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diff --git a/38255-h/38255-h.htm b/38255-h/38255-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7c60efa --- /dev/null +++ b/38255-h/38255-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10618 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Autumn Glory, by René Bazin</title> + <style type="text/css"> + + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + + h1 {text-align: center; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 3em; + clear: both;} + + h2 {text-align: center; + line-height: 2; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + clear: both;} + + h3 {text-align: center; + margin-top: 1.5em; + margin-bottom: 1.5em; + clear: both;} + + + hr.c15 {width: 15%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + + hr.full { width: 100%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + height: 4px; + border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ + border-style: solid; + border-color: #000000; + clear: both; } + pre {font-size: 85%;} + +a:link, +a:visited +{ + text-decoration: none; +} + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + .tdr {text-align: right; vertical-align: top;} + .tdc {text-align: center;} + + .poem {font-size: 95%; margin-left: 30%; margin-right: 10%; + margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left; } + .poem .stanza { margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em; } + .poem p { margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em; } + .poem p.i1 { margin-left: 1em; } + +a[title].pagenum +{ + position: absolute; + right: 3%; +} +a[title].pagenum:after +{ + content: attr(title); + border: 1px solid silver; + display: inline; + font-size: x-small; + text-align: right; + color: #808080; + background-color: inherit; + font-style: normal; + padding: 1px 4px 1px 4px; + font-variant: normal; + font-weight: normal; + text-decoration: none; + text-indent: 0; + letter-spacing: 0; +} + + .blockquote {font-size: 95%; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + + #tnote + {margin: 6em auto; + text-align: justify; + border: 1px solid; + padding: 0 0.75em; + background-color: #F0FFFF; + max-width: 95%;} + + sup {font-size: 0.7em; font-variant: normal;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps; font-size: 90%;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .p2 {margin-top: 2em;} + .p4 {margin-top: 4em;} + + .i2 {margin-left: 2em;} + .i4 {margin-left: 4em;} + .i9 {margin-left: 9em;} + .i20 {margin-left: 20em;} + + .small {font-size: small;} + .large {font-size: large;} + .xxlarge {font-size: xx-large;} + + .left5 {margin-left: 5%;} + .left15 {margin-left: 15%;} + .left25 {margin-left: 25%;} + .left30 {margin-left: 30%;} + .right {text-align: right;} + +@media screen +{ + body + { + width: 85%; + max-width: 45em; + margin: auto; + } + + p + { + margin: 0.75em auto; + } + + #tnote + { + max-width: 24em; + } +} + +@media print, handheld +{ + p + { + margin: 0; + } + + #tnote + { + background-color: white; + border: none; + width: 100%; + } + + #tnote p + { + margin: 0.25em 0; + } + + .pagenum, + #tnote .screen + { + display: none; + } + + a:link, + a:visited + { + color: black; + } +} + +@media handheld +{ + body + { + margin: 0; + padding: 0; + width: 95%; + } + + p + { + line-height: 1; + } +} +--> +</style> +<!--[if lt IE 8]> +<style type="text/css"> +a[title].pagenum +{ + position: static; +} +</style> +<![endif]--> +</head> +<body> +<h1 class="pg">The Project Gutenberg eBook, Autumn Glory, by René Bazin, Translated by +Ellen Waugh</h1> +<pre> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Autumn Glory</p> +<p> The Toilers of the Field</p> +<p>Author: René Bazin</p> +<p>Release Date: December 9, 2011 [eBook #38255]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AUTUMN GLORY***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Hélène de Mink, renebazin,<br /> + and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<div id="tnote"> +<p>Transcriber's note:<br /> +Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.<br /> +Any missing page numbers are blank pages in the original text.</p> +</div> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<p class="p4"><a class="pagenum" name="Page_I"> </a></p> + +<h1>AUTUMN GLORY</h1> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_II"> </a></p> + +<p class="p4 center large"><b>Jarrold & Sons'</b><br /> +<b>New Six-Shilling Fiction.</b></p> + +<div class="left30"> +<div class="left10"><img src="images/leaf.png" width="69" height="25" alt="leaf" /> +</div> + +<p class="p2"><span class="i2">By MAURUS JOKAI.</span><br /> +<b><i>Halil the Pedlar.</i></b><br /> +<span class="i2 small">(The White Rose.)</span></p> + +<div class="left25"><img src="images/leaf.png" width="69" height="25" alt="leaf" /> +</div> + +<p class="p2"><span class="i2">By COUNT LEO TOLSTOI.</span><br /> +<b><i>Tales From Tolstoi.</i></b></p> + +<p><span class="i2">Translated from the Russian by</span> <span class="smcap">R. Nisbet Bain</span>,<br /> +and with Biography of the Author.</p> + +<div class="left10"><img src="images/leaf.png" width="69" height="25" alt="leaf" /> +</div> + +<p><span class="i2">By the Author of "ANIMA VILIS."</span><br /> +<b><i>Distaff.</i></b></p> + +<p class="i2"><span class="i2">By</span> <span class="smcap">Marya Rodziewicz.</span><br /> +<span class="small">Translated from the Polish by</span><br /> +<span class="small smcap">Count Stanislaus C. de Soissons.</span></p> + +<div class="left25"><img src="images/leaf.png" width="69" height="25" alt="leaf" /> +</div> + +<p class="p2"><span class="i2">By RENÉ BAZIN.</span><br /> +<b><i>Autumn Glory.</i></b><br /> +<span class="small i2">Translated by</span> <span class="smcap">Mrs. Ellen Waugh</span>.</p> + +<div class="left10"><img src="images/leaf.png" width="69" height="25" alt="leaf" /> +</div> + +<p class="p2"><span class="i2">By the Author of</span><br /> +<span class="i4 smcap">"DUKE RODNEY'S SECRET."</span><br /> +<b><i>Ivy Cardew.</i></b><br /> +<span class="i2 smcap">Perrington Primm.</span></p> + +<div class="left25"><img src="images/leaf.png" width="69" height="25" alt="leaf" /> +</div> + +<p class="p2"><span class="i2">By HULBERT FULLER.</span><br /> +<b><i>God's Rebel.</i></b></p> + +<div class="left10"><img src="images/leaf.png" width="69" height="25" alt="leaf" /> +</div> + +<p class="p2"><span class="i2">By MARTHA BAKER DUNN.</span><br /> +<b><i>Memory Street.</i></b></p> + +<div class="left25"><img src="images/leaf.png" width="69" height="25" alt="leaf" /> + </div> +</div> + +<p class="center"><span class="small">London:</span><br /> +JARROLD & SONS,<br /> +<span class="small">Publishers,</span><br /> +<span class="small">10 & 11, Warwick Lane,</span><br /> +<span class="small">E.C.</span></p> + +<p class="center"><span class="small">At the Libraries</span><br /> +<span class="small">And of all Booksellers.</span></p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_1"> </a></p> +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_2"> </a></p> + +<div class="p2 figcenter"> +<img src="images/004.jpg" width="400" height="612" alt="portrait" /> +<img src="images/signature.png" width="400" height="92" alt="signature" /></div> + +<p class="p4"><a class="pagenum" name="Page_3"> </a></p> + +<p class="center xxlarge">Autumn Glory<br /> +<span class="small">OR</span><br /> +<span class="large">The Toilers of the Field</span></p> + +<p class="center">By <span class="smcap"><b>René Bazin</b></span><br /> +<i>Author of "A Blot of Ink," etc.</i><br /> +<span class="smcap">Translated by Mrs. Ellen Waugh</span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>With Photogravure Portrait of the Author</i></p> + +<p class="center">SANS PEUR ET<br /> +SANS REPROCHE</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/005.jpg" width="150" height="177" alt="logo" /> +</div> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Authorised Edition</span></p> + +<p class="center">LONDON<br /> +JARROLD & SONS<br /> +10 & 11, <span class="smcap">Warwick Lane, E.C.</span></p> + +<p class="center">All Rights Reserved<br /> +1901</p> + +<p class="p4"><a class="pagenum" name="Page_4"> </a></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Translated from the French, "La Terre qui Meurt," +by Mrs. Ellen Waugh.</i></p> + +<p class="center p4"><i>Copyright<br /> +London: Jarrold & Sons</i></p> + +<p class="p4"><a class="pagenum" name="Page_5"></a></p> + +<p class="center"><b>CONTENTS</b>.</p> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2" summary="toc"> +<tr> + <td class="tdc">CHAPTER</td> + <td> </td> + <td class="tdr">PAGE</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">I. </td> + <td><a href="#LA_FROMENTIERE">LA FROMENTIÈRE</a></td> + <td class="tdr">7</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">II.</td> + <td><a href="#THE_FAMILY_LUMINEAU">THE FAMILY LUMINEAU</a></td> + <td class="tdr">24</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">III.</td> + <td><a href="#THE_DWARF_ORCHARD">THE DWARF ORCHARD</a></td> + <td class="tdr">48</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">IV.</td> + <td><a href="#THE_MICHELONNES">THE MICHELONNES</a></td> + <td class="tdr">65</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">V.</td> + <td><a href="#PLOUGHING_IN_SEPTEMBER">PLOUGHING IN SEPTEMBER</a></td> + <td class="tdr">77</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">VI.</td> + <td><a href="#THE_APPEAL_TO_THE_MASTER">THE APPEAL TO THE MASTER</a></td> + <td class="tdr">102</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">VII.</td> + <td><a href="#DRIOTS_RETURN">DRIOTS RETURN</a></td> + <td class="tdr">116</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">VIII.</td> + <td><a href="#IN_THE_PLACE_DE_LEGLISE">IN THE PLACE DE L'EGLISE</a></td> + <td class="tdr">133</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">IX.</td> + <td><a href="#THE_CONSCRIPTS_OF_SALLERTAINE">THE CONSCRIPTS OF SALLERTAINE</a></td> + <td class="tdr">147</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">X.</td> + <td><a href="#THE_UPROOTED_VINEYARD">THE UPROOTED VINEYARD</a></td> + <td class="tdr">158</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">XI.</td> + <td><a href="#THE_DANCE_AT_LA_SEULIERE">THE DANCE AT LA SEULIÈRE</a></td> + <td class="tdr">178</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">XII.</td> + <td><a href="#ROUSILLES_LOVE_DREAM">ROUSILLE'S LOVE DREAM</a></td> + <td class="tdr">196</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">XIII.</td> + <td><a href="#THE_AUCTION">THE AUCTION</a></td> + <td class="tdr">208</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">XIV.</td> + <td><a href="#DWELLERS_IN_TOWNS">DWELLERS IN TOWNS</a></td> + <td class="tdr">240</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">XV.</td> + <td><a href="#THE_EMIGRANT">THE EMIGRANT</a></td> + <td class="tdr">255</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">XVI.</td> + <td><a href="#HER_FATHERS_BIDDING">HER FATHER'S BIDDING</a></td> + <td class="tdr">264</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">XVII.</td> + <td><a href="#A_FEBRUARY_NIGHT">A FEBRUARY NIGHT</a></td> + <td class="tdr">274</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdr">XVIII.</td> + <td><a href="#SPRINGTIDE">SPRINGTIDE</a></td> + <td class="tdr">289</td> +</tr> +</table> +<p class="p4"><a class="pagenum" name="Page_6"> </a></p> + +<h2><a class="pagenum" name="Page_7" title="7"> </a>AUTUMN GLORY.</h2> + +<h2 class="p4">CHAPTER I.</h2> +<h3><a name="LA_FROMENTIERE" id="LA_FROMENTIERE"></a>LA FROMENTIÈRE.</h3> + +<p class="p2">"Quiet! Bas-Rouge, down! Don't you know folk +born and bred here?"</p> + +<p>The dog thus addressed, a mongrel in which some +twenty breeds were mixed, with grey long-haired +coat changing to auburn silky fleece about the paws, +at once left off barking at the gate, trotted along the +grassy path bordering the field, and, content at having +done his duty, sat down at the extreme edge of the +line of cabbages which the farmer was trimming. +Along the same path a man was approaching, clad +in gaiters and a suit of well-worn corduroys. His +pace was the even steady gait of a man accustomed +to tramp the country. The face in its setting of +black beard was drawn and pale, the eyes, accustomed +to roam the hedges and rest nowhere, bore an expression +of weariness and mistrust, the contested +authority of an agent. He was the head-keeper and +steward to the Marquis de la Fromentière.</p> + +<p>He came to a halt behind Bas-Rouge, whose eyelids +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_8" title="8"> </a> +gave a furtive quiver, though his ears made not the +slightest movement.</p> + +<p>"Good day, Lumineau."</p> + +<p>"Good day."</p> + +<p>"I have a word to say to you. M. le Marquis has +written."</p> + +<p>Probably he expected the farmer to leave his +cabbages and come towards him. Not a bit of it. +The yeoman of the Marais bending double, a huge +bundle of green leaves in his arms, stood some thirty +feet off, looking askance at the keeper waiting +motionless in the path. What did he want of him? +His well-fed cheeks broadened into a smile, his clear, +deep-set eyes lengthened. In order to show his +independence, he bent down and resumed his labours +for a moment without reply. He felt himself upon +the ground that he looked upon as his own, which his +race had cultivated by virtue of a contract indefinitely +renewed. Around him, his cabbages formed an +immense square, a billowy mass of superb growth, +firm and heavy, their colour comprising every imaginable +shade of green, blue, and violet, tinting in +harmony with the hues of the setting sun. Of huge +stature though he was, the farmer plunged to his +middle, like a ship, in this compact sea of vegetation. +All that was to be seen above it was the short coat +and round felt hat, set well back on his head, from +which hung velvet streamers, the headgear of La +Vendée.</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_9" title="9"> </a> +When by this period of silence and labour he had +sufficiently marked the superiority of a tenant farmer +over a hired labourer, Lumineau straightening himself, +said:</p> + +<p>"You can talk on; there's no one here but me and +my dog."</p> + +<p>Nettled, the man replied:</p> + +<p>"M. le Marquis is displeased that you did not pay +your rent at Midsummer. It will soon be three +months in arrears."</p> + +<p>"But he knows that I have lost two oxen this +year; that the wheat is poor; and that one must +live, I and my sons, and the 'Creatures.'"</p> + +<p>By "Creatures" the farmer meant, as is customary +in the Marais, his two daughters, Eléonore and Marie-Rose.</p> + +<p>"Tut, tut," replied the keeper, "it is not reasons +he wants from you, my good man, it's the money."</p> + +<p>The farmer shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Were he here at the Château the Marquis would +not require it; I would soon explain how things +stand. He and I were friends, I may say, as his +father and mine were before us. I could show him +what changes time has brought about with me. He +would understand. But now one only has to do with +paid agents, no longer the Master; he is no more +to be seen, and some folks say we shall never see +him at La Fromentière any more. It is a bad thing +for us."</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_10" title="10"> </a> +"Very likely," returned the keeper, "but it is not +my place to discuss orders. When will you pay?"</p> + +<p>"It's easy to ask when will you pay, but it's another +thing to find the money."</p> + +<p>"Well then, I am to answer, No."</p> + +<p>"You will answer, Yes, as it must be. I will pay +at Michaelmas, which is not far off now."</p> + +<p>The farmer was about to stoop to resume his work +when the keeper added:</p> + +<p>"You will do well, too, Lumineau, to look after +your man. I found some snares the other day in +the preserves of La Cailleterie, which could only +have been laid by him."</p> + +<p>"Had he written his name upon them?"</p> + +<p>"No. But he is known to be the most desperate +poacher in the country round. You beware! The +Marquis has written to me that you were to go out, +bag and baggage, if I caught any one of you poaching +again."</p> + +<p>The farmer let fall his armful of cabbage leaves, +and extending his two fists, cried:</p> + +<p>"You liar! He cannot have said that. I know +him better than you do, and he knows me. And it's +not to a fellow of your sort that he would give any +such instructions. M. le Marquis to turn me off his +land, me, his old Lumineau! It is false."</p> + +<p>"Those were his written instructions."</p> + +<p>"Liar!" repeated the farmer.</p> + +<p>"All very well; we shall see," quoth the agent, +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_11" title="11"> </a> +turning to resume his way. "You have been warned. +That Jean Nesmy will pay you a bad turn one of +these days; without taking into account, that for a +penniless lad from the Bocage, he is rather too +sweet on your daughter. People are talking, you +know."