WOLVES IN THE SHEEP FOLD
The forest was not far from the Bailiff’s house, and in two bounds
Thibault found himself on the further side of _Les Fossés_, and in the
wooded path leading to the brickyard. He had no sooner entered the
forest than his usual escort surrounded him, fawning and blinking with
their eyes and wagging their tails to show their pleasure. Thibault, who
had been so alarmed the first time he found himself in company with this
strange body guard, took no more notice of them now than if they had
been a pack of poodles. He gave them a word or two of caress, softly
scratched the head of the one that was nearest him, and continued on his
way, thinking over his double triumph.
He had beaten his host at the bottle, he had vanquished his adversary at
fisticuffs, and in this joyous frame of mind, he walked along, saying
aloud to himself:
“You must acknowledge, friend Thibault, that you are a lucky rascal!
Madame Suzanne is in every possible respect just what you want! A
Bailiff’s wife! my word! that’s a conquest worth making! and if he dies
first, what a wife to get! But in either case, when she is walking
beside me, and taking my arm, whether as wife or mistress, the devil
take it, if I am mistaken for anything but a gentleman! And to think
that unless I am fool enough to play my cards badly, all this will be
mine! For she did not deceive me by the way she went off: those who have
nothing to fear have no need to take flight. She was afraid to show her
feelings too plainly at first meeting; but how kind she was after she
got home! Well, well, it is all working itself out, as I can see; I have
only got to push matters a bit; and some fine morning she will find
herself rid of her fat little old man, and then the thing is done. Not
that I do, or can, wish for the death of poor Monsieur Magloire. If I
take his place after he is no more, well and good; but to kill a man who
has given you such good wine to drink! to kill him with his good wine
still hot in your mouth! why, even my friend the wolf would blush for me
if I were guilty of such a deed.”
Then with one of his most roguish smiles, he went on:
“And besides, would it not be as well to have already acquired some
rights over Madame Suzanne, by the time Monsieur Magloire passes, in the
course of nature, into the other world, which, considering the way in
which the old scamp eats and drinks, cannot be a matter of long delay?”
And then, no doubt because the good qualities of the Bailiff’s wife
which had been so highly extolled to him came back to his mind:
“No, no,” he continued, “no illness, no death! but just those ordinary
disagreeables which happen to everybody; only, as it is to be to my
advantage, I should like rather more than the usual share to fall to
him; one cannot at his age set up for a smart young buck; no, every one
according to their dues ... and when these things come to pass, I will
give you more than a thank you, Cousin Wolf.”
My readers will doubtless not be of the same way of thinking as
Thibault, who saw nothing offensive in this pleasantry of his, but on
the contrary, rubbed his hands together smiling at his own thoughts, and
indeed so pleased with them that he had reached the town, and found
himself at the end of the Rue de Largny before he was aware that he had
left the Bailiff’s house more than a few hundred paces behind him.
He now made a sign to his wolves, for it was not quite prudent to
traverse the whole town of Villers-Cotterets with a dozen wolves walking
alongside as a guard of honour; not only might they meet dogs by the
way, but the dogs might wake up the inhabitants.
Six of his wolves, therefore, went off to the right, and six to the
left, and although the paths they took were not exactly of the same
length, and although some of them went more quickly than the others, the
whole dozen nevertheless managed to meet, without one missing, at the
end of the Rue de Lormet. As soon as Thibault had reached the door of
his hut, they took leave of him and disappeared; but, before they
dispersed, Thibault requested them to be at the same spot on the morrow,
as soon as night fell.
Although it was two o’clock before Thibault got home, he was up with the
dawn; it is true, however, that the day does not rise very early in the
month of January.
He was hatching a plot. He had not forgotten the promise he had made to
the Bailiff to send him some game from his warren; his warren being, in
fact, the whole of the forest-land which belonged to his most serene
Highness the Duke of Orleans. This was why he had got up in such good
time. It had snowed for two hours before day-break; and he now went and
explored the forest in all directions, with the skill and cunning of a
bloodhound.
He tracked the deer to its lair, the wild boar to its soil, the hare to
its form; and followed their traces to discover where they went at
night.
