THE BOY AT THE MILL
Finding it impossible either to cut off or pull out the accursed hair,
the only thing left for Thibault to do was to hide it as well as he
could, by bringing the other hair over it; everybody would not, he
hoped, have such eyes as Agnelette.
As we have already said, Thibault had a fine head of black hair, and by
parting it down the side, and giving a certain turn to the front lock,
he trusted that the one hair would pass unobserved.
He recalled with envy the young lords whom he had seen at the court of
Madame de Maintenon, for, with their powdered wigs to cover it, the
colour of their hair, whatever it might be, was of no moment. He,
unfortunately, could not make use of powder to hide his, being
prohibited from doing so by the sumptuary laws of the period.
However, having successfully managed, by an adroit turn of the comb, to
hide his one red hair artistically under the others, Thibault decided to
start again on his premeditated visit to the fair owner of the mill. He
was careful this time, instead of inclining to the left, to verge
towards the right, fearing to meet Agnelette if he followed the same
path as he had taken that morning.
Emerging, therefore, on to the road leading to La Ferté-Milou, he then
took the footpath which runs direct to Pisseleu across the fields.
Arriving at Pisseleu, he continued along the valley in the direction of
Croyolles, but had scarcely pursued this lower road for more than a few
minutes, when, walking just ahead of him, he saw two donkeys being
driven by a tall youth, whom he recognised as a cousin of his, named
Landry. Cousin Landry was head boy at the mill, in the service of the
owner whom Thibault was on his way to visit, and as the latter had but
an indirect acquaintance with the widow Polet, he had counted on Landry
to introduce him. It was a lucky chance therefore to come across his
cousin like this, and Thibault hastened to overtake him.
Hearing footsteps behind him echoing his own, Landry turned and
recognised Thibault. Thibault had always found Landry a pleasant and
cheerful companion, and he was therefore very much astonished to see him
looking sad and troubled. Landry waited for Thibault to come up to him,
letting his donkeys go on alone. Thibault was the first to speak:
“Why, Cousin Landry,” he asked, “what’s the meaning of this? Here am I,
putting myself out and leaving my work to come and shake hands with a
friend and relation that I have not seen for more than six weeks, and
you greet me with a face like that!”
“Ah, my dear Thibault,” replied Landry, “what would you have of me! I
may greet you with a gloomy face, but, believe me or not as you will, I
am truly delighted to see you.”
“That may be as you say, but you do not appear so.”
“What do you mean?”
“You tell me you are delighted to see me in a tone of voice fit to bring
on the blue-devils. Why, my dear Landry, you are generally as bright and
lively as the click-clack of your mill, and singing songs to accompany
it, and to-day you are as melancholy as the crosses in the cemetery. How
now then! has the mill stopped for want of water?”
“Oh! not that! there is no want of water; on the contrary, there is more
than usual, and the sluice is kept constantly at work. But, you see,
instead of corn, it is my heart that is in the mill, and the mill works
so well and so incessantly, and my heart is so ground between the stones
that there is nothing left of it but a little powder.”
“Indeed! Are you so miserable then at the mill?”
“Ah! would to God I had been dragged under the wheel the first day I put
my foot inside it!”
“But what is it? you frighten me, Landry!... tell me all your troubles,
my dear lad.”
Landry gave a deep sigh.
“We are cousins,” continued Thibault, “and if I am too poor to give you
a few crowns to help you out of any money trouble you are in, well, I
can at least give you some words of good advice if it is a matter of the
heart that is causing you grief.”
“Thank you, Thibault; but neither money nor advice can do me any good.”
“Well, anyhow, tell me what is the matter; it eases trouble to speak of
it.”
“No, no; it would be useless; I will say nothing.”
Thibault began to laugh.
“You laugh?” said Landry, both angry and astonished, “my trouble makes
you laugh?”
“I am not laughing at your trouble, Landry, but at your thinking that
you can hide the cause of it from me, when it is as easy as anything to
guess what it is.”
“Guess then.”
“Why, you are in love; nothing more difficult than that to guess, I can
swear.”
“I, in love!” exclaimed Landry; “why who has been telling you lies like
that?”
“It is not a lie, it is the truth.”
Landry again drew a deep sigh, more laden with despair even than his
former one.
“Well, yes!” he said, “it is so, I am in love!”
“Ah! that’s right! you have spoken out at last!” said Thibault, not
without a certain quickening of the pulse, for he foresaw a rival in his
cousin, “and with whom are you in love?”
“With whom?”
“Yes, I ask you with whom?”
“As to that, Cousin Thibault, you will have to drag the heart out of my
breast before I tell you.”
“You have told me already.”
“What? I have told you who it is?” cried Landry, staring at Thibault
with astonished eyes.
“Certainly you have.”
“Surely you cannot mean it!”
“Did you not say that it would have been better for you to have been
dragged under by the mill wheel the first day you entered into the
service of Madame Polet, than to have been taken on by her as chief
hand? You are unhappy at the mill, and you are in love; therefore, you
are in love with the mistress of the mill, and it is this love which is
causing your unhappiness.”