</p> + +<p>Ramming his hat down on his head, with crimsoned +face and inflated chest, the farmer advanced a few +steps, as though to fall upon the man who had insulted +him; but he, leaning on his stout thorn stick, had +already walked on, and his discontented face was seen +outlined against the hedge as he rapidly receded. +He had a certain dread of the colossal farmer whose +strength was still formidable despite his years, and, +moreover, an uneasy sense of the past ill success of +his threats, a recollection of having been, more than +once, disavowed by the Marquis de la Fromentière, +their joint master, whose leniency towards the +Lumineau family he never could understand.</p> + +<p>The farmer stopped short, following with his +eyes the head-keeper's receding figure. He watched +as it passed along the fence in the opposite corner to +the gate, scaled it, and disappeared to the left of +the farm buildings along the green path leading to +the Château. When he had watched the man finally +out of sight:</p> + +<p>"No," the farmer exclaimed aloud. "No, the +Marquis did not say it! Turn us out!"</p> + +<p>For the moment the agent's evil insinuations +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_12" title="12"> </a> +against Marie-Rose, his youngest daughter, were completely +forgotten, his mind wholly absorbed in the +threat of being turned out. Slowly, with a harder +look in them than was their wont, he suffered his +eyes to wander around, as if to call all the familiar +objects to witness that the man had lied; then, +stooping down, he resumed his labours.</p> + +<p>The sun, already low in the heavens, had nearly +reached the row of young elms which bordered the +field to the west, their lopped branches that ended +in tufts of leaves resembling huge marguerites were +bending to the strong sea breeze. It was the +beginning of September, the time of evening when +a glow of heat seems to traverse the descending chills +of night. The farmer worked on as quickly and unremittingly +as any younger man; his outstretched +hand snapped off the crisp leaves close down to the +stem of the cabbages with a noise as of breaking +glass, where they lay in heaps along the furrows +beneath the over-arching rows of plants. Hidden +in the gloom, whence was emitted the warm, moist +smell of earth, he was lost amid the huge velvety +leaves intersected with their purple veins of colour. +In truth he made one with the vegetation, and it +would have been difficult to discern which was +corduroy and which cabbage in the billowy expanse +of the blue-green field.</p> + +<p>Withal, close to earth as was his bent body, his +soul was agitated and deep in thought; and as he +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_13" title="13"> </a> +worked, the farmer continued to ponder many things. +The irritation caused by the keeper's threats had +subsided; it only needed reflection to dismiss all +fear of hard treatment from the Marquis. Did they +not both come of a good stock; and did they not +acknowledge it, one of the other? For the yeoman's +ancestor was a Lumineau who had fought in the great +war; and although now in these changed times he +never mentioned past glories, neither the nobles nor +the peasants were ignorant that his ancestor, a giant, +surnamed Brin d'Amour, in the war of La Vendée, +had taken the generals of the insurrection across the +marshes in his own punt, had fought brilliantly, and +had received a sword of honour, which now hung, +eaten with rust, behind one of the farm presses. The +family was one of the most widely connected in the +country side. He claimed cousinship with thirty +farmers, spread over that district which formed the +Marais, extending from Saint Gilles to the Ile de +Bouin. No one, himself included, could tell at what +period his forefathers had begun to till the fields of +La Fromentière. They had been there of right for +generations, the Marquis in his Castle, the Lumineaus +in their farm, united through long custom, each knowing +the land and alike loving it; drinking the vintage +of the soil together when they met; never dreaming +that one or the other could ever forsake Château +or farm bearing one and the same name.</p> + +<p>And, in truth, eight years ago, great had been the +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_14" title="14"> </a> +astonishment when one Christmas morning, amid +falling sleet, M. Henri, the present Marquis, a man +of forty, a greater hunter, harder drinker, and +more boorish mannered than any of his predecessors, +had said to Toussaint Lumineau, "My Toussaint, +I am going to live in Paris. My wife cannot accustom +herself to this place; it is too dull and too cold for +her. But do not worry; I shall come back." He +had never come back, save on rare occasions for a day +or two. But, of course, he had not forgotten the +past. He still remained the same uncouth, kindly +master known of old, and the keeper had lied when +he talked of their being turned out.</p> + +<p>No, the more Toussaint Lumineau thought of it +the less did he believe that a master so rich, so liberal, +so good at heart, could have written such words. +Only the rent must be paid. Well, so it should. +The farmer himself did not possess two hundred +francs ready-money in the walnut wood chest beside +his bed; but his children were rich, having inherited +over two thousand francs apiece from their mother, +La Luminette, dead now these three years past. So +he would ask François, his second son, to lend him +the sum due to the master. François was not a +lad without heart, he would not let his old father be +in difficulties. Once again anxiety for the morrow +would be dispelled, good harvests would come, +prosperous years which should make all hearts light +again.</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_15" title="15"> </a> +Weary of his stooping posture, the farmer +straightened himself, passed his flannel shirt sleeve +over his perspiring face, then turned his eyes to the +roof of La Fromentière with the expression of one +gazing on some well beloved object. To wipe his +brow he had taken off his hat; now, in the oblique +ray of sunshine which no longer reached the grass +or the cabbages, in the soft declining light like that +of a happy old age, he raised his firm, square-cut +face. His complexion, unlike the cadaverous hue of +peasants accustomed to scant living, was clear and +healthy; the full cheeks with their narrow line of +black whisker, straight nose, broad at the base, square +jaw, in fact the whole face and clear grey eyes—eyes +that always looked a man full in the face, betokened +health, vigour, and the habit of command, while the +long lips, refined-looking despite the weather-beaten +skin, drooping at the corners, bespoke the ready +fluency and somewhat haughty spirit of a son of the +Marshes, who looks down upon everyone not belonging +to that favoured spot. The perfectly white hair, +dishevelled and fine, formed a fitting setting to the +head, and shone with a silvery sheen.</p> + +<p>Standing thus motionless with head uncovered in +the waning light, the farmer of La Fromentière presented +an imposing appearance, making it easy to +understand the distinction of <i>la Seigneurie</i> commonly +given him in the neighbourhood. He was called +Lumineau l'Evêque, to single him out from others +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_16" title="16"> </a> +of the name, Lumineau le Pauvre; Lumineau Barbefine; +Lumineau Tournevire.</p> + +<p>He was looking at his beloved La Fromentière. +Some hundred yards away to the south, among the +stems of elms, the pale red tiles stood out like rough +enamels. Borne on the evening wind there came the +sound of the lowing of cattle going home to their sheds, +the smell of the stables, the pungent aroma of camomile +and fennel stored up in the barn. Nor was that all +that presented itself to the farmer's mind as he +gazed on his roof illuminated by the last rays of the +declining sun; he called to his mental vision the +two sons and two daughters living under that roof, +Mathurin, François, Eléonore, and Marie-Rose, the +heavy burdens, yet mixed with how much sweetness +of his life. The eldest, his splendid eldest, doomed +by a terrible misfortune to be a cripple, only to see +others work, never to share it himself; Eléonore, who +took the place of her dead mother; François, weak +of nature, in whom could be seen but the incomplete, +uncertain future master of the farm; Rousille, the +youngest girl, just twenty.... Had the keeper +lied again when speaking of the farm-servant's love-making? +Not unlikely. How could a servant, the +son of a poor widow in the Bocage, that heavy, +unproductive land, how could he dare to pay court +to the daughter of a farmer of the Marais? He might +feel friendship and respect for the pretty girl, whose +smiling face attracted many a remark on the way +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_17" title="17"> </a> +back from Mass on Sundays at Sallertaine; but anything +more?... Well, one must watch.... +It was but for a moment that Toussaint Lumineau +pondered the man's insinuations; then with a sense +of tenderness and comfort his thoughts flew to the +absent one, the son next in age to Rousille, André, +the Chasseur d'Afrique, now in Algiers as orderly to +his Colonel, a brother of the Marquis de la +Fromentière. But one month more and that youngest +son would be home, his time of service expired. They +would see him again, the fair, handsome young fellow, +so tall, the living portrait of his father grown young +again, full of noble vigour and love for Sallertaine +and the farmstead. And all anxieties would be forgotten +and merged in the joy of having the son +home again, who used to make the ladies of +Chalons turn as he passed, to say to each other: +"That is a handsome lad, Lumineau's youngest +son!"</p> + +<p>The farmer often remained thus, the day's work +done, sunk in thought before his farmstead. This +time he remained longer than usual in the midst +of the swaying masses of leaves, now grown grey, +indistinct looking in the gathering darkness like some +unfamiliar ground. The trees themselves had become +but vague outlines bordering the fields. The large +expanse of clear sky overhead, still bright with golden +glory, suffered but faint rays to fall to earth, making +objects visible but only dimly. Lumineau, putting +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_18" title="18"> </a> +both hands to his mouth to carry the sound, turned +towards the farm, and called out lustily:</p> + +<p>"Ohé! Rousille?"</p> + +<p>The first to respond to the call was the dog, Bas-Rouge, +who, at the sound of his master's voice, flew +like an arrow from the far end of the field. Then +a young, clear voice was heard in the distance:</p> + +<p>"Yes, father, I am coming."</p> + +<p>The farmer stooped, took a cord, and bound a huge +mass of leaves together, loaded it on his shoulder, +and staggering under its weight, with arms raised +to steady it, his head buried in the soft burden, +followed the furrow, turned, and proceeded down the +trodden path. As he reached the corner of the field +a girl's slender form rose up before a break in the +hedge. With agile movement Rousille cleared the +fence; as she alighted her short petticoats revealed a +pair of black stockings and sabots turned up at the toes.</p> + +<p>"Good evening, father."</p> + +<p>He could not refrain from thinking of what the +keeper had said, and made no reply.</p> + +<p>Marie-Rose, her two hands on her hips, nodding +her little head as if meditating something grave, +watched him go. Then entering in among the furrows +she gathered together the remainder of the fallen +leaves, knotted them with the cord she had brought, +and, as her father had done, raised the green mass, +and though bending beneath the weight, proceeded +with light step down the grassy path.</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_19" title="19"> </a> +To go into the field, collect, and bind together +the leaves must have taken some ten minutes; her +father should have reached the farm by now. She +neared the fence, when suddenly from the top of the +slope, the foot of which she was skirting, came a +whistle like that of a plover. She was not +frightened. Now a man jumped over the brambles +into the field. Rousille threw down her burden. He +approached no nearer, and they began to talk in +brief sentences.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Rousille, what a heavy load you are carrying."</p> + +<p>"I am strong enough. Have you seen my father?"</p> + +<p>"No, I have only just come. Has he said anything +against me?"</p> + +<p>"He did not say a word. But he looked at +me.... Believe me, Jean, he mistrusts us. You +ought not to stay out to-night, for he dislikes poaching +and you will be scolded."</p> + +<p>"What can it matter to him if I shoot at night, so +long as I am as early next morning at my work as +anyone else? Do I grumble over my work? +Rousille, I was told at La Seulière, and the miller of +Moque-Souris told me too, that plovers have been +seen on the Marais. It will be full moon to-night, +I mean to go out, and you shall have some to-morrow +morning."</p> + +<p>"Jean," she returned, "you ought not.... I +assure you."</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_20" title="20"> </a> +The young man was carrying a gun slung across +his shoulder; over his brown coat he wore a short +blouse scarcely reaching to his waist-belt. He was +slim, about the same height as Rousille, dark, sinewy, +pale, with regular features, and a small moustache, +slightly curled at the corners of the mouth. The +complexion alone served to show that he was not +a native of the Marais, where the mists soften and +tint the skin, but of a district where the soil is poor +and chalky, and where small holdings and penury +abound. Withal, from his lean, self-possessed +countenance, straight-pencilled eyebrows, the fire +and vivacity of the eyes, one could discern a fund +of indomitable energy, a tenacity of purpose that +would yield to no opposition.</p> + +<p>Not for an instant did Rousille's fears move him. +A little for love of her, but far more for the pleasure +of sport and of nocturnal marauding so dear to the +heart of primitive man, he had made up his mind +to go shooting that night on the Marais. That being +the case, nothing would have made him desist, not +even the thought of displeasing Marie-Rose.</p> + +<p>She looked but a child. Her girlish figure, her +fresh young complexion, the full oval of her face, the +pure brow with its bands of hair smoothly parted on +either side, straight lips, which one never knew were +they about to part in a smile or to droop for tears, +gave her the appearance of a virgin in some +sacred procession wearing a broad band across +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_21" title="21"> </a> +the shoulders. Her eyes alone were those of a +woman, dark chestnut eyes the colour of the hair, +wherein lay and shone a tenderness youthful yet +grave, noble and enduring.</p> + +<p>Without having known it, she had been loved for +a long time by her father's farm-servant. For a year +now they had been secretly engaged. On Sundays, +as she returned from Mass, wearing the flowered +muslin coif in the form of a pyramid, the coif of +Sallertaine, many a farmer's, or horse and cattle +breeder's son, tried to attract her gaze. But she paid +no attention to them; had she not betrothed herself +to Jean Nesmy, the taciturn stranger, poor and friendless, +who had no place, no authority, no friendship +save in her young heart? Already she obeyed him. +In her home they never spoke to each other. Out-of-doors +when they could meet their talk was always +hurried on account of her brothers' watchfulness, +that of Mathurin especially, the cripple, who was +ever jealously prowling about. This time, too, they +must avoid being surprised.</p> + +<p>Jean Nesmy, therefore, without stopping to consider +Rousille's cause for uneasiness, asked abruptly:</p> + +<p>"Have you brought everything?"</p> + +<p>Without further insistence she gave in.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she answered; and producing from her +pocket a bottle of wine and slice of coarse bread, +she held them out to him with a smile that irradiated +her whole face, despite the darkness. "Here, my +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_22" title="22"> </a> +Jean," she said, "it was not easy; Lionore is always +on the watch, and Mathurin follows me about everywhere;" +there was melody in her voice, as though +she was saying, "I love you."</p> + +<p>"When will you be back?" she added.</p> + +<p>"At dawn. I shall come by the dwarf orchard."</p> + +<p>As he spoke, the youth raising his blouse had +opened a linen ration bag, brought back from his +military service, and which he wore hung round his +neck. In it he stored the wine and bread.</p> + +<p>Absorbed in the action, intent on the thing of the +moment, he did not notice that Rousille was bending +forward listening to a sound from the farm. When +he had finished fastening the two buttons of the +ration bag, the girl was still listening.</p> + +<p>"What am I to answer," she gravely said, "if +father asks for you presently? He is now shutting +the door of the barn."</p> + +<p>With a smile that displayed two rows of teeth +white as milk, Jean Nesmy, touching his hat, unadorned +and wider than those worn in the Marais, said:</p> + +<p>"Good night, Rousille. Tell your father that I +am going to be out all night, and hope to bring back +some plovers for my little sweetheart!"