And then, when darkness again fell on the Forest, he gave a howl,--a
regular wolf’s howl, in answer to which came crowding to him the wolves
that he had invited the night before, followed by old and young
recruits, even to the very cubs of a year old.
Thibault then explained that he expected a more than usually fine
night’s hunting from his friends, and as an encouragement to them,
announced his intention of going with them himself and giving his help
in the chase.
It was in very truth a hunt beyond the power of words to describe. The
whole night through did the sombre glades of the forest resound with
hideous cries.
Here, a roebuck pursued by a wolf, fell, caught by the throat by another
wolf hidden in ambush; there, Thibault, knife in hand like a butcher,
was running to the assistance of three or four of his ferocious
companions, that had already fastened on a fine young boar of four years
old, which he now finished off.
An old she-wolf came along bringing with her half-a-dozen hares which
she had surprised in their love frolics, and she had great difficulty in
preventing her cubs from swallowing a whole covey of young partridges
which the young marauders had come across with their heads under their
wings, without first waiting for the wolf-master to levy his dues.
Madame Suzanne Magloire little thought what was taking place at this
moment in the forest of Villers-Cotterets, and on her account.
In a couple of hours’ time the wolves had heaped up a perfect cart-load
of game in front of Thibault’s hut.
Thibault selected what he wanted for his own purposes, and left over
sufficient to provide them a sumptuous repast. Borrowing a mule from a
charcoal-burner, on the pretext that he wanted to convey his shoes to
town, he loaded it up with the game and started for Villers-Cotterets.
There he sold a part of this booty to the gamedealer, reserving the best
pieces and those which had been least mutilated by the wolves’ claws, to
present to Madame Magloire.
His first intention had been to go in person with his gift to the
Bailiff; but Thibault was beginning to have a smattering of the ways of
the world, and thought it would, therefore, be more becoming to allow
his offering of game to precede him. To this end he employed a peasant
on payment of a few coppers, to carry the game to the Bailiff of
Erneville, merely accompanying it with a slip of paper, on which he
wrote: “From Monsieur Thibault.” He, himself, was to follow closely on
the message; and, indeed, so closely did he do so, that he arrived just
as Maître Magloire was having the game he had received spread out on a
table.
The Bailiff, in the warmth of his gratitude, extended his arms towards
his friend of the previous night, and tried to embrace him, uttering
loud cries of joy. I say _tried_, for two things prevented him from
carrying out his wish; one, the shortness of his arms, the other, the
rotundity of his person.
But thinking that where his capacities were insufficient, Madame
Magloire might be of assistance, he ran to the door, calling at the top
of his voice: “Suzanne, Suzanne!”
There was so unusual a tone in the Bailiff’s voice that his wife felt
sure something extraordinary had happened, but whether for good or ill
she was unable to make sure: and downstairs she came, therefore, in
great haste, to see for herself what was taking place.
She found her husband, wild with delight, trotting round to look on all
sides at the game spread on the table, and it must be confessed, that no
sight could have more greatly rejoiced a gourmand’s eye. As soon as he
caught sight of Suzanne, “Look, look, Madame!” he cried, clapping his
hands together. “See what our friend Thibault has brought us, and thank
him for it. Praise be to God! there is one person who knows how to keep
his promises! He tells us he will send a hamper of game, and he sends us
a cart-load. Shake hands with him, embrace him at once, and just look
here at this.”
Madame Magloire graciously followed out her husband’s orders; she gave
Thibault her hand, allowed him to kiss her, and cast her beautiful eyes
over the supply of food which elicited such exclamations of admiration
from the Bailiff. And as a supply, which was to make such an acceptable
addition to the ordinary daily fare, it was certainly worthy of all
admiration.
First, as prime pieces, came a boar’s head and ham, firm and savoury
morsels; then a fine three year old kid, which should have been as
tender as the dew that only the evening before beaded the grass at which
it was nibbling; next came hares, fine fleshy hares from the heath of
Gondreville, full fed on wild thyme; and then such scented pheasants,
and such delicious red-legged partridges, that once on the spit, the
magnificence of their plumage was forgotten in the perfume of their
flesh. And all these good things the fat little man enjoyed in advance
in his imagination; he already saw the boar broiled on the coals, the
kid dressed with _sauce piquante_, the hares made into a pasty, the
pheasants stuffed with truffles, the partridges dressed with cabbage,
and he put so much fervour and feeling into his orders and directions,
that merely to hear him was enough to set a gourmand’s mouth watering.
