of a brisk and happy temperament; which, however, modified by the many
misfortunes he had undergone, was not permanently changed. He had plenty
of capacity for enjoyment in him still; and as his position was very
isolated, and his mind had become enlightened on social and political
matters to an extent in which the men of his family would have
discovered utter degradation and the women diabolical possession, he
would not have been very unhappy if, under the new condition of things,
he could have lived in his native country and gained an honest
livelihood. But he could not do that, he was too thoroughly "suspect;"
the antecedents of his family were too powerful against him: his only
chance would have been to have gone into the popular camp as an extreme,
violent partisan, to have out-Heroded the revolutionary Herods; and that
Paul de Senanges was too honest to do. So he was reduced to being
thankful that he had escaped with his life, and to watching for an
opportunity of leaving France and gaining some country where the reign
of liberty, fraternity, and equality was not quite so oppressive.
The long-looked-for opportunity at length offered itself, and Paul de
Senanges was instructed by his uncle the Marquis that he must contrive
to reach Marseilles, whence he should be transported to Spain--in which
country the illustrious emigrant was then residing--by a certain named
date. His uncle's communication arrived safely, and the plan proposed
seemed a secure and eligible one. Only in two respects was it calculated
to make Paul de Senanges thoughtful. The first was, that his uncle
should take any interest in the matter of his safety; the second, what
could be the nature of a certain deposit which the Marquis's letter
directed him to procure, if possible, from the Chateau de Senanges. The
fact of this injunction explained, in some measure, the first of the two
difficulties. It was plain that whatever were the contents of this
packet which he was to seek for, according to the indications marked on
a ground-plan drawn by his uncle and enclosed in the letter, the Marquis
wanted them, and could not procure them except by the agency of his
nephew. That the Marquis should venture to direct Paul de Senanges to
put himself in communication with Prosper Alix, would have been
surprising to any one acquainted only with the external and generally
understood features of the character of the new proprietor of the
Chateau de Senanges. But a few people knew Prosper Alix thoroughly, and
the Marquis was one of the number; he was keen enough to know in theory
that, in the case of a man with only one weakness, that is likely to be
a very weak weakness indeed, and to apply the theory to the _avocat_.
The beautiful, pious, and aristocratic mother of Paul de Senanges--a
lady to whose superiority the Marquis had rendered the distinguished
testimony of his dislike, not hesitating to avow that she was "much too
good for _his_ taste"--had been very fond of, and very kind to, the
motherless daughter of Prosper Alix, and he held her memory in reverence
which he accorded to nothing beside, human or divine, and taught his
daughter the matchless worth of the friend she had lost. The Marquis
knew this, and though he had little sympathy with the sentiment, he
believed he might use it in the present instance to his own profit, with
safety. The event proved that he was right. Private negotiations, with
the manner of whose transaction we are not concerned, passed between the
_avocat_ and the _ci-devant_ Marquis; and the young man, then leading a
life in which skulking had a large share, in the vicinity of Dijon, was
instructed to present himself at the Maison Alix, under the designation
of Henri Glaire, and in the character of an artist in house-decoration.
The circumstances of his life in childhood and boyhood had led to his
being almost safe from recognition as a man at Lyons; and, indeed, all
the people on the _ci-devant_ visiting-list of the chateau had been
pretty nearly killed off, in the noble and patriotic ardor of the
revolutionary times.
