CHAPTER XLII
To quit Sairmeuse without any display of violence had cost Blanche analmost superhuman effort.
The wildest anger convulsed her soul at the very moment, when, withan assumption of melancholy dignity, she murmured those words offorgiveness.
Ah! had she obeyed the dictates of her resentment!
But her indomitable vanity aroused within her the heroism of a gladiatordying on the arena, with a smile upon his lips.
Falling, she intended to fall gracefully.
"No one shall see me weep; no one shall hear me complain," she said toher despondent father; "try to imitate me."
And on her return to the Chateau de Courtornieu, she was a stoic.
Her face, although pale, was as immobile as marble, beneath the curiousgaze of the servants.
"I am to be called mademoiselle as in the past," she said, imperiously."Anyone forgetting this order will be dismissed."
A maid forgot that very day, and uttered the prohibited word, "madame."The poor girl was instantly dismissed, in spite of her tears andprotestations.
All the servants were indignant.
"Does she hope to make us forget that she is married and that herhusband has deserted her?" they queried.
Alas! she wished to forget it herself. She wished to annihilate allrecollection of that fatal day whose sun had seen her a maiden, a wife,and a widow.
For was she not really a widow?
Only it was not death which had deprived her of her husband, but anodious rival--an infamous and perfidious creature lost to all sense ofshame.
And yet, though she had been disdained, abandoned, and repulsed, she wasno longer free.
She belonged to the man whose name she bore like a badge ofservitude--to the man who hated her, who fled from her.
She was not yet twenty; and this was the end of her youth, of her life,of her hopes, and even of her dreams.
Society condemned her to solitude, while Martial was free to rovewheresoever fancy might lead him.
Now she saw the disadvantage of isolating one's self. She had not beenwithout friends in her school-girl days; but after leaving the conventshe had alienated them by her haughtiness, on finding them not as highin rank, nor as rich as herself. She was now reduced to the irritatingconsolations of Aunt Medea, who was a worthy person, undoubtedly, buther tears flowed quite as freely for the loss of a cat, as for the deathof a relative.
But Blanche bravely resolved that she would conceal her grief anddespair in the recesses of her own heart.
She drove about the country; she wore the prettiest dresses in her_trousseau_; she forced herself to appear gay and indifferent.
But on going to attend high mass in Sairmeuse the following Sunday, sherealized the futility of her efforts.
People did not look at her haughtily, or even curiously; but they turnedaway their heads to laugh, and she overheard remarks upon the maidenwidow which pierced her very soul.
They mocked her; they ridiculed her!
"Oh! I will have my revenge!" she muttered.
But she had not waited for these insults before thinking of vengeance;and she had found her father quite ready to assist her in her plans.
For the first time the father and the daughter were in accord.
"The Duc de Sairmeuse shall learn what it costs to aid in the escapeof a prisoner and to insult a man like me. Fortune, favor, position--heshall lose all! I hope to see him ruined and dishonored at my feet.You shall see that day! you shall see that day!" said the marquis,vehemently.
But, unfortunately for him and his plans, he was extremely ill for threedays, after the scene at Sairmeuse; then he wasted three days more incomposing a report, which was intended to crush his former ally.
This delay ruined him, since it gave Martial time to perfect his plansand to send the Duc de Sairmeuse to Paris skilfully indoctrinated.
And what did the duke say to the King, who accorded him such a graciousreception?
He undoubtedly pronounced the first reports false, reduced theMontaignac revolution to its proper proportions, represented Lacheneuras a fool, and his followers as inoffensive idiots.
Perhaps he led the King to suppose that the Marquis de Courtornieumight have provoked the outbreak by undue severity. He had served underNapoleon, and possibly had thought it necessary to make a display of hiszeal. There have been such cases.
So far as he himself was concerned, he deeply deplored the mistakes intowhich he had been led by the ambitious marquis, upon whom he cast mostof the responsibility for the blood which had been shed.
The result of all this was, that when the Marquis de Courtornieu'sreport reached Paris, it was answered by a decree depriving him of theoffice of _grand prevot_.
This unexpected blow crushed him.
To think that a man as shrewd, as subtle-minded, as quick-witted, andadroit as himself--a man who had passed through so many troubled epochs,who had served with the same obsequious countenance all the masters whowould accept his services--to think that such a man should have beenthus duped and betrayed!
