Courtin,--for it was he whom Courte-Joie designated as the man from La
Logerie,--Courtin had entered the outer room. Except for the little
cry of warning, so well imitated that it was really like the cry of a
frightened partridge, no one appeared to take any notice of his
presence. The men who were drinking continued their talk, although,
serious as their manner was when Courtin entered, it now became
suddenly very gay and noisy.
The farmer looked about him, but evidently did not find in the first
room the person he wanted, for he resolutely opened the door of the
glass partition and showed his sneaking face on the threshold of the
inner room. There again, no one seemed to notice him. Mariette alone,
Aubin Courte-Joie's niece, who was waiting on the customers, withdrew
her attention from the cider cups, and looking at Courtin said, as she
would have done to any of her uncle's guests:--
"What shall I bring you, Monsieur Courtin?"
"Coffee," replied Courtin, inspecting the faces that were round the
table and in the corners of the room.
"Very good; sit down," said Mariette. "I'll bring it to your seat
presently."
"That's not worth while," replied Courtin, good-humoredly; "pour it out
now. I'll drink it here in the chimney-corner with the friends."
No one seemed to object to this qualification; but neither did any one
stir to make room for him. Courtin was therefore obliged to make
further advances.
"Are you well, _gars_ Aubin?" he asked, addressing the tavern-keeper.
"As you see," replied the latter, without turning his head.
It was obvious to Courtin that he was not received with much good-will;
but he was not a man to disconcert himself for a trifle like that.
"Here, Mariette," said he, "give me a stool, that I may sit down near
your uncle."
"There are no stools left, Maître Courtin," replied the girl. "I
should think your eyes were good enough to see that."
"Well, then, your uncle will give me his," continued Courtin, with
audacious familiarity, though at heart he felt little encouraged by
the behavior of the landlord and his customers.
"If you will have it," grumbled Aubin Courte-Joie, "you must, being as
how I am master of the house, and it shall never be said that any man
was refused a seat at the Holly Branch when he wanted to sit down."
"Then give me your stool, as you say, smooth-tongue, for there's the
very man I'm after, right next to you."
"Who's that?" said Aubin, rising; and instantly a dozen other stools
were offered.
"Jean Oullier," replied Courtin; "and it's my belief that here he is."
Hearing his name, Jean Oullier rose and said, in a tone that was
almost menacing:--
"What do you want with me?"
"Well, well! you needn't eat me up because I want to see you," replied
the mayor of la Logerie. "What I have to say is of more importance to
you than it is to me."
"Maître Courtin," said Jean Oullier, in a grave tone, "whatever you
may choose to pretend, we are not friends; and what's more, you know
it so well that you have not come here with any good intentions."
"Well, you are mistaken, _gars_ Oullier."
"Maître Courtin," continued Jean Oullier, paying no attention to the
signs which Aubin Courte-Joie made, exhorting him to prudence, "Maître
Courtin, ever since we have known each other you have been a Blue, and
you bought bad property."
"Bad property!" exclaimed Courtin, with his jeering smile.
"Oh! I know what I mean, and so do you. I mean
ill-gotten property. You've been hand and glove with the curs of the
towns; you have persecuted the peasantry and the villagers,--those who
have kept their faith in God and the king. What is there in common
between you, who have done all that, and me, who have done just the
reverse?"
"True," replied Courtin, "true, _gars_ Oullier, I have not navigated
in your waters; but, for all that, I say that neighbors ought not to
wish the death of each other. I have come in search of you to do you a
service; I'll swear to that."
"I don't want your services, Maître Courtin," replied Jean Oullier.
"Why not?" persisted the farmer.
"Because I am certain they hide some treachery."
"So you refuse to listen to me?"
"I refuse," replied the huntsman, roughly.
"You are wrong," said Aubin Courte-Joie, in a low voice; for he
thought the frank, outspoken rudeness of his friend a mistaken
man[oe]uvre.
"Very good," said Courtin; "then remember this. If harm comes to the
inhabitants of the château de Souday, you have nobody to thank but
yourself, _gars_ Oullier."
There was evidently some special meaning in Courtin's manner of saying
the word "inhabitants;" "inhabitants" of course included guests. Jean
Oullier could not mistake this meaning, and in spite of his habitual
self-command he turned pale. He regretted he had been so decided, but
it was dangerous now to retrace his steps. If Courtin had suspicions,
such a retreat would confirm them. He therefore did his best to master
his emotion, and sat down again, turning his back on Courtin with an
indifferent air; in fact, his manner was so careless that Courtin, sly
dog as he was, was taken in by it. He did not leave the tavern as
hastily as might have been expected after delivering his warning
threat; on the contrary, he searched his pockets a long time to find
enough change to pay for his coffee. Aubin Courte-Joie understood the
meaning of this by-play, and profited by Courtin's lingering to put in
a word himself.
