CHAPTER XXXIV.
LEIGOUTTE.
The kind reader who has followed thus far, has not forgotten a certainlittle village among the Vosges mountains, where in January, 1814, bravepeasants fought and died in the defence of their country.
When Simon left Leigoutte with Sergeant Michel, he had no idea that thefury of the invaders would lead them to commit the crime of killingwomen and children, and to burn their homes. The Cossacks and theemigres avenged themselves on French flesh and blood, and French homesand firesides.
While the Russians burned the cottage where Francoise and the childrenhad taken shelter, Talizac, in order to ensure his possession of thetitle and Fongereues estates, set fire to the inn which was Simon'shome. The emigres took fiendish delight in destroying the school-room.Was it not there that the Republicans talked of duty and their countryto the children? And when this band of royal thieves had passed,desolation settled down upon the valley.
The king was proclaimed at the Tuileries, and lying on his bedembroidered with purple _fleur de lis_, never condescended to think ofthe villages in the East that had welcomed the invaders with powder andshot.
By degrees Leigoutte, like its neighbors, began to hold up its headonce more, and the few survivors agreed to take care of the women andchildren who had been left without protectors. The oldest among themremembered Simon's teachings, and repeated them to their children.
One day they experienced a great surprise. It became known that astranger had purchased the land on which had formerly stood the inn andthe school of Simon Fougere. Every one wondered what the old man, whoseemed to be an intendant, meant to do with this place, about which hungso many sad legends. Then came an architect, who employed the workmen inthe village. They were paid well and promptly. The older inhabitantswere consulted as to the plan of the old inn and the school.
When wonder had passed, the villagers were amazed to find the inn hadbeen built exactly like the old one that had been burned by the emigres.Yes, there was the large, well-lighted room where Francoise, with herlittle girl in her arms, had cordially welcomed the travelers, whilelittle Jacques flew about with bright cheeks and brighter eyes. Thesign, too, was just the same as the old one. The only difference wasthat the tri-colored flag did not wave in the morning breeze. The newproprietor was named Pierre Labarre. Who was he? No one knew. He had abenevolent face, and he liked to talk of Simon Fougere, and made thevillagers tell him the story of his death over and over again. Sometimeshe was seen to listen with tears in his eyes.
"He knew him, that's sure!" said the peasants.
He selected a man and his wife to keep the inn. They had two children, aboy and a girl. The girl was named Francine. This completed theresemblance to the past. As a schoolmaster, Pierre appointed an oldsoldier, who was intelligent and honest.
Once more Leigoutte began to take heart. Pierre Labarre spent severaldays each year in the village, and yet the good people knew nothing ofhim more than his name. Pierre Labarre was not the real benefactor, whoslept in his tomb, but when dying he had said to his old servant:
"I have been unfaithful to my duty toward Simon. I have been cowardlytoward him. I have a large amount for my grandchildren, where, you alonewill know. Seek these children, and make them rich. If Fate be againstus, if you cannot find these children, consecrate this fortune to makingthe name of Simon beloved. Go to the poor village of Leigoutte, and letthose who loved him, that is, all who knew him, be the heirs of that sonwhom the Marquis de Fongereues adored in his heart."
For many years he sought in vain for the smallest clue, but one day,after much discouragement, a new hope sprang to life in his heart. Itwas when the so-called Marquis de Fongereues came to demand at his handsthe secret entrusted to the old man by his master. The very violence ofthe two men on that day proved that Simon's son was living. Had he beendead, the heirs of the Fongereues would have applied to the courts.
Then Pierre Labarre resumed his search, and an old man was continuallyseen on all the highways and by-ways of France, entering the humblestcottages and asking, in tremulous tones:
"Do you remember? It was in 1814."
But this was ten years ago. No one had seen two children flying fortheir lives. How many hopes were based upon a word, and how manydisappointments followed!
Finally, he determined to act on the last words of his dying master, andhe went to Leigoutte. It was an idea of his own to restore to Leigoutteits old look, the look it had one day long before when Simon Fougeregave him a seat at his fireside, and Jacques looked at the stranger withhis big, earnest eyes, while Cinette ran around the room.
The evening of which we write, this old servant of an emigre sat underthe trees opposite the school-room. He had gathered the village childrenabout him. Night was coming on, but the spring air was soft and sweet.He spoke in a low voice, for the authorities of the village might haveconsidered his words as somewhat of an incendiary nature. He said,softly:
"In other days, in Simon Fougere's school, all the children said, 'Vivela France! Vive la Republique!'"
And the little children repeated these words: "Vive la France! Vive laRepublique!"