"It must be that old imbecile, the Duc de Sairmeuse, who has manoeuvredso skilfully, and with so much address," he said. "But who advised him?I cannot imagine who it could have been."
Who it was Mme. Blanche knew only too well.
She recognized Martial's hand in all this, as Marie-Anne had done.
"Ah! I was not deceived in him," she thought; "he is the greatdiplomatist I believed him to be. At his age to outwit my father, an oldpolitician of such experience and acknowledged astuteness! And he doesall this to please Marie-Anne," she continued, frantic with rage. "Itis the first step toward obtaining pardon for the friends of that vilecreature. She has unbounded influence over him, and so long as she livesthere is no hope for me. But, patience."
She was patient, realizing that he who wishes to surely attain hisrevenge must wait, dissimulate, _prepare_ an opportunity, but not forceit.
What her revenge should be she had not yet decided; but she already hadher eye upon a man whom she believed would be a willing instrument inher hands, and capable of doing anything for money.
But how had such a man chanced to cross the path of Mme. Blanche? Howdid it happen that she was cognizant of the existence of such a person?
It was the result of one of those simple combinations of circumstanceswhich go by the name of chance.
Burdened with remorse, despised and jeered at, and stoned whenever heshowed himself upon the street, and horror-stricken whenever he thoughtof the terrible threats of Balstain, the Piedmontese innkeeper, Chupinleft Montaignac and came to beg an asylum at the Chateau de Sairmeuse.
In his ignorance, he thought that the _grand seigneur_ who had employedhim, and who had profited by his treason, owed him, over and above thepromised reward, aid and protection.
But the servants shunned him. They would not allow him a seat at thekitchen-table, nor would the grooms allow him to sleep in the stables.They threw him a bone, as they would have thrown it to a dog; and heslept where he could.
He bore all this uncomplainingly, deeming himself fortunate in beingable to purchase comparative safety at such a price.
But when the duke returned from Paris with a policy of forgetfulness andconciliation in his pocket, he would no longer tolerate the presence ofthis man, who was the object of universal execration.
He ordered the dismissal of Chupin.
The latter resisted, swearing that he would not leave Sairmeuse unlesshe was forcibly expelled, or unless he received the order from the lipsof the duke himself.
This obstinate resistance was reported to the duke. It made himhesitate; but the necessity of the moment, and a word from Martial,decided him.
He sent for Chupin and told him that he must not visit Sairmeuse againunder any pretext whatever, softening the harshness of expulsion,however, by the offer of a small sum of money.
But Chupin sullenly refused the money, gathered his belongings together,and departed, shaking his cl
inched fist at the chateau, and vowingvengeance on the Sairmeuse family. Then he went to his old home, wherehis wife and his two boys still lived.
He seldom left the house, and then only to satisfy his passion forhunting. At such times, instead of hiding and surrounding himself withevery precaution, as he had done, before shooting a squirrel or a fewpartridges, in former times, he went boldly to the Sairmeuse or theCourtornieu forests, shot his game, and brought it home openly, almostdefiantly.
The rest of the time he spent in a state of semi-intoxication, for hedrank constantly and more and more immoderately. When he had taken morethan usual, his wife and his sons generally attempted to obtain moneyfrom him, and if persuasions failed they resorted to blows.
For he had never given them the reward of his treason. What had he donewith the twenty thousand francs in gold which had been paid him? No oneknew. His sons believed he had buried it somewhere; but they tried invain to wrest his secret from him.
All the people in the neighborhood were aware of this state of affairs,and regarded it as a just punishment for the traitor. Mme. Blancheoverheard one of the gardeners telling the story to two of hisassistants:
"Ah, the man is an old scoundrel!" he said, his face crimson withindignation. "He should be in the galleys, and not at large amongrespectable people."
"He is a man who would serve your purpose," the voice of hatredwhispered in Blanche's ear.
"But how can I find an opportunity to confer with him?" she wondered.Mme. Blanche was too prudent to think of hazarding a visit to his house,but she remembered that he hunted occasionally in the Courtornieu woods,and that it might be possible for her to meet him there.
"It will only require a little perseverance and a few long walks," shesaid to herself.
But it cost poor Aunt Medea, the inevitable chaperon, two long weeks ofalmost continued walking.
"Another freak!" groaned the poor relative, overcome with fatigue; "myniece is certainly crazy!"
