insisted that they should dine with him; he, himself, offered to fetch
Madame Germeuil, who had remained in the cabriolet; but the young people
declined, declaring that they were expected in Paris early and that they
could not delay their departure any longer.
So they separated, the mayor protesting that he should have great
pleasure in becoming better acquainted with his constituents, and our
young people thanking him for the zeal he had shown in their behalf
after the notary’s arrival.
The peasants were still in front of the mayor’s house when Edouard and
Adeline came out; they stood aside to let them pass; some even ran to
the carriage to tell Madame Germeuil; and one and all bowed most humbly
when they drove away. And yet they were the very same persons upon whom
the clowns had heaped insolent epithets, and at whom they had been
poking fun a moment before; but they did not know then that the mayor
would treat them courteously. Men are the same everywhere.
VII
IN WHICH WE SEE THE MAN WITH MOUSTACHES ONCE MORE
They reached Paris famished, as you may imagine. They ordered dinner at
once. The servants made all possible haste, jostled one another in order
to move faster, and by jostling and colliding with one another, took one
thing instead of something else, overturned the sauces, let one dish
burn, and served another cold; in a word, they did everything wrong,
which often happens when people try to make too much haste.
The servants had ceased to expect their masters to dinner; old Raymond
could not understand why they returned hungry; it gave him a very bad
impression of the place where they had been, and the cook was very sorry
that she had not divined their condition. But our travellers found
everything delicious; Master Bonneau’s cooking was still foremost in
their thoughts.
On the day following this memorable excursion, Adeline was too tired to
accompany Edouard to Villeneuve-Saint-Georges, and as they had given
their word to Monsieur Renâré, the young wife was obliged to consent to
let her husband go alone.
Murville promised to be absent only a short time; he intended to return
to dinner.
“Take care,” said Madame Germeuil, “and don’t have any unpleasant
experiences.”
“I will wager, mamma, that you are still thinking of that face with the
moustaches that we saw at the end of the garden.”
“Yes, I don’t deny it; indeed I will confess, my children, that I
dreamed of it all night.”
“That is not surprising; when something has excited us intensely during
the day, our imagination sees the same thing in a dream. But that does
not mean that we should conceive dismal presentiments from the fact.”
“Really, mamma, you will make me unhappy,” said Adeline; “I begin to
wish already that Edouard were home again.”
“And yet one must be very childish to be afraid without any reason!
Come, off with you, my dear, and return quickly; above all things, do
not dine at the Epée Couronnée!”
Edouard kissed Madame Germeuil’s hand; he embraced his wife, as people
embrace on the day after their wedding, when they have found the first
night all that they hoped, or when they think that they have found it
so, which is the same thing, and which happens to many people who know
nothing about it, and who consider themselves very shrewd.
He arrived in Villeneuve-Saint-Georges, and alighted from the carriage
in front of the house which was soon to belong to him.
“Is Monsieur Renâré in?” he asked the concierge.
“He is already at the notary’s, monsieur.”
“The deuce! what promptitude! I must not keep him waiting.”
Murville left the cabriolet in the courtyard, and walked to the
notary’s. The deeds were ready, and Monsieur Renâré was impatiently
awaiting the arrival of the purchaser; for, having learned the night
before of the episode at the Epée Couronnée, he had begun to feel some
anxiety concerning the bargain; but Edouard’s presence, and especially
the sight of a wallet stuffed with good bank notes, restored all his
tranquillity.
The deeds were signed, the price paid, and Monsieur Renâré smilingly
presented the keys of the house to Edouard.
“You are the owner now, monsieur; from this moment you can do as you
please with your house and everything that it contains, as I have sold
it to you furnished.”
“I thank you, monsieur, but you may take all the time that you please to
make your preparations for departure. I do not wish to embarrass you in
any way.”
“Oh! my preparations will very soon be made, monsieur. I simply have a
little bundle to pack, and I can carry it under my arm.”
“Then you already have another house in view?”
“Why,” said the notary, “Monsieur Renâré has six houses in Paris, and
three more in the suburbs; so he is not likely to be at a loss.”
“Six houses in Paris,” thought Edouard, “and he wears a patched coat and
a broken hat! And he is a bachelor, too! and he has no heirs! Does the
man think that he is never going to die?”