It was this enthusiasm on the part of the Bailiff which no doubt made
Madame Suzanne appear somewhat cold and unappreciative in comparison.
Nevertheless she took the initiative, and with much graciousness assured
Thibault that she would on no account allow him to return to his farms
until all the provisions, with which, thanks to him, the larder would
now overflow, had been consumed. You may guess how delighted Thibault
was at having his cherished wishes thus met by Madame herself. He
promised himself no end of grand things from this stay at Erneville, and
his spirits rose to the point of himself proposing to Maître Magloire
that they should indulge in a preparatory whack of liquor to prepare
their digestions for the savoury dishes that Mademoiselle Perrine was
preparing for them.
Maître Magloire was quite gratified to see that Thibault had forgotten
nothing, not even the cook’s name. He sent for some vermouth, a liqueur
as yet but little known in France, having been imported from Holland by
the Duke of Orleans and of which a present had been made by his
Highness’s head cook to his predecessor.
Thibault made a face over it; he did not think this foreign drink was
equal to a nice little glass of native Châblis; but when assured by the
Bailiff that, thanks to the beverage, he would in an hour’s time have a
ferocious appetite, he made no further remark, and affably assisted his
host to finish the bottle. Madame Suzanne, meanwhile, had returned to
her own room to smarten herself up a bit, as women say, which generally
means an entire change of raiment.
It was not long before the dinner-hour sounded, and Madame Suzanne came
down stairs again. She was perfectly dazzling in a splendid dress of
grey damask trimmed with pearl, and the transports of amorous admiration
into which Thibault was thrown by the sight of her prevented the
shoe-maker from thinking of the awkwardness of the position in which he
now unavoidably found himself, dining as he was for the first time with
such handsome and distinguished company. To his credit, be it said, he
did not make bad use of his opportunities. Not only did he cast frequent
and unmistakable sheep’s eyes at his fair hostess, but he gradually
brought his knee nearer to hers, and finally went so far as to give it a
gentle pressure. Suddenly, and while Thibault was engaged in this
performance, Madame Suzanne, who was looking sweetly towards him, opened
her eyes and stared fixedly a moment. Then she opened her mouth, and
went off into such a violent fit of laughter, that she almost choked,
and nearly went into hysterics. Maître Magloire, taking no notice of the
effect, turned straight to the cause, and he now looked at Thibault, and
was much more concerned and alarmed with what he thought to see, than
with the nervous state of excitement into which his wife had been thrown
by her hilarity.
“Ah! my dear fellow!” he cried, stretching two little agitated arms
towards Thibault, “you are in flames, you are in flames!”
Thibault sprang up hastily.
“Where? How?” he asked.
“Your hair is on fire,” answered the Bailiff, in all sincerity; and so
genuine was his terror, that he seized the water bottle that was in
front of his wife in order to put out the conflagration blazing among
Thibault’s locks.
The shoe-maker involuntarily put up his hand to his head, but feeling no
heat, he at once guessed what was the matter, and fell back into his
chair, turning horribly pale. He had been so preoccupied during the last
two days, that he had quite forgotten to take the same precaution he had
done before visiting the owner of the mill, and had omitted to give his
hair that particular twist whereby he was able to hide the hairs of
which the black wolf had acquired the proprietorship under his others.
Added to this, he had during this short period given vent to so many
little wishes, one here, and one there, all more or less to the
detriment of his neighbour, that the flame-coloured hairs had multiplied
to an alarming extent, and at this moment, any one of them could vie in
brilliancy with the light from the two wax candles which lit the room.
“Well, you did give me a dreadful fright, Monsieur Magloire,” said
Thibault, trying to conceal his agitation.
“But, but ...” responded the Bailiff, still pointing with a certain
remains of fear at Thibault’s flaming lock of hair.
“That is nothing,” continued Thibault, “do not be uneasy about the
unusual colour of some of my hair; it came from a fright my mother had
with a pan of hot coals, that nearly set her hair on fire before I was
born.”
