CHAPTER II
A gently ascending road, more than two miles in length, shaded by aquadruple row of venerable elms, led from the village to the Chateau deSairmeuse.
Nothing could be more beautiful than this avenue, a fit approach to apalace; and the stranger who beheld it could understand the naively vainproverb of the country: "He does not know the real beauty of France, whohas never seen Sairmeuse nor the Oiselle."
The Oiselle is the little river which one crosses by means of a woodenbridge on leaving the village, and whose clear and rapid waters give adelicious freshness to the valley.
At every step, as one ascends, the view changes. It is as if anenchanting panorama were being slowly unrolled before one.
On the right you can see the saw-mills of Fereol. On the left, like anocean of verdure, the forest of Dolomien trembles in the breeze. Thoseimposing ruins on the other side of the river are all that remain ofthe feudal manor of the house of Breulh. That red brick mansion, withgranite trimmings, half concealed by a bend in the river, belongs to theBaron d'Escorval.
And, if the day is clear, one can easily distinguish the spires ofMontaignac in the distance.
This was the path traversed by M. Lacheneur after Chupin had deliveredhis message.
But what did he care for the beauties of the landscape!
Upon the church porch he had received his death-wound; and now, with atottering and dragging step, he dragged himself along like one of thosepoor soldiers, mortally wounded upon the field of battle, who go back,seeking a ditch or quiet spot where they can lie down and die.
He seemed to have lost all thought of his surroundings--allconsciousness of previous events. He pursued his way, lost in hisreflections, guided only by force of habit.
Two or three times his daughter, Marie-Anne, who was walking by hisside, addressed him; but an "Ah! let me alone!" uttered in a harsh tone,was the only response she could draw from him.
Evidently he had received a terrible blow; and undoubtedly, as oftenhappens under such circumstances, the unfortunate man was reviewing allthe different phases of his life.
At twenty Lacheneur was only a poor ploughboy in the service of theSairmeuse family.
His ambition was modest then. When stretched beneath a tree at the hourof noonday rest, his dreams were as simple as those of an infant.
"If I could but amass a hundred pistoles," he thought, "I would askFather Barrois for the hand of his daughter Martha; and he would notrefuse me." A hundred pistoles! A thousand francs!--an enormous sumfor him who, in two years of toil and privation had only laid by elevenlouis, which he had placed carefully in a tiny box and hidden in thedepths of his straw mattress.
Still he did not despair. He had read in Martha's eyes that she wouldwait.
And Mlle. Armande de Sairmeuse, a rich old maid, was his god-mother;and he thought, if he attacked her adroitly, that he might, perhaps,interest her in his love-affair.
Then the terrible storm of the revolution burst over France.
With the fall of the first thunder-bolts, the Duke of Sairmeuse leftFrance with the Count d'Artois. They took refuge in foreign lands asa passer-by seeks shelter in a doorway from a summer shower, saying tohimself: "This will not last long."
The storm did last, however; and the following year Mlle. Armande, whohad remained at Sairmeuse, died.
The chateau was then closed, the president of the district tookpossession of the keys in the name of the government, and the servantswere scattered.
Lacheneur took up his residence in Montaignac.
Young, daring, and personally attractive, blessed with an energeticface, and an intelligence far above his station, it was not long beforehe became well known in the political clubs.
For three months Lacheneur was the tyrant of Montaignac.
But this metier of public speaker is by no means lucrative, so thesurprise throughout the district was immense, when it was ascertainedthat the former ploughboy had purchased the chateau, and almost all theland belonging to his old master.
It is true that the nation had sold this princely domain for scarcelya twentieth part of its real value. The appraisement was sixty-ninethousand francs. It was giving the property away.
And yet, it was necessary to have this amount, and Lacheneur possessedit, since he had poured it in a flood of beautiful louis d'or into thehands of the receiver of the district.
From that moment his popularity waned. The patriots who had applaudedthe ploughboy, cursed the capitalist. He discreetly left them to recoverfrom their rage as best they could, and returned to Sairmeuse. Thereeveryone bowed low before Citoyen Lacheneur.
Unlike most people, he did not forget his past hopes at the moment whenthey might be realized.
He married Martha Barrois, and, leaving the country to work out itsown salvation without his assistance, he gave his time and attention toagriculture.
Any close observer, in those days, would have felt certain that the manwas bewildered by the sudden change in his situation.
His manner was so troubled and anxious that one, to see him, wouldhave supposed him a servant in constant fear of being detected in someindiscretion.
