The little town of Pont Brillant is situated a few leagues from Blois,
and not far from the Loire.
A promenade called the mall, shaded by lofty trees, bounds Pont Brillant
on the south. A few houses stand on the left side of the boulevard,
which also serves as a fair ground.
Doctor Dufour lived in one of these houses.
About a month had elapsed since the events we have just related.
Early in the month of November, on St. Hubert's Day,--St. Hubert, the
reader may or may not recollect, is the hunter's patron saint,--the
idlers of the little town had assembled on the mall about four o'clock
in the afternoon to await the return of the young Marquis de Pont
Brillant's hunting party from the neighbouring forest.
The aforesaid idlers were beginning to become impatient at the long
delay, when a clumsy cabriolet, drawn by an old work-horse in a
dilapidated harness, tied up here and there with strings, drove up to
the doctor's door, and Frederick Bastien, stepping out of this extremely
modest equipage, assisted his mother to alight.
The old horse, whose discretion and docility were established beyond all
question, was left standing, with the lines upon his neck, close to the
pavement in front of the doctor's house, which Madame Bastien and her
son immediately entered.
An old servant woman ushered them into the parlour, which was on the
second floor, with windows overlooking the mall.
"Can the doctor see me?" inquired Madame Bastien.
"I think so, though he is with one of his friends who has been here for
a few days but who leaves for Nantes this evening. I will go and tell
him that you are here, though, madame."
Envy, aided by jealousy,--the reader probably has not forgotten the
praises so innocently lavished upon the young marquis by Madame
Bastien,--had made frightful ravages in Frederick's heart during the
past month, and the deterioration in his physical condition having been
correspondingly great, one would scarcely have known him. His complexion
was not only pale, but jaundiced and bilious, while his hollow cheeks,
sunken eyes, which burned with a feverish light, and the bitter smile
which was ever upon his lips, imparted an almost ferocious as well as
unnatural expression to his face. His abrupt, nervous movements, and his
curt, often impatient, voice, also made the contrast between the youth's
past and present condition all the more striking.
Marie Bastien seemed utterly disheartened and discouraged, but the
gentle melancholy of her face only made her remarkable beauty still more
touching in its character.
A cold reserve on Frederick's part had succeeded the demonstrative
affection that had formerly existed between mother and son. Marie, in
despair, had nearly worn herself out in her efforts to discover the
cause of this change in her child, and she was now beginning to fear
that M. Dufour had been mistaken in his diagnosis of her son's case. She
had accordingly come to consult him again on the subject, not having
seen him for some time, as the worthy doctor had been detained at home
by the duties and pleasures of a friendly hospitality.
After having gazed sadly at her son for a moment, Marie said to him,
almost timidly, as if afraid of irritating him:
"Frederick, as you have accompanied me to the house of our friend,
Doctor Dufour, whom I wish to consult in regard to myself, we had better
take advantage of the opportunity to speak to him about you."
"It is not at all necessary, mother. I am not ill."
"Great Heavens! how can you say that? All last night you scarcely closed
your eyes, my poor child. I went into your room several times to see if
you were asleep and always found you wide awake."
"It is so almost every night."
"Alas! I know it, and that is one of the things that worry me so."
"You do very wrong to trouble yourself about it, mother. I shall get
over it by and by."
"But consult M. Dufour, I beg of you. Is he not the best friend we have
in the world? Tell him your feeling, and listen to his counsels."
"I tell you again there is no need for me to consult M. Dufour," replied
the lad, impatiently. "I warn you, too, that I shall not answer one of
his questions."
"But, my son, listen to me!"
"Good Heavens! mother, what pleasure do you find in tormenting me like
this?" Frederick exclaimed, stamping his foot angrily. "I have nothing
to tell M. Dufour, and I shall tell him nothing. You will find out
whether I have any will of my own or not."
Just then the doctor's servant came in and said to Madame Bastien that
the doctor was waiting for her in his office.
Casting an imploring look at her son, the young mother furtively wiped
away her tears and followed the servant to the doctor's office.
Frederick, thus left alone in the room, leaned his elbow upon the sill
of the open window, which overlooked the mall as we have said before.
Between the mall and the Loire stretched a low range of hills, while in
the horizon and dominating the forest that surrounded it was the Chateau
de Pont Brillant, half veiled in the autumnal haze.
Frederick's eyes, after wandering aimlessly here and there for a moment,
finally fixed themselves upon the chateau. On beholding it, the
unfortunate lad started violently, his features contracted, then became
even more gloomy, and with his elbows still resting on the window-sill
he lapsed into a gloomy reverie.
So great was his preoccupation that he did not see or hear another
person enter the room, a stranger, who, with a book in his hand, seated
himself in a corner of the room without taking any notice of the youth.
Henri David, for that was the name of the newcomer, was a tall, slender
man about thirty-five years of age. His strong features, embrowned by
long exposure to the heat of the tropical sun, had a peculiar charm,
due, perhaps, to an expression of habitual melancholy. His broad, rather
high forehead, framed with wavy brown hair, seemed to indicate
reflective habits, and his bright, dark eyes, surmounted by fine arched
eyebrows, had a penetrating, though thoughtful expression.
This gentleman, who had just returned from a long journey, had been
spending several days at the house of Doctor Dufour, his most intimate
friend, but was to leave that same evening for Nantes to make
preparation for another and even more extended journey.