The ancient Chateau de Senanges was proudly placed near the summit of
the "Holy Hill," and had suffered terrible depredations when the church
at Fourvieres was sacked, and the shrine desecrated with that ingenious
impiety which is characteristic of the French; but it still retained
somewhat of its former heavy grandeur. The chateau was much too large
for the needs, tastes, or ambition of its present owner, who was too
wise, if even he had been of an ostentatious disposition, not to have
sedulously resisted its promptings. The jealousy of the nation of
brothers was easily excited, and departure from simplicity and frugality
was apt to be commented upon by domiciliary visits, and the eager
imposition of fanciful fines. That portion of the vast building occupied
by Prosper Alix and the _citoyenne_ Berthe, his daughter, presented an
appearance of well-to-do comfort and modest ease, which contrasted with
the grandiose proportions and the elaborate decorations of the wide
corridors, huge flat staircases, and lofty panelled apartments. The
_avocat_ and his daughter lived quietly in the old place, hoping, after
a general fashion, for better times, but not finding the present very
bad; the father becoming day by day more pleasant with his bargain, the
daughter growing fonder of the great house, and the noble _bocages_, of
the scrappy little vineyards, struggling for existence on the sunny
hill-side, and the place where the famous shrine had been. They had
done it much damage; they had parted its riches among them; the once
ever-open doors were shut, and the worn flags were untrodden; but
nothing could degrade it, nothing could destroy what had been, in the
mind of Berthe Alix, who was as devout as her father was unconcernedly
unbelieving. Berthe was wonderfully well educated for a Frenchwoman of
that period, and surprisingly handsome for a Frenchwoman of any. Not too
tall to offend the taste of her compatriots, and not too short to be
dignified and graceful, she had a symmetrical figure, and a small,
well-poised head, whose profuse, shining, silken dark-brown hair she
wore as nature intended, in a shower of curls, never touched by the hand
of the coiffeur,--curls which clustered over her brow, and fell far down
on her shapely neck. Her features were fine; the eyes very dark, and the
mouth very red; the complexion clear and rather pale, and the style of
the face and its expression lofty. When Berthe Alix was a child, people
were accustomed to say she was pretty and refined enough to belong to
the aristocracy; nobody would have dared to say so now, prettiness and
refinement, together with all the other virtues admitted to a place on
the patriotic roll, having become national property.
Berthe loved her father dearly. She was deeply impressed with the sense
of her supreme importance to him, and fully comprehended that he would
be influenced by and through her when all other persuasion or argument
would be unavailing. When Prosper Alix wished and intended to do
anything rather mean or selfish, he did it without letting Berthe know;
and when he wished to leave undone something which he knew his daughter
would decide ought to be done, he carefully concealed from her the
existence of the dilemma. Nevertheless, this system did not prevent the
father and daughter being very good and even confidential friends.
Prosper Alix loved his daughter immeasurably, and respected her more
than he respected any one in the world. With regard to her persevering
religiousness, when such things were not only out of fashion and date,
but illegal as well, he was very tolerant. Of course it was weak, and an
absurdity; but every woman, even his beautiful, incomparable Berthe, was
weak and absurd on some point or other; and, after all, he had come to
the conclusion that the safest weakness with which a woman can be
afflicted is that romantic and ridiculous _faiblesse_ called piety. So
these two lived a happy life together, Berthe's share of it being very
secluded, and were wonderfully little troubled by the turbulence with
which society was making its tumultuous way to the virtuous serenity of
republican perfection.
The communication announcing the project of the _ci-devant_ Marquis for
the secure exportation of his nephew, and containing the skilful appeal
before mentioned, grievously disturbed the tranquillity of Prosper, and
was precisely one of those incidents which he would especially have
liked to conceal from his daughter. But he could not do so; the appeal
was too cleverly made; and utter indifference to it, utter neglect of
the letter, which naturally suggested itself as the easiest means of
getting rid of a difficulty, would have involved an act of direct and
uncompromising dishonesty to which Prosper, though of sufficiently
elastic conscience within the limit of professional gains, could not
contemplate. The Chateau de Senanges was indeed his own lawful property;
his without prejudice to the former owners, dispossessed by no act of
his. But the _ci-devant_ Marquis--confiding in him to an extent which
was quite astonishing, except on the _pis-aller_ theory, which is so
unflattering as to be seldom accepted--announced to him the existence of
a certain packet, hidden in the chateau, acknowledging its value, and
urging the need of its safe transmission. This was not his property. He
heartily wished he had never learned its existence, but wishing that was
clearly of no use; then he wished the nephew of the _ci-devant_ might
come soon, and take himself and the hidden wealth away with all possible
speed. This latter was a more realizable desire, and Prosper settled his
mind with it, communicated the interesting but decidedly dangerous
secret to Berthe, received her warm sanction, and transmitted to the
Marquis, by the appointed means, an assurance that his wishes should be
punctually carried out. The absence of an interdiction of his visit
before a certain date was to be the signal to M. Paul de Senanges that
he was to proceed to act upon his uncle's instructions; he waited the
proper time, the reassuring silence was maintained unbroken, and he
ultimately set forth on his journey, and accomplished it in safety.
