As Michel had foreseen and feared, his mother scolded him vigorously.
She was not duped by Courtin's tale; the wound on her son's forehead
was by no means a scratch made by a thorn. Ignorant of what interest
her son could have in concealing the matter from her, and quite
convinced that even if she questioned him she should not get at the
truth, she contented herself by fixing her eyes steadily from time to
time on the mysterious wound, and shaking her head with a sigh and a
scowl of the maternal forehead.
During the whole dinner Michel was ill at ease, lowering his eyes and
scarcely eating; but it must be said that his mother's incessant
examination was not the only thing that troubled him. Hovering between
his lowered eyelids and his mother's suspecting eyes were two forms,
two visions. These visions were the twin shadows of Bertha and of
Mary.
Michel thought of Bertha with some slight irritation. Who was this
Amazon who handled a gun like a trained huntsman, who bandaged wounds
like a surgeon, and who, when she found her patient refractory,
twisted his wrists with her white and womanly hands as Jean Oullier
might have done with his hard and calloused ones?
But on the other hand, how charming was Mary, with her fine blond hair
and her beautiful blue eyes! how sweet her voice, how persuasive its
accents! With what gentleness she had touched his wound, washed off
the blood, and bound the bandage! Michel scarcely regretted the wound,
for without it there was no reason why the young ladies should have
spoken to him or, indeed, have taken any notice of him.
It was true that his mother's displeasure and the doubts he had raised
in her mind were really the more serious matter; but he persuaded
himself that her anger would soon pass off, whereas the thing that
would not pass was the impression left on his heart during the few
seconds when he held Mary's hand clasped closely in his own. All
hearts when they begin to love and yet are not aware of it crave
solitude; and for this reason no sooner was dinner over than,
profiting by a moment when his mother was discoursing with a servant,
he left the room, not hearing or not heeding the words with which she
called after him.
And yet those words were important. Madame de la Logerie forbade her
son to go near the village of Saint-Christophe-du-Ligneron, where, as
she had learned from a servant, a bad fever was raging. She at once
put the château under quarantine, and forbade that any one from the
infected village should approach it. The order was enforced
immediately in the case of a young girl who came to ask assistance of
the baroness for her father, just attacked by the fever.
If Michel's mind had not been so pre-occupied he would undoubtedly
have paid attention to his mother's words, for the sick man was his
foster-father, a farmer named Tinguy, and the girl who had come to ask
help was his foster-sister, Rosine, for whom he had the greatest
affection. But at this moment his thoughts were all rushing toward
Souday, and more especially to that charming creature who bore the
name of Mary.
He buried himself in the remotest woodland of the park, taking with
him a book as an excuse; but though he read the book attentively till
he reached the edge of the forest he would have been puzzled to tell
you the name of it had you asked him. Once hidden from his mother's
eyes he sat down on a bench and reflected.
What was he reflecting about? Easy to answer. He was thinking how he
could contrive to see Mary and her sister again. Chance had thrown
them together once, but chance had taken her time about it, for he had
been over six months in the neighborhood. If it pleased chance to be
another six months without giving the young baron a second meeting
with his new friends the time would be too long for the present state
of his heart.
On the other hand, to open communications with the château de Souday
himself was hardly feasible. There had never been any sympathy between
the Marquis de Souday, an _émigré_ of 1790, and the Baron de la
Logerie, a noble of the Empire. Besides, Jean Oullier, in the few
words he had exchanged with him, had shown plainly there was no
disposition to make his acquaintance.
But the young girls, they who had shown him such interest, masterful
in Bertha, gentle in Mary, how could he reach the young girls? This
indeed was difficult, for though they hunted two or three times a
week, they were always in company of their father and Jean Oullier.
Michel resolved to read all the novels in the library of the château,
hoping to discover from them some ingenious method which, as he began
to fear, his own mind, limited to its own inspirations, could never
furnish. At this stage of his reflections a touch was laid upon his
shoulder; looking round with a quiver he saw Courtin; the farmer's
face expressed a satisfaction he did not take any pains to conceal.
"Beg pardon, excuse me, Monsieur Michel," said the man; "seeing you as
still as a milestone, I thought it was your statue instead of
yourself."
"Well, you see it is I, Courtin."
"And I'm glad of it, Monsieur Michel; I was anxious to hear what
passed between you and Madame la baronne."
"She scolded me a little."
"Oh! I was sure of that. Did you tell her anything about the hare?"
"I took good care not to."
"Or the wolves?"
"What wolves?" asked the young man not ill-pleased to bring the
conversation to this point.
"The she-wolves of Machecoul; I told you that was the nickname for the
young ladies at Souday."
"Of course I did not tell her; you know that, Courtin. I don't think
the Souday hounds and those of La Logerie can hunt together."
"In any case," replied Courtin, in the sneering tone which, in spite
of his best efforts, he was sometimes unable to conceal, "if your
hounds won't hunt with the Souday pack you, as it seems, can hunt with
theirs."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Look!" pulling toward him and, as it were, bringing on the stage two
coupled hounds which he held in a leash.
"What are they?" asked the young baron.