He did not open the chateau, but installed himself and his young wife inthe cottage formerly occupied by the head game-keeper, near the entranceof the park.
But, little by little, with the habit of possession, came assurance.
The Consulate had succeeded the Directory, the Empire succeeded theConsulate, Citoyen Lacheneur became M. Lacheneur.
Appointed mayor two years later, he left the cottage and took possessionof the chateau.
The former ploughboy slumbered in the bed of the Ducs de Sairmeuse; heate from the massive plate, graven with their coat-of-arms; he receivedhis visitors in the magnificent salon in which the Ducs de Sairmeuse hadreceived their friends in years gone by.
To those who had known him in former days, M. Lacheneur had becomeunrecognizable. He had adapted himself to his lofty station. Blushingat his own ignorance; he had found the courage--wonderful in one of hisage--to acquire the education which he lacked.
Then, all his undertakings were successful to such a degree thathis good fortune had become proverbial. That he took any part in anenterprise, sufficed to make it turn out well.
His wife had given him two lovely children, a son and a daughter.
His property, managed with a shrewdness and sagacity which the formerowners had not possessed, yielded him an income of at least sixtythousand francs.
How many, under similar circumstances, would have lost their heads! Buthe, M. Lacheneur, had been wise enough to retain his _sang-froid_.
In spite of the princely luxury that surrounded him, his own habits weresimple and frugal. He had never had an attendant for his own person. Hislarge income he consecrated almost entirely to the improvement of hisestate or to the purchase of more land. And yet, he was not avaricious.In all that concerned his wife or children, he did not count the cost.His son, Jean, had been educated in Paris; he wished him to be fittedfor any position. Unwilling to consent to a separation from hisdaughter, he had procured a governess to take charge of her education.
Sometimes his friends accused him of an inordinate ambition for hischildren; but he always shook his head sadly, as he replied:
"If _I_ can only insure them a modest and comfortable future! But whatfolly it is to count upon the future. Thirty years ago, who could haveforeseen that the Sairmeuse family would be deprived of their estates?"
With such opinions he should have been a good master; he was, but no onethought the better of him on that account. His former comrades could notforgive him for his sudden elevation.
They seldom spoke of him without wishing his ruin in ambiguous words.
Alas! the evil days came. Toward the close of the year 1812, he lost hiswife, the disasters of the year 1813 swept away a large portion of hispersonal fortune, which had been invested in a manufacturing enterprise.
Compromised by the first Restoration, he
was obliged to conceal himselffor a time; and to cap the climax, the conduct of his son, who was stillin Paris, caused him serious disquietude.
Only the evening before, he had thought himself the most unfortunate ofmen.
But here was another misfortune menacing him; a misfortune so terriblethat all the others were forgotten.
From the day on which he had purchased Sairmeuse to this fatal Sunday inAugust, 1815, was an interval of twenty years.
Twenty years! And it seemed to him only yesterday that, blushing andtrembling, he had laid those piles of louis d'or upon the desk of thereceiver of the district.
Had he dreamed it?
He had not dreamed it. His entire life, with its struggles and itsmiseries, its hopes and its fears, its unexpected joys and its blightedhopes, all passed before him.
Lost in these memories, he had quite forgotten the present situation,when a commonplace incident, more powerful than the voice of hisdaughter, brought him back to the terrible reality. The gate leading tothe Chateau de Sairmeuse, to _his_ chateau, was found to be locked.
He shook it with a sort of rage; and, being unable to break thefastening, he found some relief in breaking the bell.
On hearing the noise, the gardener came running to the scene of action.
"Why is this gate closed?" demanded M. Lacheneur, with unwonted violenceof manner. "By what right do you barricade my house when I, the master,am without?"
The gardener tried to make some excuse.
"Hold your tongue!" interrupted M. Lacheneur. "I dismiss you; you are nolonger in my service."
He passed on, leaving the gardener petrified with astonishment, crossedthe court-yard--a court-yard worthy of the mansion, bordered with velvetturf, with flowers, and with dense shrubbery.
In the vestibule, inlaid with marble, three of his tenants sat awaitinghim, for it was on Sunday that he always received the workmen whodesired to confer with him.
They rose at his approach, and removed their hats deferentially. But hedid not give them time to utter a word.
"Who permitted you to enter here?" he said, savagely, "and what do youdesire? They sent you to play the spy on me, did they? Leave, I tellyou!"