Preparations had been made at the Maison Alix for the reception of M.
Glaire, and his supposed occupation had been announced. The apartments
were decorated in a heavy, gloomy style, and those of the _citoyenne_ in
particular (they had been occupied by a lady who had once been
designated as _feue Madame la Marquise_, but who was referred to now as
_la mere du ci-devant_) were much in need of renovation. The alcove, for
instance, was all that was least gay and most far from simple. The
_citoyenne_ would have all that changed. On the morning of the day of
the expected arrival, Berthe said to her father:
"It would seem as if the Marquis did not know the exact spot in which
the packet is deposited. M. Paul's assumed character implies the
necessity for a search."
M. Henri Glaire arrived at the Maison Alix, was fraternally received,
and made acquainted with the sphere of his operations. The young man had
a good deal of both ability and taste in the line he had assumed, and
the part was not difficult to play. Some days were judiciously allowed
to pass before the real object of the masquerade was pursued, and during
that time cordial relations established themselves between the _avocat_
and his guest. The young man was handsome, elegant, engaging, with all
the external advantages, and devoid of the vices, errors, and hopeless
infatuated unscrupulousness, of his class; he had naturally quick
intelligence, and some real knowledge and comprehension of life had been
knocked into him by the hard-hitting blows of Fate. His face was like
his mother's, Prosper Alix thought, and his mind and tastes were of the
very pattern which, in theory, Berthe approved. Berthe, a very
unconventional French girl--who thought the new era of purity, love,
virtue, and disinterestedness ought to do away with marriage by barter
as one of its most notable reforms, and had been disenchanted by
discovering that the abolition of marriage altogether suited the taste
of the incorruptible Republic better--might like, might even love, this
young man. She saw so few men, and had no fancy for patriots; she would
certainly be obstinate about it if she did chance to love him. This
would be a nice state of affairs. This would be a pleasant consequence
of the confiding request of the _ci-devant_. Prosper wished with all his
heart for the arrival of the concerted signal, which should tell Henri
Glaire that he might fulfil the purpose of his sojourn at the Maison
Alix, and set forth for Marseilles.
But the signal did not come, and the days--long, beautiful, sunny,
soothing summer-days--went on. The painting of the panels of the
_citoyenne's_ apartment, which she vacated for that purpose, progressed
slowly; and M. Paul de Senanges, guided by the ground-plan, and aided by
Berthe, had discovered the spot in which the jewels of price, almost the
last remnants of the princely wealth of the Senanges, had been hidden by
the _femme-de-chambre_ who had perished with her mistress, having
confided a general statement of the fact to a priest, for transmission
to the Marquis. This spot had been ingeniously chosen. The
sleeping-apartment of the late Marquis was extensive, lofty, and
provided with an alcove of sufficiently large dimensions to have formed
in itself a handsome room. This space, containing a splendid but gloomy
bed, on an estrade, and hung with rich faded brocade, was divided from
the general extent of the apartment by a low railing of black oak,
elaborately carved, opening in the centre, and with a flat wide bar
along the top, covered with crimson velvet. The curtains were contrived
to hang from the ceiling, and, when let down inside the screen of
railing, they matched the draperies which closed before the great stone
balcony at the opposite end of the room. Since the _avocat's_ daughter
had occupied this palatial chamber, the curtains of the alcove had never
been drawn, and she had substituted for them a high folding screen of
black-and-gold Japanese pattern, also a relic of the grand old times,
which stood about six feet on the outside of the rails that shut in her
bed. The floor was of shining oak, testifying to the conscientious and
successful labors of successive generations of _frotteurs_; and on the
spot where the railing of the alcove opened by a pretty quaint device
sundering the intertwined arms of a pair of very chubby cherubs, a
square space in the floor was also richly carved.