"My good Jean," he said, addressing Jean Oullier in a hearty way, "we
have long been friends, and have followed the same road for many
years, I hope--here are two wooden legs that prove it. Well, I am not
afraid to say to you, before Monsieur Courtin, that you are wrong,
don't you see, wrong! So long as a hand is closed none but a fool will
say, 'I know what is in it.' It is true that Monsieur Courtin" (Aubin
Courte-Joie punctiliously gave that title to the mayor of la Logerie)
"has never been one of us; but neither has he been against us. He has
been for himself, and that is all the blame we can put upon him. But
nowadays, when quarrels are over and there are neither Blues nor
Chouans any more, to-day when, thank God, there's peace in the land,
what does the color of his cockade signify to you? Faith! if Monsieur
Courtin has, as he says, something useful to tell you it seems to me a
pity not to hear it."
Jean Oullier shrugged his shoulders impatiently.
"Old fox!" thought Courtin, who was far too well informed as to the
real state of things to be taken in by the pacific flowers of rhetoric
with which Aubin Courte-Joie thought proper to wreathe his remarks.
But aloud he said, "All the more because what I have to say has
nothing to do with politics."
"There! you see," said Courte-Joie, "there is no reason why you should
not talk with the mayor. Come, come, sit down here and have a talk
with him at your ease."
All this made no difference in Jean Oullier, who was neither mollified
toward Courtin, nor did he even turn his head; only, when the mayor
sat down beside him he did not get up and walk away, as might have
been expected.
"_Gars_ Oullier," said Courtin, by way of preamble, "I think talks are
all the better for being moistened. 'Wine is the honey of words,' as
our vicar says,--not in his sermons, but that don't make it less true.
If we drink a bottle together perhaps that will sweeten our ideas."
"As you please," replied Jean Oullier, who, while feeling the
strongest repugnance to hob-nob with Courtin, regarded the sacrifice
as necessary to the cause he had at heart.
"Have you any wine?" said Courtin to Mariette.
"What a question!" she exclaimed. "Have we any wine, indeed! I should
think so!"
"Good wine, I mean; sealed bottles."
"Sealed bottles, yes," said Mariette, proudly; "but they cost forty
sous each."
"Pooh!" said Aubin, who had seated himself in the other chimney-corner
to catch, if he could, some scraps of the promised communication, "the
mayor is a man who has got the wherewithal, my girl, and forty sous
won't prevent his paying his rent to Madame la Baronne Michel."
Courtin regretted his show of liberality; if the days of the old war
were really coming back it might be dangerous to pass for rich.
"Wherewithal!" he exclaimed; "how you talk, _gars_ Aubin! Yes,
certainly, I have enough to pay my rent, but that paid I consider
myself a lucky man if I can make both ends meet; that's my wealth!"
"Whether you are rich or poor is none of our business," remarked Jean
Oullier. "Come, what have you to say to me? Make haste."
Courtin took the bottle which Mariette now brought him, wiped the neck
of it carefully with his sleeve, poured a few drops into his own
glass, filled that of Jean Oullier, then his own, touched glasses, and
slowly emptied his.
"No one is to be pitied," he said, smacking his lips, "if they can
drink such wine as that every day."
"Especially if they drink it with a clear conscience," added Jean
Oullier. "In my opinion that's what makes wine taste good."
"Jean Oullier," said Courtin, without noticing the philosophical
reflection of his companion, "you bear me ill-will, and you are wrong.
On my word of honor, you are wrong."
"Prove it, and I'll believe you. That's all the confidence I have in
you."
"I don't wish you harm; I wish good for myself, as Aubin Courte-Joie,
who is a man of judgment, said just now; but you don't call that a
crime, I hope. I mind my own little matters without meddling much in
other people's business, because, as I say to myself, 'My good fellow,
if at Easter or Christmas you haven't got your money ready in your
pouch the king, be he Henri V. or Louis Philippe, will send the
Treasury after you, and you'll get a paper in his name, which may be
an honor, but it will cost you dear.' You reason differently; that's
your affair. I don't blame you,--at the most I only pity you."
