usual; the gusts of wind constantly snapped off branches of the trees
and hurled them far away across the roads, which soon became impassable.
The clock struck eight and it had long been dark.
Adeline, whom the roaring of the tempest made more melancholy than
usual, had not left her room during the day. Catherine had brought
Ermance downstairs and put her to bed beside her mother, who was sitting
in a chair and refused to retire so early, despite the old servant’s
entreaties. The master of the house was playing his usual game with
Dupré, and Lucas had just taken up his great book, when the bell at the
gate rang loudly.
“Somebody is ringing,” said Monsieur Gerval; “company so late as this,
and in such weather!”
“It is very strange!” repeated Lucas.
“Shall I open the door, monsieur?” asked Dupré.
“Why, we must find out first who it is; it may be travellers who have
got lost in the mountains and cannot go any farther, or some unfortunate
creature whom the villagers have sent to me, as they sometimes do. I
hear Catherine coming, she will tell us who it is.”
Catherine had been to the door to look out, and she came up again to
take her master’s orders.
“Monsieur,” she said, “it is three travellers, three peddlers, it would
seem, for they have bales on their backs. They ask for shelter for
to-night, as they cannot go on, because there are more than two feet of
snow on the road. One of them is a poor old man who seems to suffer much
from the cold. Shall I let them in?”
“Certainly, and we will do our best for them.”
“But, monsieur,” said Dupré, “three men, at night--that is rather
imprudent!”
“Why so, Dupré? They are peddlers and one of them is old; what have we
to fear? It is perfectly natural that they should seek shelter in bad
weather; ought I to leave people to lose their way among these
mountains, for fear of entertaining vagabonds? Ah! my friend, if it were
necessary to read the hearts of those whom one succors, one would do
good too seldom! Go and let them in quickly, Catherine; do not leave
these travellers at the gate any longer; and do you, Dupré, make a big
fire so that they may dry themselves; and Lucas will prepare the small
room which I always reserve for visitors.”
Catherine went down and opened the gate for the travellers, who
overwhelmed her with thanks. The two younger ones held the old man by
the arms, and only with great difficulty did they succeed in helping him
up the staircase to the first floor, where the master of the house
awaited them in the living-room.
“Welcome, messieurs,” said honest Gerval, inviting them to draw near the
fire. “First of all, let us make this old gentleman comfortable; he
seems completely exhausted.”
“Yes, monsieur,” said the aged stranger in a tremulous voice, “the cold
has so affected me that, except for the help of my children, I should
have remained on the road.”
“You will soon feel better, my good man. Messieurs, take off those
bales, which are in your way, and I will send them to the room which you
are to occupy.”
The peddlers deposited in a corner of the room several bundles which
seemed to contain linens, handkerchiefs and muslin; Dupré, who was a
little suspicious, walked to the bundles and examined them; one of the
young men noticed his action, and made haste to open several of them and
exhibit his wares to the old servant.
“If there’s anything that takes your fancy, say so, monsieur,” he said;
“we will do our best to please you.”
“Thanks,” replied Dupré, seeing that his master appeared displeased by
his inspection of the bundles; “we can see these things better to-morrow
morning.”
The two peddlers returned to the old man, and sat down in front of the
fire. Catherine brought a bottle of wine and glasses, and Lucas took up
the bundles and carried them to the room on the second floor.
“Here is something that will warm you while your supper is preparing,”
said Monsieur Gerval, filling the strangers’ glasses. “Drink,
messieurs,--it is very good.”
“With pleasure,” said that one of the young men who had already spoken
to Dupré. “An excellent thing is good wine! Here, father; here, Jean;
your health, monsieur.”
“Are these your sons?” Monsieur Gerval asked the old man.
“Yes, monsieur, they are my support, the staff of my old age. This is
Gervais, my oldest; he is always merry, always ready to laugh; and this
is Jean, my youngest, he isn’t so light-hearted as his brother, he
doesn’t speak much, but he is a steady fellow, a great worker and very
economical. I love them both, for they are honest and incapable of
deceiving anybody, and with those qualities a man is certain to make his
way.”
“I congratulate you on having such children; but why do you go on the
road with them at your age?”
“You see, monsieur, we’re going to Metz to set up in business; my boys
are going to marry the daughters of a correspondent of theirs, and I am
going to live with them.”
“That makes a difference; but was it chance that brought you to my
house, or did the peasants point it out to you as a good place at which
to pass the night?”