Our young man bowed to the old miser and left the notary’s office. He
returned to his newly-acquired property. The concierge was waiting in
the courtyard, and seemed to have some question to ask him. Edouard
guessed the cause of his embarrassment.
“This house is now mine,” he said to the peasant; “here is the deed
stating that I am the owner of it. However, Monsieur Renâré will soon
inform you of it himself.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it, monsieur.”
“Are you attached to Monsieur Renâré?”
“No, monsieur, I ain’t attached to anything but the house, and if
monsieur doesn’t keep me, I shall be out of work.”
“Very well, I will keep you! I do not mean to discharge anybody; from
this moment you are in my employ.”
“Very good, monsieur, I will try to satisfy you.”
Edouard was not greatly pleased with the peasant. He seemed brusque and
rough, and had lived so long with Renâré that he had acquired an air of
distrust, that made itself manifest in all his acts. But Edouard did not
desire, on returning to occupy the home of his parents, to create a bad
impression on the people in the village.
As it was still early, and Edouard had finished his business at the
notary’s sooner than he expected, he could not resist the temptation to
inspect his property; he ordered the concierge to give him the key of
the gate at the end of the garden, and left him beside his cabriolet.
When we know that an estate belongs to us, we are likely to scrutinize
every part of it closely. Edouard noticed that Monsieur Renâré had
planted cabbages and lettuces in all the beds intended for flowers; he
had cut down the beautiful acacias, which, to be sure, produced nothing
but shade, and had replaced them by fruit trees. Instead of box as a
border for the paths, he had planted parsley and nasturtiums; and as he
entered a clump of shrubbery, which formerly was bright with lilacs and
roses, Edouard smelled nothing but the odor of chevril and onion.
“We shall have to make many changes,” said Edouard to himself, laughing
at the former owner’s parsimony; “but in a week everything will be as it
was, with the exception of the acacias, on which I used to have a
swing; but I have passed the age when I could enjoy it so much.”
He was then at the end of the garden; he approached the gate, saying to
himself:
“It seems that that appalling face which frightened the ladies so does
not show itself every day;” and he was on the point of putting the key
into the lock, when the face with moustaches appeared above the broken
plank, exactly on a level with the eyes.
Edouard stopped; he felt that his heart was beating violently; but he
soon recovered himself.
“What do you want?” he asked the stranger; “and why are you continually
behind this gate, with your eyes fixed upon the garden?”
“I want nothing,” the stranger replied, in a loud voice and with an
abrupt manner. “I am looking at this garden because I choose to, and I
look at it through this gate, because they would not permit me to walk
about inside.”
“If that is what you wish, you may gratify yourself now. Come in,
monsieur; there is nothing now to prevent you.”
As he spoke, Edouard, who was curious to see the whole of the stranger’s
face, opened the gate leading into the fields.
The stranger seemed surprised at Edouard’s invitation; however, as soon
as the gate was opened, he did not wait to be asked a second time, but
entered the garden. Murville was then able to contemplate him at his
ease. He saw a man of tall stature, dressed in an old blue frock-coat,
buttoned to the chin, who wore black gaiters and a dilapidated
three-cornered hat, which he carried in his hand.
As he examined this singular individual, whose pale face, long beard and
neglected dress seemed to indicate misfortune and want, Edouard
remembered his mother-in-law’s suspicions, and a feeling of distrust
entered his mind.
The stranger walked about the garden, pausing from time to time in front
of a clump of shrubs or an old tree, and apparently forgetting that
there was some one with him.
“Parbleu!” said Edouard to himself, “I propose to have something to show
for my good-nature; I must find out who this man is, and why he planted
himself behind the little gate. I must take the first step, and as he
says nothing, I must begin the conversation; he will have to answer me.”
The stranger had seated himself upon a mound of turf, from which the
front of the house could be seen. Edouard approached and sat down beside
him.
“Oh! I beg your pardon, monsieur,” said the stranger, as if suddenly
arousing himself from his abstraction, “I have not thought yet to thank
you for your kindness. But I was in such a hurry to see this place
again!”
“Oh! there is no harm done.”
“Are you the son of the owner of this house?”
“No.”
“So much the better for you.”
“Why so?”
“Because he is an old money-lender, an impertinent fellow; and so is his
concierge, to whom I was strongly tempted to administer a thrashing, in
order to teach him how to behave!”