“But what is more strange still,” said Madame Suzanne, who had swallowed
a whole glassful of water in the effort to control her laughter, “that I
have remarked this dazzling peculiarity for the first time to-day.”
“Ah! really!” said Thibault, scarcely knowing what to say in answer.
“The other day,” continued Madame Suzanne, “it seemed to me that your
hair was as black as my velvet mantle, and yet, believe me, I did not
fail to study you most attentively, Monsieur Thibault.”
This last sentence, reviving Thibault’s hopes, restored him once more to
good humour.
“Ah! Madame,” he replied, “you know the proverb: ‘Red hair, warm heart,’
and the other: ‘Some folks are like ill-made sabots,--smooth outside,
but rough to wear?’”
Madame Magloire made a face at this low proverb about wooden shoes, but,
as was often the case with the Bailiff, he did not agree with his wife
on this point.
“My friend Thibault utters words of gold,” he said, “and I need not go
far to be able to point the truth of his proverbs.... See for example,
this soup we have here, which has nothing much in its appearance to
commend it, but never have I found onion and bread fried in goose-fat
more to my taste.”
And after this there was no further talk of Thibault’s fiery head.
Nevertheless, it seemed as if Madame Suzanne’s eyes were irresistibly
attracted to this unfortunate lock, and every time that Thibault’s eyes
met the mocking look in hers, he thought he detected on her face a
reminiscence of the laugh which had not long since made him feel so
uncomfortable. He was very much annoyed at this, and, in spite of
himself, he kept putting up his hand to try and hide the unfortunate
lock under the rest of his hair. But the hairs were not only unusual in
colour, but also of a phenomenal stiffness--it was no longer human hair,
but horse-hair. In vain Thibault endeavoured to hide the devil’s hairs
beneath his own, nothing, not even the hair-dresser’s tongs could have
induced them to lie otherwise than in the way which seemed natural to
them. But although so occupied with thinking of his hair, Thibault’s
legs still continued their tender manœuvres; and although Madame
Magloire made no response to their solicitations, she apparently had no
wish to escape from them, and Thibault was presumptuously led to believe
that he had achieved a conquest.
They sat on pretty late into the night, and Madame Suzanne, who appeared
to find the evening drag, rose several times from the table and went
backwards and forwards to other parts of the house, which afforded the
Bailiff opportunities of frequent visits to the cellar.
He hid so many bottles in the lining of his waistcoat, and once on the
table, he emptied them so rapidly, that little by little his head sank
lower and lower on to his chest, and it was evidently high time to put
an end to the bout, if he was to be saved from falling under the table.
Thibault decided to profit by this condition of things, and to declare
his love to the Bailiff’s wife without delay, judging it a good
opportunity to speak while the husband was heavy with drink; he
therefore expressed a wish to retire for the night. Whereupon they rose
from table, and Perrine was called and bidden to show the guest to his
room. As he followed her along the corridor, he made enquiries of her
concerning the different rooms.
Number one was Maître Magloire’s, number two that of his wife, and
number three was his. The Bailiff’s room, and his wife’s, communicated
with one another by an inner door; Thibault’s room had access to the
corridor only.
He also noticed that Madame Suzanne was in her husband’s room; no doubt
some pious sense of conjugal duty had taken her there. The good man was
in a condition approaching to that of Noah when his sons took occasion
to insult him, and Madame Suzanne’s assistance would seem to have been
needed to get him into his room.
Thibault left his own room on tiptoe, carefully shut his door behind
him, listened for a moment at the door of Madame Suzanne’s room, heard
no sound within, felt for the key, found it in the lock, paused a
second, and then turned it.
The door opened; the room was in total darkness. But having for so long
consorted with wolves, Thibault had acquired some of their
characteristics, and, among others, that of being able to see in the
dark.
He cast a rapid glance round the room; to the right was the fireplace;
facing it a couch with a large mirror above it; behind him, on the side
of the fire-place, a large bed, hung with figured silk; in front of him,
near the couch, a dressing-table covered with a profusion of lace, and,
last of all, two large draped windows. He hid himself behind the
curtains of one of these, instinctively choosing the window that was
farthest removed from the husband’s room. After waiting a quarter of an
hour, during which time Thibault’s heart beat so violently that the
sound of it, fatal omen! reminded him of the click-clack of the
mill-wheel at Croyolles, Madame Suzanne entered the room.