“Ah, Thibault, pray hush! what if she were to overhear us!”
“How is it possible that she can overhear us; where do you imagine her
to be, unless she is able to make herself invisible, or to change
herself into a butterfly or a flower?”
“Never mind, Thibault, you keep quiet.”
“Your mistress of the mill is hard-hearted then, is she? and takes no
pity on your despair, poor fellow?” was Thibault’s rejoinder; but his
words, though seemingly expressive of great commiseration, had a shade
of satisfaction and amusement in them.
“Hard-hearted! I should think so indeed!” said Landry. “In the
beginning, I was foolish enough to fancy that she did not repulse my
love.... All day long I was devouring her with my eyes, and now and
then, she too would fix her eyes on me, and after looking at me a while,
would smile.... Alas! my dear Thibault, what happiness those looks and
smiles were to me!... Ah! why did I not content myself with them?”
“Well, there it is,” said Thibault philosophically. “Man is so
insatiable.”
“Alas! yes; I forgot that I had to do with someone above me in position,
and I spoke. Then Madame Polet flew into a great rage; called me an
insolent beggar, and threatened to turn me out of doors the very next
week.”
“Phew!” said Thibault, “and how long ago is that?”
“Nearly three weeks.”
“And the following week is still to come?” The shoe-maker as he put the
question began to feel a revival of the uneasiness which had been
momentarily allayed, for he understood women better than his cousin
Landry. After a minute’s silence, he continued: “Well, well, you are not
so unhappy after all as I thought you.”
“Not so unhappy as you thought me?”
“No.”
“Ah! if you only knew the life I lead! never a look, or a smile! When
she meets me she turns away, when I speak to her on matters concerning
the mill, she listens with such a disdainful air, that instead of
talking of bran and wheat and rye, of barley and oats, of first and
second crops, I begin to cry, and then she says to me, _Take care!_ in
such a menacing tone, that I run away and hide myself behind the
bolters.”
“Well, but why do you pay your addresses to this mistress of yours?
There are plenty of girls in the country round who would be glad to have
you for their wooer.”
“Because I love her in spite of myself, I cannot help it, so there!”
“Take up with some one else; I’d think no more about her.”
“I could not do it.”
“At any rate, you might try. It’s just possible that if she saw you
transferring your affections to another, the mistress of the Mill might
grow jealous, and might then run after you, as you are now running after
her. Women are such curious creatures.”
“Oh, if I was sure of that, I would begin to try at once ... although
now ...” and Landry shook his head.
“Well, what about ... now?”
“Although now, after all that has happened, it would be of no use.”
“What has happened then?” asked Thibault, who was anxious to ascertain
all particulars.
“Oh! as to that, nothing,” replied Landry, “and I do not even dare speak
of it.”
“Why?”
“Because, as they say with us, ‘Best let sleeping dogs lie.’”
Thibault would have continued to urge Landry to tell him what the
trouble was to which he referred, but they were now near the Mill, and
their explanation would have to remain unfinished, even if once begun.
What was more, Thibault thought that he already knew enough; Landry was
in love with the fair owner of the Mill, but the fair owner of the Mill
was not in love with Landry. And, in truth, he feared no danger from a
rival such as this. It was with a certain pride and self-complacency
that he compared the timid, boyish looks of his cousin, a mere lad of
eighteen, with his own five feet six and well-set figure, and he was
naturally led into thinking, that, however little of a woman of taste
Madame Polet might be, Landry’s failure was a good reason for believing
that his own success was assured. The Mill at Croyolles is charmingly
situated at the bottom of a cool green valley; the stream that works it
forms a little pond, which is shaded by pollard willows, and slender
poplars; and between these dwarfed and giant trees stand magnificent
alders, and immense walnut trees with their fragrant foliage. After
turning the wheel of the mill, the foaming water runs off in a little
rivulet, which never ceases its hymn of joy as it goes leaping over the
pebbles of its bed, starring the flowers that lean coquettishly over to
look at themselves in its clear shallows with the liquid diamonds that
are scattered by its tiny waterfalls.
The Mill itself lies so hidden in a bower of shrubs, behind the
sycamores and weeping willows, that until one is within a short distance
of it, nothing is to be seen but the chimney from which the smoke rises
against the background of trees like a column of blue tinted alabaster.
Although Thibault was familiar with the spot, the sight of it filled
him, as he now looked upon it, with a feeling of delight which he had
not hitherto experienced; but then he had never before gazed on it under
the conditions in which he now found himself, for he was already
conscious of that sense of personal satisfaction which the proprietor
feels on visiting an estate which has been obtained for him by proxy. On
entering the farm-yard, where the scene was more animated, he was moved
to even greater ecstasy of enjoyment.
The blue and purple-throated pigeons were cooing on the roofs, the ducks
quacking, and going through sundry evolutions in the stream, the hens
were clucking on the dung-heap, and the turkey cocks bridling and
strutting as they courted the turkey-hens, while the brown and white
cows came slowly in from the fields, their udders full of milk. Here, on
one side, a cart was being unloaded, there, as they were being
unharnessed, two splendid horses neighed and stretched their necks, now
freed from the collar, towards their mangers; a boy was carrying a sack
up into the granary, and a girl was bringing another sack filled with
crusts and the refuse water to an enormous pig, that lay basking in the
sun waiting to be transformed into salt-pork, sausages, and black
puddings; all the animals of the ark were there, from the braying donkey
to the crowing cock, mingling their discordant voices in this rural
concert, while the mill with its regular click-clack, seemed to be
beating time.