“What have they done to you?”
“I came to this village for the express purpose of seeing this house. I
arrived here yesterday, utterly tired out; I entered the courtyard, and
sat down on a stone bench to rest. The concierge came to me, and asked
me what I was there for. I told him that I wanted to see the garden. He
asked me if I intended to buy the house. That question was an
impertinence in itself, for I don’t look like a person with money to
invest.”
“That is true,” thought Edouard.
“When he learned that I had come here for another reason, he ordered me
to leave; I asked him again to let me walk about this garden for a
moment; he called his master; an old Jew appeared, and the two together
tried to turn me out! Ten thousand thunders! Turn me out! me--a--But,
no! I forgot that I am one no longer! All the same, if it hadn’t been
that my memories restrained me, I would have thrashed master and
servant. I didn’t do it, however, and as I was able only to look at the
place from a distance, I took my stand behind that gate where you saw me
yesterday.”
“I am very glad that I have been able to atone for the discourtesy of
the concierge, and that I found you again to-day at the same place.”
“Faith! it’s a mere chance! If I were not waiting for a comrade, whom I
agreed to meet in this village, I certainly should not have stayed
here.”
“Ah! you are waiting for a comrade?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
Edouard was silent for a moment; he seemed to be reflecting upon what
the stranger had said; the latter resumed the conversation.
“Excuse me, monsieur, if I question you in my turn; but how does it
happen that the old villain of a proprietor has intrusted the keys of
his garden to you?”
“This house no longer belongs to Monsieur Renâré; he has sold it to me
this very day.”
“Sold it! Pardieu! I am delighted to hear that. I was distressed to see
this house in the clutches of that Arab!”
“You seem to be very fond of this house?”
“I well may be, as I passed a large part of my youth here.”
“You?”
“I.”
Edouard looked more closely at the stranger; vague suspicions, a secret
presentiment made his heart leap. He observed that the stranger was
young and that it seemed to be fatigue simply that had wasted his
sun-burned features; he desired, yet dreaded to learn more.
“Yes, monsieur,” continued the stranger after a moment’s silence, “I
have lived in this house. Indeed I was partly brought up here. At that
time I was with my parents, and the future looked very bright to me. I
had a kind father, I had a brother! I left them all! And I well deserve
what is happening to me now!”
“Are your parents dead?” asked Edouard in a broken voice, gazing at the
man whom he already feared that he recognized.
“Yes, monsieur, they are dead,--perhaps of the sorrow that I caused
them! My mother did not love me very much; but my father was devoted to
me! And I shall never see him again! Oh! this accursed temper of mine,
that has made me do so many foolish things!”
“And your brother?”
“My brother is still alive, so I learned at Paris; he has just married,
I was told. The person who told me was not then able to give me his
address, but is to give it to me to-morrow; then I shall go to see him.
Poor Edouard, he will be greatly surprised to see me! I will bet that he
thinks that I am dead!”
Edouard did not reply; he lowered his eyes, uncertain as to what course
he ought to adopt, and not daring to admit to himself that it was his
brother whom he had found.
Jacques,--for it was he in very truth,--Jacques had relapsed into
meditation; with one hand he fondled his long moustaches, and with the
other rubbed his forehead as if he wished to clear up his ideas. Edouard
stood motionless and silent; his eyes turned sometimes upon the friend
of his childhood, but the shabby coat, the old gaiters, and above all,
the long beard, checked the impulse of his heart which bade him throw
himself into his brother’s arms without stopping to consider his dress,
or without wondering what his position might be.
Suddenly an idea seemed to strike Jacques’s mind, and he turned to
Edouard, and said abruptly:
“It isn’t impossible that you may know my brother; you seem to belong to
fashionable society, and you usually live in Paris, do you not?”
“I do.”
“Perhaps you may have heard of Edouard Murville?”
“Yes--I--I know him.”
“You know my brother?”
“I am Edouard Murville.”
Edouard said these words in such a low tone that no one but Jacques
could have heard them; but he was listening closely, and before his
brother had finished his sentence, he had thrown himself on his neck,
and pressed him in his arms.
Edouard submitted to the embrace with very good grace; but the infernal
moustaches still disturbed him; he did not feel at his ease, and he did
not know whether he ought to rejoice or to be sorry that he had found
his brother.
