It was about two in the morning, perhaps, when the young Baron Michel
again reached the end of the avenue, which leads to the château de la
Logerie. The atmosphere was calm; the majestic silence of the night,
which was broken only by the rustling of the leaves, led him into
reverie. It is not necessary to say that the two sisters were the
objects of his thought, and that the one whose image the baron
followed with as much respect and love as Tobit followed the angel in
the Bible, was Mary.
But when he saw before him, at the farther end of the dark arcade of
trees beneath which he was walking, the windows of the château, which
were sparkling in the moonlight, all his charming visions vanished,
and his ideas took a far more practical direction. In place of the
ravishing figures of girlhood so lately beside him, he saw the stern
and threatening outline of his mother.
We know the terror with which she inspired him. He stopped short. If
in all the neighborhood there were any shelter, even a tavern, in
which he could spend the night, he would not have returned to the
house till the next day, so great were his apprehensions. It was the
first time he had ever been late in getting home, and he felt
instinctively that his mother was on the watch for him. What should he
answer to the dreadful inquiry, "Where have you been?"
Courtin could give him a night's lodging; but if he went to Courtin he
should have to tell him all, and the young baron fully understood the
danger there was in taking a man like Courtin into his confidence. He
decided, therefore, to brave the maternal wrath,--very much as the
criminal decides to brave the scaffold, simply because he cannot do
otherwise,--and continued his way home.
Nevertheless, the nearer he got to the château the more his resolution
faltered. When he reached the end of the avenue where he had to cross
the lawn, and when he saw his mother's window, the only lighted window
in the building, his heart failed him. No, his forebodings had not
misled him; his mother was on the watch. His resolution vanished
entirely, and fear, developing the resources of his imagination, put
into his head the idea of a trick which, if it did not avert his
mother's anger, would at any rate delay the explosion of it.
He turned to the right, glided along in the shadow of a buckthorn
hedge, reached the wall of the kitchen garden, over which he climbed,
and passed through the gate leading from the kitchen-garden to the
park.
Up to this moment all was well; but now came the most difficult, or
rather the most hazardous part of his enterprise. He had to find some
window left unfastened by a careless servant, by which he could enter
the house and slip back to his own apartment unperceived.
The château de la Logerie consists of a large, square building,
flanked at the corners with four towers of the same shape. The
kitchens and offices were underground, the reception-rooms on the
ground-floor, those of the baroness on the next floor, those of her
son above her. Michel examined the house on three sides, trying gently
but persistently every door and window, keeping close to the walls,
stepping with precaution, and even holding his breath. Neither doors
nor windows yielded.
There was still the front of the house to be examined. This was much
the most dangerous side, for the windows of the baroness commanded it,
and there were no shrubs to cast a protecting shadow. Here he found a
window open. True, it was that of his mother's bedroom; but Michel,
now desperate, reflected that if he had to be scolded he would rather
it were without than within the house, and he resolved on making the
attempt.
He was cautiously advancing round the corner tower when he saw a
shadow moving on the lawn. A shadow of course meant a body. Michel
stopped and gave all his attention to the new arrival. He saw it was a
man, and the man was following the path he himself would have taken
had he gone, in the first instance, straight to the house. The young
baron now made a few steps backward and crouched in the heavy shadow
projected by the tower.
The man came nearer. He was not more than fifty yards from the house
when Michel heard the harsh voice of his mother speaking from her
window. He congratulated himself on not having crossed the lawn and
taken the path the man was on.
"Is that you, Michel?" asked the baroness.
"No, madame, no," replied a voice, which the young baron recognized,
with amazement not unmingled with fear, as that of Courtin, "you do me
too much honor in taking me for Monsieur le baron."
"Good heavens!" cried the baroness, "what brings you here at this
hour?"
"Ah! you may well suppose it is something important, Madame la
baronne."
"Has any harm happened to my son?"
The tone of agony in which his mother said these words touched the
young man so deeply that he was about to rush out and reassure her
when Courtin's answer, which came immediately, paralyzed this good
intention.