Thibault’s original plan had been to leave his hiding place as soon as
Madame Suzanne came in and the door was safely shut behind her, and
there and then to make avowal of his love. But on consideration, fearing
that in her surprise, and before she recognised who it was, she might
not be able to suppress a cry which would betray them, he decided that
it would be better to wait until Monsieur Magloire was asleep beyond all
power of being awakened.
Perhaps, also, this procrastination may have been partly due to that
feeling which all men have, however resolute of purpose they may be, of
wishing to put off the critical moment, when on this moment depend such
chances as hung on the one which was to decide for or against the
happiness of the shoe-maker. For Thibault, by dint of telling himself
that he was madly in love with Madame Magloire, had ended by believing
that he really was so, and, in spite of being under the protection of
the black wolf, he experienced all the timidity of the genuine lover. So
he kept himself concealed behind the curtains.
The Bailiff’s wife, however, had taken up her position before the mirror
of her Pompadour table, and was decking herself out as if she were going
to a festival or preparing to make one of a procession.
She tried on ten veils before making choice of one.
She arranged the folds of her dress.
She fastened a triple row of pearls round her neck.
Then she loaded her arms with all the bracelets she possessed.
Finally she dressed her hair with the minutest care.
Thibault was lost in conjectures as to the meaning of all this coquetry,
when all of a sudden a dry, grating noise, as if some hard body coming
in contact with a pane of glass, made him start. Madame Suzanne started
too, and immediately put out the lights. The shoe-maker then heard her
step softly to the window, and cautiously open it; whereupon there
followed some whisperings, of which Thibault could not catch the words,
but, by drawing the curtain a little aside, he was able to distinguish
in the darkness the figure of a man of gigantic stature, who appeared to
be climbing through the window.
Thibault instantly recalled his adventure with the unknown combatant,
whose mantle he had clung to, and whom he had so triumphantly disposed
of by hitting him on the forehead with a stone. As far as he could make
out, this would be the same window from which the giant had descended
when he made use of Thibault’s two shoulders as a ladder. The surmise of
identity was, undoubtedly, founded on a logical conclusion. As a man was
now climbing in at the window, a man could very well have been climbing
down from it; and if a man did climb down from it--unless, of course,
Madam Magloire’s acquaintances were many in number, and she had a great
variety of tastes--if a man did climb down from it, in all probability,
it was the same man who, at this moment was climbing in.
But whoever this nocturnal visitor might be, Madame Suzanne held out her
hand to the intruder, who took a heavy jump into the room, which made
the floor tremble and set all the furniture shaking. The apparition was
certainly not a spirit, but a corporeal body, and moreover one that came
under the category of heavy bodies.
“Oh! take care, my lord,” Madame Suzanne’s voice was heard to say,
“heavily as my husband sleeps, if you make such a noise as that, you
will wake him up.”
“By the devil and his horns! my fair friend,” replied the stranger. “I
cannot alight like a bird!” and Thibault recognised the voice as that of
the man with whom he had had the altercation a night or two before.
“Although while I was waiting under your window for the happy moment, my
heart was so sick with longing that I felt as if wings must grow ere
long, to bear me up into this dear wished-for little room.”
“And I too, my lord,” replied Madame Magloire with a simper, “I too was
troubled to leave you outside to freeze in the cold wind, but the guest
who was with us this evening only left us half an hour ago.”
“And what have you been doing, my dear one, during this last half hour?”
“I was obliged to help Monsieur Magloire, my lord, and to make sure that
he would not come and interrupt us.”
“You were right as you always are, my heart’s love.”
“My lord is too kind,” replied Suzanne--or, more correctly, tried to
reply, for her last words were interrupted as if by some foreign body
being placed upon her lips, which prevented her from finishing the
sentence; and at the same moment, Thibault heard a sound which was
remarkably like that of a kiss. The wretched man was beginning to
understand the extent of the disappointment of which he was again the
victim. His reflections were interrupted by the voice of the new-comer,
who coughed two or three times.