“Monsieur,” said Gervais, “we are not familiar with this neighborhood,
and as we started out rather late, the darkness took us by surprise;
that is why we sought shelter, especially on account of our father, who
is too old to endure severe weather. But for him, we should never have
been able to make up our minds to ask a gentleman for a night’s lodging,
and we should have passed the night on the snow, my brother and
I--shouldn’t we, Jean?”
“Yes,” said Jean in a low voice, and without removing his gaze from the
fire.
“You would have done very wrong, messieurs,” said Monsieur Gerval,
filling the strangers’ glasses; “I like to be useful to my fellowmen,
and I will try to give you a comfortable night.”
“You live in a very isolated house,” said Gervais, emptying his glass;
“aren’t you ever afraid of being victimized by robbers?”
“I have never been afraid of that; nothing has ever happened to me thus
far.”
“Besides, there are enough of us here to defend ourselves,” said Dupré,
drawing himself up; “and we have weapons, thank God!”
“Dupré, go and see if Catherine is getting supper ready.”
“Yes, monsieur, and I’ll go too and see if Madame Constance and her
daughter want anything.”
Dupré did not go to Adeline’s room; but he was glad of an opportunity to
let the strangers know that there were more people in the house, for he
was not at all pleased to find that the strangers were going to pass the
night there.
He went to the kitchen, and asked Catherine what she thought of the
strangers.
“Faith! I think they’re honest folk; the old man seems very
respectable.”
“For an old man who can hardly stand on his legs, he has very bright
eyes! And his two sons! one of them looks very much like a regular
ne’er-do-well; he always has a sneering laugh when he speaks, and he
drinks--oh! he don’t leave any in his glass!”
“Indeed! that’s very surprising, isn’t it? A peddler!”
“And the other one,--such a sombre air! He never lifts his eyes; and so
far the only word he has said is a single ‘yes,’ and he said it in such
a lugubrious way! I don’t like those people.”
“Bah! you are too suspicious, my dear Dupré.”
“No, but I like to know my people.”
“Do we know this poor woman who has been living here for more than a
year?”
“Oh! but what a difference! A young, beautiful, and interesting woman;
why, her condition alone would make anyone pity her; and that child,
such a sweet, pretty creature! You see, I know something about faces;
and these peddlers--I tell you, Catherine, I shan’t sleep sound
to-night.”
“And I shall sleep very well, I trust.”
“For all that, don’t forget to lock your door.”
“Well, upon my word! if you’re not just like Lucas! I must say that we
have brave fellows here to defend us, if we should be attacked!”
“You are mistaken, Catherine; I am not a coward; but I realize that I am
more than twenty years old. Oh! if I were only twenty, I wouldn’t be
afraid of three men!”
“Let me get my supper ready, instead of making my ears ache with your
nonsense.”
“Nonsense! Hum! that’s easy to say.--And what about our young
woman,--won’t she come to supper?”
“You know very well that it isn’t her custom. She is asleep, I hope; I
suppose you would like to wake her, wouldn’t you?”
“Catherine.”
“Well?”
“It seems to me that I hear a noise in the yard, near the gate.”
“It’s the wind waving the trees and shaking the windows. However, go and
see.”
“Yes, I propose to make sure for myself, although you say that I am a
coward.”
Dupré lighted a lantern, and made the circuit of the courtyard.
Everything was in its accustomed order; the gate was securely locked; he
stopped a moment to look through the bars, but the wind blew the snow
into his face. While he was rubbing his eyes, a dull sound reached his
ears, which seemed to come from the room on the ground floor which
Adeline occupied.
“Poor woman! she isn’t asleep yet,” said Dupré to himself; “suppose I
should go and find out if she wants anything? But monsieur doesn’t want
her to be disturbed at night; he has forbidden it; so I’ll go upstairs
again and watch the peddlers.”
The old servant met Lucas on the stairs; the gardener was laughing and
singing, because he was always very cheerful when there was much company
in the house.
“Have you arranged the bedroom for these strangers?” asked Dupré.
“Yes, and I’ve carried their bundles there; and the tall one wanted to
give me a piece of money for my trouble, but I refused it.”
“You did well. For people who travel on foot, they’re very generous.”