The three farmers were even more bewildered and dismayed than thegardener had been, and their remarks must have been interesting.
But M. Lacheneur could not hear them. He had opened the door of thegrand salon, and dashed in, followed by his frightened daughter.
Never had Marie-Anne seen her father in such a mood; and she trembled,her heart torn by the most frightful presentiments.
She had heard it said that oftentimes, under the influence of some direcalamity, unfortunate men have suddenly lost their reason entirely; andshe was wondering if her father had become insane.
It would seem, indeed, that such was the case. His eyes flashed,convulsive shudders shook his whole body, a white foam gathered on hislips.
He made the circuit of the room as a wild beast makes the circuit of hiscage, uttering harsh imprecations and making frenzied gestures.
His actions were strange, incomprehensible. Sometimes he seemed to betrying the thickness of the carpet with the toe of his boot; sometimeshe threw himself upon a sofa or a chair, as if to test its softness.
Occasionally, he paused abruptly before some one of the valuablepictures that covered the walls, or before a bronze. One might havesupposed that he was taking an inventory, and appraising all themagnificent and costly articles which decorated this apartment, the mostsumptuous in the chateau.
"And I must renounce all this!" he exclaimed, at last.
These words explained everything.
"No, never!" he resumed, in a transport of rage; "never! never! Icannot! I will not!"
Now Marie-Anne understood it all. But what was passing in her father'smind? She wished to know; and, leaving the low chair in which she hadbeen seated, she went to her father's side.
"Are you ill, father?" she asked, in her sweet voice; "what is thematter? What do you fear? Why do you not confide in me?--Am I not yourdaughter? Do you no longer love me?"
At the sound of this dear voice, M. Lacheneur trembled like a sleepersuddenly aroused from the terrors of a nightmare, and he cast anindescribable glance upon his daughter.
"Did you not hear what Chupin said to me?" he replied, slowly. "The Ducde Sairmeuse is at Montaignac; he will soon be here; and we are dwellingin the chateau of his fathers, and his domain has become ours!"
The vexed question regarding the national lands, which agitated Francefor thirty years, Marie understood, for she had heard it discussed athousand times.
"Ah, well, dear father," said she, "what does that matter, even if we dohold the property? You have bought it and paid for it, have you not? Soit is rightfully and lawfully ours."
M. Lacheneur hesitated a moment before replying.
But his secret suffocated him. He was in one of those crises in which aman, however strong he may be, totters and seeks some support, howeverfragile.
"You would be right, my daughter," he murmured, with drooping head, "ifthe money that I gave in exchange for Sairmeuse had really belonged tome."
At this strange avowal the young girl turned pale and recoiled a step.
"What?" she faltered; "this gold was not yours, my father? To whom didit belong? From whence did it come?"
The unhappy man had gone too far to retract.
"I will tell you all, my daughter," he replied, "and you shall judge.You shall decide. When the Sairmeuse family fled from France, I had onlymy hands to depend upon, and as it was almost impossible to obtain work,I wondered if starvation were not near at hand.
"Such was my condition when someone came after me one evening to tellme that Mademoiselle Armande de Sairmeuse, my godmother, was dying, andwished to speak with me. I ran to the chateau.
"The messenger had told the truth. Mademoiselle Armande was sick untodeath. I felt this on seeing her upon her bed, whiter than wax.
"Ah! if I were to live a hundred years, never should I forget her faceas it looked at that moment. It was expressive of a strength of will andan energy that would hold death at bay until the task upon which she haddetermined was performed.
"When I entered the room I saw a look of relief appear upon hercountenance.
"'How long you were in coming!' she murmured faintly.
"I was about to make some excuse, when she motioned me to pause, andordered the women who surrounded her to leave the room.
"As soon as we were alone:
"'You are an honest boy,', said she, 'and I am about to give you a proofof my confidence. People believe me to be poor, but they are mistaken.While my relatives were gayly ruining themselves, I was saving the fivehundred louis which the duke, my brother, gave me each year.'
"She motioned me to come nearer, and to kneel beside her bed.
"I obeyed, and Mademoiselle Armande leaned toward me, almost glued herlips to my ear, and added:
"'I possess eighty thousand francs.'
"I felt a sudden giddiness, but my godmother did not notice it.