The seekers soon reached the end of their search. A little effort
removed the square of carved oak, and underneath they found a casket,
evidently of old workmanship, richly wrought in silver, much tarnished
but quite intact. It was agreed that this precious deposit should be
replaced, and the carved square laid down over it, until the signal for
his departure should reach Paul. The little baggage which under any
circumstances he could have ventured to allow himself in the dangerous
journey he was to undertake, must be reduced, so as to admit of his
carrying the casket without exciting suspicion.
The finding of the hidden treasure was not the first joint discovery
made by the daughter of the _avocat_ and the son of the _ci-devant_. The
cogitations of Prosper Alix were very wise, very reasonable; but they
were a little tardy. Before he had admitted the possibility of mischief,
the mischief was done. Each had found out that the love of the other was
indispensable to the happiness of life; and they had exchanged
confidences, assurances, protestations, and promises, as freely, as
fervently, and as hopefully, as if no such thing as a Republic, one and
indivisible, with a keen scent and an unappeasable thirst for the blood
of aristocrats, existed. They forgot all about "Liberty, Fraternity, and
Equality"--these egotistical, narrow-minded young people;--they also
forgot the characteristic alternative to those unparalleled
blessings--"Death." But Prosper Alix did not forget any of these things;
and his consternation, his provision of suffering for his beloved
daughter, were terrible, when she told him, with a simple noble
frankness which the _grandes dames_ of the dead-and-gone time of great
ladies had rarely had a chance of exhibiting, that she loved M. Paul de
Senanges, and intended to marry him when the better times should come.
Perhaps she meant when that alternative of _death_ should be struck off
the sacred formula;--of course she meant to marry him with the sanction
of her father, which she made no doubt she should receive.
Prosper Alix was in pitiable perplexity. He could not bear to terrify
his daughter by a full explanation of the danger she was incurring; he
could not bear to delude her with false hope. If this young man could be
got away at once safely, there was not much likelihood that he would
ever be able to return to France. Would Berthe pine for him, or would
she forget him, and make a rational, sensible, rich, republican
marriage, which would not imperil either her reputation for pure
patriotism or her father's? The latter would be the very best thing that
could possibly happen, and therefore it was decidedly unwise to
calculate upon it; but, after all, it was possible; and Prosper had not
the courage, in such a strait, to resist the hopeful promptings of a
possibility. How ardently he regretted that he had complied with the
prayer of the _ci-devant_! When would the signal for Mr. Paul's
departure come?
Prosper Alix had made many sacrifices, had exercised much self-control
for his daughter's sake; but he had never sustained a more severe trial
than this, never suffered more than he did now, under the strong
necessity for hiding from her his absolute conviction of the
impossibility of a happy result for this attachment, in that future to
which the lovers looked so fearlessly. He could not even make his
anxiety and apprehension known to Paul de Senanges; for he did not
believe the young man had sufficient strength of will to conceal
anything so important from the keen and determined observation of
Berthe.
The expected signal was not given, and the lovers were incautious. The
seclusion of the Maison Alix had all the danger, as well as all the
delight, of solitude, and Paul dropped his disguise too much and too
often. The servants, few in number, were of the truest patriotic
principles, and to some of them the denunciation of the _citoyen_, whom
they condescended to serve because the sacred Revolution had not yet
made them as rich as he, would have been a delightful duty, a
sweet-smelling sacrifice to be laid on the altar of the country. They
heard certain names and places mentioned; they perceived many things
which led them to believe that Henri Glaire was not an industrial artist
and pure patriot, worthy of respect, but a wretched _ci-devant_,
resorting to the dignity of labor to make up for the righteous
destruction of every other kind of dignity. One day a gardener, of less
stoical virtue than his fellows, gave Prosper Alix a warning that the
presence of a _ci-devant_ upon his premises was suspected, and that he
might be certain a domiciliary visit, attended with dangerous results to
himself, would soon take place. Of course the _avocat_ did not commit
himself by any avowal to this lukewarm patriot; but he casually
mentioned that Henri Glaire was about to take his leave. What was to be
done? He must not leave the neighborhood without receiving the
instructions he was awaiting; but he must leave the house, and be
supposed to have gone quite away. Without any delay or hesitation,
Prosper explained the facts to Berthe and her lover, and insisted on the
necessity for an instant parting. Then the courage and the readiness of
the girl told. There was no crying, and very little trembling; she was
strong and helpful.