“Oh! he has the look of a high liver, has that tall fellow with the red
hair; he laughs and drinks and talks for the whole party. If we often
had guests like him, there’d be a little more fun here, I tell you! But
we haven’t got anybody but that poor woman; and a lunatic is never very
gay, especially this one.”
“Humph! you don’t know how to judge people. I don’t say that these
peddlers are scoundrels, but----”
“But what?”
“Lock your door tight to-night--do you hear, Lucas?”
“Yes, Monsieur Dupré, yes, I hear,” replied Lucas, whose hilarity
suddenly vanished, and who became pale and perturbed, while Dupré
returned slowly to his master’s presence.
The old man and Gervais were talking with Monsieur Gerval; the other
young man replied only by monosyllables to the questions that were put
to him.
“My brother is a little serious,” said tall Gervais to his host, in an
undertone. “The trouble is, that he is jealous, he’s afraid that his
sweetheart has forgotten him in the two years that he has been away, and
that disturbs him.”
“I can understand that, but you don’t seem to have the same anxiety!”
“I? morbleu! woman never worried me! I’m a rake, I am! I snap my fingers
at them all, and I am capable of----”
“Hush, my son,” said the old man, interrupting him abruptly; “you talk a
little too freely; excuse him, monsieur; you see he’s been a soldier.”
“Aha! you have been in the army, have you?”
“Yes, to be sure I have; and when there’s any fighting to be done, I am
always on hand; eh, father?”
“Oh! to be sure! You are a wrong-headed youngster! anybody can see
that!”
Catherine appeared and announced that supper was served in the next
room.
“Let us adjourn to the table, messieurs,” said Monsieur Gerval,
escorting the newcomers to the dining-room. They took their seats, the
old peddler beside his host. Dupré, as a very old servant, who had
become his master’s friend, always ate at his table; he took his place,
but Monsieur Gerval noticed that there was another plate beside him.
“For whom is this place, Dupré?” asked Monsieur Gerval.
“It is for our young lady, monsieur, or for her daughter, if either of
them should come.”
“You know very well, my friend, that they are asleep now; Constance
isn’t in the habit of sitting up so late.”
“She isn’t asleep, monsieur, for I heard a noise in her room.”
The old man cast a glance at his two companions, then addressed his
host:
“You have ladies in your house? If we prevent them from coming to the
table, we will go up to our room at once.”
“No, indeed! I have only a young woman and a child. The poor mother,
alas! is bereft of her reason. She is an unfortunate creature, who has a
too loving heart.”
“I am sorry for her!”
“Let us drink to her health, messieurs,” said tall Gervais, filling his
glass and his neighbor’s.
“That fellow doesn’t stand much on ceremony,” thought Dupré, as he
glanced at the peddler, who took the bottle himself; “the devil! he
would exhaust our cellar in short order.”
The old man glanced at his oldest son from time to time; he seemed
displeased to see him drink so often, and reproached him for not being
more temperate.
“You see, our host’s wine is delicious,” replied Gervais; “and you know
that I am a good judge, father.”
“Do not spare it,” said Monsieur Gerval; “it will give you strength to
continue your journey to-morrow.”
“With pleasure, my dear monsieur; I am inclined to crook my elbow a
bit.”
Dupré made a wry face; it seemed to him that Monsieur Gervais used some
very peculiar expressions, and the more he drank, the less reserve he
manifested. Honest Gerval excused it, and was much amused by the
joviality of the peddler, which did not seem to please the old man so
much.
“Why don’t you drink, Jean?” said Gervais, nudging his neighbor; “you’re
a sad fellow! And you, my dear and honored father; you make eyes at me
that shine like salt cellars! Morbleu! I am the only one of the family
that knows how to laugh; eh, monsieur?--Monsieur de Gerval, your health
and your family’s and your lunatic’s; and yours, you old fox, who look
at us as if we’d come from Arabia Petræa.--Here’s everybody’s health! I
am not stingy!”
“Excuse him, monsieur,” the old man said to Dupré, “but when he has
drunk a little, he doesn’t know what he says.”
Dupré frowned and made no reply.
“I don’t know what I say!” cried Gervais; “ah! ten thousand dogs! you
think that, do you, my dear father? Well! you lie like the blockhead you
are! Isn’t that so, Jean? isn’t he a blockhead?”
The old man rose in a rage.
“If it weren’t for the respect that I owe to our host,” he said, “I’d
punish you for your insolence; but I take pity on the situation you’re
in; come with me, and let us not keep monsieur from retiring any
longer.”