</p> + +<p>He turned, sprang up the slope, jumped down into +the neighbouring field, and the next second the barrel +of his gun caught the light as it disappeared among +the branches.</p> + +<p>Rousille still stood before the break in the hedge, +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_23" title="23"> </a> +her heart had gone forth with the wanderer. Then, +for the second time, a noise broke the stillness of +evening. Now it was the sound of frightened fowls, +the flapping of wings, the noise of a key turning +in the lock—the sign that Eléonore, as always before +supper, was locking the door of the fowl-house; +Marie-Rose would be late. Hurriedly she caught up +her load of leaves, cleared the fence, and hastened +back to the farm. Soon she had reached the uneven +grassy path, which, coming from the high lands, makes +a bend ere, a little further on, it reaches the edge +of the Marais. Crossing it, she pushed open the +side entrance of a large gate, followed a half-fallen +wall covered with creepers, and passing through a +ruined archway, whose gaping interstices had once +formed the imposing centre of the ancient walls, she +entered a courtyard, surrounded with farm buildings. +The barn wherein was piled the green forage stood to +the left beside the stables. The girl threw in the +bundle of leaves she had brought, and shaking her +damp dress, went towards the long, low, tiled dwelling-house +forming the end of the courtyard. Arrived +at the last door on the right, where light shone +through chinks and keyhole, she paused a little. A +feeling of dread, often experienced, had come over +her. From inside could be heard the sound of spoons +clinking against the sides of plates; men's voices, +a dragging step along the floor. Softly as she could +she opened the door and slipped in.</p> + +<p class="p4"><a class="pagenum" name="Page_24" title="24"> </a></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2> +<h3><a name="THE_FAMILY_LUMINEAU" id="THE_FAMILY_LUMINEAU"></a>THE FAMILY LUMINEAU.</h3> + +<p class="p2">The family was assembled in the large living-room, +or "house-place" of the farm. As the girl entered +all eyes were turned upon her, but not a word was +spoken. Feeling isolated, she crept along beside the +wall, trying by lessening the noise of her sabots +the sooner to escape observation, and having reached +the chimney-corner, stooped down and held out her +hands to the fire, as if she were cold.</p> + +<p>Her sister Eléonore, a tall young woman with +horse-like profile, lifeless blue eyes, and heavy +apathetic face, drew back either to make way for +her or to mark the ill-feeling existing between them, +and continued to eat her slice of bread and few +scraps of meat standing, the time-honoured custom +among the women of La Vendée. The chimney-corner, +blackened with smoke, hid them from the rest +of the family as they stood one on either side; the +dancing flames between them lit up, from time to +time, the inmates and contents of the big house-place, +built at a period when wood was plentiful, and +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_25" title="25"> </a> +houses and furniture were intended to last; while +overhead numberless rafters discoloured with smoke +and dust, joined the huge centre beam. The +fitful flames anon rested on the woodwork of two four-post +beds that stood against the wall, each with a +walnut wood chest beside it, by aid of which the occupants +mounted to the heavy structures, two wardrobes, +some photographs, and a rosary hung round a copper +crucifix over the nearest bed.</p> + +<p>The three men at the table in the centre of the +room were seated on the same bench in order of precedence; +first, at the farthest end from the door, the +father, then Mathurin, then François. A small +petroleum lamp shed its light upon their bent heads, +upon the soup-tureen, a dish of cold bacon, and +another of uncooked apples. They were not eating +from the tureen as do many peasant farmers, but +each had his plate, and beside it his metal spoon, +fork, and knife, not a pocket-knife but a proper +table one, a luxury introduced by François on his +return from military service; from which the old +farmer had drawn his conclusion that the outside +world was full of changes.</p> + +<p>Toussaint Lumineau looked worried and kept +silence. His calm, strong face, though that of an +old man, contrasted strangely with the deformed +features of his eldest son, Mathurin. Formerly they +had been alike; but since the misfortune of which they +never spoke and which yet haunted the memories of +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_26" title="26"> </a> +all at La Fromentière, the son was only the grotesque +suffering caricature of his father. The enormous head, +covered with a bush of tawny hair, was sunk between +his high, thickened shoulders. The width of chest, +length of arms, and size of hands denoted a man +of gigantic stature; but when this giant, supported +by his crutches, stood up, one saw a poor twisted, +thickened torso, with contorted powerless legs +dragging after it; a prize-fighter's body terminating +in two wasted limbs, capable at most of supporting it +for a few seconds, and from which even, powerless as +they now were, the life was gradually ebbing. Scarce +thirty years of age, the beard which grew almost to +his cheek-bones was grey in places. Above the +muddy-veined cheek-bones, from out the tangled +mass of hair and beard which gave him the appearance +of a wild animal, shone a pair of deep blue eyes, +small, sad-looking, whence would flash all suddenly +the wild exasperation of one condemned to a living +death, who counted each stage of his torture. It was +as though one half of him were assisting with impotent +rage at the slow agony of the other. His +forehead was lined with wrinkles which made deep +furrows between the eyebrows.</p> + +<p>"Our poor eldest son, the handsomest of them +all, what a wreck he is!" their mother used sorrowfully +to say.</p> + +<p>She had reason to pity him. Six years ago he +had come home from his military service as handsome +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_27" title="27"> </a> +a fellow as when he went. The three years +of barrack life had passed over his simple peasant +nature, over his dreams of ploughing the land and +harvesting, over the tenets of faith he held in common +with his race, with scarce a trace of harm. Innate contempt +of the life led in towns had been his protection. +"Lumineau's eldest son is not like other lads; he +is not a bit changed," was the verdict of the neighbours.</p> + +<p>One evening when he had taken a waggon-load +of corn to the flour-miller of Chalons, he came back +with empty sacks, but beside him, sitting upon a +pile of them, was a laughing girl from Sallertaine, +Félicité Gauvrit, of La Seulière, whom he wished to +take for wife. The dusk of evening was over the +roads, it was hard to distinguish ruts from tufts of +grass; but he, all absorbed in his sweetheart, confident +that his horse knew the way, was not even +holding the reins that had fallen and were dragging +on the ground. And suddenly, as they were descending +a hill close to La Fromentière, the horse, struck +by a branch from a tree, started into a gallop. The +waggon jerked from side to side, was in danger of +being upset; the wheels were on the bank, the girl +wanted to jump out.</p> + +<p>"Don't be frightened, Félicité, I will manage him!" +cried her lover. And standing up he leant forward +to seize the horse by the bit and stop him. But +whether the darkness, a jolt, or ill-luck deceived him, +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_28" title="28"> </a> +he overbalanced and fell along the harness. There +were two simultaneous cries, one from the waggon, +one from beneath it. The wheel had gone over his +limbs. When Félicité Gauvrit could get to her lover's +assistance, she found him trying in vain to struggle +up from the ground. For eight months Mathurin was +groaning in agony; then his groans ceased, his +sufferings grew less acute; but first the feet became +paralyzed, then the knees, and gradually the slow +death mounted.... At the present time he +could only drag his lower limbs after him, crawling +on his knees and wrists, grown to an enormous size. +He could still guide a punt upon the canals of the +Marais, but his strength was soon exhausted. In a +hand-cart, such as farm children use for a plaything, +the father or brother would draw him to the more +distant fields whither the plough had preceded them; +and thus, utterly useless, the young man would look +on at the work to which he was born, and which +he still loved so passionately. "Our poor eldest +Lumineau, the handsomest of them all!"</p> + +<p>His gay spirits had flown; his character had become +as changed and warped as his body. He had grown +hard, suspicious, cruel. His brothers and sisters hid +all their little concerns from the man who looked +upon the happiness of others as a personal wrong +to himself; they feared his skill at ferreting out any +love-making; the treachery which would prompt him +to try and mar it. He, who never could hope now to +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_29" title="29"> </a> +inspire love, could not brook that others should +possess it. Above all, could not brook that another +should take the place which came to him by right +of birth, that of future master, of the father's successor +to the farm.</p> + +<p>On that account he was jealous of François, and +still more of André, the handsome young Chasseur +d'Afrique, their father's favourite. He even was +jealous of the farm-servant, who might become +dangerous, did he marry Rousille.</p> + +<p>Sometimes Mathurin Lumineau said to himself:</p> + +<p>"If only I could get well again! I believe I do +feel better!" At other times a kind of rage would +take possession of him, and he would not speak for +days, would hide away in corners or in the stables, +until a flood of tears would melt his passion. At +those times one man only could go near him: his +father. One thing alone softened the cripple's +churlishness, and that was to look on the home fields, +to see the oxen at work, the seed sown which should +yield abundantly in its season, and to gaze out on +to the horizon where he had tasted of the fulness +of life.</p> + +<p>For the whole six years in which the girl he had +loved had deserted him, he had never once been into +the town of Sallertaine, even to Easter Communion, +which he no longer attended. Nor had he +ever met Félicité Gauvrit, of La Seulière, along the +lanes.</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_30" title="30"> </a> +He sometimes asked Eléonore:</p> + +<p>"Do you ever hear any talk of her marrying? +Is she still as handsome as when she loved me?"</p> + +<p>When Marie-Rose went into the supper-room that +night, it was Mathurin only whom she furtively +glanced at, and his face seemed to her to wear a +malicious smile, as though he had seen, or guessed +Jean's absence.</p> + +<p>Near Mathurin sat François, a very different looking +man from the other, of middle height, stout, +red faced, easy going. Of him, Rousille had no +fear.</p> + +<p>He was more pleasure-loving than the rest of the +family. No great worker, extravagant, running off +to all the fairs and markets, easy to get on with +because he needed the indulgence of others. Physically +and morally the counterpart of Eléonore, two +years his senior, like her he had a broad face, dull +blue eyes, and the same apathetic nature which so +often called forth lectures from their father.</p> + +<p>But while the girl in the protection of her home +remained pure under the influence of her good +mother, now dead, who, like so many of the simple +peasant women of those parts, had lived a humble +saint-like life, François had been ruined by barrack +life.</p> + +<p>He had submitted to military discipline, but without +understanding the necessity for it; therefore without +deriving the corresponding benefit. He had been +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_31" title="31"> </a> +subject to his superiors, had received punishment, had +been sent hither and thither for three years; but he +had never made a friend, never felt himself encouraged +in the few halting intentions for good that +he had taken with him from the home life, never +been treated as a man, who has a soul, and whom +sacrifice, however humble, can ennoble. On the other +hand, he fell an easy prey to all the evils of a soldier's +life; the loose talk at mess, the drinking habits of +his companions, the constant endeavour to shirk duty, +the prejudices, in a word the hundred and one +corruptions into which young men can sink who are +taken from their homes and sent out into the world, +new to the temptations of great cities, without a +guide at the very period when most they stand in +need of one.</p> + +<p>Neither better nor worse than the average of men +home from military training, he had brought back +with him to La Fromentière a remembrance of illicit +pleasures that followed him everywhere; defiance of +all authority, a disgust for the hard, uncertain, often +unproductive work of farming, which he contrasted +with vague notions about civil employment of which +the leisure and privileges had been vaunted to him. +How far off was he now from the simple son of the +marshes, with fearless eyes, the inseparable companion, +model and protector of André, who, twirling +his tamarind stick, would make the round of the +canals to see if the cows had strayed from the +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_32" title="32"> </a> +meadows, or to search for any ducks which might +have wandered into the ditches! With unwilling +spirit, and because he had nothing better to do, he +had returned to the care of the animals and to follow +the plough. The proximity of Chalons, its wine +shops and taverns was a temptation to him; urged +on by his companions, weak and passive, he suffered +himself to be led away. On Tuesdays, particularly, +market day, the poor old father too often saw his +son of seven-and-twenty start off from the farm under +various pretexts before it was dawn, to come back +late at night, stupefied, insensible to reproaches. It +was an ever abiding grief to the father. François +had made La Fromentière no longer the sacred abode +beloved by, defended by all, which no one had +dreamed of deserting. In that room where they were +now assembled what a long line of mothers and +children, of grandsires and grandames, united or +resigned, had lived and died!</p> + +<p>In those high beds ranged against the walls how +many children had been born, fed, and at last had +slept their last sleep! There had been sorrow and +weeping there, but never ingratitude.</p> + +<p>A whole forest might have been re-planted if all +the wood burned in that chimney, by those bearing +the same name, could have re-taken root. What +was in store for his descendants hereafter?</p> + +<p>The old farmer had noticed for months past that +François and Eléonore were plotting something; +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_33" title="33"> </a> +they received letters, one and the other, of which +they never spoke; they talked together in corners; +sometimes of a Sunday, Eléonore would write a +letter on plain paper, not such as she would use +when writing to a friend. And the thought had +come to him that his two children, weary of rule +and scoldings, were on the look-out for a farm in +some neighbouring parish, where they would be their +own masters—it was a thought he dared not dwell +upon; he cast it from him as unjust. Still it haunted +his mind, for the future of La Fromentière was his +one chief care, and, since his eldest son's misfortune, +François was the heir. When work went well, the +father would think joyfully, "After all, the lad is +buckling to again."</p> + +<p>In truth, of the four young people assembled that +September evening in the farm house-place, one +only personified intact all the characteristics, all the +energy of the race, and this was little Rousille, who +was eating the crust of bread given her by Eléonore; +one face alone expressed the joy of living, the health +of body and soul, the brave spirit of one who has not +yet had to do battle but who bides her time, and +this was the face of the girl to whom no one, as yet, +had spoken a word, and who was standing erect in +the chimney-corner.</p> + +<p>"Now the soup is finished," said the farmer. +"Come, Mathurin, try a slice of bacon with me."</p> + +<p>"No. It is always the same thing with us."</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_34" title="34"> </a> +"Well, and so much the better," replied the father, +"bacon is very good fare; I like it."</p> + +<p>But the cripple, shrugging his shoulders, pushed +away the dish, muttering:</p> + +<p>"I suppose other meat is too dear for us now, +eh?"</p> + +<p>Toussaint Lumineau's brows contracted at the +mention of former prosperity, but he replied, gently:</p> + +<p>"You are right, my poor boy, it is a bad year, +and expenses are heavy," then, wishing to change +the subject—"Has Jean not come in yet?"</p> + +<p>Three voices, in succession, replied:</p> + +<p>"I have not seen him!"</p> + +<p>"Nor I."</p> + +<p>"Nor I."</p> + +<p>After a silence, during which all eyes were turned +towards the chimney-corner.</p> + +<p>"It would be best to ask Rousille," exclaimed +Eléonore, "she must know."