"Oh! no, no, madame; I have just seen the young _gars_, if I may so
call Monsieur le baron, and he is quite well,--up to the present
moment at least."
"Present moment!" said the baroness. "Is he in any danger?"
"Well, yes," said Courtin; "he may get into trouble if he persists in
running after those female Satans,--and may hell clutch them! It is to
prevent such a misfortune that I've taken the liberty to come to you
at this time of night, feeling sure that as Monsieur Michel is so late
in getting home you would surely be sitting up for him."
"You did right, Courtin. Where is he now,--do you know?"
Courtin looked about him.
"I am surprised he has not come in. I took the county road so as to
leave him the wood-path clear, and that's a good half-mile shorter
than the road."
"But tell me at once, where has he been; where is he coming from; what
has he done; why is he roaming the country at two in the morning,
without considering my anxiety or reflecting that he is injuring my
health as well as his own?"
"Madame la baronne, I cannot answer those questions in the open air."
Then, lowering his voice, he added, "What I have to tell madame is so
important that she had better hear it in her own room. Besides, as the
young master is not yet in, he may be here at any moment," said the
farmer, looking uneasily about him, "and I wouldn't for all the world
have him suspect that I keep a watch upon him, though it is for his
own good, and to do you a service."
"Come in, then; you are right," said the baroness. "Come in, at once."
"Beg pardon, madame, but how, if you please?"
"True," said the baroness, "the door is locked."
"If madame will throw me the key--"
"It is inside the door."
"Oh, bother it!"
"I sent the servants to bed, not wishing them to know of my son's
misconduct. Wait; I will ring for my maid."
"Oh, madame, no!" exclaimed Courtin, "it is better not to let any one
into our secrets; it seems to me the matter is so important that
madame might disregard appearances. I know madame was not born to open
the door to a poor farmer like me; but once in a way it wouldn't
signify. If everybody is asleep in the château, so much the better; we
shall be safe from curiosity."
"Really, Courtin, you alarm me," said the baroness, who was in fact
prevented from opening the door by a petty pride, which had not
escaped the farmer's observation. "I will hesitate no longer."
The baroness withdrew from the window, and a moment later Michel heard
the grinding of the key and the bolts of the front door. He listened
at first in an agony of apprehension; then he became aware that the
door, which opened with difficulty, had not been relocked or
bolted,--no doubt because his mother and Courtin were so pre-occupied
in mind. He waited a few seconds till he was sure they had reached the
upper floor. Then, gliding along the wall, he mounted the portico,
pushed open the door, which turned noiselessly on its hinges, and
entered the vestibule.
His original intention had been, of course, to regain his room and
await events, while pretending to be asleep. In that case the exact
hour of his return home would not be known, and he might still have a
chance to get out of the scrape by a fib. But matters were much
changed since he formed that intention. Courtin had followed him;
Courtin had seen him. Courtin must know that the Comte de Bonneville
and his companion had taken refuge in the château de Souday. For a
moment Michel forgot himself to think of his friend, whom the farmer,
with his violent political opinions, might greatly injure.
Instead of going up to his own floor, he slipped, like a wolf, along
his mother's corridor. Just as he reached her door he heard her say:--
"So you really think, Courtin, that my son has been enticed by one of
those miserable women?"
"Yes, madame, I am sure of it; and they've got him so fast that I am
afraid you'll have a deal of trouble to get him away from them."
"Girls without a penny!"
"As for that, they come of the oldest blood in the country, madame,"
said Courtin, wishing to sound his way; "and for nobles like you
that's something, at any rate."
"Faugh!" exclaimed the baroness; "bastards!"
"But pretty; one is like an angel, the other like a demon."
"Michel may amuse himself with them, as so many others, they say, have
done; that's possible; but you can't suppose that he ever dreamed of
marrying one of them? Nonsense! he knows me too well to think that I
would ever consent to such a marriage."