"Keep your pity for others, Maître Courtin," replied Jean Oullier,
haughtily; "I don't want it any more than I want your confidences."
"When I say I pity you, _gars_ Oullier, I mean your master as well as
yourself. Monsieur le marquis is a man I respect. He fought through
the great war. Well, what did he gain by it?"
"Maître Courtin, you said you were not going to talk politics, and you
are breaking your word."
"Yes, I did say so, that's true; but it is not my fault if in this
devilish country politics are so twisted in with everybody's business
that the one can't be separated from the other. As I was saying,
_gars_ Oullier, Monsieur le marquis is a man I respect, and I am very
sorry, very sorry indeed, to see him ridden over by a lot of common
rich folks,--he who used to be the first in the province."
"If he is satisfied with his lot why need you care?" replied Jean
Oullier. "You never heard him complain; he has never borrowed money of
you."
"What would you say to a man who offered to restore to the château de
Souday all the wealth and consideration it has lost? Come," continued
Courtin, not hindered by the coldness of the Chouan, "do you think
that a man who is ready to do _that_ can be your enemy? Don't you
think, on the contrary, that Monsieur le marquis would owe him a debt
of gratitude? There, now, answer that question squarely and honestly,
as I have spoken to you."
"Of course he would, if the man you speak of did what you say by
honest means; but I doubt it."
"Honest means! Would any one dare propose to you any that were not
honest? See here, my _gars!_ I'll out with it at once, and not take
all day and many words to say it. I can,--yes, I, who speak to you,--I
can make the money flow into the château de Souday, as it hasn't done
of late years; only--"
"Only--yes, that's it; only what? Ha! that's where the collar galls."
"Only, I was going to say, I must get my profit out of it."
"If the matter is an honest one, that's only fair; you will certainly
get your part."
"That's all I want to know to set the wheel in motion,--and it's
little enough, too."
"Yes; but what is it you are after? What is it you ask?" returned Jean
Oullier, now very curious to know what was in Courtin's head.
"Oh! it is just as simple as nothing. In the first place, I want it so
arranged that I needn't renew my lease or have any rent to pay for
twelve years to come on the farm I occupy."
"In other words, you want a present?"
"If Monsieur de Souday offers it I shall not refuse, you understand.
Of course I shouldn't be such a fool as to stand in my own light."
"But how can it be arranged? Your farm belongs to young Michel or his
mother. I have not heard that they want to sell it. How can any man
give you that which he doesn't possess?"
"Oh!" said Courtin, "if I interfere in the matter I speak of perhaps
that farm may soon belong to some of you, and then it would be easy
enough. What do you say?"
"I say I don't understand what you are talking about, Maître Courtin."
"Nonsense! Ha, ha! but it isn't a bad match for our young man. Don't
you know that besides La Logerie he owns the estate of la Coudraie,
the mills at La Ferronnerie, the woods of Gervaise, all of which bring
in, one year with another, a pretty sum of money? And I can tell you
this, the old baroness has laid by as much more, which he will get at
her death."
"What has that Michel youth to do with the Marquis de Souday? they
have nothing in common," said Jean Oullier. "And why should the
property of your master be of any interest to mine?"
"Come, come, let's play above-board, _gars_ Oullier. Damn it! you must
have seen that our young man is sweet upon one of your young ladies,
very sweet, indeed! Which of them it is, I can't tell you; but let
Monsieur le marquis just say the word and sign me a paper about that
farm, and the minute the girl, whichever it is, is married,--they are
as smart as flies, those two,--she can manage her husband as she likes
and get all she wants. He'll never refuse her a few acres of ground,
especially when she wants to give them to a man to whom he'll be
grateful, too. In this way I kill two birds with one stone, do your
business and my own too. There is but one obstacle, and that's the
mother. Well," added Courtin, leaning close to Oullier's ear, "I'll
undertake to get rid of that."
Jean Oullier made no answer; but he looked fixedly at his companion.
"Yes," continued the latter, "if everybody wishes it, Madame la
baronne won't be able to refuse it. I'll tell you this, Oullier,"
added Courtin, striking the other familiarly on the knee, "I know the
whole story of Monsieur Michel."
"Why should you want our help, then? What hinders you from getting all
you want out of her without delay?"