“I say, why didn’t you tell me your name sooner?” said Jacques, after
embracing Edouard again; “didn’t you guess who I was?”
“Yes, but I wanted to be certain.”
“And you--you seem to be rich and happy?”
“I--yes.”
“You are married; and where is your wife? I shall be delighted to know
her.”
“My wife----”
Edouard paused; the thought of Adeline, of Madame Germeuil, the
suspicions which the latter had conceived the night before, when she saw
the face with moustaches; the brusque manners, and the more than
careless garb of Jacques, which was in such striking contrast to his
own, all this tormented the spirit of the young bridegroom, who, at the
best weak and irresolute, tried in vain to harmonize his self-esteem and
the sentiments which the sight of his brother awoke in him.
“What the devil are you thinking about?” asked Jacques, taking Edouard’s
arm.
“Oh! I was reflecting; it is late, and I must go back to Paris.
Important business demands my presence there.”
Jacques made no reply, but his brow darkened, and he walked a few steps
away from his brother.
“What are you doing now, Jacques?”
“Nothing,” said Jacques, as he scrutinized Edouard with more attention.
“Nothing? Then what are your means of existence?”
“Up to this time I have never asked anyone for anything.”
“However, you do not seem to be very well off.”
“I am not, that is a fact!”
“What an idea, to wear such moustaches! You don’t expect to see my wife,
with those on your face, I fancy?”
“My moustaches will stay where they are; if your wife is a prude and the
sight of me frightens her, never fear! she won’t see me very often!”
“You misunderstand me, that isn’t what I meant. But I must leave you; I
am expected in Paris; I do not ask you to come with me now--indeed you
are expecting to meet someone in this village, I believe.”
“Yes, I am expecting a comrade, a _friend_.”
Jacques emphasized the last word and cast a meaning glance at his
brother.
“Well, I must leave you,” said Edouard, after a moment’s hesitation; “we
shall meet again soon, I hope. Meanwhile, here, take this.”
As he spoke, Edouard drew from his pocket his purse, which contained
about ten louis, and offered it with a trembling hand to his brother;
but Jacques proudly pushed Edouard’s hand away, pulled his hat over his
eyes, put his hand quickly to the collar of his coat, and seemed to
contemplate baring his breast; but he checked himself and said to
Edouard in a cold tone:
“Keep your money; I didn’t come here to ask alms of you, and I do not
propose to become an object of your compassion; I thought that I had
found a brother, but I made a mistake. I do not seem to you worthy to be
received into your house; my dress and my face frighten you; that is
enough; adieu, you will see me no more.”
Jacques cast an angry glance at his brother, and strode from the garden
through the little barred gate, that had remained open.
Edouard, like all irresolute people, stood for a moment without moving,
with his eyes fixed upon the gate through which his brother had left the
garden. At last his natural feelings carried the day, he ran to the
gate, went into the fields, and shouted at the top of his voice:
“Jacques, Brother Jacques!”
But it was too late; Jacques had disappeared, he was already far away,
and his brother’s shouts did not reach his ears.
Edouard returned sadly to the garden; he paused in the gateway, and
looked out into the fields once more, and as he could see no one,
decided at last to close the gate.
“Oh! he will come again,” he said to himself; “he is a hot-headed
fellow, who loses his temper in an instant. However, I didn’t mean to
insult him; I offered him money, because he seemed in great need of it,
and I don’t see why he took offence at that. I gave him to understand
that his dress, his aspect, would be out of place in a salon. Was I so
very wrong? Can I conscientiously present to my wife and my
mother-in-law a man who looks like an escaped convict, at the best? It
would be enough to make a man die of shame--and that too on the very
morrow of my marriage! With the money I offered him he might have
dressed decently; but no! he will not shave his moustaches! Faith, he
may do as he pleases; I did what it was my duty to do.”
Edouard strove to convince himself that he had not done wrong; he did
not admit that his cold and constrained manner might well have
humiliated his brother; but a secret voice arose in the depths of his
heart and reproached him for his unkindness. Dissatisfied with himself
and disturbed concerning the outcome of that adventure, Edouard returned
to his cabriolet and drove away from the village, without giving the
concierge any orders.
When he entered Paris, he was still uncertain as to what he should do.