</p> + +<p>The girl half turning towards the table, her profile +standing out in the firelight, answered:</p> + +<p>"Of course I do. I met him at the turn of the +road by our swing gate; he was going shooting."</p> + +<p>"Again!" exclaimed the farmer. "Once for all +this must be put a stop to. To-night, when I was +tying up my cabbages, the keeper of M. le Marquis +reprimanded me for that lad's poaching."</p> + +<p>"But is he not free to shoot plovers?" asked +Rousille. "Everyone does."</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_35" title="35"> </a> +A simultaneous snort proceeding from Eléonore +and François marked their hostility to the <i>Boquin</i>, +the alien, Rousille's friend.</p> + +<p>The farmer, reassured by the reflection that the +keeper would not trouble himself about Nesmy's +shooting in the neutral ground of the Marais, where +anyone was free to go after wild-fowl as much as he +pleased, resumed his supper.</p> + +<p>François was already nodding, and ate no +more.</p> + +<p>The cripple drank slowly, his eyes fixed on space, +perhaps he was thinking of the time when he, too, +loved shooting.</p> + +<p>There was an interval of apparent peace.</p> + +<p>The summer breeze came through the chinks of +the door with a gentle murmur, regular as the waves +on a seashore.</p> + +<p>The two girls sitting on either side of the chimney-corner, +were each giving all their attention to the +peeling of an apple, the conclusion of their supper. +But the farmer's mind was unsettled by the keeper's +words, and by Mathurin's "Meat is too dear for us, +now." The old man was looking back to the long +ago, when the four children before him had been +busied with their own childish experiences, and could +only take their little part in the parents' interests +according to their age. First he looked at Mathurin, +then at François, as though to appeal to their memory +about the old days when as tiny boys they drove the +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_36" title="36"> </a> +cattle, or fished for eels. Too moved longer to keep +silence, he ended by saying:</p> + +<p>"Ah, the country side has changed greatly since +M. le Marquis' time! Do you remember him, +Mathurin?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," returned Mathurin's thick voice. "I remember +him. A big fellow, very red in the face, +who used to call out when he came in, 'Good +evening, my lads! Has father another bottle of old +wine in the cellar? Go and ask him, Mathurin, or +you, François.'"</p> + +<p>"Yes, that was just him all over," said the good +farmer, with an affectionate smile.</p> + +<p>"He knew how to drink; and you would never +find noblemen so affable as ours; they would tell +you stories that made you die with laughing. And +rich, children! They never used to mind waiting for +the rent if there had been a bad harvest. They have +even made me a loan, more than once, to buy oxen +or seed. They were hot-tempered, but not to those +who knew how to manage them; while these +agents...." he made a violent gesture as if to +knock someone down.</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Mathurin, "they are a bad lot."</p> + +<p>"And Mademoiselle Ambroisine! She used to +come to play with you, Eléonore, but particularly +with Rousille, for she was between Eléonore and +Rousille for age. I should say she must be about +twenty-five by now. How pretty she used to look, +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_37" title="37"> </a> +with her lace frocks, her hair dressed like one of the +saints in a church, her pretty laughing nods to everyone +she met when she went into Sallertaine. Ah, +what a pity that they have gone away. There are +people who do not regret them; but I am not one +of those!"</p> + +<p>Mathurin shook his tawny head, and in a voice +that rose at the slightest contradiction, exclaimed:</p> + +<p>"What else could they do? They are ruined."</p> + +<p>"Oh, ruined! Not so bad as that."</p> + +<p>"You only need to look at the Château, shut up +these eight years like a prison; only need to hear +what people say. All their property is mortgaged; +the notary makes no secret about it. You will see +before long that La Fromentière is sold, and we with +it!"</p> + +<p>"No, Mathurin, that I shall not see, thank God, I +shall be dead before that. Besides, our nobles are +not like us, my boy; they always have property to +come into when their own money runs a little short. +I hope better things than you. It is my idea that +M. Henri will one day come back to the Château, +that he will stand just where you now are, and +with outstretched hand, say: 'Good day, Father +Lumineau!' and Mademoiselle Ambroisine too, who +will be so delighted to kiss my two girls on both +cheeks, as we do in the Marais, and cry, 'How do +you do, Eléonore? How do you do, Marie-Rose?' +Ah, it may all come about sooner than you suppose."</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_38" title="38"> </a> +With eyes raised to the mantel-piece, the old man +seemed to be seeing his master's daughter standing +between his own two girls, while something like a +tear moistened his eyelids.</p> + +<p>But Mathurin, striking the table with his fist, said, +as he turned his peevish face towards his father:</p> + +<p>"Do you believe they are thinking of us? I tell +you, no, unless it is about Midsummer. I'll wager that +the keeper just now asked you again for the +rent? The beggar only has that one word in his +mouth."</p> + +<p>Toussaint Lumineau leant back on the bench, +thought for a moment, then said in a low voice:</p> + +<p>"You are right. Only one never can tell if the +master really did order him to speak as he did, +Mathurin. He often invents words!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes. And what did you answer?"</p> + +<p>"That I would pay at Michaelmas."</p> + +<p>"With what?"</p> + +<p>A few minutes before the two girls had gone into +the kitchen, to the left of the house-place, and thence +came in the sound of running water and the washing +of dishes. Every evening, at this hour, the men were +left to themselves; it was the time when they discussed +matters of interest. Already, in the previous +year, the farmer had borrowed from his eldest son +the larger portion of the money that he had inherited +from his mother. He could therefore only hope for +help from the younger; but of that he had so little +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_39" title="39"> </a> +doubt that, speaking in a low voice to avoid being +overheard by his daughters, he said:</p> + +<p>"I was thinking that François would help."</p> + +<p>François, roused from his sleepiness by the foregoing +talk, answered hastily:</p> + +<p>"No, no. Do not count on me. It cannot be +done...." He had not the courage to look his +father in the face as he spoke, but fixed his gaze on +the ground like a schoolboy.</p> + +<p>His father was not angry, he only replied gently:</p> + +<p>"I would have repaid you, François, as I shall repay +your brother. One year is not like another. Good +times will come back to us." And he waited, looking +at the thick tawny hair and bull neck of his eldest +son that scarcely rose above the table. But François +must have already made up his mind, and that very +decidedly, for in a half-smothered voice he made +answer:</p> + +<p>"Father, I cannot; nor can Eléonore. Our money +is our own, is it not? and each of us is free to use it +as he or she pleases? Ours is already invested. +What does it matter to us if the Marquis does have +to wait a year for his money? You say he is so +rich."</p> + +<p>"What matter to us, François?" Then, and not +till then, the father's voice rose and became authoritative. +He did not put himself into a passion, he rather +felt hurt as though not recognising his own flesh +and blood; it was as if, all suddenly, there had +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_40" title="40"> </a> +dawned upon him without his understanding it the +wide gulf that existed between the feelings of the +present generation and the past, and he said:</p> + +<p>"What you say is not to my taste, François +Lumineau. For my part, I consider it a duty to pay +what I owe—the family at the Château have never +done me a wrong. I and your mother, and Mathurin, +who have known them better than you, have always +respected them; do you understand? They are +perfectly justified in spending their wealth as it seems +them best; that is a matter that does not concern +us.... Not pay? And do you know that they could +turn us out of La Fromentière?"</p> + +<p>"Bah!" returned François. "And what does it +matter whether we are here or elsewhere? as far as +farming goes, it does not pay so mighty well anywhere."</p> + +<p>Treacherously, without seeing the old man's pallor, +struck to the heart, he thus seceded from La Fromentière. +The sound of washing of dishes was heard +no more in the adjacent kitchen, the girls were +listening.</p> + +<p>The farmer made no reply; but, rising, he drew +himself up to his full height, passed before his son, +his intimidated son, who watched him from the corner +of his eye, and flung open the door that led into the +courtyard. A rush of air, the scent of leaves, the +breath of green fields, came into the heated room +redolent of food. François, hastening to make off, +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_41" title="41"> </a> +sidled along the wall, passed through the kitchen, +exchanging a few words with Eléonore as he went, +and going through the girls' bedchamber went out +into the night.</p> + +<p>It was the farmer's custom every night to cross +his threshold and breathe the fresh air before going +to rest; to-night as usual he walked out to the middle +of the courtyard to judge of the weather for the +morrow. Some light clouds were gliding away towards +the west, rear-guard of a bank of more extended +clouds deep down in the horizon. Swept on +by the wind to the neighbouring coast they formed +themselves into transparent islands, separating abysses +of deep-blue sky studded with stars. With the +leisurely movement of a laden vessel the wind bore +on towards the ever-changing sea the kiss of earth, +the scent and thrill of vegetation, the scattered seeds, +the germs entangled in the dust failing hither and +thither in mysterious rain-showers, the voice of innumerable +insects that sing in the grasses, and have +no other witness than the winds.</p> + +<p>There was a sense of content, a series of waves, +as it were, of calm and fecundity following one upon +the other, which should spread abroad in many a sea-solitude +the scent of the harvests of France.</p> + +<p>And the farmer, drinking in the air wherein floated +the essence of his beloved Vendée, felt that love-thrill +within him which, unable to express, he experienced +for it to the very marrow of his bones.</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_42" title="42"> </a> +"How is it with these young people," he thought, +"that they can he indifferent to the farmstead? I +have been young in my day, but it would have taken +a good deal to make me leave La Fromentière. Perhaps +they find it dull; the house is not like it was +in my dear wife's time; I do not know how to keep +them together as she did." And he thought of la +mère Lumineau, the good, saving housewife, haughty +towards strangers, loving to her own, who, with a +word in the right place, could always so quietly +influence and control her boys, and check the rivalry +of her girls. Around him the stables, the barns, the +huge hayrick glistened in the moonlight.</p> + +<p>A distant shot resounded from the Marais. Toussaint +heard it, and his thoughts turned at once to the +man shooting. At the same instant a voice behind +him exclaimed:</p> + +<p>"There's another plover down for Rousille!"</p> + +<p>"That's enough, Mathurin!" said his father, who, +without looking back, had recognised the speaker. +"Do not be telling tales, which you know irritate me, +against your sister. I am troubled to-night, my boy, +troubled enough about François."</p> + +<p>The crutches striking on the gravel came nearer, +and the farmer felt the shaggy head touch his +shoulder as the cripple straightened himself.</p> + +<p>"I am only speaking the truth, father," he said in +a low voice, "these are no tales. It makes my blood +boil to see this <i>Boquin</i> making love to my sister in +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_43" title="43"> </a> +order to get hold of our money, and play the master +here. A fellow who has not a halfpenny to bless +himself with! There is no time to be lost, if he is +to be brought to his senses."</p> + +<p>"Do you really believe," asked the father, bending +down a little to him, "that a girl like Rousille would +listen to my hired labourer? Does she care anything +for him, Mathurin?"</p> + +<p>It was a weakness of Toussaint Lumineau to lend +too ready ear to the judgment and strictures of his +eldest son. Even now that all hope had been +abandoned of seeing him his successor; after all the +many proofs experienced of the violence and malevolence +of the cripple, he still retained predominant +influence over the father.</p> + +<p>"Father, they are lovers!" As a whispered breath +the words came to the father's ear.</p> + +<p>Rage at the happiness of others had distorted the +younger man's features. Toussaint Lumineau looked +down at the face raised to his, so white in the moonlight, +and was struck by the air of suffering it wore.</p> + +<p>"If you watched them as I do," continued his son, +"you would see that though they never speak to each +other indoors, outside they always contrive to meet. +I have often caught them talking and laughing +together like acknowledged lovers. You do not know +that Jean Nesmy; he is audacity itself. He lets you +think that he likes shooting, and I do not say but +what he may, but he does not carry his love for it to +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_44" title="44"> </a> +that extent, I'll be bound. Is it only for his own +pleasure that he is off to the far end of the Marais +to shoot plovers; only for his own pleasure that he +risks malarial fever fishing for eels; that he spends +whole nights out after being hard at work all day? +No, I tell you, it is for Rousille, for Rousille, for +Rousille!" His voice had risen, it could be heard +from within the house.</p> + +<p>"I will be on the watch, my boy," returned his +father soothingly, "do not you worry yourself."</p> + +<p>"Ah, if I were you, I would go at dawn to-morrow +along the road to the Marais, and if I caught them +together...."</p> + +<p>"Enough!" exclaimed his father, "you do yourself +no good by so much talking, Mathurin. Here is +Eléonore coming to help you in."</p> + +<p>Eléonore had come, as usual, to help Mathurin up +the steps, and unlace his boots. No sooner did she +touch his arm than turning, he went in with her. +The sound of crutches and of footsteps died away; +the father was alone again.</p> + +<p>"Come," he thought aloud, "if this be true, I will +not suffer the laugh to last long against me in the +Marais!" He drew in a deep breath of pure air, as +though it were a bumper of wine, then to make sure +that Rousille had not gone out again, he entered the +house by the door in the middle, which was that of +his daughter's bedchamber. All was dark within; a +ray of moonlight fell across the well-waxed wardrobes +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_45" title="45"> </a> +furnishing the sides of the room—wardrobes always +kept in perfect order by Eléonore and Rousille. The +farmer felt his way round the huge walnut wood one +which had formed his mother's dowry, had crossed +the room, and was making his way out into the +kitchen communicating with the large living-room +where he and Mathurin slept, when behind him, in +the angle of a bed, a shadowy form arose:</p> + +<p>"Father!"</p> + +<p>He stopped.</p> + +<p>"Is it you, Rousille? Are you not in bed?"</p> + +<p>"No, I was waiting for you. I wanted to say something +to you." They were separated by the length of +the room; the darkness was too great for them to see +each other. "As François cannot give you his money, +I have been thinking that I will give you mine."</p> + +<p>"You are not afraid then that I shall not repay +you?" the farmer asked harshly.</p> + +<p>The girlish voice, as if discouraged by this reception, +and checked in its enthusiasm, replied timidly:</p> + +<p>"I will go to-morrow to fetch it ... the Michelonne's +nephew has it.... I will, indeed, and you +shall have it the day after to-morrow."</p> + +<p>If a tear rolled down his cheeks, the farmer was +unaware of it; he passed on into his own room.</p> + +<p>Some minutes later, when Eléonore came into the +room, a lighted candle in her hand, Marie-Rose was +no longer beside her bed, but was standing before +the open windows looking out on to the courtyard.</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_46" title="46"> </a> +The farmhouse stood upon an eminence, and from +this window there was a view over the low wall, and +through the arched gateway to the slopes beyond, +and even across the sedge-covered Marais.