"They? Why, Galon-d'Or and Allégro, to be sure."
"I don't know who Galon-d'Or and Allégro are."
"The dogs of that brigand Jean Oullier."
"Why did you take his dogs?"
"I didn't take them; I simply put them in the pound."
"By what right?"
"By two rights: land-owner's rights, and mayor's rights."
Courtin was mayor of the village of La Logerie, which contained about
a score of houses, and he was very proud of the title.
"Please explain those rights, Courtin."
"Well, in the first place, Monsieur Michel, I confiscate them as mayor
because they hunt at an illegal season."
"I did not know there was an illegal season for hunting wolves;
besides as Monsieur de Souday is Master of wolves--"
"That's very true; as Master of wolves he can hunt wolves in the
forest of Machecoul, but not on the plain. Besides, as you know
yourself," continued Courtin, with a sneering smile, "as you saw
yourself, he was not hunting a wolf at all, but a hare--and moreover,
that hare was shot by one of his own _cubs_."
The young man was on the point of telling Courtin that the word _cub_
applied to the Demoiselles de Souday was offensive to him, and of
requesting him not to use it again, but he dared not make so firm a
remonstrance.
"It was Mademoiselle Bertha who killed it, Courtin," he said, "but I
had previously wounded it; so I am the guilty person."
"Pshaw! what do you mean by that? Would you have fired on the hare if
the hounds were not already coursing it? No, of course not. It is the
fault of the dogs that you fired, and that Mademoiselle Bertha killed
the game; and it is therefore the dogs that I punish as mayor for
pursuing hares under pretence of hunting wolves. But that's not all;
after punishing them as mayor I punish them as--proprietor. Do you
suppose I gave Monsieur le marquis' dogs the right to hunt over my
land?"
"Your land, Courtin!" said Michel, laughing; "you are a trifle
mistaken; it was over my land, or rather my mother's, that they were
trespassing."
"That's no matter, Monsieur le baron, inasmuch as I farm it. You must
remember that we are no longer in 1789, when the great lords had a
right to ride with their hounds over the harvests of the poor peasants
and trample everything down without paying for it; no, no, no, indeed!
this is the year 1832, Monsieur Michel; every man is master of the
soil he lives on, and game belongs to him who supports it. The hare
coursed by the dogs of the marquis is my hare, for it has fed on the
wheat in the fields I hire from Madame la baronne, and it is I alone
who have the right to eat that hare which you wounded and the she-wolf
killed."
Michel made an impatient movement which Courtin detected out of the
corner of his eye; but the youth did not dare to further express his
displeasure.
"There is one thing that surprises me," he said, "and that is why
those dogs that are straining so at the leash ever allowed you to
catch them."
"Oh!" said Courtin, "that did not give me any trouble. After I left
you and Madame la baronne at the bars, I came back and found these
gentlemen at dinner."
"At dinner?"
"Yes, in the hedge, where I left the hare; they found it and they were
dining. It seems they are not properly fed at the château de Souday.
Just see the state my hare is in."
So saying, Courtin took from the huge pocket of his jacket the
hindquarters of the hare, which formed the incriminating proof of the
misdemeanor; the head and shoulders were eaten off.
"And to think," said Courtin, "that they did it in just that minute of
time while I was with you and madame! Ah! you scamps, you'll have to
help me kill a good many to make me forget that."
"Courtin, let me tell you something," said the young baron.
"Tell away, don't be backward, Monsieur Michel."
"It is that as you are a mayor you ought to respect the laws."
"Laws! I wear them on my heart. Liberty! Public order! Don't you know
those words are posted over the door of the mayor's office, Monsieur
Michel?"
"Well, so much the more reason why I should tell you that what you are
doing is not legal, and threatens liberty and public order."
"What!" exclaimed Courtin. "Shall the hounds of those she-wolves hunt
over my land at a prohibited season, and I not be allowed to put them
in the pound?"
"They were not disturbing public order, Courtin; they were simply
injuring private interests; you have the right to lodge a complaint
against them, but not to put them in the pound."
"Oh! that's too round-about a way; if hounds are to be allowed to run
where they like and we can only lodge complaints against them, then it
isn't men who have liberty, but dogs."
"Courtin," said the youth, with, a touch of the assumption observable
in men who get a smattering of the Code, "you make the mistake that a
great many persons make; you confound liberty with independence;
independence is the liberty of men who are not free, my friend."
"Then what is liberty, Monsieur Michel?"
"Liberty, my dear Courtin, is the sacrifice that each man makes of his
personal independence for the good of all. It is from the general fund
of independence that each man draws his liberty; we are free, Courtin,
but not independent."
"Oh, as for me," said Courtin, "I don't know anything about all that.
I am a mayor and the holder of land; and I have captured the best
hounds of the Marquis de Souday's pack, Galon-d'Or and Allégro, and I
shall not give them up. Let him come after them, and when he does I
shall ask him what he has been doing in certain meetings at Torfou and
Montaigu."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, I know what I mean."
"Yes, but I don't."
"There is no reason why you should know; you are not a mayor."
"No, but I am an inhabitant of the place and I have an interest in
knowing what happens."