“That’s so, that’s so, my dear father; I rather think I have been
talking nonsense, and it’s more prudent to go to bed; meanwhile I ask
you for your blessing.”
As he said this, Gervais approached the old man, who pushed him away,
and bade Monsieur Gerval good-night, apologizing again for his oldest
son’s conduct.
Lucas took candles and was about to escort the strangers to the room set
apart for them, when they heard a noise in the courtyard. The peddlers
expressed surprise and Dupré ran to the window to look out; he saw
Adeline, dressed in a simple déshabillé, holding a light in her hand and
walking excitedly through the drifts of snow in the courtyard.
“It is she, monsieur,” said Dupré to his master; “it’s very surprising
that she has left her room so late.”
“Is that the poor woman?” asked the old man.
“Pardieu! I want to see the mad woman!” cried tall Gervais; “I am
curious to know whether or not she is pretty.”
He ran at once to the window but Adeline had already returned to her
room.
“Good-night, messieurs,” said Gerval to the strangers; “I will see you
to-morrow before you leave.”
The peddlers went up to the second floor, Lucas left them a light, and
hastened down to his room, which adjoined the kitchen, taking care to
barricade the door, from top to bottom, as Dupré had advised.
The latter, left alone with his master, for the cook had already
retired, communicated to Monsieur Gerval his observations on the subject
of the strangers.
“You must agree, monsieur,” he said, “that that tall fellow has the look
of a vagabond. His way of talking and of behaving, his lack of respect
toward his father----”
“What do you expect? He had had a little too much to drink!”
“His peculiar expressions----”
“He has been in the army.”
“Oh! that isn’t the language of a soldier.--God grant, my dear master,
that you do not repent the hospitality you have given to these people!”
“What are you afraid of?”
“I don’t know, but everything about them looks suspicious to me; even
the silence of that other one, whose sinister expression does not
indicate an honest heart.”
“Nonsense, Dupré! calm your excitement and go to bed. A night is soon
passed.”
“Yes, when you sleep! but it is very long sometimes. What pleases me is
that my room is next to yours; if you hear any noise, you will call me
instantly, won’t you, monsieur?”
“Yes, my good Dupré; go now and don’t be frightened.”
Dupré left his master regretfully; the latter went to bed in perfect
confidence, and soon forgot in sleep his old servant’s words.
Dupré’s room was on the first floor, adjoining Monsieur Gerval’s; but
his door opened on the landing, from which one flight of stairs led up
to the second floor and another down to the courtyard.
Tormented by an anxiety which he could not overcome, Dupré resolved to
keep awake, and to try to clear up his suspicions. He looked from his
window at the strangers’ apartment; the light was still burning.
“They have not gone to bed,” he said; “if I only could hear them
talking! I will try.”
He left his room noiselessly, without a light, and went up to the second
floor; he stopped at the door of the peddlers’ room; but he remembered
then that there was a small dressing-room between the hall and the
bedroom, which made it impossible to hear what they said, from the
landing. Dupré was about to go down again, when he remembered that the
top of the chimney of the room where the strangers were was directly in
front of the round window in the loft. He at once went up to the loft,
walking with the utmost precaution. He opened the round window very
softly, crawled out on his stomach, and placed his ear near the top of
the flue; then, thanks to his nearness to the floor below, he easily
heard the following conversation:
“You are incorrigible, Lampin; your infernal sottishness came near
betraying us a hundred times.”
“Bah! bah; what had we to fear, after all? There’s nobody in the house
but three old blockheads, a fool, a mad woman and a child! That’s a very
terrible lot, isn’t it? If you had taken my advice, once we were in the
house, we would have acted without disguise. For my part, I would look
after the old Crœsus and his servant.”
“It is much better to act without risk, and to be able to effect our
retreat without disorder. You may be sure that, before bringing you
here, I made inquiries about the people in the house. The owner is very
rich, he helps everybody.”
“Well, he must help us too, the old Crœsus!”
“He must have much money here; I know that he received remittances from
his farmers a week ago. All that money must be in his room; we can
easily get in there, take possession of the treasure, and escape through
the mad woman’s room; for the gate is very strong, and very securely
fastened, and we should have much difficulty in forcing it.”
“Very good! But I saw bars at the ground floor window looking on the
woods. Is that the way that you propose to take us out, my most honored
father?”
