I felt as if some strong hand had lifted me out of a whirl of troubled
waters, and set me safely upon a rock. I ran down into the _salon_,
where Monsieur Laurentie was seated, as tranquilly as if he had never
been away, in his high-backed arm-chair, smiling quietly at Minima's
gambols of delight, which ended in her sitting down on a _tabouret_ at
his feet. Jean stood just within the door, his hands behind his back,
holding his white cotton cap in them: he had been making his report of
the day's events. Monsieur held out his hand to me, and I ran to him,
caught it in both of mine, bent down my face upon it, and burst into a
passion of weeping, in spite of myself.
"Come, come, madame!" he said, his own voice faltering a little, "I am
here, my child; behold me! There is no place for fear now. I am king in
Ville-en-bois.--Is it not so, my good Jean?"
"Monsieur le Curé, you are emperor," replied Jean.
"If that is the case," he continued, "madame is perfectly secure in my
castle. You do not ask me what brings me back again so soon. But I will
tell you, madame. At Noireau, the proprietor of the omnibus to Granville
told me that an Englishman had gone that morning to visit my little
parish. Good! We do not have that honor every day. I ask him to have the
goodness to tell me the Englishman's name. It is written in the book at
the bureau. Monsieur Fostère. I remember that name well, very well. That
is the name of the husband of my little English daughter. Fostère! I see
in a moment it will not do to proceed, on my voyage. But I find that my
good Jacques has taken on the _char-à-banc_ a league or two beyond
Noireau, and I am compelled to await his return. There is the reason
that I return so late."
"O monsieur!" I exclaimed, "how good you are--"
"Pardon, madame," he interrupted, "let me hear the end of Jean's
history."
Jean continued his report in his usual phlegmatic tone, and concluded
with the assurance that he had seen the Englishman safe out of the
village, and returning by the road he came.
"I could have wished," said the curé, regretfully, "that we might have
shown him some hospitality in Ville-en-bois; but you did what was very
good, Jean. Yet we did not encounter any stranger along the route."
"Not possible, monsieur," replied Jean; "it was four o'clock when he
returned on his steps, and it is now after nine. He would pass the
Calvary before six. After that, Monsieur le Curé, he might take any
route which pleased him."
"That is true, Jean," he said, mildly; "you have done well. You may go
now. Where is Monsieur the Vicaire?"
"He sleeps, monsieur, in the guest's chamber, as usual."
"_Bien_! Good-evening, Jean, and a good-night."
"Good-night, Monsieur le Curé, and all the company," said Jean.
"And you also, my child," continued Monsieur Laurentie, when Jean was
gone, "you have great need of rest. So has this baby, who is very
sleepy."
"I am not sleepy," protested Minima, "and I am not a baby."
"You are a baby," said the curé, laughing, "to make such rejoicing over
an old papa like me. But go now, my children. There is no danger for
you. Sleep well and have pleasant dreams."
I slept well, but I had no pleasant dreams, for I did not dream at all.
The curé's return, and his presence under the same roof, gave me such a
sense of security as was favorable to profound, unbroken slumber. When
the chirping of the birds awoke me in the morning, I could not at first
believe that the events of the day before were not themselves a dream.
The bell rang for matins at five o'clock now, to give the laborers the
cool of the morning for their work in the fields, after they were over.
I could not sleep again, for the coming hours must be full of suspense
and agitation to me. So at the first toll of the deep-toned bell, I
dressed myself, and went out into the dewy freshness of the new day.
Matins were ended, and the villagers were scattered about their farms
and households, when I noticed Pierre loitering stealthily about the
presbytery, as if anxious not to be seen. He made me a sign as soon as
he caught my eye, to follow him out of sight, round the corner of the
church. It was a mysterious sign, and I obeyed it quickly.
"I know a secret, madame," he said, in a troubled tone, and with an
apprehensive air--"that monsieur who came yesterday has not left the
valley. My father bade me stay in the church, at my work; but I could
not, madame, I could not. Not possible, you know. I wished to see your
enemy again. I shall have to confess it to Monsieur le Curé, and he will
give me a penance, perhaps a very great penance. But it was not possible
to rest tranquil, not at all. I followed monsieur, your enemy, _à la
dérobée_. He did not go far away."
"But where is he, then?" I asked, looking down the street, with a
thrill of fear.
"Madame," whispered Pierre, "he is a stranger to this place, and the
people would not receive him into their houses--not one of them. My
father only said, 'He is an enemy to our dear English madame,' and all
the women turned the back upon him. I stole after him, you know, behind
the trees and the hedges. He marched very slowly, like a man very weary,
down the road, till he came in sight of the factory of the late Pineaux.
He turned aside into the court there. I saw him knock at the door of the
house, try to lift the latch, and peep through the windows. Bien! After
that, he goes into the factory; there is a door from it into the house.
He passed through. I dared not follow him, but in one short half-hour I
saw smoke coming out of the chimney. Bon! The smoke is there again this
morning. The Englishman has sojourned there all the night."
"But, Pierre," I said, shivering, though the sun was already shining
hotly--"Pierre, the house is like a lazaretto. No one has been in it
since Mademoiselle Pineau died. Monsieur le Curé locked it up, and
brought away the key."
"That is true, madame," answered the boy; "no one in the village would
go near the accursed place; but I never thought of that. Perhaps
monsieur your enemy will take the fever, and perish."
"Run, Pierre, run," I cried; "Monsieur Laurentie is in the sacristy,
with the strange vicaire. Tell him I must speak to him this very moment.
There is no time to be lost."
I dragged myself to the seat under the sycamore-tree, and hid my face in
my hands, while shudder after shudder quivered through me. I seemed to
be watching him again, as he strode weariedly down the street, leaning,
with bent shoulders, on his stick, and turned away from every door at
which he asked for rest and shelter for the night. Oh! that the time
could but come back again, that I might send Jean to find some safe
place for him where he could sleep! Back to my memory rushed the old
days, when he screened me from the unkindness of my step-mother, and
when he seemed to love me. For the sake of those times, would to God
the evening that was gone, and the sultry, breathless night, could only
come back again!