"What hinders me is this: I want to add to the word of a youth who,
while keeping his sheep, heard a treacherous bargain made,--I want to
add to his word the testimony of the man who was in the woods of La
Chabotière some forty years ago, and saw the price of that bloody and
treacherous bargain paid. You know best who saw that sight and who can
give that testimony, _gars_ Oullier. If you and I make common cause,
the baroness will be as supple as a handful of flax. She is miserly,
but she is also proud; the fear of public dishonor and the gossip of
the neighborhood will make her docile enough. She'll see that, after
all, Mademoiselle de Souday, poor and illegitimate as she is, is more
than a match for the son of Baron Michel, whose grandfather was a
peasant like ourselves, and whose father the baron was--you know what.
Enough! Your young lady will be rich, our young man will be happy, and
I shall be very glad. What objection can be offered to all that?--not
to speak of our becoming friends, _gars_ Oullier; and I think my
friendship is worth something to you, I must say."
"Your friendship?" replied Jean Oullier, who had repressed with great
difficulty the indignation he felt at the singular proposal that
Courtin had just made to him.
"Yes, my friendship," returned the latter. "You needn't shake your
head like that. I have told you that I know more than any man about
the life of Baron Michel; I will add that I know more than any man but
one about his death. I was one of the beaters of the drive at which he
was killed, and my post placed me just opposite to him. I was young,
and even then I had a habit (which God preserve to me) of not gabbling
unless it were my interest to do so. Now, then, do you think my
services to your party of no account if my interests take me over to
your side?"
"Maître Courtin," replied Jean Oullier, frowning, "I have no influence
on the plans and determinations of the Marquis de Souday, but if I had
any at all, even the smallest, never should that farm of yours come
into the family; and if it did come in, never should it serve as the
price of treachery."
"Fine words, all that!" exclaimed Courtin.
"No; poor as the Demoiselles de Souday may be, never do I want either
of them to marry the young man you speak of. Rich as he may be, and
even if he bore another name than he does, no Demoiselle de Souday
could buy her marriage by a base act."
"You call that a base act, do you? I call it a good stroke of
business."
"It may be so for you; but for those I serve, a marriage with Monsieur
Michel, bought through you, would be more than a base act; it would be
an infamy."
"Take care, Jean Oullier. I want to act a kind part, and I won't let
myself quarrel with the label you choose to stick upon my acts. I came
here with good intentions; it is for you not to let me leave this
place with bad ones."
"I care as little for your threats as I do for your our proposals,
Courtin; remember that. But if you force me to repeat it I shall say
it to the end of time."
"Once more, Jean Oullier, listen to me. I will admit to you that I
want to be rich. That is my whim, just as it is yours to be faithful
as a dog to folks who don't care more for you than you do for your
terrier. I thought I could be useful to your master, and I hoped he
would not let my services go without reward. You say it is impossible.
Then we'll say no more about it. But if the nobles whom you serve
wished to show their gratitude to me in the way I ask I would rather
do a service to them than to others; and I desire to tell you so once
more."
"Because you think that nobles would pay more for it than others.
Isn't that it?"
"Undoubtedly, _gars_ Oullier. I don't conceal anything from you, and
I'll repeat that, as you say, to the end of time."
"I shall not make myself the go-between in any such bargain, Maître
Courtin. Besides, I have no power in the matter, and anything I could
do for you is so small it isn't worth talking about."
"Hey, how do you know that? You didn't know, my _gars_, that I knew
all about what happened in the wood at Chabotière. Perhaps I could
astonish you if I told you all I know."
Jean Oullier was afraid of appearing afraid.
"Come," said he, "enough of this. If you want to sell yourself apply
to others. Such bargains are hateful to me, even if I had any means of
making them. They don't concern me, God be thanked."
"Is that your last word, Jean Oullier?"
"My first and my last. Go your ways, Maître Courtin, and leave me to
mine."
"So much the worse for you," said Courtin, rising; "but, on my word, I
would gladly have gone your way."
So saying, he nodded to Jean Oullier and went out.
He had hardly crossed the threshold before Aubin Courte-Joie, stumping
along on his wooden legs, came close to Jean Oullier.
"You have done a foolish thing," he whispered.
"What ought I to have done?"
"Taken him to Louis Renaud or to Gaspard; they would have bought him."
"Him,--that wicked traitor?"
"My good Jean, in 1815, when I was mayor, I went to Nantes, and there
I saw a man named ----, who was, or had been, a minister; and I heard
him say two things I have always remembered. One was that traitors
make and unmake empires; the other was that treachery is the only
thing in this world that is not to be measured by the size of him who
makes it."
"What do you advise me to do now?"
"Follow and watch him."
Jean Oullier reflected a moment. Then he rose.
"I think you are right," he said.
And he went out anxiously.