"'This amount,' she continued, 'is not a quarter part of the formerincome from our family estates. But now, who knows but it will, one day,be the only resource of the Sairmeuse? I am going to place it in yourcharge, Lacheneur. I confide it to your honor and to your devotion. Theestates belonging to the emigrants are to be sold, I hear. If such anact of injustice is committed, you will probably be able to purchaseour property for seventy thousand francs. If the property is sold by thegovernment, purchase it; if the lands belonging to the emigrants are notsold, take that amount to the duke, my brother, who is with theCount d'Artois. The surplus, that is to say, the ten thousand francsremaining, I give to you--they are yours.'
"She seemed to recover her strength. She raised herself in bed, and,holding the crucifix attached to her rosary to my lips, she said:
"'Swear by the image of our Saviour, that you will faithfully executethe last will of your dying godmother.'
"
I took the required oath, and an expression of satisfaction overspreadher features.
"'That is well,' she said; 'I shall die content. You will have aprotector on high. But this is not all. In times like these in which welive, this gold will not be safe in your hands unless those about youare ignorant that you possess it. I have been endeavoring to discoversome way by which you could remove it from my room, and from thechateau, without the knowledge of anyone; and I have found a way. Thegold is here in this cupboard, at the head of my bed, in a stout oakenchest. You must find strength to move the chest--you must. You canfasten a sheet around it and let it down gently from the window into thegarden. You will then leave the house as you entered it, and as soon asyou are outside, you must take the chest and carry it to your home. Thenight is very dark, and no one will see you, if you are careful. Butmake haste; my strength is nearly gone.'
"The chest was heavy, but I was very strong.
"In less than ten minutes the task of removing the chest from thechateau was accomplished, without a single sound that would betray us.As I closed the window, I said:
"'It is done, godmother.'
"'God be praised!' she whispered; 'Sairmeuse is saved!'
"I heard a deep sigh. I turned; she was dead."
This scene that M. Lacheneur was relating rose vividly before him.
To feign, to disguise the truth, or to conceal any portion of it was animpossibility.
He forgot himself and his daughter; he thought only of the dead woman,of Mlle. Armande de Sairmeuse.
And he shuddered on pronouncing the words: "She was dead." It seemed tohim that she was about to speak, and to insist upon the fulfilment ofhis pledge.
After a moment's silence, he resumed, in a hollow voice:
"I called for aid; it came. Mademoiselle Armande was adored by everyone;there was great lamentation, and a half hour of indescribable confusionfollowed her death. I was able to withdraw, unnoticed, to run intothe garden, and to carry away the oaken chest. An hour later, it wasconcealed in the miserable hovel in which I dwelt. The following year Ipurchased Sairmeuse."
He had confessed all; and he paused, trembling, trying to read hissentence in the eyes of his daughter.
"And can you hesitate?" she demanded.
"Ah! you do not know----"
"I know that Sairmeuse must be given up."
This was the decree of his own conscience, that faint voice which speaksonly in a whisper, but which all the tumult on earth cannot overpower.
"No one saw me take away the chest," he faltered. "If anyone suspectedit, there is not a single proof against me. But no one does suspect it."
Marie-Anne rose, her eyes flashed with generous indignation.
"My father!" she exclaimed; "oh! my father!"
Then, in a calmer tone, she added:
"If others know nothing of this, can _you_ forget it?"
M. Lacheneur appeared almost ready to succumb to the torture of theterrible conflict raging in his soul.
"Return!" he exclaimed. "What shall I return? That which I havereceived? So be it. I consent. I will give the duke the eighty thousandfrancs; to this amount I will add the interest on this sum since I havehad it, and--we shall be free of all obligation."
The girl sadly shook her head.
"Why do you resort to subterfuges which are so unworthy of you?" sheasked, gently. "You know perfectly well that it was Sairmeuse whichMademoiselle Armande intended to intrust to the servant of her house.And it is Sairmeuse which must be returned."
The word "servant" was revolting to a man, who, at least, while theempire endured, had been a power in the land.
"Ah! you are cruel, my daughter," he said, with intense bitterness; "ascruel as a child who has never suffered--as cruel as one who, havingnever himself been tempted, is without mercy for those who have yieldedto temptation.
"It is one of those acts which God alone can judge, since God alone canread the depths of one's secret soul.
"I am only a depositary, you tell me. It was, indeed, in this light thatI formerly regarded myself.
"If your poor sainted mother was still alive, she would tell you theanxiety and anguish I felt on being made the master of riches whichwere not mine. I trembled lest I should yield to their seductions; I wasafraid of myself. I felt as a gambler might feel who had the winningsof others confided to his care; as a drunkard might feel who had beenplaced in charge of a quantity of the most delicious wines.