At last he decided not to mention the encounter to his wife and his
mother-in-law, thinking that it would be time enough to introduce them
to his brother when he should call. When he arrived, his Adeline ran to
meet him, scolded him fondly because he had been away so long, and asked
him about his journey.
“It is all finished,” said Edouard; “the deeds are passed and the pretty
house is ours now.”
“And you had no unpleasant meetings?” asked Adeline with a smile.
“I--no--as you see.”
“And you did not see that terrible face with the moustaches again?”
asked Madame Germeuil.
“No, I did not see him again.”
“I am glad of it, for that man really looked like the leader of a band
of robbers, and for my part I have no sort of desire to see him again, I
assure you.”
Edouard blushed; his brother had the appearance of a highwayman! That
thought troubled him; he believed that they would guess his secret, and
he dared not raise his eyes. But his wife’s caresses dispelled his
disquietude to some extent.
“What on earth is the matter, my dear?” asked Adeline; “you seem very
pensive and preoccupied to-night.”
“Nothing is the matter, my dear love; the bore of being away from you so
long has been my only unhappiness.”
“Dear Edouard! May you always think the same, for then you will never
leave me.--By the way, when do we start for our country house?”
“Oh! in a week.”
“A week! That is a very long while!”
“We must give the former owner time to pack up.”
“Ah, yes! that is true, my dear.”
Edouard did not tell the truth; another reason caused him to delay his
return to Villeneuve-Saint-Georges. That reason he dared not
communicate to Adeline; and after forty-eight hours of married life,
after their mutual promises of absolute and reciprocal confidence,
behold he already had a secret from his wife!
VIII
WE MUST NOT JUDGE BY APPEARANCES
Let us leave Edouard and his wife for awhile, and return to Brother
Jacques, with whom we must become better acquainted.
After his abrupt departure from the garden, Jacques had struck across
the fields, and had walked for a long while without paying any heed to
the road he was following; his only object was to get away from his
brother, whose manners and language had wounded him to the heart. From
time to time Jacques muttered a few words; he raised his eyes, stamped
violently on the ground and seemed intensely excited. Having arrived in
a lovely valley, shaded by ancient walnut trees, Jacques felt the need
of rest; he looked about him as if to make sure that no one was
following him; everything was calm and peaceful. The peasants working in
the fields were the only living things that enlivened the landscape.
Jacques lay down at the foot of a tree, and reviewed in his memory the
conversation which he had just had with Edouard.
“Because I look as if I were unfortunate, he treats me with contempt!
Because I wear moustaches, he dares not introduce me to his wife! He
offers me money, and does not ask me to live with him! Is that the way a
man should treat his brother? Why that contemptuous air? Have I
dishonored my father’s name? If my manners are rough, my speech is frank
and my conscience clear. I may be poor and unfortunate, but never, no,
never, will I commit an action for which I would need to blush. I have
done foolish things,--youthful escapades, it is true; but I have no
shameful offences to reproach myself with, and this that I have here, on
my breast, should guarantee me against all reproach, by commanding me
never to deserve it.”
Thereupon Jacques opened his coat and gazed proudly at the cross of the
Legion of Honor, pinned to an old military jacket which he wore
underneath. That reward of his valor was his sole consolation; and yet
Jacques had concealed the decoration, because he had been for several
days past forced to seek hospitality from peasants, who were not always
hospitable, and Jacques did not wish to show his cross at the risk of
humiliation. He was right; a man who wears a symbol of merit should not
be an object of compassion to other people.
Jacques had his eyes fixed upon his decoration; he was thinking of the
day when his colonel had pinned it on his breast; he remembered the
battles in which he had taken part, his mind returned to the
battlefield, and he saw himself surrounded by his comrades, and marching
eagerly against the enemy; the memory of those glorious days revived his
depressed spirit, and he forgot his sorrows and his brother’s coldness.
At that moment, a young man, dressed very much like Jacques, but whose
bright and animated face denoted neither depression nor poverty, came
down a hill leading into the valley, whistling a military march, and
marking time with a switch on the gooseberry bushes and lilacs which
lined the road.
On arriving in the valley, the traveller stopped and looked about in all
directions.
“What the deuce! not an inn! not a poor little wine-shop even! I wonder
if I have gone astray? I don’t see any sign of a village, and I’m as
thirsty as one possessed. But no matter! Forward!”