</p> + +<p>The sisters often undressed without exchanging a +word. Rousille was gazing straight before her into the +clear moonlight; her accustomed eye could distinguish +objects by it almost as accurately as by the light of +day. Immediately beyond the wall came a group of +elms, under shelter of which stood carts and ploughs, +then a stretch of land lying fallow, and beyond that +again the broad flat expanse of marshland, across +which on most nights would come now faintly, now +loudly, the sound of the roll of the ocean, as of some +far-off chariot that never stopped. The immense +grassy plain looked blue in the darkness; here and +there the water of a dyke shone in the moonlight. +A few distant lights, a window lit up, pierced the +veil of mist that spread over the meadows. Unerringly +Rousille could name each farmstead to herself by its +beacon light, similar to that on the mast-head of a +ship riding at anchor; La Pinçonnière, La Parée du +Mont, both near; further away, Les Levrelles; then so +distant that their lights were only visible at intervals, +like tiny stars, La Terre-Aymont, La Seulière, Malabrit, +and the flour-mill of Moque-Souris. By a group of +starry points on the right, she could discern the town +of Sallertaine standing out on an invisible mound in +the middle of the Marais. Somewhere about there +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_47" title="47"> </a> +Jean Nesmy was wading among the reeds, for love +of Rousille. So she continued to think of him; she +seemed to see him so far, so very far away, amid +the dreamy shadows, and her lips pressed together, +then parted in a long, silent kiss.</p> + +<p>There was a sudden swish of wings over the tiles +of La Fromentière.</p> + +<p>"Do shut the window, Rousille," said Eléonore, +waking up. "It is the turn of the night, and blows +in cold."</p> + +<p>The sky was clear, the clouds had dispersed. The +lights of Moque-Souris were extinguished; those of +Sallertaine had gradually diminished like a bunch of +currants pecked by birds.</p> + +<p>"Until to-morrow, my Jean, in the dwarf orchard," +murmured Rousille. And slowly, musingly, the girl +began unfastening her dress by the light reflected +from her white sheet, her young heart filled with +dreams of youth.</p> + +<p class="p4"><a class="pagenum" name="Page_48" title="48"> </a></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2> +<h3><a name="THE_DWARF_ORCHARD" id="THE_DWARF_ORCHARD"></a>THE DWARF ORCHARD.</h3> + +<p class="p2">Towards four o'clock the stars began to fade in +the sky, the first signs of daybreak to appear. A +cock crowed. It was the same golden-feathered cock, +with fiery eyes under his red crest, that crowed every +morning. Marie-Rose had reared him. Now hearing +it she thought, "Thank you, little cock!" Then +began to dress quietly, for fear of rousing Eléonore, +who still slept soundly.</p> + +<p>She was quickly ready, and crossing the courtyard, +turned to the left past the ruined wall by a grassy +path on the farm property, strewn with fallen +branches, which led down to the Marais. About some +hundred yards from La Fromentière all vegetation +abruptly ceased, and one came upon a low wall grown +with lichen and moss, surrounding an orchard of about +an acre in extent. Rousille, pushing open a gate in +the middle of the wall, entered.</p> + +<p>It was a curious sight, this dwarf orchard. The +cider apple and pear trees with which it was planted +had never been able to grow higher than the top of +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_49" title="49"> </a> +the wall on account of the strong winds that blew +from the sea. Their stems were thick and gnarled, +their branches all bent and driven towards the east; +leafless above, they met and over-arched beneath. +Looking at it from outside one simply saw a billowy +mass of bare branches; but on making one's way +down the central path, one found oneself in a leafy +shade some four feet high, safe from inquisitive eyes, +from rain and heat, and from the gales which sweep +over the Marais. It was a sailor's folly, such as might +be found in far-off isles. As a child, it had been +Rousille's playground; now grown up, it was here she +had come to meet her betrothed.</p> + +<p>Entering, she stooped and made a path for herself +towards the western wall, then sitting upon the forked +branch of an apple-tree, hidden among them like a +partridge in a corn-field, she gazed out upon the vast +plain along which Jean Nesmy must come.</p> + +<p>At this early hour the Marais was covered with +mists which did not rise, but parted ever and anon, +undulating in the breeze. The solitude was unbroken, +the atmosphere light, sensitive, nervous, carrying the +faintest sound without diminution. The bark of a +dog at Sallertaine came to her ears as if it were +beside her. Great square corn-fields that looked like +patches of grey fur stitched together faded away into +nothing in the distance. Here and there canals, +cutting each other at right angles, looked like tarnished +mirrors, the mist curling in smoke above them. +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_50" title="50"> </a> +Then vaguely from out the fog darker outlines began +to appear, like oases in the desert; they were farmhouses +built on the low-lying ground of the marshland, +with their outbuildings and groups of poplars to +lend shade. Now the undulating veil of mist began +to rise, rays of light touched the grasses, sheets of +water sparkled like windows in a setting sun. For +many a league, from the bay of Bourgneuf to Saint +Gilles, the Marais of La Vendée had awakened to the +light of a fresh day.</p> + +<p>Rousille rejoiced in it. She loved her native soil, +faithful, true, generous soil, ever yielding its increase +whether in rain or sunshine; where one would sleep +one's last sleep to the sighing of the wind, under the +shelter of the Cross. She loved nothing better than +that horizon where every tiniest road was familiar to +her, from the fence that ran along the first meadow +of La Fromentière close at hand, to the paths on the +embankment which must be traversed pole in hand +to jump the dykes.</p> + +<p>"Four o'clock," she said to herself, "and he has +not come back yet! What will father say?" She +was beginning to grow uneasy, when, as she was +gazing into the distance towards the pointed clock +tower of Sallertaine, a voice startled her with:</p> + +<p>"Rousille!" On the rising path, the marshland +behind him, standing looking at her in the light of +the early morning, was Jean Nesmy.</p> + +<p>"I did not see you come," she said.</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_51" title="51"> </a> +He laughed, and with a proud air raised above his +head a bundle of feathers, four plovers and a teal tied +together. The next moment, resting the gun he +carried against the inside of the wall, and flinging +over the birds, he dropped down beside Rousille.</p> + +<p>"Rousille," he said, taking her hand under the arching +apple-trees, "I have had luck! Four plovers and +such fine ones! I had a couple of hours' sleep in the +barn at La Pinçonnière, and if the farmer had not +dragged me out this morning, I should have been +late, I was so sound asleep. And you?"</p> + +<p>"I," replied Marie-Rose, as he sat opposite to her, +"I am afraid. Father spoke to me so angrily last +night—he had been talking to Mathurin in the courtyard—they +must know."</p> + +<p>"Well, and if they do? I am doing nothing to +anger them. I mean to win you by my work, to ask +your father for your hand, and take you home as my +wife."</p> + +<p>She looked at him, happy, despite her fears, at the +determination she read in the lad's face. And reserving +her thought which answered yes, she said without +direct reply:</p> + +<p>"What is it like in your home?"</p> + +<p>"In my home," replied Jean Nesmy, contracting his +eyes as if to fix the picture thus evoked, and looking +over Rousille's head—"in my home is my mother, who +is old and poor. The house she lives in is called the +Château, as I have told you before, in the parish of +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_52" title="52"> </a> +Châtelliers; but it is not by any means a castle, +Rousille, only two rooms, in which live six little +Nesmys besides myself, who am the eldest ... it +was, as you know, on account of our poverty and the +number of children that I could only serve one year +in the army."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I remember," she answered, laughing, +"that year seemed to me longer than any other."</p> + +<p>"I am the eldest; then come two girls, who are +growing up. They are not dressed altogether like +you, for instance...."</p> + +<p>An idea seized him, and with his hand quite near +yet without touching Rousille, he sketched about the +young girl's shoulders and waist, the little shawl and +the long velvet ribbons encircling the bust. "All +round there two rows of velvet; rich girls have even +three. You would be charming, Rousille, in the +costume of the Châtelliers and La Flocellière, for they +dress in the same manner, the villages are quite +close."</p> + +<p>She laughed, as if caressed by the hand which +never touched her, following its action with half-closed +eyes.</p> + +<p>"As you may suppose," he continued, "they only +dress like that on Sundays! There would not be +bread in the house every day if I did not send home +the wages that your father gives me. Then I have +two brothers who have finished their schooling, and +look after cows and begin to do little odd jobs. +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_53" title="53"> </a> +The farmer who hires them gives them each one row +of potatoes to dig up for their own. It is a great +help!"</p> + +<p>"So I should think!" returned Rousille, with an air +of conviction</p> + +<p>"But above all," continued the lad, "our air is +superb. We have plenty of rain, indeed it rains +without ceasing when the wind blows from Saint +Michael, a place about one league from us. But immediately +after we are in full sunshine; and as we +have plenty of trees and moss and ferns about us, the +air is a very joy to breathe, quite different from here; +for our country is not at all like that of the Marais; +it is all hills, here, there, and everywhere, big and +little; there is no getting away from them. From +any height it looks a perfect paradise. Ah, Rousille, +if you only knew Le Bocage, and the moors of +Nouzillac, you would never want to leave them!"</p> + +<p>"And is the land tilled like this?"</p> + +<p>"Very nearly, but much deeper. It takes strong +oxen, sometimes six or eight to plough."</p> + +<p>"Father uses as many, when it pleases him."</p> + +<p>"Yes, for the honour of it, Rousille, because your +father is a rich man. But down there, believe me, +the soil has more granite and is harder to turn."</p> + +<p>She hesitated a little, the smile left her face as she +asked:</p> + +<p>"Do the women work in the fields?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, of course not," answered the lad warmly. +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_54" title="54"> </a> +"We respect and care for them as much as men do +here in your Marais. Even my mother, who goes +gleaning at harvest-time and when the chestnuts are +gathered, is never seen working in the fields like a +man. No, you may depend on it, our women are +more indoors spinning, than doing out-of-door +work."</p> + +<p>Recalled to the stern conditions of his daily life, +the young man grew grave, and added slowly:</p> + +<p>"Rest assured, I will never slacken in my work. I +am known for more than two leagues round Châtelliers +as a lad who has no fear of hard work. We will +have our own little house to ourselves, and if only I +have your love, Rousille, like my father and mother, +I will never complain of any hardships."</p> + +<p>He had scarcely ended his speech of humble love-making +when a voice from the road called:</p> + +<p>"Rousille!"</p> + +<p>"We are betrayed!" she said, turning pale. "It +is father."</p> + +<p>They both remained motionless, with beating +hearts, thinking only of the voice that would call +again.</p> + +<p>And, in truth, it was now heard nearer.</p> + +<p>"Rousille!"</p> + +<p>She did not resist. Signing to Jean Nesmy to +remain under cover of the trees, and bending half +double, she made her way out to the path that divided +the orchard. There straightening herself, she saw +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_55" title="55"> </a> +her father standing before her in the road. He looked +at his daughter for a moment, as she presented herself, +pale, breathless, dishevelled by the branches, +then said:</p> + +<p>"What were you doing there?"</p> + +<p>She would not lie; she felt herself lost. In her +trouble involuntarily she turned her head as if to invoke +the protection of him in hiding, and there just +behind, erect, quite close to her, Rousille saw her +lover, who had come to her aid in the moment of +danger. With an air of defiance he drew himself up, +and strode in front of her. Then the girl ventured +to look again at her father. He was no longer +occupied with her, nor had he the angry aspect she +expected to see; his expression was grave and sad, +and he looked steadily at Jean Nesmy, who, pressing +forward on the grassy walk, had stopped at the opening, +within three feet of him:</p> + +<p>"You here, my farm-servant!" he said.</p> + +<p>Jean Nesmy made answer:</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am here."</p> + +<p>"You have been with Rousille, then?"</p> + +<p>"And what is the harm?" inquired the lad, with a +slight tremor, which he could not control, not of fear, +but of the hot blood of youth.</p> + +<p>There was no anger in the farmer's voice. With +head bent on his breast, as of a master whose kindness +has been abused, and who is sorrowing, he said with +a sigh:</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_56" title="56"> </a> +"Come you here, at once, with me."</p> + +<p>Not a word to Marie-Rose, not one look. It was +a matter to be settled among men first; the daughter +did not count at present.</p> + +<p>The farmer was already retracing his steps, walking +with leisurely stride towards La Fromentière; +Jean Nesmy followed at a short distance, his gun +slung on his back, swinging the birds he had shot in +one hand. Far behind them came Rousille in sore +distress, sometimes looking at Jean Nesmy, sometimes +at the master who was to decide his fate.</p> + +<p>When the two men had gone into the courtyard, +she did not dare to follow them in, but leaning +against a pillar of the ruined gateway, half hidden +behind it, her head on her arm, she waited to see +what would happen.</p> + +<p>Her father and his man, crossing the yard, proceeded +to Jean Nesmy's room, which was to the left +beyond the stables. There was no sound but the +noise of wooden shoes on the gravel; but Rousille +had seen the cripple crouching down in the first rays +of the sun, beyond the stables; he was nodding his +head with an air of satisfaction, his malicious eyes +never leaving the stranger he had denounced, who, +yesterday so happy, was now the culprit.</p> + +<p>Not far off, François, on a ladder, was cutting out +a wedge of hay from a rick, firm and compact as a +wall; he, too, was watching slyly from under the +brim of his hat, but there was no malice upon his +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_57" title="57"> </a> +phlegmatic countenance, nothing more than a mild +curiosity broadening his lips into a half smile under +the heavy yellow moustache. He did his work as +slowly as possible so as to be able to remain there +and see the end of it.</p> + +<p>Toussaint Lumineau and his man had soon reached +the shed piled with empty casks, baskets, spades, and +pickaxes, that had for many a year served as sleeping-place +for the farm-servants. The master sat down +on the foot of the bed. The look on his face had not +changed; it was still the dignified paternal look of +one who regrets parting from a good servant, and +yet is resolutely determined to suffer no encroachment +upon his authority, no disrespect to his position. +Leaning his elbow upon an old cask showing marks +of tallow, on which Jean Nesmy used to rest his candle +at night, he slowly raised his head, and in the daylight +that streamed in at the open door, he at length +addressed the young man, who was standing bare-headed +in the middle of the shed.</p> + +<p>"I hired you for forty pistoles," he said. "You +received your wages at Midsummer; how much is +now owing to you?"</p> + +<p>The lad, absorbed, began counting and recounting +with his fingers on his blouse, the veins of his forehead +swelling with the effort; his eyes were fixed on +the ground, and not another thought disturbed the +complicated operation of the countryman calculating +the price of his labour. During this time, the farmer +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_58" title="58"> </a> +mentally went over the brief history of his connection +with the lad, who, come by chance to the Marais in +search of burnt cow-dung, used by the Vendéens for +manure, had been then and there hired by him, and +had quickly fallen into the ways of his new master. +The farmer thought of the three years that the +stranger lad had lived under the roof of La Fromentière, +one before his military training, two since; +years of hard, thorough work, of good conduct, without +having once given cause for serious reproof, of astonishing +gentleness and submission despite his sons' +hostility, which, manifested on the very first day, had +never lessened.