At this moment a strange scene took place on the Square. Two shadows,dimly seen in the twilight, were kneeling before the inn. No one hadseen them approach. Pierre Labarre was the first to notice them, and hefelt a quick contraction of the heart that heralded some unlooked-forevent. He rose quickly, and signed to the children to keep perfectlystill. He nearly reached the two unknown without their hearing him. Hesaw that one was endeavoring to raise the other, who seemed to beinfirm. She extended her hand to the inn, and seemed to be sayingsomething, and then the two slowly mounted the steps of the inn.
Pierre, who was very near them, heard a sob. Who could they be? Pierreasked himself. The two strangers were now in the large room, wherenothing seemed changed since the day that the wounded soldier leanedagainst the wall, exhausted by suffering and fatigue. There was the hugechimney, and there the shining tables.
The infirm woman now walks unaided. She goes straight to the fireplace,and seats herself in a chair. She looks at the door eagerly andexpectantly.
Labarre again asked himself who this woman was, and what frightfulaccident had so injured her. Suddenly, while Labarre was watching her,the woman smiled.
"Ah! you have come, Simon!" she said with a smile, as if speaking tosome one who had just come in. "The children are waiting for you, andthe soup is ready. Jacques has been good, but you must talk toCinette--she is a perfect little fiend, sometimes!"
Labarre, with his heart in his mouth, clutched at the wall to preventhimself from falling.
"Come! Cinette--come; you must not be naughty!"
It was plain to Labarre who this person was--he had heard her voicebefore. But this girl--who was she?
The old man now entered the room. The girl saw him, and said,apologetically:
"Pray, do not scold us--we mean no harm."
"Whoever asks hospitality at this door receives it," answered Labarre."But tell who you both are."
Caillette, for it was she, laid her finger on her lips and whisperedlow:
"She is mad!"
Tears came to the old man's eyes.
"I beg of you," he asked again, "to tell me who this woman is."
"A poor, sick creature, who was once very happy. She has lost herhusband and her children, and met with some terrible accident beside."
"But her name?"
"I have not the smallest idea. Cinette always calls her mamma."
"Cinette! Who bears that name?"
"A good little girl in Paris, who earns her bread by singing in thestreets. It now seems that she is the sister of Fanfar. It is a verystrange sorrow, one fall of sorrow!"
"And Fanfar--whom do you call Fanfar?" asked the old man, with atroubled face.
Caillette started. She remembered that her love had been disdained, butshe was kind-hearted, of the stuff of which martyrs are made.
"Fanfar was a foundling. He i
s now a young man both good and handsome."
"Where have I heard that name?" Labarre said to himself.
Suddenly the woman seated in the chair looked up.
"Excuse the simplicity of the arrangements--the inn does as well aspossible."
"Francoise Fougere!" he cried.
Francoise started up, as if sustained by supernatural strength.
"Who calls me?" she cried. "Who is it that speaks my name?"
"Francoise, do you remember Simon, Jacques, Cinette?"
"My children? Yes, yes--I remember them. Where is it that I have justseen them? Oh! yes--I remember. I was all alone. Cinette's little bedwas empty, and then the door opened and Jacques came!"
"Is he alive?" cried Labarre.
"Yes," answered Caillette. "They knew each other at once."
"But where is Francine?"
"She has been abducted by the Vicomte de Talizac."
"Talizac!"
Labarre caught at a chair for support. Francoise heard these words.
"Talizac! Oh! the base, cruel man. Quick! we cannot stay here. I mustsave Francine and Jacques. Oh! my box--where is my box?"
My readers must now learn how Francoise and Caillette found themselvesat Leigoutte. They will remember that just as Fanfar recognized in thepoor, sick woman the mother whose loss he had so deeply deplored, andin Francine the worshipped little sister whose agonized cries he hadheard in the subterranean passages among the Vosges, all clue was lost,for Bobichel vanished, and with him Caillette.
And Gudel's daughter, who loved Fanfar with a love that was withouthope, said to him:
"She is your mother. Will you allow me to take care of her?"
Fanfar looked at Caillette with loving, grateful eyes, and then hastenedaway with Bobichel and Gudel.
Then Caillette was left alone with the sick woman, who began to cry andsob. Her mind had been so long torpid that now this shock seemed to haveswept away the last vestige of her intelligence. But Caillette was goodand patient, and finally the sick woman slept. Caillette watched her andwaited through the twilight, and at last, holding the hand of her chargein hers, she too fell asleep.
When the girl opened her eyes it was daybreak, and the bed was empty.Yes, Fanfar's mother, whom she had promised to guard, had vanished. Sheran into the next room. No one was there, and the door was open.
Caillette ran to the concierge. "Where is she?" she cried.
"Do you mean the old woman? Oh! she went away before light."
"Impossible! She cannot walk."
"I was astonished myself, but my wife said to me, who is that comingdown stairs? I looked, and I saw a ghost--not a pretty one either,begging your pardon. It was the paralytic, the old woman who had neverwalked a step all the while that the Marquise took care of her.