"As for that, it is easy to see what is happening; these people are
conspiring again."
"What people?"
"Why, the nobles! the--but I'd better hold my tongue, though you are
not exactly their style of nobility, you."
Michel reddened to the whites of his eyes.
"You say the nobles are conspiring, Courtin?"
"If not, why do they have these secret meetings at night. If they meet
in the daytime, the lazy fellows, to eat and drink, that's all well
enough; the law allows it and there's nothing to be said. But when
they meet at night it is for no good end, you may be sure. In any case
they had better look out; I've got my eye upon them, and I'm the
mayor; I may not have the right to put the dogs in the pound, but I
have the right to put the men in prison; I know the Code plain enough
as to that."
"And you say Monsieur de Souday frequents those meetings?"
"Goodness! do you suppose he doesn't?--an old Chouan and a former
aide-de-camp of Charette like him! Let him come and claim his dogs;
yes, let him come! and I'll send him to Nantes, him and his cubs; they
shall be made to explain what they are about, roaming the woods as
they do at night."
"But," exclaimed Michel, with an eagerness there was no mistaking,
"you told me yourself, Courtin, that if they went about at night it
was to help the poor sick people."
Courtin stepped back a pace and pointing his finger at his young
master he said with his sneering laugh:--
"Ha! ha! I've caught you."
"Me!" said the young man, coloring, "how have you caught me?"
"Well, they've caught you."
"Caught me!"
"Yes, yes, yes! And I don't blame you either; whatever else these
young ladies may be, I must say they are pretty. Come, you needn't
blush that way; you are not just out of a seminary; you are neither a
priest, nor a deacon, nor a vicar; you are a handsome lad of twenty.
Go ahead, Monsieur Michel; they'll have very poor taste if they don't
like you when you like them."
"But, my dear Courtin," said Michel, "even supposing what you say were
true, which it is not, I don't know these young ladies; I don't know
the marquis. I can't go and call there just because I have happened to
meet those young girls once on horseback."
"Oh, yes, I understand," said Courtin, in his jeering way; "they
haven't a penny, but they've fine manners. You want a pretext, an
excuse for going there, don't you? Well, look about and find one; you,
who talk Greek and Latin and have studied the Code, you ought to be
able to find one."
Michel shook his head.
"Oh!" said Courtin, "then you have been looking for one?"
"I did not say so," said the young baron, hastily.
"No, but I say so; a man isn't so old at forty that he can't remember
what he was at twenty."
Michel was silent and kept his head lowered; the peasant's eye weighed
heavily upon him.
"So you couldn't find a way? Well, I've found one for you."
"You!" cried the youth eagerly, looking up. Then, recognizing that he
had let his secret thoughts escape him, he added, shrugging his
shoulders: "How the devil do you know that I want to go to the
castle?"
"Well, the way to do it," said Courtin, seeing that his master made no
attempt to deny his wish, "the way is this--"
Michel affected indifference, but he was listening with all his ears.
"You say to me, 'Père Courtin, you are mistaken as to your rights; you
cannot, either as mayor or the holder of property put the Marquis de
Souday's dogs in the pound; you have a right to an indemnity, but this
indemnity must be amicably agreed upon.' To which I, Père Courtin,
reply: 'If you are concerned in it, Monsieur Michel, I agree; I know
your generosity.' On which you say: 'Courtin, you must give me those
dogs; the rest is my affair.' And I reply: 'There are the dogs,
Monsieur Michel; as for the indemnity, hang it! a gold piece or two
will play the game, and I don't want the death of the sinner.' Then,
don't you see? you write a bit of a note to the marquis; you have
found the dogs, and you send them back by Rousseau or La Belette, for
fear he should be anxious. He can't help thanking you and inviting you
to call and see him. Perhaps, however, to make quite sure, you had
better take the dogs back yourself."
"That will do, Courtin," said the young baron. "Leave the dogs with
me; I'll send them to the marquis, not to make him invite me to the
castle, for there's not a word of truth in all you have been
supposing, but because, between neighbors, it is a courteous thing to
do."
"Very good,--so be it; but, all the same, they are two pretty slips,
those girls. As for the indemnity--"
"Ah, yes," said the young baron, laughing, "that's fair; you want the
indemnity for the injury the hounds did you by passing over my land
and eating up half the hare which Bertha killed."
And he gave the farmer what he happened to have in his pocket, which
was three or four louis. It was lucky for him there was no more, for
he was so delighted at finding a way to present himself at the château
de Souday that he would willingly have given the farmer ten times that
sum if by chance it had been in his purse.
Courtin cast an appreciative eye on the golden louis he had just
received under the head of "indemnity," and putting the leash in the
hand of the young man he went his way.
But after going a few steps he turned round and came back to his
master.
"Don't mix yourself up too much with those people, Monsieur Michel,"
he said. "You know what I told you just now about those _messieurs_ at
Torfu and Montaigu; it is all true, and mark my words, in less than
fifteen days there'll be a fine row."
This time he departed for good, singing "La Parisienne," for the words
and tune of which he had a great predilection.
The young man was left alone with the two dogs.