</p> + +<p>"It should make ninety-five francs," said Jean +Nesmy.</p> + +<p>"That is what I make it," said the farmer. "Here +is the money. Count and see if it is right." From +his coat pocket where he had already placed them, +Toussaint Lumineau drew out a number of silver +pieces which he threw on the top of the cask. "Take +it, lad."</p> + +<p>Without touching the money Jean Nesmy had +drawn back.</p> + +<p>"You will not have me any longer at La Fromentière?"</p> + +<p>"No, my lad, you are going." The old man's voice +faltered, and he continued: "I am not sending you +away because you are idle, nor even, though it did +annoy me, because you are too fond of shooting wild-fowl. +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_59" title="59"> </a> +You have served me well. But my daughter +is my own, Jean Nesmy, and I have not given my +consent to your courting her."</p> + +<p>"If she likes me, and I like her, Maître Lumineau?"</p> + +<p>"You are not one of us, my poor boy. That a +<i>Boquin</i> should marry a girl like Rousille is an impossibility, +as you know. You should have thought +of it before."</p> + +<p>For the first time Jean Nesmy's face grew a shade +paler, he half closed his eyes, the corners of his mouth +drooped as though he were about to burst into tears. +In a low voice he said:</p> + +<p>"I will wait for her as long as you think fit. She +is young, and so am I. Only say how long it must +be, and I will submit."</p> + +<p>But the farmer answered:</p> + +<p>"No, it cannot be. You must go."</p> + +<p>The young man quivered from head to foot. He +hesitated for a moment, with knitted brows, his eyes +fixed on the ground, then decided not to speak his +thought: I will not give her up. I will come back. +She shall be mine. True to the taciturn race from +which he sprang, he said nothing, took up the money, +counted it, dropping the pieces one by one into his +pocket as he did so. Then without another word, +as though the farmer were not in existence, he began +to collect his clothes and belongings. The blue +blouse that he knotted by the sleeves to the barrel +of his gun held them all, save a pair of boots that he +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_60" title="60"> </a> +slung on to a piece of string. When he had finished, +he raised his hat, and went out.</p> + +<p>It was broad sunshine. Jean Nesmy walked +slowly; the strong will that dominated the slight youth +made him hold his head high, and his eyes scanned +the windows of the house seeking Rousille. She +was nowhere to be seen. Then in the middle of the +great courtyard, he, the hired servant, who had been +dismissed, who had but another moment to tread the +ground of La Fromentière, called:</p> + +<p>"Rousille!"</p> + +<p>A pointed coif appeared at the angle of the gateway; +Rousille came forth from her shelter and ran +to him, tears streaming down her face. But almost +at the same moment she stopped, intimidated by the +sight of her father on the threshold of the shed, and +stricken with terror at a cry which, rising from that +side of the courtyard, some fifty paces off, had caused +Nesmy to turn his head:</p> + +<p>"<i>Dannion!</i>"</p> + +<p>A monstrous apparition came out from the stables. +The cripple, bare-headed, with eyes bloodshot, inspired +by impotent rage, had rushed out, with arms +rigid on his crutches, his huge body shaking with +the effort. Roaring like some wild beast with wide-open +mouth he hurled the old cry of hatred at the +stranger, the cry with which the children of the +Marais greet the despised dwellers of the Bocage.</p> + +<p>"<i>Dannion! Dannion Sarraillon</i>—look to yourself!"</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_61" title="61"> </a> +Rushing with a speed that betokened the violence +and strength of the man, he neared Nesmy. The +rage in his heart, the jealousy that tortured him, the +agony caused by the effort he was making, rendered +the convulsed face terrible to behold, as it was +projected forward by jerks; while onlookers could +not but think, with a shudder, what a powerful man +this deformed, unearthly looking creature had once +been.</p> + +<p>Seeing him come close up to the farm-servant, +Rousille was terrified for the man she loved. She +ran to Jean Nesmy, put her two hands on his arms, +and drew him backward towards the road.</p> + +<p>And, on her account, Jean Nesmy began to draw +back, slowly, step by step, while the cripple, growing +still more furious, shouted insultingly:</p> + +<p>"Let go of my sister, <i>Dannion</i>!"</p> + +<p>The farmer's loud voice interposed from the depths +of the courtyard:</p> + +<p>"Stop where you are, Mathurin; and you, Nesmy, +loose your hold of my daughter!"</p> + +<p>And he advanced to them, without haste, as a man +not desiring to compromise his dignity. The cripple +stopped short, let go of his crutches, and sank exhausted +to the ground.</p> + +<p>But Jean Nesmy continued to retreat. He had +placed his hand in Rousille's; and soon they were +within the portal of the gateway, framed in sunshine. +There lay the road. The young man bent towards +Rousille and kissed her cheek.</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_62" title="62"> </a> +"Farewell, my Rousille," he said.</p> + +<p>And she, running across the courtyard without looking +back, her hands to her face, wept bitterly.</p> + +<p>Having watched her disappear round the corner +of the house by the barn, Nesmy called out:</p> + +<p>"Mathurin Lumineau, I shall come back!"</p> + +<p>"Only try!" retorted the cripple.</p> + +<p>The whilom farm-servant of La Fromentière began +to mount the hill beside the farm; clad in his russet +work-day clothes he walked with difficulty as if worn +out with fatigue. His whole wardrobe, slung on to +his gun, consisted of but one coat, a blouse, three +shirts, a couple of boxwood bird calls for quails that +clapped together as he walked, and yet the load +seemed heavy. A feeling of dismay at having to go +back to the daily seeking of employment had come +over him while making up the modest bundle. He +was already thinking of his mother's alarm at this +sudden return. Every step was a wrench from some +loved object, for he had lived three years in this +Fromentière. His heart was heavy with memories; +he walked on slowly, looking at nothing yet seeing +every stick and stone. The trees he brushed past +had all been pruned by him, or flicked by his whip; +every inch of ground had been ploughed and reaped +by him; he knew how every furrow was to be sown +on the morrow.</p> + +<p>Having reached the back of the farm, at the rise +of the road where formerly four mills had been +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_63" title="63"> </a> +busily grinding corn and now only two were at work, +he turned to look back that he might increase the +pain of parting.</p> + +<p>Below him, bathed in sunlight, lay the plain of the +Marais, where rushes, taking on their autumn array, +formed golden circles round the meadows; there +were farms distinguishable by their groups of poplars, +inhabited islands in the desert of marshland, where +he was leaving good friends, and the recollection of +happy hours that come back in sorrow; his eyes +scanned the crowded houses of Sallertaine and its +church dominating them all, recalling bygone +Sundays. Then, with his soul in his eyes, he bent +them upon La Fromentière, as a bird would hover +with wide extended wings.</p> + +<p>From the height on which he stood the lad could +discern the whole of the farm, even to its slightest +details. One by one he counted the windows, the +doors and gates, the paths round the fields along +which every evening, for the last two years especially, +he had never failed to sing as he drove the cattle +homewards. When his eyes lighted on the dwarf +orchard, so distant that it looked no larger than a +pea-pod, he quickly turned away; as he did so, his +foot struck against something in the path, it was +a dog lying down, quite still.</p> + +<p>"What, you, Bas-Rouge?" said Jean. "My poor +doggie, you cannot follow me where I am going;" +and, walking on, he stroked the dog's head between +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_64" title="64"> </a> +his ears, in the place where Rousille loved to fondle +him. After some twenty paces, he said again:</p> + +<p>"You must go back, Bas-Rouge. I do not belong +to you any more."</p> + +<p>Bas-Rouge trotted on a little further with his +friend; but when they had reached the last hedge +of La Fromentière, he stopped, and turned slowly +homewards.</p> + +<p class="p4"><a class="pagenum" name="Page_65" title="65"> </a></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2> +<h3><a name="THE_MICHELONNES" id="THE_MICHELONNES"></a>THE MICHELONNES.</h3> + +<p class="p2">"Rousille," said her father, as shortly before noon +she went into the house to help her sister prepare +dinner, "you will not take your meals with us either +to-day, or for some days to come. A girl like +Eléonore, who respects herself, would be ashamed +to eat her food beside a young woman who could +allow a penniless <i>Boquin</i> to make love to her. A +pretty kind of lover! A fellow from I don't know +where, who would not even have a wardrobe to +furnish his house with! All very well for a serving-maid, +such as they are in those parts; but the whole +kit of them are not worth their salt in the Marais, +those <i>dannions</i>! I am cured of taking them into my +service. There must have been some fine tales going +the round at my expense. And now, Rousille, mind +that you conduct yourself properly; and take yourself +out of my sight!"</p> + +<p>So the farmer spoke, far more harshly than he +felt, because Mathurin had been talking to him a +long time after Nesmy had gone, and had inspired him +with some of his resentment.</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_66" title="66"> </a> +Marie-Rose made no reply, shed no tear, but withdrew +to her room. She had no thought of dinner, +either with or without them; but began to dress +herself in her best, as for Sunday, taking by turns +from the wardrobe a black skirt, raised from the +ground by a broad tuck, showing the pretty feet +beneath; her most dainty coif and embroidered +pyramid of muslin kept in shape by silver paper that +rested on her hair; open-work stockings; sabots, like +the prow of a ship, so much did they turn up. A +blue silk kerchief filled in the low bodice, as was the +custom in the Marais; there only remained to smooth +the bands of chestnut hair with a little water, to bathe +her red eyes, then going out into the courtyard she +turned off on the road to Sallertaine.</p> + +<p>For the first time in her life she had a feeling of +standing alone in the world. Mathurin did not love +her; François did not understand her. André himself, +the soldier brother so soon coming home, who had +always been kind, only treated her as a child to be +teased and petted. And she felt herself a woman—a +woman who was learning to know sorrow, and +one who needed to pour out her trouble to sympathetic +ears.</p> + +<p>Hitherto, if they were unkind, if they neglected +her, she had never felt the need of telling her troubles +to anyone; the thought of Jean Nesmy had been +enough to make her forget them all. But now that +he whom she loved had had to go, and that his +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_67" title="67"> </a> +going was the sorrow, her soul cried out for aid—sought +some safe place wherein to rest. In her +distress she thought of the sisters Michelonne. +Rousille passed close beside the dwarf orchard; +Rousille skirted the edge of the Marais whence can +be seen Sallertaine upon its eminence. No, she had +no other hope save in those two dear old friends; +no other regret than that she had not before been +to that little house in the town. The old sisters' +warmth of heart seemed to her just now a thing +of priceless worth, which, hitherto, had not been +valued half enough. The mere thought of their round +faces, withered and smiling, was a goal to her. It +seemed as if only to see the Michelonnes, even if +she might not speak one word of her trouble, would +be a consolation, because of their kind hearts, and +because, old maids though they were, they were not +the people to gossip about a young girl's red eyes. +What excuse could she make for going to them? +Oh, it was very simple. She had promised to draw +out her money and lend it to her father to pay the +rent. She had only to say, "I have come for my +money; father needs it." Then if they guessed the +slightest thing, she would tell all, all her trouble, +all the grief she could not endure alone.</p> + +<p>It was close upon one o'clock. A mist of heat +quivered over the meadows. Rousille walked fast. +Now she had reached the Grand Canal, smooth as +a mirror; there was the bridge across it, the winding +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_68" title="68"> </a> +road flanked on either side by the white-washed +houses of the outskirts of Sallertaine, their orchards at +the back looking towards the Marais. Rousille walks +faster. She is afraid of being hailed and stopped, +for the Lumineaus are known to everyone in the +district. But the good folks are either taking their +noonday sleep, or else without quitting their shady +corners they call to her, "Good day, little one! How +fast you are walking!" "Yes, I am in a hurry. +Sometimes one is." "Yes, indeed," they reply, and +on she goes. She has reached the long open Place +that narrows as it reaches the church. Now she has +only eyes for the humble dwelling which stands at +the extreme end where the street is narrowest, facing +the side door of the church by which the faithful +enter on Sundays. It is a very little house, one +window looks on to the Place, the other on to a +steep lane, the three steps to the entrance are at +the corner; it is also very old, and built under the +shadow of the clock tower, beneath the peal of +bells, thus nearer to Heaven.</p> + +<p>The sisters Michelonne have lived there all their +lives. Rousille can picture them within the walls; +a half smile, a ray of hope crosses her sad face. She +ascends the three steps, and pauses to regain breath.</p> + +<p>When Rousille presses down the iron latch, the +door opens to the tinkle of so tiny a bell that it would +need the ears of a cat to hear it.</p> + +<p>But they were true cats, ever on the watch, these +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_69" title="69"> </a> +two old sisters, cloak-makers to the whole of Sallertaine. +Scarcely did they divine a visitor from the +shadow cast through the glass door, than with simultaneous +movement their chairs, always close together, +were pushed back, their heads turned towards the +door, and their busy hands sunk on their laps. The +two sisters were very much alike; the same deep, +arched wrinkles in the rosy faces, round the toothless +mouths, round the short noses, round the blue, childlike +eyes that had a light in them as of a perpetual +laugh, and was the reflection of their sixty years of +work, of sisterly affection, and their good consciences. +There was also a twinkle in their eyes of fun without +malice; a something as of the flame of youth economised +in the course of their lives, and leaving a fund +for their old age. Poverty had not been wanting, but +it had always been borne by them together. From +childhood's day they had worked side by side in the +light of the same window, day rising and setting +on their busy needles never at rest. There was no +one in all Sallertaine, nor in Perrier, nor Saint Gervais +who could cut and make cloaks as skilfully as they +could; and they were general favourites. As soon +as the weather was mild enough for them to stand a +pot of ivy geranium on the sill and to sit by the open +window, there was not a person coming down the lane, +whether fisherman, sportsman, drover, or horse-breeder, +who did not call in as he passed "Good day +and good luck, <i>les Michelonnes</i>." To which they would +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_70" title="70"> </a> +make some kind reply in soft voices, so alike that it +was impossible to distinguish one from the other. +They were asked to St. Sylvester gatherings because +they had an inexhaustible store of songs, when young +folks had long come to the end of all they knew.</p> + +<p>The Curé said of them: "The flower of my flock; +it is a pity they have no successors."</p> + +<p>When Rose-Marie entered, they did not get up, but +said both together, Adelaide at the window, Véronique +a little away:</p> + +<p>"It is you, little Lumineau! Good day, pretty +one!"</p> + +<p>"Sit down, child," said Adelaide, "you are quite +out of breath."</p> + +<p>"But not ill?" asked Véronique. "Your eyes are +as bright as if you had fever?"</p> + +<p>"Thank you, aunts," answered Marie-Rose. She +called them aunts on account of a distant relationship +difficult to establish, but principally on account of the +old ladies' kindness. "I have been walking quickly, +and I do feel a little tired. I have come for some of +my money."</p> + +<p>The sisters exchanged a side-look, laughing already +at the thought of the coming marriage, and the eldest, +Adelaide, drawing her needle across her lips as if +to smooth out the wrinkles, asked:</p> + +<p>"You are about to marry, then?