not wholly free from a slight agitation,
he asked:
“Have you a lover, Agnelette?”
“No, Monsieur Thibault,” she answered, “I have never had one, and do not
wish to have one.”
“And why is that? Is Cupid such a bad lad that you are afraid of him?”
“No, not that, but a lover is not at all what I want.”
“And what do you want?”
“A husband.”
Thibault made a movement, which Agnelette either did not, or pretended
not to see.
“Yes,” she repeated, “a husband. Grandmother is old and infirm, and a
lover would distract my attention too much from the care which I now
give her; whereas, a husband, if I found a nice fellow who would like to
marry me,--a husband would help me to look after her in her old age, and
would share with me the task which God has laid upon me, of making her
happy and comfortable in her last years.”
“But do you think your husband,” said Thibault, “would be willing that
you should love your grandmother more than you loved him? and do you not
think he might be jealous at seeing you lavish so much tenderness upon
her?”
“Oh,” replied Agnelette, with an adorable smile, “there is no fear of
that, for I will manage so as to let him have such a large share of my
love and attention that he will have no cause to complain; the kinder
and the more patient he is for the dear old thing, the more I shall
devote myself to him, the harder shall I work that there may be nothing
wanting to our little household. You see me looking small and delicate,
and you doubt that I should have strength for this; but I have plenty of
spirit and energy for work, and then, when the heart gives consent, one
can work day and night without fatigue. Oh! how I should love the man
who loved my grandmother! I promise you, that she, and my husband, and
I, we should be three happy folks together.”
“You mean that you would be three very poor folks together, Agnelette!”
“And do you think the loves and friendships of the rich are worth a
farthing more than those of the poor? At times, when I have been loving
and caressing my grandmother, Monsieur Thibault, and she takes me on her
lap and clasps me in her poor weak trembling arms, and puts her dear old
wrinkled face against mine, and I feel my cheek wet with the loving
tears she sheds, I begin to cry myself, and, I tell you, Monsieur
Thibault, so soft and sweet are my tears, that there is no woman or
girl, be she queen or princess, who has ever, I am sure, even in her
happiest days, known such a real joy as mine. And, yet, there is no one
in all the country round who is so destitute as we two are.”
Thibault listened to what Agnelette was saying without answering; his
mind was occupied with many thoughts, such thoughts as are indulged in
by the ambitious; but his dreams of ambition were disturbed at moments
by a passing sensation of depression and disillusionment.
He, the man who had spent hours at a time watching the beautiful and
aristocratic dames belonging to the Court of the Duke of Orleans, as
they swept up and down the wide entrance stairs; who had often passed
whole nights gazing at the arched windows of the Keep at Vez, when the
whole place was lit up for some festivity, he, that same man, now asked
himself, if what he had so ambitiously desired to have, a lady of rank
and a rich dwelling, would, after all, be so much worth possessing as a
thatched roof and this sweet and gentle girl called Agnelette. And it
was certain that if this dear and charming little woman were to become
his, that he would be envied in turn by all the earls and barons in the
countryside.
“Well, Agnelette,” said Thibault “and suppose a man like myself were to
offer himself as your husband, would you accept him?”
It has been already stated that Thibault was a handsome young fellow,
with fine eyes and black hair, and that his travels had left him
something better than a mere workman. And it must further be borne in
mind that we readily become attached to those on whom we have conferred
a benefit, and Agnelette had, in all probability, saved Thibault’s life;
for, under such strokes as Marcotte’s, the victim would certainly have
been dead before the thirty-sixth had been given.
“Yes,” she said, “if it would be a good thing for my grandmother?”
Thibault took hold of her hand.
“Well then, Agnelette,” he said “we will speak again about this, dear
child, and that as soon as may be.”
“Whenever you like, Monsieur Thibault.”
“And you will promise faithfully to love me if I marry you, Agnelette?”
“Do you think I should love any man besides my husband?”
“Never mind, I want you just to take a little oath, something of this
kind, for instance; Monsieur Thibault, I swear that I will never love
anyone but you.”
“What need is there to swear? the promise of an honest girl should be
sufficient for an honest man.”
“And when shall we have the wedding, Agnelette?” and in saying this,
Thibault tried to put his arm round her waist.
But Agnelette gently disengaged herself.
“Come and see my grandmother,” she said, “it is for her to decide about
it; you must content yourself this evening with helping me up with my
load of heath, for it is getting late, and it is nearly three miles from
here to Préciamont.”
So Thibault helped her as desired, and then accompanied her on her way
home as far as the Forest-fence of Billemont, that is until they came in
sight of the village steeple. Before parting, he so begged of pretty
Agnelette to give him one kiss as an earnest of his future happiness,
that at last she consented, and then, far more agitated by this one kiss
than she had been by the Baron’s double embrace, Agnelette hastened on
her way, in spite of the load which she was carrying on her head, and
which seemed far too heavy for so slender and delicate a creature.
Thibault stood for some time looking after her as she walked away across
the moor. All the flexibility and grace of her youthful figure were
brought into relief as the girl lifted her pretty rounded arms to
support the burden upon her head, and thus silhouetted against the dark
blue of the sky she made a delightful picture. At last, having reached
the outskirts of the village, the land dipping at that point, she
suddenly disappeared, passing out of sight of Thibault’s admiring eyes.
He gave a sigh, and stood still, plunged in thought; but it was not the
satisfaction of thinking that this sweet and good young creature might
one day be his that had caused his sigh. Quite the contrary; he had
wished for Agnelette, because Agnelette was young and pretty, and
because it was part of his unfortunate disposition to long for
everything that belonged or might belong to another. His desire to
possess Agnelette had been quickened by the innocent frankness with
which she had talked to him; but it had been a matter of fancy rather
than of any deeper feeling, of the mind, and not of the heart. For
Thibault was incapable of loving as a man ought to love, who, being poor
himself, loves a poor girl; in such a case there should be no thought,
no ambition on his part beyond the wish that his love may be returned.
But it was not so with Thibault; on the contrary, I repeat, the farther
he walked away from Agnelette, leaving it would seem his good genius
farther behind him with every step, the more urgently did his envious
longings begin again as usual to torment his soul. It was dark when he
reached home.