Frederick, still leaning on the window-sill, never once took his eyes
off the castle; and after a few moments Henri David, having laid his
book on his knee, doubtless to reflect upon what he had just been
reading, raised his head and for the first time really noticed the lad
whose side-face was distinctly visible from where he sat. He gave a
sudden start, and it was evident that the sight of the youth evoked some
sad and at the same time precious memory in his heart, for two tears
glittered in the eyes that were fixed upon Frederick; then, passing his
hand across his brow as if to drive away these painful recollections, he
began to watch the boy with profound interest as he noted, not without
surprise, the gloomy, almost heart-broken expression of his face.
The youth's eyes remained so persistently fixed upon the chateau that
David said to himself:
"What bitter thoughts does the sight of the Chateau de Pont Brillant
evoke in the mind of this pale, handsome youth that he cannot take his
eyes off it?"
David's attention was suddenly diverted by the blare of trumpets still a
long way off but evidently approaching the mall, and a few minutes
afterward this promenade was thronged with a crowd, eager to see the
cortege of hunters organised in honour of St. Hubert by the young
marquis.
The expectations of the crowd were not disappointed. The shrill notes of
the trumpets sounded louder and louder, and a brilliant cavalcade
appeared at the end of the mall.
The procession began with four whippers-in on horseback, in buckskin
jackets and breeches, with scarlet collars and facings richly trimmed
with silver braid, with cocked hats on their heads and hunting knives in
their belts. They also carried bugles, upon which they alternately
sounded the calls for the advance and retreat of the hounds.
Then came fully one hundred magnificent hunting dogs of English breed,
wearing upon their collars, still in honour of St. Hubert, big knots of
fawn-coloured and scarlet ribbon.
Six keepers on foot, also in livery, with knee-breeches, silk stockings,
and shoes with big silver buckles, also with hunting knives, followed
the pack, responding with their horns to the bugles of the huntsmen.
[Illustration: "THE PROCESSION BEGAN."]
A hunting fourgon, drawn by two horses driven tandem, served as a
funeral-car for a magnificent stag reposing upon a bed of green
branches, with his enormous antlers adorned with long floating ribbons.
Behind this fourgon came the huntsmen, all on horseback, some in long
scarlet redingotes, others clad out of courtesy in uniform like that
worn by the young Marquis de Pont Brillant.
Two barouches, each drawn by four magnificent horses driven by
postilions in fawn-coloured satin jackets, followed the hunters. In one
of these carriages was the dowager marquise as well as two young and
beautiful women in riding-habits, with a rosette of the Pont Brillant
colours on the left shoulder, for they had followed the chase from start
to finish.
The other barouche, as well as a mail phaeton and an elegant
_char-a-banc_, was filled with ladies and several elderly men, who by
reason of age had merely played the part of onlookers.
A large number of superb hunters, intended to serve as relays in case of
need, in richly emblazoned blankets and led by grooms on horseback,
ended the cortege.
The perfect taste that characterised the whole display, the perfection
of the dogs and horses, the richness of the liveries, the distinguished
bearing of the gentlemen, and the beauty and elegance of the ladies that
accompanied them would have excited admiration anywhere; but for the
denizens of the little town of Pont Brillant this cortege was a superb
spectacle, a sort of march from an opera, where neither music, gorgeous
costumes, nor imposing display wore lacking; so in their artless
admiration the most enthusiastic, or perhaps the most polite of these
townspeople,--a goodly number of them were tradespeople,--shouted,
"Bravo, bravo, monsieur le marquis!" and clapped their hands excitedly.
Unfortunately, the triumphal progress of the cortege was disturbed
momentarily by an accident that occurred almost under the windows of M.
Dufour's house.
The reader has not forgotten the venerable steed that had brought
Madame Bastien to Pont Brillant and that had been left standing with the
reins upon his neck in front of the doctor's house. The faithful animal
had always proved worthy of the confidence reposed in him heretofore,
and would doubtless have justified it to the end had it not been for
this unwonted display.
At the first blast of the bugle, the old horse had contented himself
with pricking up his ears, but when the procession began to pass him,
the shrill notes of the hunting-horns, the baying of the hounds, the
applause of the spectators, and the loud cries of the children, all
combined to destroy the wonted composure of this aged son of toil, and
neighing as loudly as in the palmy days of his youth, he evinced a most
unfortunate desire to join the brilliant cortege that was crossing the
mall.
With two or three vigorous bounds, the venerable animal, dragging the
old chaise after him, landed in the midst of the gay cavalcade, where he
distinguished himself by standing on his hind legs and pawing the air
with his fore feet, abandoning himself to the ebullition of joy,
directly in front of the barouche containing the dowager marquise, who
drew back in terror, waving her handkerchief and uttering shrill cries
of alarm.
Hearing this commotion, the young marquis glanced behind him to see what
was the matter, then, wheeling his horse about, reached the side of his
grandmother's carriage with a single bound, after which, with a few
heavy blows of his riding-whip, he made the venerable but too vivacious
work-horse realise the impertinence of this familiarity,--a hard lesson
which was greeted with shouts of laughter and loud applause of the
spectators.
As for the poor old horse, regretting doubtless the breach of confidence
of which he had been guilty, he humbly returned of his own accord to the
doctor's door, while the hunting cortege proceeded on its way.
Frederick Bastien, from the window where he was standing, had witnessed
the entire scene.