But one lovely afternoon in May Blanche discovered what she sought.
It was in a sequestered spot near the lake. Chupin was tramping sullenlyalong with his gun and glancing suspiciously on every side! Not thathe feared the game-keeper or a verbal process, but wherever he went, hefancied he saw Balstain walking in his shadow, with that terrible knifein his hand.
Seeing Mme. Blanche he tried to hide himself in the forest, but sheprevented it by calling:
"Father Chupin!"
He hesitated for a moment, then he paused, dropped his gun, and waited.
Aunt Medea was pale with fright.
"Blessed Jesus!" she murmured, pressing her niece's arm; "why do youcall that terrible man?"
"I wish to speak with him."
"What, Blanche, do you dare----"
"I must!"
"No, I cannot allow it. _I_ must not----"
"There, that is enough," said Blanche, with one of those imperiousglances that deprive a dependent of all strength and courage; "quiteenough."
Then, in gentler tones:
"I must talk with this man," she added.
"You, Aunt Medea, will remain at a little distance. Keep a close watchon every side, and if you see anyone approaching, call me, whoever itmay be."
Aunt Medea, submissive as she was ever wont to be, obeyed; and Mme.Blanche advanced toward the old poacher, who stood as motionless as thetrunks of the giant trees around him.
"Well, my good Father Chupin, what sort of sport have you had to-day?"she began, when she was a few steps from him.
"What do you want with me?" growled Chupin; "for you do want something,or you would not trouble yourself about such as I."
It required all Blanche's determination to repress a gesture of frightand of disgust; but, in a resolute tone, she replied:
"Yes, it is true that I have a favor to ask you."
"Ah, ha! I supposed so."
"A mere trifle which will cost you no trouble and for which you shall bewell paid."
She said this so carelessly that one would really have supposed theservice was unimportant; but cleverly as she played her part, Chupin wasnot deceived.
"No one asks trifling services of a man like me," he said coarsely.
"Since I have served the good cause, at the peril of my life, peopleseem to suppose that they have a right to come to me with their money intheir hands, when they desire any dirty work done. It is true that I waswell paid for that other job; but I would like to melt all the gold andpour it down the throats of those who gave it to me.
"Ah! I know what it costs the humble to listen to the words of thegreat! Go your way; and if you have any wickedness in your head, do ityourself!"
He shouldered his gun and was moving away, when Mme. Blanche said,coldly:
"It was because I knew your wrongs that I stopped you; I thought youwould be glad to serve me, because I hate the Sairmeuse."
These words excited the interest of the old poacher, and he paused.
"I know very well that you hate the Sairmeuse now--but----"
"But what!"
"In less than a month you will be reconciled. And you will pay theexpenses of the war and of the reconciliation? That old wretch,Chupin----"
"We shall never be reconciled."
"Hum!" he growled, after deliberating awhile. "And if I should aid you,what compensation will you give me?"
"I will give you whatever you desire--money, land, a house----"
"Many thanks. I desire something quite different."
"What? Name your conditions."
Chupin reflected a moment, then he replied:
"This is what I desire. _I_ have enemies--I do not even feel safe in myown house. My sons abuse me when I have been drinking; my wife is quitecapable of poisoning my wine; I tremble for my life and for my money.I cannot endure this existence much longer. Promise me an asylum in theChateau de Courtornieu, and I am yours. In your house I shall be safe.But let it be understood, I will not be ill-treated by the servants as Iwas at Sairmeuse."
"It shall be as you desire."
"Swear it by your hope of heaven."
"I swear."
There was such an evident sincerity in her accent that Chupin wasreassured. He leaned toward her, and said, in a low voice:
"Now tell me your business."
His small gray eyes glittered with a demoniac light; his thin lips weretightly drawn over his sharp teeth; he was evidently expecting someproposition to murder, and he was ready.
His attitude showed this so plainly that Blanche shuddered.
"Really, what I ask of you is almost nothing," she replied. "I only wishyou to watch the Marquis de Sairmeuse."
"Your husband?"
"Yes; my husband. I wish to know what he does, where he goes, and whatpersons he sees. I wish to know how each moment of his time is spent."
"What! seriously, frankly, is this all that you desire of me?" Chupinasked.
"For the present, yes. My plans are not yet decided. It depends uponcircumstances what action I shall take."
