It was nearly dark.
Madame Bastien took a lamp, and, passing through the little dining-room
where Marguerite was laying the table for the frugal evening meal, led
the way to the garret, which was divided into three rooms, one occupied
by Marguerite, another by the gardener, while the third was allotted to
the tutor.
This was M. Bastien's arrangement. His wife had vainly endeavoured to
convince him of the impropriety of lodging a tutor in this fashion, and
had begged him to allow her to fit up a room on the floor below for his
use, but he had flown into a violent passion, and declared that, if his
wife disobeyed him, he would send the spouter of Latin up to the garret
where he belonged as soon as he found it out.
Madame Bastien knew he was quite capable of carrying this threat into
execution, so, to spare the new tutor such a humiliation, she had
resigned herself to seeing her son's preceptor occupy a room so little
in harmony with the importance of his functions.
If the young woman had taken so much to heart what she regarded as an
insult to the dignity of her son's former tutor, one can judge of her
feelings when it was inflicted upon Henri David, whose disinterestedness
merited such heartfelt gratitude. Consequently, it was with painful
confusion that she opened the door of the garret room which she had done
her best to make cosy and inviting. A small blue and white china vase
containing a bouquet of chrysanthemums and late roses stood on the
walnut table, the floor was of spotless whiteness, the white curtains
were tied back with ribbons, in short, a desire to make the plainness of
the apartment forgotten by dint of assiduous care and good-will was
everywhere apparent.
"It is with deep regret, I assure you, that I am compelled to offer you
this room," said Madame Bastien, "but my utter inability to place a more
suitable apartment at your disposal must be my excuse."
Henri David could not repress a slight movement of surprise as he
glanced around him, and, after a brief silence, he said, with a
melancholy smile:
"By a singular chance, madame, this room strongly resembles one I
occupied in boyhood beneath my father's roof, and it is pleasant to be
thus reminded of the happiest years of my life."
When they went down-stairs they found supper ready.
"I am very much afraid that Frederick will refuse to come to the table
this evening. Excuse me a moment, monsieur, while I go and call him."
Having learned from Marguerite that Frederick was in his room, Madame
Bastien hastened there, and found her son thoughtfully pacing the room.
"Supper is ready, my son," his mother said. "Won't you come?"
"Thanks, I am not hungry, mother. I intend to go to bed almost
immediately."
"You are not feeling ill, I trust?"
"No; only tired. I seem to need rest."
"I hope, my son, that you will consider how your words would have pained
M. David, who already feels the tenderest interest in you, if he had not
felt certain that he would soon overcome your prejudice by his kindness.
He will be to you not a master, but a friend; I would say a brother but
for the disparity in your ages."
Frederick made no reply. His mouth contracted slightly, and he hung his
head, and Madame Bastien, who had made a careful study of her son's
face for some time past, saw that he was resolved to maintain an
obstinate silence, so she insisted no further, but rejoined M. David.
After a frugal supper, Henri, wishing to divert his companion's
thoughts, begged her to let him see Frederick's note-books and
exercises, as well as some of the essays he had written in happier days,
hoping he might find in these last some clue to the origin of the
unfortunate ideas which seemed to have taken such entire possession of
his mind.
While the new tutor was thus engaged the young mother watched him
closely, in order that she might judge of the effect these specimens of
Frederick's work produced upon him. Soon he took up an essay Frederick
had written upon a theme suggested by his mother, and at first the young
mother felt doubtful of its success, for M. David's features remained
grave and thoughtful, but suddenly he smiled, and the smile was followed
by several approving nods of the head, and two or three times he even
murmured, "Good, very good." Then something seemed to displease him, for
he crumpled one of the sheets of manuscript impatiently, and his
features became impassible again as he continued his reading.
Marie's face reflected each shade of feeling depicted on David's face;
but soon, and for the first time in a long while, the happy mother,
forgetting her anxieties at least temporarily, could once more rejoice
in Frederick's triumphs, for the signs of approbation on the new tutor's
part became more frequent. He not only appeared to take a deep interest,
but likewise a personal pride and delight in what he was reading, and at
last he exclaimed, suddenly:
"No, no; it is impossible that the author of sentiments as noble and
generous as these should not listen sooner or later to the voice of
justice and reason. May I ask, madame, if this was written very long
before the time at which you first began to notice the change in your
son's character?"
After a moment's reflection, Madame Bastien replied:
"As nearly as I can recollect, this was written just before a visit we
paid to the Chateau de Pont Brillant the latter part of June. It was not
until about a month afterward that I began to feel uneasy about
Frederick."
After a moment's thought, David asked:
"Have you anything that Frederick has written since you noticed this
marked change in his nature? If you have, it might aid us in solving
this mystery."
"The idea is a good one," replied Madame Bastien, and, struck by a
sudden recollection, she selected one of her son's books. She handed it
to M. David, saying as she did so:
"Several pages are lacking here, as you see. I asked Frederick why he
had mutilated it in this fashion, and he replied that he was
dissatisfied with what he had written and did not want me to read it.
This occurred just as I was beginning to feel really anxious about him."
"And you noticed nothing significant in the remaining pages, madame?"
"You can see for yourself, monsieur. Since that time Frederick has
written little or nothing, his distaste for work becoming more and more
marked from that time on. In vain I have suggested themes of divers
kinds; he would write a few lines, then drop his pen, and, burying his
face in his hands, sit for hours together, deaf alike to all my
questions and entreaties."
While Madame Bastien was speaking David was hastily glancing over the
fragmentary writings his hostess had just handed to him.
"It is strange," he remarked, after several minutes, "these incoherent
lines show none of the nobility of feeling that characterise your son's
other writings. His mind seems to have become clouded, and the
lassitude and ennui his work caused him is everywhere apparent. But here
are a few words which seem to have been carefully erased," added David,
trying to decipher them.
Marie approached her guest with the intention of assisting him, if
possible, and as she bent over the table her arm lightly grazed David's.
The pressure was so slight that Marie did not even notice it, but it
sent a sort of electric thrill through David; but so great was his
self-control that he remained perfectly impassive, though he realised
for the first time since he made his generous offer that the woman with
whom he was to live on such terms of intimacy was young and wonderfully
beautiful, as well as endowed with the most admirable traits of
character.
He gave no sign of all this, however, but with Marie's assistance
continued his efforts to decipher the words Frederick had erased, and
after patient study they succeeded in making out here and there the
following phrases which seemed to have no connection whatever with what
preceded or followed them, but had apparently been jotted down almost
involuntarily under the influence of some strong emotion. For instance,
one leaf bore this fragmentary sentence:
" ...for persons doomed to a humiliating obscurity of lot, the inability
to lift oneself from it is--"
Two or three words at the beginning of the sentence had been entirely
obliterated.
Farther on, upon another page were these two words, but slightly
blurred, as if their laconicism was sufficient protection against
interpretation:
"Why? By what right--"
And lastly, this more complete sentence was deciphered with great
difficulty:
"Through you, great and holy Revolution, the weak became the strong. The
hour of vengeance came at last, terrible indeed, but grand and
far-reaching in its--"
As David was slowly perusing these words a second time as if to gather
their hidden significance, the clock on the mantel struck twelve.
"Twelve!" exclaimed Madame Bastien, in surprise, "twelve o'clock
already!"
David rose at once, and, taking the book, said:
"With your permission, madame, I will take this with me. What we have
deciphered is very vague, but it may give us a clue to the truth. Good
night, madame."
"Good night, M. David. I gladly accept all the encouragement you hold
out to me. I need it more than I can tell you. To-morrow will be a
momentous day to us. God grant it may prove a propitious one."
"God grant it, madame."