"He must go to Pichon's, father," she said, "and remain there until the
signal is given.--Pichon is a master-mason, Paul," she continued,
turning to her lover, "and his wife was my nurse. They are avaricious
people; but they are fond of me in their way, and they will shelter you
faithfully enough, when they know that my father will pay them
handsomely. You must go at once, unseen by the servants; they are at
supper. Fetch your valise, and bring it to my room. We will put the
casket in it, and such of your things as you must take out to make room
for it, we can hide under the plank. My father will go with you to
Pichon's, and we will communicate with you there as soon as it is safe."
Paul followed her to the large gloomy room where the treasure lay, and
they took the casket from its hiding-place. It was heavy, though not
large, and an awkward thing to pack away among linen in a small valise.
They managed it, however, and, the brief preparation completed, the
moment of parting arrived. Firmly and eloquently, though in haste,
Berthe assured Paul of her changeless love and faith, and promised him
to wait for him for any length of time in France, if better days should
be slow of coming, or to join him in some foreign land, if they were
never to come. Her father was present, full of compassion and misgiving.
At length he said:
"Come, Paul, you must leave her; every moment is of importance."
The young man and his betrothed were standing on the spot whence they
had taken the casket; the carved rail with the heavy curtains might have
been the outer sanctuary of an altar, and they bride and bridegroom
before it, with earnest, loving faces, and clasped hands.
"Farewell, Paul," said Berthe; "promise me once more, in this the moment
of our parting, that you will come to me again, if you are alive, when
the danger is past."
"Whether I am living or dead, Berthe," said Paul de Senanges, strongly
moved by some sudden inexplicable instinct, "I will come to you again."
In a few more minutes, Prosper Alix and his guest, who carried, not
without difficulty, the small but heavy leather valise, had disappeared
in the distance, and Berthe was on her knees before the _prie-dieu_ of
the _ci-devant_ Marquise, her face turned toward the "Holy Hill" of
Fourvieres.
Pichon, _maitre_, and his sons, _garcons-macons_, were well-to-do
people, rather morose, exceedingly avaricious, and of taciturn
dispositions; but they were not ill spoken of by their neighbors. They
had amassed a good deal of money in their time, and were just then
engaged on a very lucrative job. This was the construction of several of
the steep descents, by means of stairs, straight and winding, cut in the
face of the _coteaux_, by which pedestrians are enabled to descend into
the town. Pichon _pere_ was a _proprietaire_ as well; his property was
that which is now in the possession of Giraudier, _pharmacien, premiere
classe_, and which was destined to attain a sinister celebrity during
his proprietorship. One of the straightest and steepest of the stairways
had been cut close to the _terre_ which the mason owned, and a massive
wall, destined to bound the high-road at the foot of the declivity, was
in course of construction.
When Prosper Alix and Paul de Senanges reached the abode of Pichon, the
master-mason, with his sons and workmen, had just completed their day's
work, and were preparing to eat the supper served by the wife and
mother, a tall, gaunt woman, who looked as if a more liberal scale of
housekeeping would have done her good, but on whose features the stamp
of that devouring and degrading avarice which is the commonest vice of
the French peasantry, was set as plainly as on the hard faces of her
husband and her sons. The _avocat_ explained his business and introduced
his companion briefly, and awaited the reply of Pichon _pere_ without
any appearance of inquietude.
"You don't run any risk," he said; "at least, you don't run any risk
which I cannot make it worth your while to incur. It is not the first
time you have received a temporary guest on my recommendation. You know
nothing about the citizen Glaire, except that he is recommended to you
by me. I am responsible; you can, on occasion, make me so. The citizen
may remain with you a short time; can hardly remain long. Say, citizen,
is it agreed? I have no time to spare."