"Barring the respect I owe to him, Madame la baronne, my opinion is
that Monsieur Michel has never reflected at all about it, and doesn't
yet know what he feels for the wolves; but one thing I'm sure of, and
that is he is getting himself into another kind of trouble, which may
compromise him seriously."
"What do you mean, Courtin?"
"Well, confound it!" exclaimed the farmer, seeming to hesitate, "do
you know, madame, that it would be very painful to me, who love and
respect you, if my duty compelled me to arrest my young master?"
Michel trembled where he stood; and yet it was the baroness to whom
the shock was most severe.
"Arrest Michel!" she exclaimed, drawing herself up; "I think you
forget yourself, Courtin."
"No, madame, I do not."
"But--"
"I am your farmer, it is true," continued Courtin, making the baroness
a sign with his hand to control herself. "I am bound to give you an
exact account of the harvests, on which you have half the profits, and
to pay you promptly on the day and hour what is due,--which I do to
the best of my ability, in spite of the hard times: but before being
your farmer I am a citizen, and I am, moreover, mayor, and in those
capacities I have duties, Madame la baronne, which I must fulfil,
whether my poor heart suffers or not."
"What nonsense are you talking to me, Maître Courtin? Pray, what has
my son to do with your duties as a citizen and your station as mayor?"
"He has this to do with it, Madame la baronne: your son has intimate
acquaintance with the enemies of the State."
"I know very well," said the baroness, "that Monsieur le Marquis de
Souday holds exaggerated opinions; but any love-affairs that Michel
may have with one of his daughters cannot, it seems to me, be turned
into a political misdemeanor."
"That love-affair is carrying Monsieur Michel much farther than you
think for, Madame la baronne, and I tell you so now. I dare say he has
so far only poked the end of his nose into the troubled waters about
him; but that's enough for a beginning."
"Come, enough of such metaphors! Explain what you mean, Courtin."
"Well, Madame la baronne, here's the truth. This evening, after being
present at the death-bed of that old Chouan Tinguy, and running the
risk of bringing a malignant fever home with him, and after
accompanying one of the wolves to the château de Souday, Monsieur le
baron served as guide to two peasants who were no more peasants than
I'm a gentleman; and he took them to the château de Souday."
"Who told you so, Courtin?"
"My own two eyes, Madame la baronne; they are good, and I trust them."
"Did you get an idea who those peasants were?"
"The two false peasants?"
"Yes, of course."
"One, I'd take my oath of it, was the Comte de Bonneville,--a violent
Chouan, he! No one can fool me about him; he has been long in the
country, and I know him. As for the other--"
Courtin paused.
"Go on," said the baroness, impatiently.
"As for the other, if I'm not mistaken, that's a better discovery
still--"
"But who is it? Come, Courtin, tell me at once."
"No, Madame la baronne. I shall tell the name--I shall probably be
obliged to do so--to the authorities."
"The authorities! Do you mean to tell me you are going to denounce my
son?" cried the baroness, amazed and stupefied at the tone her farmer,
hitherto so humble, was assuming.
"Assuredly I do, Madame la baronne," said Courtin, composedly.
"Nonsense! you would not think of it."
"I do think it, Madame la baronne, and I should be now on the road to
Montaigu or even to Nantes, if I had not wished to warn you, so that
you may put Monsieur Michel out of harm's way."
"But, supposing that Michel is concerned in this affair," said the
baroness, vehemently; "you will compromise me with all my neighbors,
and--who knows?--you may draw down horrible reprisals on La Logerie."
"Then we must defend the château, that's all, Madame la baronne."
"Courtin!"
"I saw the great war, Madame la baronne. I was a little fellow then,
but I remember it, and on my word of honor I don't want to see the
like again. I don't want to see my twenty acres of land a battlefield
for both parties, my harvests eaten by one or burned by the other;
still less do I want to see the Whites lay hands on the National
domain, which they will do if they get the chance. Out of my twenty
acres, five belonged to _émigrés_. I bought 'em and paid for 'em;
that's one quarter of all I own. Besides, here's another thing: the
government relies upon me, and I wish to justify the confidence of the
government."