"Your mother would tell you that I moved heaven and earth to find theDuc de Sairmeuse. But he had left the Count d'Artois, and no one knewwhere he had gone or what had become of him. Ten years passed beforeI could make up my mind to inhabit the chateau--yes, ten years--duringwhich I had the furniture dusted each morning as if the master was toreturn that evening.
"At last I ventured. I had heard Monsieur d'Escorval declare that theduke had been killed in battle. I took up my abode here. And from day today, in proportion as the domain of Sairmeuse became more beautifuland extensive beneath my care, I felt myself more and more its rightfulowner."
But this despairing pleading in behalf of a bad cause produced noimpression upon Marie-Anne's loyal heart.
"Restitution must be made," she repeated. M. Lacheneur wrung his hands.
"Implacable!" he exclaimed; "she is implacable. Unfortunate girl! doesshe not understand that it is for her sake I wish to remain where Iam? I am old, and I am familiar with toil and poverty; idleness hasnot removed the callosities from my hands. What do I require to keep mealive until the day comes for me to take my place in the graveyard? Acrust of bread and an onion in the morning, a porringer of soup in theevening, and for the night a bundle of straw. I could easily earn that.But you, unhappy child! and your brother, what will become of you?"
"We must not discuss nor haggle with duty, my father. I think, however,that you are needlessly alarmed. I believe the duke is too noble-heartedever to allow you to suffer want after the immense service you haverendered him."
The old servitor of the house of Sairmeuse laughed a loud, bitter laugh.
"You believe that!" said he; "then you do not know the nobles who havebeen our masters for ages. 'A., you are a worthy fellow!'--very coldlysaid--will be the only recompense I shall receive; and you will see us,me, at my plough; you, out at service. And if I venture to speak ofthe ten thousand francs that were given me, I shall be treated as animpostor, as an impudent fool. By the holy name of God this shall notbe!"
"Oh, my father!"
"No! this shall not be. And I realize--as you cannot realize--thedisgrace of such a fall. You think you are beloved in Sairmeuse? You aremistaken. We have been too fortunate not to be the victims of hatred andjealousy. If I fall to-morrow, you will see all who kissed your handsto-day fall upon you to tear you to pieces!"
His eye glittered; he believed he had found a victorious argument.
"And then you, yourself, will realize the horror of the disgrace. Itwill cost you the deadly anguish of a separation from him whom yourheart has chosen."
He had spoken truly, for Marie-Anne's beautiful eyes filled with tears.
"If what you say proves true, father," she murmured, in an alteredvoice, "I may, perhaps, die of sorrow; but I cannot fail to realize thatmy confidence and my love has been misplaced."
"And you still insist upon my returning Sairmeuse to its former owner?"
"Honor speaks, my father."
M. Lacheneur made the arm-chair in which he was seated tremble by aviolent blow of his fist.
"And if I am just as obstinate," he exclaimed--"if I keep theproperty--what will you do?"
"I shall say to myself, father, that honest poverty is better thanstolen wealth. I shall leave this chateau, which belongs to the Ducde Sairmeuse, and I shall seek a situation as a servant in theneighborhood."
M. Lacheneur sank back in his arm-chair sobbing. He knew his daughter'snature well enough to be assured that what she said, that she would do.
But he was conquered; his daughter had won the ba
ttle. He had decided tomake the heroic sacrifice.
"I will relinquish Sairmeuse," he faltered, "come what may----"
He paused suddenly; a visitor was entering the room.
It was a young man about twenty years of age, of distinguishedappearance, but with a rather melancholy and gentle manner.
His eyes when he entered the apartment encountered those of Marie-Anne;he blushed slightly, and the girl half turned away, crimsoning to theroots of her hair.
"Monsieur," said the young man, "my father sends me to inform you thatthe Duc de Sairmeuse and his son have just arrived. They have asked thehospitality of our cure."
M. Lacheneur rose, unable to conceal his frightful agitation.
"You will thank the Baron d'Escorval for his attention, my dearMaurice," he responded. "I shall have the honor of seeing him to-day,after a very momentous step which we are about to take, my daughter andI."
Young d'Escorval had seen, at the first glance, that his presence wasinopportune, so he remained only a few moments.
But as he was taking leave, Marie-Anne found time to say, in a lowvoice:
"I think I know your heart, Maurice; this evening I shall know itcertainly."