“You idiot! Do you suppose that I haven’t thought of everything? Our
comrades have orders to file the bars, and I told them that they could
work without fear, as the woman who occupies the room would watch them
without saying a word.”
“Bravo! That is a most excellent idea; isn’t it, Edouard? Speak up, you
infernal dreamer!”
“Yes, yes, the plan is well devised.”
“It is very lucky that it pleases you! If only that old steward who
looked askance at us doesn’t disturb our arrangements.”
“Woe to him, if he should dare!--We will let our comrades in; then we
shall be in force; and those who make trouble for us will soon be
reduced to silence!”
“That’s the talk! strong measures.”
“Luckily I was moderate at table; if I had imitated you, Lampin, we
should have betrayed ourselves.”
“What the devil! you played the old man so well that I nearly choked
with laughter. But if I did drink, it only increased my courage; there
is gold to be got here, and that gives me nerve, my colleagues. Let’s
see, how do we distribute our functions?”
“We will let our friends in, in a few moments; we must give these old
men time to get to sleep. We will leave Edouard on guard with the mad
woman, to see that she doesn’t lock the door of her room in a fit of
delirium; for that would cut off our retreat. Our comrades will stand
guard, one over the gardener, the other over the cook; and you, Lampin,
will go with me in search of the money.”
“That’s well arranged; this good fellow cannot complain of having a too
dangerous post; to stay with a woman and a child, both asleep! What
prowess!”
“Very true, but they mustn’t wake; if they should make the slightest
sound--remember, Edouard, that our safety, our lives, are at stake.”
“All right, I understand.”
“And so do I,” said Dupré to himself, noiselessly withdrawing his head;
“I know enough;--the villains! I was not mistaken! We have given
hospitality to brigands! O my God! inspire me, so that I may save my
master and that poor woman!”
The old servant crept along the roof and reëntered the loft. Despite all
he could do to revive his spirits and his courage, his legs trembled, he
could hardly hold himself erect, and his imagination, thrown into
confusion by all that he had heard, saw nothing but scenes of blood and
death. Dupré was sixty-five years old; at that age, a man is a long time
coming to a decision; and in dangerous crises, the time that he loses in
making up his mind as to what he shall do makes the danger more
imminent.
Dupré felt his way through the loft. Should he wake his master or Lucas?
But the gardener did not wake easily, he would have to make much noise
at his door, and in the silence of the night, the slightest sound would
be heard by the robbers and would arouse their suspicions. Catherine was
locked into her kitchen, and would be of no assistance to them. But it
was the young woman’s apartment through which the comrades of the
brigands were to enter the house; it was most essential to close that
entrance, after removing Constance and her daughter from the room.
This plan seemed the wisest to the old servant. He decided to go
downstairs, but he trembled and shuddered as he placed his foot on the
staircase. If the villains should come out of their room and meet him,
he would be lost! He listened before venturing upon each step; at the
slightest sound he stopped. He was about to pass the door of the second
floor; but he heard voices and footsteps. The door was thrown open, and
Dupré hurried back to the loft.
The pretended peddlers had heard a noise above their heads; the old
man’s heavy step had made the boards creak and had disturbed the silence
of the night. Dufresne left the room first; he held a torch in one hand
and a dagger in the other. Lampin followed, and they entered the loft
just as the old servant was crawling under a bundle of straw.
“We are betrayed!” said Dufresne; “someone has been listening to us.”
He instantly plunged his dagger into the old man’s bosom, as he clasped
his hands to implore mercy. Dupré expired without uttering a sound; his
blood inundated the floor, and Lampin covered the ill-fated servant’s
body with straw.
“Let us go down,” said Dufresne; “and as suspicion has been aroused, let
us make haste to act!”
“What has happened?” asked Edouard, who had remained on the landing as a
sentinel.
“Nothing,” said Lampin; “only there is one less prying fool.”
“Let us go at once to the mad woman’s room; our friends should be at
their post; let us not leave them any longer cooling their heels in the
open air.”
The brigands went down to the ground floor; the key was in the door of
Adeline’s room, and they entered. A lamp on the hearth half lighted the
room, the window of which opened on the forest. The child’s little bed
was placed beside the mother’s, the curtains of which were tightly
drawn. Well assured that she who was in the bed was not awake to spy
upon their acts, Dufresne went at once to open the shutters, and
admitted his companions, who had remained by the window after sawing the
bars.