"But, Courtin," said the baroness, almost ready to come down to
entreaty, "matters can't be as serious as you imagine, I am sure."
"Beg pardon, Madame la baronne, they are very serious indeed. I am
only a peasant, but that doesn't prevent me from knowing as much as
others know, being blessed with a good ear and a gift for listening.
The Retz district is all but at the boiling-point; another fagot and
the pot will boil over."
"Courtin, you must be mistaken."
"No, Madame la baronne, I am not mistaken. I know what I know. God
bless me! the nobles have met three times,--once at the Marquis de
Souday's, once at the house of the man they call Louis Renaud, and
once at the Comte de Saint-Amand's. All those meetings smelt of
powder, Madame la baronne. _À propos_ of powder, there's two hundred
weight of it and sacks of cartridges in the Vicar of Montbert's house.
Moreover,--and this is the most serious thing of all,--they are
expecting Madame la Duchesse de Berry, and from something I have just
seen, it is my opinion they won't have long to wait for her."
"Why so?"
"I think she is here already."
"Good God! where?"
"Well, at the château de Souday, where Monsieur Michel took her this
evening."
"Michel! oh, the unfortunate boy! But you won't say a word about it,
will you, Courtin? Besides, the government must have made its plans.
If the duchess attempts to return to La Vendée, she will be arrested
before she can get here."
"Nevertheless, she is here," persisted Courtin.
"All the more reason why you should hold your tongue."
"I like that! And what becomes of the profits and the glory of such a
prize, not counting that before the capture is made by somebody else
the whole country will be in blood and arms? No. Madame la baronne;
no, I cannot hold my tongue."
"Then what is to be done? Good God! what can I do?"
"I'll tell you, Madame la baronne; listen to me--"
"Go on."
"Well, as I want to remain your zealous and faithful servant, all the
while being a good citizen,--and because I hope that in gratitude for
what I am doing for you, you will let me keep my farm on terms that I
am able to pay,--I will agree to say nothing about Monsieur Michel.
But you must try to keep him out of this wasps' nest in future. He is
in it now, that's true; but there's still time to get him out."
"You need not trouble yourself about that, Courtin."
"But if I might say a word, Madame la baronne--"
"Well, what?"
"I don't quite dare to give advice to Madame la baronne; it is not my
place, but--"
"Go on, Courtin; go on."
"Well, in order to get Monsieur Michel completely out of this hornets'
nest, I think you'll have--by some means or other, prayers or
threats--to make him leave la Logerie and go to Paris."
"Yes, you are right, Courtin."
"Only, I am afraid he won't consent."
"If I decide it, Courtin, he must consent."
"He will be twenty-one in eleven months; he is very nearly his own
master."
"I tell you he shall go, Courtin. What are you listening for?"
Courtin had turned his head to the door, as if he heard something.
"I thought some one was in the corridor," he said.
"Look and see."
Courtin took a light and rushed into the passage.
"There was no one," he said, "though I certainly thought I heard a
step."
"Where do you suppose he can be, the wretched boy, at this time of
night?" said the baroness.
"Perhaps he has gone to my house," said Courtin. "He has confidence in
me, and it wouldn't be the first time he has come to tell me of his
little troubles."
"Possibly. You had better go home now; and remember your promise."
"And do you remember yours, Madame la baronne. If he comes in lock him
up. Don't let him communicate with the wolves, for if he sees them--"
"What then?"
"I shouldn't be surprised to hear some day that he was firing behind
the gorse."
"God forbid! Oh! he'll kill me with anxiety. What a luckless idea it
was of my husband ever to come to this cursed place!"
"Luckless, indeed, madame,--especially for him."
The baroness bowed her head sadly under the recollections thus evoked.
Courtin now left her, looking about him carefully to see that no one
was stirring in the château de la Logerie.