The presence of her brother-in-law, whom Marianne Picaut did not
expect at that time, and a vague presentiment of misfortune which came
over her at the sight of him, produced such a painful impression on
the poor woman that she fell back into her chair, half dead with
terror.
Joseph advanced slowly, without uttering a word to his brother's wife,
who stared at him as though she saw a ghost. When he reached the
fireplace Joseph Picaut, still silent, took a chair, sat down, and
began to stir the embers on the hearth with a stick which he carried
in his hand. In the circle of light thrown by the fire Marianne could
see that he was very pale.
"In the name of the good God, Joseph," she said, "tell me what is the
matter?"
"Who were those villains who came here to-night, Marianne?" asked the
Chouan, answering one question by asking another.
"No one came here," she replied, shaking her head to give force to her
denial. Then she added, "Joseph, have you seen your brother?"
"Who persuaded him away from home?" continued the Chouan, still
questioning, and making no reply.
"No one, I tell you. He left home about four o'clock to go to La
Logerie and pay the mayor for that buckwheat he bought for you last
week."
"The mayor of La Logerie?" said Joseph Picaut, frowning. "Yes, yes!
Maître Courtin. A bold villain, he! Many's the time I've told
Pascal,--and this very morning I repeated it,--'Don't tempt the God you
deny, or some harm will happen to you.'"
"Joseph! Joseph!" cried Marianne; "how dare you mingle the name of God
with words of hatred against your brother who loves you so, you and
yours, that he'd take the bread out of his own mouth to give it to
your children! If an evil fate brings civil war into the land that's
no reason why you should bring it into our home. Good God! Keep your
own opinions and let Pascal keep his. His are inoffensive, but yours
are not. His gun stays hooked over the fireplace, he meddles with no
intrigues, and threatens no party; whereas, for the last six months
there has not been a day you haven't gone out armed to the teeth, and
sworn evil to the townspeople, of whom my father is one, and even to
my family itself."
"Better go out with a musket and face the villains than betray those
among whom you live, like a coward, and guide another army of Blues
into the midst of us, that they may pillage the château of those who
have kept the faith."
"Who has guided the Blues?"
"Pascal."
"When? where?"
"To-night; at the ford of Pont-Farcy."
"Good God! It was from there the shots came!" cried Marianne.
Suddenly the eyes of the poor woman became fixed and haggard. They
lighted on Joseph's hands.
"You have blood on your hands!" she cried. "Whose blood is it? Joseph,
tell me that! Whose blood is it?"
The Chouan's first movement was to hide his hands, but he thought
better of it, and brazened the matter out.
"That blood," he answered, his face, which had been pale, becoming
purple, "is the blood of a traitor to his God, his country, and his
king. It is the blood of a man who forgot that the Blues had sent his
father to the scaffold and his brother to the galleys,--a man who did
not shrink from taking service with the Blues."
"You have killed my husband! you have murdered your brother!" cried
Marianne, facing Joseph with savage violence.
"No, I did not."
"You lie."
"I swear I did not."
"Then if you swear you did not, swear also that you will help me to
avenge him."
"Help you to avenge him! I, Joseph Picaut? Never!" said the Chouan, in
a determined voice. "For though I did not kill him, I approved of
those who did; and if I had been in their place, though he were my
brother, I swear by our Lord that I would have done as they did."
"Repeat that," said Marianne; "for I hope I did not hear you right."
The Chouan repeated his speech, word for word.
"Then I curse you, as I curse them!" cried Marianne, raising her hand
with a terrible gesture above her brother-in-law's head. "That
vengeance which you refuse to take, in which I now include you,--you,
your brother's murderer in heart, if not in deed,--God and I will
accomplish together; and if God fails me, then I alone! And now," she
added, with an energy which completely subdued the Chouan, "where is
he? What have they done with his body? Speak! You intend to return me
his body, don't you?"
"When I got to the place, after hearing the guns," said Joseph, "he
was still alive. I took him in my arms to bring him here, but he died
on the way."
"And then you threw him into the ditch like a dog, you Cain! Oh! I
wouldn't believe that story when I read it in the Bible!"
"No, I did not," said Joseph; "I have laid him in the orchard."
"My God! my God!" cried the poor woman, whose whole body was shaken
with a convulsive movement. "Perhaps you are mistaken, Joseph; perhaps
he still breathes, and we may save him. Come, Joseph, come! If we find
him living I'll forgive you for being friends with your brother's
murderers."
She unhooked the lamp, and sprang toward the door. But instead of
following her, Joseph Picaut, who for the last few moments had been
listening to a noise without, hearing that the sounds--evidently those
of a body of marching men--were approaching the cottage, darted from
the door, ran round the buildings, jumped the hedge between them and
the fields, and took the direction of the forest of Machecoul, the
black masses of which loomed up in the distance.
Poor Marianne, left alone, ran hither and thither in the orchard.
Bewildered and almost maddened, she swung her lamp about her,
forgetting to look in the circle of light it threw, and fancying that
her eyes must pierce the darkness to find her husband. Suddenly,
passing a spot she had passed already once or twice, she stumbled and
nearly fell. Her hand, stretched out to save herself from the ground,
came in contact with a human body.
She gave a great cry and threw herself on the corpse, clasping it
tightly. Then, lifting it in her arms, as she might, under other
circumstances, have lifted a child, she carried her husband's body
into the cottage and laid it on the bed.
In spite of the jarring relations of the two families, Joseph's wife
came into Pascal's room. Seeing the body of her brother-in-law, she
fell upon her knees beside the bed and sobbed.
Marianne took the light her sister-in-law brought with her--for hers
was left in the orchard--and turned it full upon her husband's face.
His mouth and eyes were open, as though he still lived. His wife put
her hand eagerly upon his heart, but it did not beat. Then, turning to
her sister-in-law, who was weeping and praying beside her, the widow
of Pascal Picaut, with blood-shot eyes flaming like firebrands, cried
out:--
"Behold what the Chouans have done to my
husband,--what Joseph has done to his brother! Well, here upon this
body, I swear to have no peace nor rest until those murderers have
paid the price of blood."
"You shall not wait long, poor woman, or I'll lose my name," said a
man's voice behind her.
Both women turned round and saw an officer wrapped in a cloak, who had
entered without their hearing him. Bayonets were glittering in the
darkness outside the door, and they now heard the snorting of horses
who snuffed the blood.
"Who are you?" asked Marianne.
"An old soldier, like your husband,--one who has seen battlefields
enough to have the right to tell you not to lament the death of one
who dies for his country, but to avenge him."
"I do not lament, monsieur," replied the widow, raising her head, and
shaking back her fallen hair. "What brings you to this cottage at the
same time as death?"
"Your husband was to serve as guide to an expedition that is important
for the peace and safety of your unhappy country. This expedition may
prevent the flow of blood and the destruction of many lives for a lost
cause. Can you give me another guide to replace him?"
"Shall you meet the Chouans on your expedition?" asked Marianne.
"Probably we shall," replied the officer.
"Then I will guide you," said the widow, unhooking her husband's gun,
which was hanging above the mantel. "Where do you wish to go? I will
take you. You can pay me in cartridges."
"We wish to go to the château de Souday."
"Very good; I can guide you. I know the way."
Casting a last look at her husband's body, the widow of Pascal Picaut
left the house, followed by the general. The wife of Joseph
Picaut remained on her knees, praying, beside the corpse of her
brother-in-law.