"You can rely upon me," he responded; "but I must have a little time."
"Yes, I understand. To-day is Saturday; will you be ready to report onThursday?"
"In five days? Yes, probably."
"In that case, meet me here on Thursday, at this same hour."
A cry from Aunt Medea interrupted them.
"Someone is coming!" Mme. Blanche exclaimed. "Quick! we must not be seentogether. Conceal yourself."
With a bound the old poacher disappeared in the forest.
A servant had approached Aunt Medea, and was speaking to her with greatanimation.
Blanche hastened toward them.
"Ah! Mademoiselle," exclaimed the servant, "we have been seeking youeverywhere for three hours. Your father, monsieur le marquis--_monDieu_! what a misfortune! A physician has been summoned."
"Is my father dead?"
"No, Mademoiselle, no; but--how can I tell you? When the marquis wentout this morning his actions were very strang
e, and--and--when hereturned----"
As he spoke the servant tapped his forehead with the end of hisforefinger.
"You understand me, Mademoiselle--when he returned, reason had fled!"
Without waiting for her terrified aunt, Blanche darted in the directionof the chateau.
"How is the marquis?" she inquired of the first servant whom she met.
"He is in his room on the bed; he is more quiet now."
She had already reached his room. He was seated upon the bed, and twoservants were watching his every movement. His face was livid, anda white foam had gathered upon his lips. Still, he recognized hisdaughter.
"Here you are," said he. "I was waiting for you."
She remained upon the threshold, quite overcome, although she wasneither tender-hearted nor impressionable.
"My father!" she faltered. "Good heavens! what has happened?"
He uttered a discordant laugh.
"Ah, ha!" he exclaimed, "I met him. Do you doubt me? I tell you that Isaw the wretch. I know him well; have I not seen his cursed face beforemy eyes for more than a month--for it never leaves me. I saw him. It wasin the forest near the Sanguille rocks. You know the place; it is alwaysdark there, on account of the trees. I was returning slowly, thinking ofhim, when suddenly he sprang up before me, extending his arms as if tobar my passage.
"'Come,' said he, 'you must come and join me.' He was armed with a gun;he fired----"
The marquis paused, and Blanche summoned sufficient courage to approachhim. For more than a minute she fastened upon him that cold andpersistent look that is said to exercise such power over those who havelost their reason; then, shaking him energetically by the arm, she said,almost roughly:
"Control yourself, father. You are the victim of an hallucination. It isimpossible that you have seen the man of whom you speak."
Who it was that M. de Courtornieu supposed he had seen, Blanche knewonly too well; but she dared not, could not, utter the name.
But the marquis had resumed his incoherent narrative.
"Was I dreaming?" he continued. "No, it was certainly Lacheneur whoconfronted me. I am sure of it, and the proof is, that he reminded me ofa circumstance which occurred in my youth, and which was known only tohim and me. It happened during the Reign of Terror. He was all-powerfulin Montaignac; and I was accused of being in correspondence with the_emigres_. My property had been confiscated; and every moment I wasexpecting to feel the hand of the executioner upon my shoulder, whenLacheneur took me into his house. He concealed me; he furnished me witha passport; he saved my money, and he saved my head--I sentenced him todeath. That is the reason why I have seen him again. I must rejoin him;he told me so--I am a dying man!"
He fell back upon his pillows, pulled the sheet up over his face, and,lying there, rigid and motionless, one might readily have supposed itwas a corpse, whose outlines could be vaguely discerned through thebed-coverings.
Mute with horror, the servants exchanged frightened glances.
Such baseness and ingratitude amazed them. It seemed incomprehensibleto them, under such circumstances, that the marquis had not pardonedLacheneur.
Mme. Blanche alone retained her presence of mind. Turning to herfather's valet, she said:
"It is not possible that anyone has attempted to injure my father?"
"I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle, a little more and he would have beenkilled."
"How do you know this?"
"In undressing the marquis I noticed that he had received a wound inthe head. I also examined his hat, and in it I found three holes, whichcould only have been made by bullets."
The worthy _valet de chambre_ was certainly more agitated than thedaughter.
"Then someone must have attempted to assassinate my father," shemurmured, "and this attack of delirium has been brought on by fright.How can we find out who the would-be murderer was?"
The servant shook his head.
"I suspect that old poacher, who is always prowling around, is theguilty man--Chupin."
"No, it could not have been he."