“Suppose we shut the window, my love,” said the voice, after this
preliminary coughing.
“Oh! my lord, forgive me,” said Madame Magloire, “it ought to have been
closed before.” And so saying she went to the window, which she first
shut close, and then closed even more hermetically by drawing the
curtains across it. The stranger meanwhile, who made himself thoroughly
at home, had drawn an easy chair up to the fire, and sat with his legs
stretched out, warming his feet in the most luxurious fashion.
Reflecting no doubt, that for a man half frozen, the most immediate
necessity is to thaw himself, Madame Suzanne seemed to find no cause of
offence in this behaviour on the part of her aristocratic lover, but
came up to his chair and leant her pretty arms over the back in the most
fascinating posture. Thibault had a good view of the group from behind,
well thrown up by the light of the fire, and he was overcome with inward
rage. The stranger appeared for a while to have no thought beyond that
of warming himself; but at last the fire having performed its appointed
task, he asked:
“And this stranger, this guest of yours, who was he?”
“Ah! my lord!” answered Madame Magloire, “you already know him I think
only too well.”
“What!” said the favoured lover, “do you mean to say it was that drunken
lout of the other night, again?”
“The very same, my lord.”
“Well, all I can say is,--if ever I get him into my grip again!...”
“My lord,” responded Suzanne, in a voice as soft as music, “you must not
harbour evil designs against your enemies; on the contrary, you must
forgive them as we are taught to do by our Holy Religion.”
“There is also another religion which teaches that, my dearest love, one
of which you are the all-supreme goddess, and I but a humble
neophyte.... And I am wrong in wishing evil to the scoundrel, for it was
owing to the treacherous and cowardly way in which he attacked and did
for me, that I had the opportunity I had so long wished for, of being
introduced into this house. The lucky blow on my forehead with his
stone, made me faint; and because you saw I had fainted, you called your
husband; it was on account of your husband finding me without
consciousness beneath your window, and believing I had been set upon by
thieves, that he had me carried indoors; and lastly, because you were so
moved by pity at the thought of what I had suffered for you, that you
were willing to let me in here. And so, this good-for-nothing fellow,
this contemptible scamp, is after all the source of all good, for all
the good of life for me is in your love; nevertheless if ever he comes
within reach of my whip, he will not have a very pleasant time of it.”
“It seems then,” muttered Thibault, swearing to himself, “that my wish
has again turned to the advantage of someone else! Ah! my friend, black
wolf, I have still something to learn, but, confound it all! I will in
future think so well over my wishes before expressing them that the
pupil will become master ... but to whom does that voice, that I seem to
know, belong?” Thibault continued, trying to recall it, “for the voice
is familiar to me, of that I am certain!”
“You would be even more incensed against him, poor wretch, if I were to
tell you something.”
“And what is that, my love?”
“Well, that good-for-nothing fellow, as you call him, is making love to
me.”
“Phew!”
“That is so, my lord,” said Madame Suzanne, laughing.
“What! that boor, that low rascal! Where is he? Where does he hide
himself? By Beelzebub! I’ll throw him to my dogs to eat!”
And then, all at once, Thibault recognised his man. “Ah! my lord Baron,”
he muttered, “it’s you, is it?”
“Pray do not trouble yourself about it, my lord,” said Madame Suzanne,
laying her two hands on her lover’s shoulders, and obliging him to sit
down again, “your lordship is the only person whom I love, and even
were it not so, a man with a lock of red hair right in the middle of his
forehead is not the one to whom I should give away my heart.” And as the
recollection of this lock of hair, which had made her laugh so at
dinner, came back to her, she again gave way to her amusement.
A violent feeling of anger towards the Bailiff’s wife took possession of
Thibault.
“Ah! traitress!” he exclaimed to himself, “what would I not give for
your husband, your good, upright husband, to walk in at this moment and
surprise you.”
Scarcely was the wish uttered, when the door of communication between
Suzanne’s room and that of Monsieur Magloire was thrown wide open, and
in walked her husband with an enormous night-cap on his head, which made
him look nearly five feet high, and holding a lighted candle in his
hand.
“Ah! ah!” muttered Thibault. “Well done! It’s my turn to laugh now,
Madame Magloire.”