Thibault felt quite dazzled; he saw himself the owner of all that he now
looked upon, and he rubbed his hands together with such evident
pleasure, that Landry, if he had not been so absorbed in his own
trouble, which grew ever greater as they drew nearer to the house, would
certainly have noticed this apparently causeless emotion of joy on his
cousin’s part. As they entered the farm-yard, the widow, who was in the
dining-room, became aware of their presence, and seemed very inquisitive
to know who the stranger was who had returned with her head boy.
Thibault, with an easy and confident sort of manner, went up to the
dwelling-house, gave his name, and explained to her, that, having a
great wish to see his cousin Landry, he had decided to come over and
introduce himself to her.
The mistress of the Mill was extremely gracious, and invited the new
comer to spend the day at the Mill, accompanying her invitation with a
smile that Thibault took as a most favourable augury.
Thibault had not come unprovided with a present. He had unhooked some
thrushes which he had found caught in a snare set with rowan-berries, as
he came through the forest; and the widow sent them at once to be
plucked, saying as she did so, that she hoped Thibault would stay to eat
his share of them. But he could not help noticing that all the while she
was speaking to him, she kept on looking over his shoulder at something
which seemed to attract her attention, and turning quickly, he saw that
the pre-occupation of the fair owner of the Mill had evidently been
caused by watching Landry, who was unloading his asses. Becoming
conscious that Thibault had noticed the wandering of her looks and
attention, Madame Polet turned as red as a cherry, but, immediately
recovering herself she said to her new acquaintance:
“Monsieur Thibault, it would be kind of you, who appear so robust, to go
and help your cousin; you can see that the job is too heavy a one for
him alone,” and so saying, she went back into the house.
“Now, the devil!” muttered Thibault, as he looked first after Madame
Polet and then at Landry, “is the fellow after all more fortunate than
he suspects himself, and shall I be forced to call the black wolf to my
assistance to get rid of him?”
However, he went as the owner of the mill had asked him, and gave the
required assistance. Feeling quite sure that the pretty widow was
looking at him through some chink or other of the curtain, he put forth
all his strength, and displayed to the full his athletic grace, in the
accomplishment of the task in which he was sharing. The unloading
finished, they all assembled in the dining-room where a waiting-maid was
busy setting the table. As soon as dinner was served, Madame Polet took
her place at the head of the table, with Thibault to her right. She was
all attention and politeness to the latter, so much so indeed that
Thibault, who had been temporarily crestfallen, took heart again, filled
with hope. In order to do honour to Thibault’s present, she had herself
dressed the birds with juniper-berries, and so prepared, no more
delicate or appetising dish could well have been provided. While
laughing at Thibault’s sallies, however, she cast stealthy glances now
and again at Landry, who she saw had not touched what she herself had
placed on the poor boy’s plate, and also that great tears were rolling
down his cheeks, and falling into the untasted juniper sauce. This mute
sorrow touched her heart; a look almost of tenderness came into her
face, as she made a sign to him with her head, which seemed to say, so
expressive was it, “Eat, Landry, I beg of you.” There was a whole world
of loving promises in this little pantomime. Landry understood the
gesture, for he nearly choked himself trying to swallow the bird at one
mouthful, so eager was he to obey the orders of his fair mistress.
Nothing of all this escaped Thibault’s eye.
He swore to himself, using an oath that he had heard in the mouth of the
Seigneur Jean, and which, now that he was the friend of the devil, he
fancied he might use like any other great lord: “Can it be possible,” he
thought, “that she is really in love with this slip of a youth? Well, if
so, it does not say much for her taste, and more than that, it does not
suit my plans at all. No, no, my fair mistress, what you need is a man
who will know how to look well after the affairs of the mill, and that
man will be myself or the black wolf will find himself in the wrong
box.”
Noticing a minute later that Madame Polet had finally gone back to the
earlier stage of side-long glances and smiles which Landry had described
to him, he continued, “I see I shall have to resort to stronger
measures, for lose her I will not; there is not another match in all the
countryside that would suit me equally well. But then, what am I to do
with Cousin Landry? his love, it is true, upsets my arrangements; but I
really cannot for so small a thing send him to join the wretched
Marcotte in the other world. But what a fool I am to bother my brains
about finding a way to help myself! It’s the wolf’s business, not mine?”
Then in a low voice: “Black wolf,” he said, “arrange matters in such a
way, that without any accident or harm happening to my Cousin Landry, I
may get rid of him.” The prayer was scarcely uttered, when he caught
sight of a small body of four or five men in military uniform, walking
down the hill-side and coming towards the mill. Landry also saw them;
for he uttered a loud cry, got up as if to run away, and then fell back
in his chair, as if all power of movement had forsaken him.