"'Where are you going?' I said to her.
"'To save Jacques.'"
"Jacques is her son, go on, quick," interrupted Caillette.
"'But you can't save any one,' I then said. This was not kind, Miss, butI was so astonished. She did not seem to mind it though, for she beganto talk about a box, and told me to open the door. I had no right todisobey, you know."
"And she went away?" cried Caillette.
"Yes, and quick enough, too."
Caillette did not wait to hear more. She flew down the stairs also.
It was seven o'clock in the morning. Caillette did not dare to findJacques, and tell him she had been faithless to her trust. No, she mustfind Francoise herself. She asked questions of all she met, and at lastshe had a ray of light. An old rag picker told her that he had seen awoman answering to the description given by Caillette. She at oncestarted in the direction he pointed out; it was the road to Germany shetook. She sold a small gold locket, which held a bit of ribbon from asash Fanfar had once given her. She kept the ribbon, and receivedseveral crowns for the locket. She walked all day, finally certain thatFrancoise was not far in advance. It was not until the morning of thesecond day that the girl was rewarded by seeing Francoise at the doorof an inn. Caillette rushed forward.
"Mother!" she cried.
"Ah! you know her?" said the innkeeper. "She is very strange."
"What did she say to you?"
"She asked for bread, and ate it without a word. Then, just as she sawyou, she asked me where some village was. I never heard the namebefore."
The old woman now came to meet Caillette.
"Leigoutte!" she said. "Leigoutte!"
"Leigoutte!" repeated Caillette, "that is Fanfar's village."
The old woman shook her head, she did not know the name.
"I mean Leigoutte is where Jacques came from."
"Yes--yes--Jacques. I must save Jacques and the box!"
What was going on in the impaired mind of Francoise? Fanfar's suddenappearance had carried her memory back to the last interview she hadwith Simon, when, our readers will remember, he had given his wife thepapers that proved his birth and that of Jacques. And now Francoise hadbut one idea, to return to Leigoutte. In vain did Caillette urge her toreturn to Paris, and the girl had promised Fanfar not to leave hismother. She therefore went on toward Germany with her. Fortunately, awagoner took pity on these two women, and took them up. In this way theyreached Leigoutte. Francoise was silent, except a few low words that shemuttered under her breath at long intervals. Caillette thought withdespair of Fanfar, and his agony at his mother's disappearance.
Alas! poor girl, she did not know that the night when she and Francoiseentered the inn at Leigoutte, Fanfar, alone in his prison, thought ofhis mother whom he had scarcely seen, and of the sister whom he had heldin his arms. Ah! it was a bitter trial for the strong, faithful heart.
Caillette and Pierre Labarre watched Francoise, when finally she arosefrom her chair, and went toward the door. On the threshold she seemed tohesitate. She thrust back her gray hair, and pressed her hand to herbrow. Then, as if she suddenly remembered something, she turned and wenttoward the door in the back of the house, Caillette and Pierre followingher every step she took. She went out into the garden, and up a windingpath to the hill, which she began to climb with panting breath.
"Ah! she is going to the little farm of Lasvene which was burned," saidPierre to himself.
Then, all the time watching Francoise, he began to question Caillette.
What motive had Francoise in these persistent wanderings? Was it merelythe whim of a mad woman or had she some fixed design?
Francoise walked on. Sometimes she stopped short, and called Jacques,then Cinette. Labarre asked himself if it were not his duty to stop thispoor woman, but a secret instinct bade him watch her to the end.
An hour elapsed, but Francoise seemed to feel no fatigue. At thecross-roads she did not hesitate. Finally they reached the Gorged'Outremont. In the fast gathering darkness, the place was horrible andgloomy. As in a former description we have said, the mountain seemed atthis gorge to have been cleft in twain by a gigantic hatchet.
At this moment, the clouds parted, and a pale young moon looked down onthe landscape.
Francoise stopped short, Pierre well knew why. The little cottage of oldLasvene had vanished, and the poor woman was bewildered. Labarre went toher, and took her hand. He knew where the foundations of the cottagewere, and convinced that this was why she had come, he led her to theruins. She laughed in a childish way.
"Burned? Ah! yes;" she repeated the cry of the Cossacks. "Death to theFrench!" And then she began to run.
It was an outbreak of madness. Caillette and Pierre uttered cries offright.
The mystery of such a strange occurrence may never be solved, butFrancoise threw herself on the ground in a corner where the littlegarden had stood, and began to dig furiously in the earth. Presently,she screamed:
"The box! The box! Jacques is not my son; Cinette is the Marquise deFongereues. Jacques--Fanfar is Vicomte de Talizac!" And she fellunconscious into the arms of Labarre.