"Ah! I am almost sure of it. There is no one else in the neighborhoodcapable of such an evil deed."
Mme. Blanche could not give her reasons for declaring Chupin innocent.Nothing in the world would have induced her to admit that she had methim, talked with him for more than half an hour, and just parted fromhim.
She was silent. In a few moments the physician arrived.
He removed the covering from M. de Courtornieu's face--he was almostcompelled to use force to do it--examined the patient with evidentanxiety, then ordered mustard plasters, applications of ice to the head,leeches, and a potion, for which a servant was to gallop to Montaignacat once. All was bustle and confusion.
When the physician left the sick-room, Mme. Blanche followed him.
"Well, Doctor," she said, with a questioning look.
With considerable hesitation, he replied:
"People sometimes recover from such attacks."
It really mattered little to Blanche whether her father recovered ordied, but she felt that an opportunity to recover her lost _prestige_was now afforded her. If she desired to turn public opinion againstMartial, she must improvise for herself an entirely differentreputation. If she could erect a pedestal upon which she could pose as apatient victim, her satisfaction would be intense. Such an occasion nowoffered itself, and she seized it at once.
Never did a devoted daughter lavish more touching and delicateattentions upon a sick father. It was impossible to induce her to leavehis bedside for a moment. It was only with great difficulty that theycould persuade her to sleep for a couple of hours, in an armchair in thesick-room.
But while she was playing the role of Sister of Charity, which she hadimposed upon herself, her thoughts followed Chupin. What was he doing inMontaignac? Was he watching Martial as he had promised? How slow the dayappointed for the meeting was in coming!
It came at last, however, and after intrusting her father to the care ofAunt Medea, Blanche made her escape.
The old poacher was awaiting her at the appointed place.
"Speak!" said Mme. Blanche.
"I would do so willingly, only I have nothing to tell you."
"What! you have not watched the marquis?"
"Your husband? Excuse me, I have followed him; like his own shadow. Butwhat would you have me say to you; since the duke left for Paris, yourhusband has charge of everything. Ah! you would not recognize him! Heis always busy now. He is up at cock-crow and he goes to bed withthe chickens. He writes letters all the morning. In the afternoon hereceives all who call upon him. The retired officers are hand and glovein with him. He has reinstated five or six of them, and he has grantedpensions to two others. He seldom goes out, and never in the evening."
He paused and for more than a minute Blanche was silent. She wasconfused and agitated by the question that rose to her lips. Whathumiliation! But she conquered her embarrassment, and turning away herhead to hide her crimson face, she said:
"But he certainly has a mistress!"
Chupin burst into a noisy laugh.
"Well, we have come to it at last," he said, with an audaciousfamiliarity that made Blanche shudder. "You mean that scoundrelLacheneur's daughter, do you not? that stuck-up minx, Marie-Anne?"
Blanche felt that denial was useless.
"Yes," she answered; "it is Marie-Anne that I mean."
"Ah, well! she has been neither seen nor heard from. She must have fledwith another of her lovers, Maurice d'Escorval."
"You are mistaken."
"Oh, not at all! Of all the Lacheneurs only Jean remains, and he liveslike the vagabond that he is, by poaching and stealing. Day and night herambles through the woods with his gun on his shoulder. He is frightfulto look upon, a perfect skeleton, and his eyes glitter like live coals.If he ever meets me, my account will be settled then and there."
Blanche turned pale. It was Jean Lacheneur who had fired at the marquisthen. She did not doubt it in the least. r />
"Very well!" said she, "I, myself, am sure that Marie-Anne is in theneighborhood, concealed in Montaignac, probably. I must know. Endeavorto discover her retreat before Monday, when I will meet you here again."
"I will try," Chupin answered.
He did indeed try; he exerted all his energy and cunning, but in vain.He was fettered by the precautions which he took against Balstain andagainst Jean Lacheneur. On the other hand, no one in the neighborhoodwould have consented to give him the least information.
"Still no news!" he said to Mme. Blanche at each interview.
But she would not yield. Jealousy will not yield even to evidence.
Blanche had declared that Marie-Anne had taken her husband from her,that Martial and Marie-Anne loved each other, hence it must be so, allproofs to the contrary notwithstanding.
But one morning she found her spy jubilant.
"Good news!" he cried, as soon as he saw her; "we have caught the minxat last."