When the cortege entered the mall, Frederick's countenance and
expression underwent such a strange transformation that David, who had
started toward the window on hearing the notes of the bugle, suddenly
paused, forgetting everything else in his surprise, for the lad's face,
in spite of its beauty, had become almost frightful in its expression.
The bitter smile which had curved Frederick's lips while he was gazing
at the distant chateau was succeeded by an expression of disdain when
the cortege appeared, but when Raoul de Pont Brillant, clad in his
costly hunting-suit and mounted on a magnificent jet black steed, passed
amid the admiring plaudits of the crowd, Frederick's face became livid,
and he clutched the window so violently that the veins, blue in his
hands, stood out like whipcords under the white skin.
None of these details had escaped the notice of Henri David, who had had
a wide experience with his kind, and his heart sank within him as he
said to himself:
"Poor boy! to feel the pangs of hatred so early, for I cannot doubt that
it is hatred he feels for that other lad on the handsome black horse!
But what can be the cause of it?"
Henri David was asking himself this question when the little contretemps
in which the old work-horse had played such a prominent part occurred.
On seeing his horse beaten, Frederick's face became terrible. His eyes
dilated with anger, and, with a cry of rage, he would in his blind fury
have precipitated himself from the window to run after the marquis, if
he had not been prevented by David, who seized him about the waist.
The surprise this occasioned recalled Frederick to himself, but,
recovering a little from his astonishment, he demanded, in a voice
trembling with anger:
"Who are you, monsieur, and why do you touch me?"
"You were leaning so far out of the window, my boy, that I feared you
would fall," replied David, gently. "I wanted to prevent such a
calamity."
"Who told you it would be a calamity?" retorted the youth.
Then turning abruptly away, he threw himself in an armchair, buried his
face in his hands, and began to weep.
David's interest and curiosity were becoming more and more excited as he
gazed with tender compassion at this unfortunate youth who seemed now as
utterly crushed as he had been violently excited a short time before.
Suddenly the door opened, and Madame Bastien appeared, accompanied by
the doctor.
"Where is my son?" asked Marie, glancing around the room, without even
seeing David.
Madame Bastien could not see her son, the armchair in which he had
thrown himself being concealed by the door that had been thrown open.
On seeing this beautiful young woman, who looked scarcely twenty, as we
have said before, and whose features bore such a striking resemblance to
Frederick's, David remained for a moment speechless with surprise and
admiration, to which was added a profound interest when he learned that
this was the mother of the youth for whom he already felt such a sincere
compassion.
"Where is my son?" repeated Madame Bastien, advancing farther into the
room and gazing around her with evident anxiety.
"The poor child is there," said David, in a low tone, at the same time
motioning the anxious parent to look behind the door.
There was so much sympathy and kindness in David's face as well as in
the tone in which he uttered the words, that though Marie had been
astonished at first at the sight of the stranger, she said to him now as
if she had known him always:
"Good Heavens! what is the matter? Has anything happened to him?"
"Ah, mother," suddenly replied the youth, who had taken advantage of the
moment during which he had been hidden from Madame Bastien's sight to
wipe away his tears. Then bowing with a distrait air to Doctor Dufour,
whom he had always treated with such affectionate cordiality before,
Frederick approached his mother and said:
"Come, mother, let us go."
"Frederick," exclaimed Marie, seizing her son's hands and anxiously
scrutinising his features, "Frederick, you have been weeping."
"No," he responded, stamping his foot impatiently, and roughly
disengaging his hands from his mother's grasp. "Come, let us go, I say."
"But he has been weeping, has he not, monsieur?" again turning to David
with a half-questioning, half-frightened air.
"Well, yes, I have been weeping," replied Frederick, with a sarcastic
smile, "weeping for gratitude, for this gentleman here," pointing to
David, "prevented me from falling out of the window. Now, mother, you
know all. Come, let us go."
And Frederick turned abruptly toward the door.
Doctor Dufour, no less surprised and grieved than Madame Bastien, turned
to David.
"My friend, what does this mean?" he asked.
"Monsieur," added Marie, also turning to the doctor's friend,
embarrassed and distressed at the poor opinion this stranger must have
formed of Frederick, "I have no idea what my son means. I do not know
what has happened, but I must beg you, monsieur, to excuse him."
"It is I who should ask to be excused, madame," replied David, with a
kindly smile. "Seeing your son leaning imprudently far out of the window
just now, I made the mistake of treating him like a schoolboy. He is
proud of his sixteen summers, as he should be, for at that age,"
continued David, with gentle gravity, "one is almost a man, and must
fully understand and appreciate all the charm and happiness of a
mother's love."
"Monsieur!" exclaimed Frederick, impetuously, his nostrils quivering
with anger, and a deep flush suffusing his pale face, "I need no lesson
from you."
And turning on his heel, he left the room.
"Frederick!" cried Marie, reproachfully, but her son was gone; so
turning her lovely face, down which tears were now streaming, to David,
she said, with touching artlessness:
"Ah, monsieur, I must again ask your pardon. Your kind words lead me to
hope that you will understand my regret, and that you will not blame my
unhappy son too severely."
"He is evidently suffering, and should be pitied and soothed," replied
David, sympathisingly. "When I first saw him I was startled by his
pallor and the drawn appearance of his features. But he has gone,
madame, and I would advise you not to leave him by himself."
"Come, madame, come at once," said Doctor Dufour, offering his arm to
Madame Bastien, and the latter, divided between the surprise the
stranger's kindness excited and the intense anxiety she felt in regard
to her son, left the room precipitately in company with the doctor to
overtake Frederick.
On being left alone, David walked to the window. A moment afterward, he
saw Madame Bastien come out of the house with her handkerchief to her
eyes and leaning on the doctor, and step into the shabby little vehicle
in which Frederick had already seated himself amid the laughs and sneers
of the crowd that lingered on the mall, and that had witnessed the old
work-horse's misadventure.
"That old nag won't forget the lesson the young marquis gave him for
some time, I'll be bound," remarked one lounger.
"Wasn't he a sight when he planted himself with that old rattletrap of a
chaise right in the midst of our young marquis's fine carriages?"
remarked another.
"Yes, the old plug won't forget St. Hubert's Day in a hurry, I guess,"
added a third.
"Nor shall I forget it," muttered Frederick, trembling with rage.
At that moment the doctor assisted Madame Bastien into the vehicle, and
Frederick, exasperated by the coarse jests he had just overheard, struck
the innocent cause of all this commotion a furious blow, and the poor
old horse, unused to such treatment, started off almost on a run.
In vain Madame Bastien implored her son to moderate the animal's pace.
Several persons narrowly escaped being run over. A child who was slow in
getting out of the way received a cut of the whip from Frederick, and
whirling rapidly around the corner at the end of the mall, the chaise
disappeared from sight amid the jeers and execrations of the angry
crowd.