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, indeed no!" returned Marie-Rose, "I shall +be married like you, my aunts, to my seat in church +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_71" title="71"> </a> +and my rosary. It is for father, who has not money +to pay the rent of the farm; he is in arrears."</p> + +<p>And as, while speaking, she did not look into her +old friends' faces, but into the shade of the room, +somewhere towards the two beds ranged along the +side of the wall, the sisters Michelonne shook their +heads as though to communicate the impression that, +all the same, some disturbing element had entered +into Rousille's life. But the sisters were more instinctively +polite than curious. They reserved their +thought for the long hours of chat together, and +Adelaide, throwing down her half-finished work, clasping +her white bony hands, and bending forward her +thin body, said gaily:</p> + +<p>"Well, my pretty one, you have come just at the +right time! I had lent your money on interest to my +nephew, who, you know, breeds foals, and very good +ones, on the Marais. He is a sharp fellow, that +François. Would you believe it, yesterday he actually +sold his dappled grey filly—that flies like a plover, +and was the envy of all the breeders and dannions +that went by the meadow—and for such a big price +that he would not even tell us the amount. So, you +see, it will be quite easy for him to pay back a good +part of the loan. How much will you want?"</p> + +<p>"A hundred and twenty pistoles."</p> + +<p>"You shall have them. Are they wanted at once?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Aunt Adelaide. I promised them by to-morrow."</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_72" title="72"> </a> +"Then, Véronique, my girl, suppose you were to +go to our nephew? The cloak can well wait an hour."</p> + +<p>The younger sister rose at once; she was so short +standing, that she did not reach above the head of +Marie-Rose sitting. Rapidly shaking off the threads +of cotton from her black apron, she kissed the girl +on both cheeks:</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, Rousille. To-morrow the money will +be here, and you will only have to come and fetch it."</p> + +<p>In the quiet of the sleepy town, Véronique's gliding +steps could be heard as they went down the lane. +No sooner had she gone than Adelaide went up to +Marie-Rose and fixing upon the girl her clear kind +eyes, her eyelids quivering with uneasiness:</p> + +<p>"Child," she said hurriedly, "you are in trouble; +you have been crying. Why, you are crying now!" +The wrinkled hand seized the girl's pink palm. +"What is it, my Rousille? Tell me, as you would +tell your own mother. I love you as she would do."</p> + +<p>Marie-Rose repressed her tears. She would not cry +when she could speak. Trembling at the contact of +the hand which touched her own, her eyes like +diamonds, her face set, as though she were addressing +those enemies before whom her tongue had been +tied:</p> + +<p>"They have sent away Jean Nesmy," she said +rising.</p> + +<p>"He, my dear? Such a good worker? And +why?"</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_73" title="73"> </a> +"Because I love him, Aunt Michelonne. They +turned him out this morning. And they think that +all is over between us because I shall not see him +again. They little know the girls of these parts."</p> + +<p>"Well said, <i>Maraîchine</i>," exclaimed the old aunt.</p> + +<p>"I will give them all my money, yes, readily; but +my love—where I have placed it there I will leave +it. It is as sacred as my baptismal vows. I have no +fear of poverty; no fear that he will forget me. The +day he comes back, for he has promised to come back, +I will go to meet him, and no one shall prevent me—had +I to cross the Marais, were there snow and ice, +and all the girls of the town to mock at me, did my +father and my brothers forbid me to go, still I would +do it!"</p> + +<p>Erect, passionate, she made the walls of the little +room unused to loud voices ring with the voice of +love and bitterness. It was to herself, herself only, +that she spoke, because she suffered. She was looking +straight before her, vaguely, apparently unaware +of the Michelonne's presence.</p> + +<p>Adelaide, however, had risen, and was listening, +agitated and excited, so struck by Rousille's words, +so carried out of the restricted circle of everyday +thought, that all the calm had vanished from her face, +and the quiet old maid, oppressed by the small cares +of life, seemed transformed into a woman—a woman +who remembered and had regained her youth to suffer +with the other.</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_74" title="74"> </a> +"You are right, dear child. I thoroughly approve. +Love him truly!"</p> + +<p>At these words Rousille, looking down at the old +lady, had the revelation of a being hitherto unknown +to her. There was a light in her face; the poor +arms, helpless from rheumatism, were held out towards +Rousille trembling with emotion.</p> + +<p>"Yes, love him truly. Your happiness is with him. +Leave it to time, but do not yield, my Rousille, for +I know others who in their youth refused to marry +to please their fathers, and who had such difficulty +afterwards to kill their hearts! Do not live alone, +it is worse than death! Your Nesmy, I know him—your +Nesmy and you are true lovers of the soil, such +as the land can boast but few nowadays, and if old +Aunt Adelaide can help you, defend you, give you +what is wanted to enable you to marry, come to me, +my child, at any time, come!"</p> + +<p>She was holding Rousille now in close embrace, the +girl bending over the little black-robed figure and +suffering her tears to flow on the friendly shoulder, +now that she had unburdened her heart.</p> + +<p>For a moment the room was as silent as was the +town slumbering in the mid-day sun. Then the +Michelonne, gently disengaging herself from the girl's +arms, went towards the window, standing where +she could not be seen from outside. Between the +roofs of two adjoining houses, looking westwards, +was set, as in a frame, a corner of the Marais, its +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_75" title="75"> </a> +reddish-brown rushes finally fading away on the +horizon.</p> + +<p>"It was Mathurin, was it not, who denounced you?" +she asked in a low voice.</p> + +<p>"Yes, he was always watching me."</p> + +<p>"He is jealous, you see. He has a grudge against +you."</p> + +<p>"For what, poor creature!"</p> + +<p>"Your youth, my poor child. He is jealous of all +who take the place that should have been his; jealous +of François, of André, of you. He is like a lost soul +when he hears that anyone but himself is to manage +your father's farm. Shall I tell you all?"</p> + +<p>Her frail hand uplifted, she pointed to the distant +Marais, where the poplars, tiny as grains of oats, were +standing out against the sky.</p> + +<p>"Well, he still thinks of Félicité."</p> + +<p>"Poor brother!" exclaimed Rousille, nodding her +head. "If he is still thinking of her, she is only +making fun of him."</p> + +<p>"Innocent," returned the old woman in a whisper, +"I know what I know. Beware of Mathurin, he has +drunk too deeply of love to forget. Beware of Félicité +Gauvrit, because she is furious that being an heiress, +no suitors come to her."</p> + +<p>Rousille was about to reply. Adelaide made +her a sign to keep silence; she had heard a footstep +in the lane. Hastily drying her eyes, the old lady +re-seated herself and picked up her work, like a child +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_76" title="76"> </a> +surprised in some fault by her mother. A pair of +sabots was heard at the foot of the wall, they passed +the doorsteps, and went on down the Place. It was +not Véronique. Marie-Rose had drawn back; she +was looking at her one friend, so old, so worn, so +timid, yet whose heart was so young. And she +thought no more of what she had been about to +reply; she only said simply:</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, Aunt Michelonne. If I need help I +shall know where to come."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, dear child. Beware of Mathurin. +Beware of the girl out there!"</p> + +<p>They said no more in words, only their eyes were +fixed on each other's, Rousille looking back until she +had reached the door; then the latch was lifted, fell +back into its socket, and there only remained in the +silent chamber a little old woman stooping down over +her black work, but who could not see her needle for +the mist of tears in her eyes.</p> + +<p class="p4"><a class="pagenum" name="Page_77" title="77"> </a></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2> +<h3><a name="PLOUGHING_IN_SEPTEMBER" id="PLOUGHING_IN_SEPTEMBER"></a>PLOUGHING IN SEPTEMBER.</h3> + +<p class="p2">It was Monday, the third day after Rousille had seen +the Michelonnes. On the previous day, from morn +till eve, storm clouds, rising out of the sea, had discharged +their contents on the arid earth, as pockets +full of corn are scattered by the sower. Showers of +leaves, mostly from the topmost branches, had +fallen; others, heavy with moisture, hung pendant. +An aroma of damp earth rose up to the calm, +milky sky; there was not a breath stirring, the +birds were silenced, the land seemed intent upon the +last drops of rain formed during the night, that came +crashing down at the foot of the trees with a ring as +of falling glass. Something in Nature seemed to have +died with the last breath of summer, and the whole +earth to be conscious of its loss.</p> + +<p>And in truth, on the hills of Chalons, the most +distant area of La Fromentière, the far-off grinding +of a plough, and the calls of the man to his oxen, +proclaimed that Autumn labour had begun.</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_78" title="78"> </a> +In the farm bakery, left of the building, and dividing +their room from that of François, Eléonore and +Marie-Rose were engaged heating the oven. From the +semicircular opening flames were shooting up, now in +heavy wreaths, now in groups of red petals set on upright +stems. Eléonore standing before it, in a print +gown, was feeding the oven with faggots of bramble, +thrusting them with an iron fork into the furnace. +Marie-Rose was busily going backwards and forwards +bringing in the baskets of dough. They did not +speak; for a long time there had been a coolness between +the sisters. But as for the tenth time Eléonore +looked towards the door, as if expecting to see some +person or thing in the courtyard, Rousille asked:</p> + +<p>"What are you expecting, Eléonore?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing," was the cross reply. "I am hot. My +eyes smart." And she busied herself with separating +the burning embers, arranging them in layers at the +sides of the oven; this finished:</p> + +<p>"Help me to fill the oven," she said.</p> + +<p>One by one the loaves of leavened dough were +placed by Rousille upon a large flat shovel, which +Eléonore slid over the burning bricks, and drew out +again with a sharp jerk. Twenty loaves there were +of twelve pound each; enough wherewith to feed all +at La Fromentière, and to give to the poor of Monday +for a fortnight. The last having been placed, Eléonore +closed the mouth of the oven with an iron plate; the +sisters had wiped their hot cheeks with their sleeves, +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_79" title="79"> </a> +the smell of new bread was beginning to be perceptible +through the chinks of the oven, when a loud +laughing voice called in from the yard:</p> + +<p>"M François Lumineau. Is he at home?" and +the postman, a visitor who had been seen fairly often +at La Fromentière for some months past, held out a +letter with printed heading on it. He added jocosely, +for something to say:</p> + +<p>"Another letter from the State Railways, Mam'selle +Eléonore. Any of you got friends there?"</p> + +<p>"Thank you," returned Eléonore, hastily taking the +letter and putting it into the pocket of her apron, "I +will give it to my brother. Fine weather to-day for +your round?"</p> + +<p>"Aye, that it is. Better than for heating the oven +I should say by the look of you." The man made a +half-turn on his well-worn shoes, and went his way +in the steady jog-trot of seven leagues a day at thirty +sous.</p> + +<p>Eléonore, leaning against the doorpost, paid no +further attention to him; she was gazing, as if +hypnotized, on the corner of white paper that protruded +from her pocket. She seemed strangely +agitated, her eyelids swelled, her breast heaved beneath +the calico bodice all streaked with flour and soot.</p> + +<p>"There is some secret, I am sure," exclaimed Marie-Rose +from behind her. "I do not ask what it is, I +am accustomed at home to be left to myself. But +still I cannot help seeing what is going on; only +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_80" title="80"> </a> +yesterday, after mass, you and François went off by +yourselves to read some paper in the lane by the +Michelonnes, I was there to fetch my money, and +saw you gesticulating.... And now you are crying. +It is hard, Eléonore, to see one's sister cry and not to +know the reason—not to be able to say one word +to comfort her."</p> + +<p>To Rousille's intense surprise, Eléonore, without +turning, held out a trembling hand towards her, and +drew her younger sister tumultuously to her beating +heart; and for the first time for many years, overcome +with emotion, she leant her cheek on Rousille's, +then suddenly broke out into sobs.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she sobbed, "there is a secret, my poor +Rousille, such a secret that I can never have the like +again in all my life. I cannot tell it to you ... it +is there in the letter ... but François must read it +first, and then father—Heavens! what an unhappy +girl I am!"</p> + +<p>Tenderly Rousille pressed her face against her +sister's all bathed in tears.</p> + +<p>"But the secret, Eléonore, it only concerns François, +does it?"</p> + +<p>"No, me too; me too! Oh, when you hear it, +Rousille.... It was François who persuaded me, he +talked until I yielded ... and then I signed ... +and now it is all done. Still, were it not for him, I +feel that even now I could not do it; I would break +the agreement—I would refuse."</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_81" title="81"> </a> +"You are going, Eléonore?" cried the girl, drawing +back.</p> + +<p>Her sister's white face was the only answer.</p> + +<p>"You are going?" she repeated. "Oh, where? +Oh, do not leave us."</p> + +<p>Eléonore, stupefied for the moment, now gave way +to a feeling of anger, and repulsed the girl whom the +instant before she had drawn to her.</p> + +<p>"Hold your tongue!" she said roughly. "Do not +talk like that. Are you going to tell tales of +us?"</p> + +<p>"I have no wish to do so."</p> + +<p>"They are coming. You heard them. You said it +aloud for them to hear, you sneak!"</p> + +<p>"Indeed, I did not."</p> + +<p>"They are coming. Hark!"</p> + +<p>The distant footsteps of the men, one following the +other, were audible. They were returning for the +mid-day meal.</p> + +<p>Eléonore, in terror, almost suppliant, her voice +shaken with emotion, ejaculated:</p> + +<p>"Mathurin is coming first—if only he did not hear +what you were saying, Rousille. If he catches sight +of me, he will guess everything.... I dare not go +back into the house with such red eyes. You take +my place. Go and pour out the soup, I will be with +you in a moment."</p> + +<p>The men went into the house, walking in their usual +leisurely manner; François alone had a presentiment +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_82" title="82"> </a> +of the news awaiting them. The hot sun had dried +the moisture on grass and leaves, a soft haze lay all +around, the air was mild and balmy; linnets, innumerable, +had settled on the waggon-ruts, where lay +thistles trodden down by the oxen. An aroma of hot +bread pervaded the farmyard, and cheered by the +wholesome smell the fine old farmer entered the +house-place, whither Mathurin had preceded him.</p> + +<p>As soon as they had disappeared within the house, +Eléonore, who had been watching at the door of the +bakery, crossed the yard to the stable where François, +having deposited his load of maize, was coiling up +the rope by which he had carried it.</p> + +<p>"François," she exclaimed, "they want you. Your +letter has been burning me like fire." And still quite +pale, Eléonore held out the letter, watching it pass +from her hands to those of her brother with a nervous +dread of the unknown future.</p> + +<p>"When is it?" she asked. "Be quick!"</p> + +<p>Without showing any emotion François tried to +smile, as though to mark masculine superiority over +the weaker sex, as he proceeded deliberately to open +the envelope with his thick, moist fingers. He read, +reflected for a moment, then answered:</p> + +<p>"Humph! to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"To-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have to be at La Roche at noon, to begin +work on the railway."</p> + +<p>Eléonore covered her face with both hands.</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_83" title="83"> </a> +"Oh, I say, don't you go and leave me now," he +continued. "Do you want to?"</p> + +<p>"No, François, but to go to-morrow—to-morrow!"</p> + +<p>"Not to-morrow, to-night—at once. You ought to +have expected it. Why, you engaged with the owner +of the coffee shop in Rue Neuve two months ago. +Did you sign the lease or not?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Did you promise to keep house for me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, François."</p> + +<p>"When you bothered me to find you a good place +at La Roche, did I not trouble myself about you on +the condition that you would keep house for me? +Yes or no? Of course, I want someone, and now you +are not willing to go?"</p> + +<p>"I do not say...."</p> + +<p>"Oh, well. I shall tell father presently what you +promised. Stay behind, if you like; but I warn you +they will lead you a pretty life at La Fromentière +when I am gone; without mentioning the action the +landlord at La Roche will bring against you at once, +do you understand? at once, if you refuse to take the +shop you have rented. Stay, if you like. I am +going!"</p> + +<p>She raised her arms above her head and always +under the impression of the moment, said:</p> + +<p>"I will go; whatever time you like, I will be +ready. Only I cannot hear you tell father. Do not +speak to him when I am there." She hurriedly left +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_84" title="84"> </a> +the stable and went into the house to serve the dinner, +whilst François proceeded to give the oxen their +forage, taking as much time over it as he could.</p> + +<p>Toussaint Lumineau was quietly talking with +Mathurin. Sitting side by side at the table, they +watched their steaming plates of soup cool as they +discussed the new farm-servant whom it was necessary +to engage shortly.</p> + +<p>"I will hire him at Chalons fair," said the father.</p> + +<p>"That will be too late."</p> + +<p>"We must do our best till then, my boy. I will +look out for a strong fellow, a lad from these parts."</p> + +<p>"Yes, no <i>Boquin</i>, above all things! We know +what they are!"</p> + +<p>Toussaint Lumineau shook his head as he replied +gently:</p> + +<p>"Do not wrong the lad, Mathurin. I sent Jean +Nesmy away, and for a reason. But as regards work, +I have nothing but good to say of him; he worked +well, and he loved farming, whilst others...." Little +Rousille was listening with eyes lowered, standing +like a statue by the window. François entered. +"Whilst others," continued the farmer, slightly raising +his voice, "do not show as much energy as they might. +Eh, my François?"</p> + +<p>The fair, ruddy-cheeked youth shrugged his +shoulders as he took his seat.</p> + +<p>"The work is too hard," he said. "Since I came +back I have felt that I cannot accustom myself to +that kind of thing."</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_85" title="85"> </a> +"Oh, you half of a man," cried Mathurin. "Are +you not ashamed of yourself? If I could but walk, +our father would have no need to hire anyone. Look +at these arms," and he held them out, the muscles +showing under his coat sleeves like knots of an oak-tree +imprisoned within the bark, while his face was +suffused with crimson, the veins of his forehead +swelled, and his eyes were bloodshot.</p> + +<p>"My poor boy!" said his father, touching his hand +to calm him. "My poor boy, I well know your misfortune +has cost La Fromentière dear." Then after +a short silence, he added: "Still we will get through +some good work, children, with François and Driot, +who will soon be home, and the man I am about to +hire. I have a mind to start to-day on the field of +La Cailleterie, that has lain fallow there two years. +The rain we have had must have softened the ground, +the plough will bite."</p> + +<p>Eléonore, who had just then pushed open the inner +door, stopped tremblingly, seeing François in the act +of moving his lips as if to speak and tell their secret. +But no word escaped the young man's lips during +the remainder of the meal. Towards the end, as they +were rising from table, Mathurin, looking at the sky +through the smoke-begrimed windows, said:</p> + +<p>"Father, will you take me up there in the cart?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I will. Go fetch the cart, Eléonore, and +you, François, yoke the oxen."</p> + +<p>The farmer was well-nigh gay; the young people +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_86" title="86"> </a> +thought his mind was dwelling upon Driot, whose +name was now so constantly upon his lips. But it +was nothing but the first tillage of the season that +made him so content.</p> + +<p>A quarter of an hour later the farmer passed round +his body the strap fixed to the box on wheels in which +the cripple was seated and began dragging it as one +tows a boat; the oxen, led by François, going on in +front. They took the same road which Jean Nesmy +had taken the morning of his dismissal; his footprints +were still visible in the dust. There were four superb +oxen, preceded by a grey mare, Noblet, Cavalier, +Paladin, and Matelot, all with tawny coats, widespread +horns, high backs, and slow supple gait. With +perfect ease they drew the plough, the share raised, +up the steep ascent; and when a trail of bramble +across their path tempted them, they would simultaneously +slacken speed, and the iron chain that linked +the foremost couple to the beam would clank on the +ground. François walked gloomily beside them, deep +in thought on matters not connected with the day's +work.</p> + +<p>Those following him, the farmer and his crippled +son, were equally silent, but their thoughts were +centred on the soil over which they were passing; +and with the like sense of peaceful content their eyes +roamed over gates, ditches, fields, their minds filled +with the same simple interests. With them meditation +was a sign of their calling, the mark of the +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_87" title="87"> </a> +noble vocation of those by whose labours the world +is fed. Arrived at the top of the knoll in the field +of La Cailleterie, his father helped Mathurin out of +the little cart to the foot of an ash-tree, whose +branches threw a light shadow over the slope. Before +them the fallow land, covered with weeds and ferns, +fell away in an even descent, surrounded by hedges +on the four sides. Looking down the slope and over +the lower hedge could be seen the Marais fading +away in the distance like a blue plain.</p> + +<p>And now the farmer, having loosened the pin that +held the share, himself guided the plough to the +extreme left of the field, and put it in place.</p> + +<p>"You stay there in the sun," he said to Mathurin. +"And you, François, lead your oxen straight. This +is a grand day for ploughing. Ohé! Noblet, Cavalier, +Paladin, Matelot!"</p> + +<p>A cut of the whip sent the mare off, the four oxen +lowered their horns and extended their hocks, the +ploughshare cut into the earth with the noise of a +scythe being whetted; the earth parted in brown clods +that formed high ridges on either side, falling back +in powdery masses upon themselves like water divided +by the bow of a ship. The well-trained oxen went +straight and steadily. Their muscles under the +supple skin moved regularly and without more +apparent effort than if they had been drawing an +empty cart upon an even road. Weeds lay uprooted +in the ruts; trefoil, wild oats, plantains, pimpernels, +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_88" title="88"> </a> +broom, its yellow blossoms already mixed with brown +pods, brakes folded back on their long stems like +young oaks cut down. A haze ascended from the upturned +earth exposed to the heat of the sun; in front +the dust raised by the feet of the oxen caused the +team to proceed in a ruddy aureole, through which +numberless gnats and flies were darting.</p> + +<p>Mathurin, in the shade of the mountain ash, looked +on with envy as the team descended the slope of the +hill, and the forms of his father and brother, the +oxen and mare, grew smaller in the distance.</p> + +<p>"François," exclaimed his father, enjoying the feeling +of the shaft under his hand, "François, see to +Noblet, he is slackening. Touch up Matelot! The +mare is drawing to the left. Brisk up, my boy, you +look half asleep!"</p> + +<p>And, in truth, François was taking no interest in +guiding the plough. He was feeling that the time +had come for him to speak, and the difficulty of beginning +made him walk with head downcast. At the +far end of the field they turned and began the ascent, +the plough marking a second line of furrows beside +the first. From where Mathurin sat he had lost +sight of them on the low ground; now the horns of +the oxen and his brother's goad came into view, and, +to greet the return of the plough, he began with +stentorian voice to chant the slow refrain which can +be varied or ended at pleasure. The notes were flung +far and wide from his powerful chest, embellished with +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_89" title="89"> </a> +<i>fioriture</i> ancient as the art of ploughing itself. The +oxen knew the rhythm, and stepped in time to it; +the cadence accompanied the groan of the wheels +on their axes; borne on the air, it was wafted afar +o'er the hedges, telling other labourers in fields that the +plough was at work on the fallow land of La Cailleterie. +The cadence rejoiced the farmer's heart. But François +remained gloomy. As the plough neared the shade +of the ash-tree, Mathurin, whose thoughts were +always busied with the future of La Fromentière, +said:</p> + +<p>"Father, it would be a good thing to re-plant our +vineyard that is dying off. As soon as Driot is home +we should do it; what think you?"</p> + +<p>The farmer stayed his oxen, lifted his hat to cool +his hot head, and smiled, well pleased.</p> + +<p>"You are always thinking of something to the +point, Mathurin. If the wheat comes up well in La +Cailleterie, faith of a Lumineau! I will lay in a stock +of vines. I am hopeful of our work to-day. Come +on, youngster, straighten the harness. Look to your +mare, she is hot; coax her a bit, walk beside her, that +she may see you and go more quietly."</p> + +<p>The team moved off again; a mist of heat enveloped +men and beasts; the air was thick with flies; +turtle-doves, gorged with seed, took shelter in the +ash-trees from the burning heat of the stubble fields. +The cripple had ceased his song, and the farmer, as +they got to the middle of the field, said:</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_90" title="90"> </a> +"It is your turn to tune up now, François. Sing, +boy, it will gladden your heart!"</p> + +<p>The young man went on a few paces, then began: +"Oh! oh! my men, oh! oh! oh!" His voice, of +higher register than Mathurin's, made the oxen prick +up their ears as it faltered past them; then, all +suddenly, it came to a dead stop, rendered mute by +the fear that mastered the singer. He pulled himself +together, raised his head, and, looking towards the +Marais, made a fresh effort; a few more notes faltered +out, then a sob choked them, and, crimson with shame, +the young man resumed his way in silence, his face +turned towards the fallow land, walking in front of +his father, who looked at him across the croup of the +oxen. No word was said by either until the farmer +had finished the furrow; then, at the end of the field, +Toussaint Lumineau, troubled to the very depths of +his soul, said:</p> + +<p>"You have news for me, François, what is it?"</p> + +<p>They were some three feet apart, the father standing +level with the hedge, his son on the far side of +the plough at the head of the oxen.</p> + +<p>"That I am going away, father."</p> + +<p>"What, François? The heat has turned your head, +my boy. Are you feeling ill?" But from the expression +of his son's eyes he quickly saw that this was +a very different thing from some passing illness; that +misfortune was coming.</p> + +<p>François had made up his mind to speak. With +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_91" title="91"> </a> +one hand resting on Noblet's back, as if to support +himself, trembling and nervous, yet with hard, insolent +look, he cried:</p> + +<p>"I have had enough of this. I shall cut it."</p> + +<p>"Enough of what, my lad?"</p> + +<p>"Enough of digging the ground, enough of looking +after the cattle, enough of drudgery at seven-and-twenty +to make money that all goes to pay the rent +of the farm. I mean to be my own master, and make +money for myself. I have got a situation on the +railway, and I begin to-morrow—to-morrow, do you +hear?" His voice rose in a kind of frenzy.</p> + +<p>"I am accepted; there is nothing more to be said. +The thing is done. I am taking Eléonore to La +Roche to keep house for me. She, too, has had +enough of this. She has found a good place, a shop +where she will make more than with you; at any +rate, she will have a chance of marrying.... And +I don't see that we have acted badly towards you in +what we have done. Don't say that we have! And +don't make that rueful face about it! We have +served our time with you, father, have waited patiently +for André's return. Now that he is coming home, +let him help you. It is his turn."</p> + +<p>The unexpected blow had stupefied the farmer; +he had grown very white. With set teeth, one arm +resting on the plough, he remained speechless, his +eyes fixed upon François as if demented. Slowly +the full force of the situation, with all its pain, filtered +into his soul.</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_92" title="92"> </a> +"But, François, what you tell me cannot be true; +Eléonore never complained of her work."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, she has; not to you."</p> + +<p>"As for you, you have always had plenty of help. +If I have sometimes reproached you for idleness, +it has been because times are hard for everyone. +But now that I am going to take on a farm-servant, +now that another fortnight will see Driot home, we +shall be four of us, counting myself, who am still +of some use. You will not go, François?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Where will you do better than at home? Have +you been short of food?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Have I ever refused you clothes, or even money +for your tobacco?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"François, it must be that military service has +changed your heart towards us."</p> + +<p>"That may be."</p> + +<p>"But say that you will not leave us?"</p> + +<p>The young man put his hand into his coat pocket, +and held out the letter.</p> + +<p>"I have to be there at noon to-morrow," he said. +"If you don't believe me, read for yourself."</p> + +<p>The father stretched out his hand across the team +for the letter, trembling so much that he could scarcely +take it. Once in his hands, without opening it, in +a sudden access of indignation he crumpled and tore +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_93" title="93"> </a> +it into atoms, then crushed the pieces under his +sabots into the soft earth.</p> + +<p>"There," he cried, "is an end to the letter. Now +are you going?"</p> + +<p>"That alters nothing," returned François.</p> + +<p>He would have passed his father, but a powerful +hand was laid upon his shoulders, a voice commanded:</p> + +<p>"Stay here!"</p> + +<p>And the son was constrained to stay.</p> + +<p>"Who engaged you, François?"</p> + +<p>"The head of the office."</p> + +<p>"No; who advised you? You did not do this +thing by yourself, you had the help of some gentleman. +Who was it?"</p> + +<p>The young man hesitated for a moment, then, feeling +himself a prisoner, stammered out:</p> + +<p>"M. Meffray."</p> + +<p>With one thrust the farmer sent him flying.</p> + +<p>"Run; harness La Rousse to the dog-cart. Quick! +I am going myself to M. Meffray."</p> + +<p>So he shouted in his rage. But when he saw his +son obey him and take the path towards the farm—when +he found himself alone in the far end of his +field, he was seized with anguish. So far he had +ever found help in the difficulties of his life; this time, +taken unawares by danger in the full swing of work, +he turned him slowly round as if moved by habit, +and searched the landscape as far as his eyes would +carry, for a helper, a support, someone who should +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_94" title="94"> </a> +defend his cause and advise with him. His oxen +standing still, looked at him out of their large soft +eyes. The first object he saw, in among the trees, +was the belfry of Sallertaine. He shook his head. +No, the Curé, the good old friend he consulted so +willingly, could do nothing. Toussaint Lumineau +knew him to be powerless against town officials and +authorities, all the great unknown outside the parish. +His gaze left the church, passed over the farm without +stopping, but rested awhile on the pointed roofs of +La Fromentière. Ah! were the Marquis but there! +He feared nothing: neither uniforms, nor titles, nor +long words that poor uncultured people could not +understand. And expense was nothing to him. He +would have made the journey from Paris to prevent a +<i>Maraîchin</i> from leaving the soil. Alas! the Château +was empty. No longer the Master to appeal +to.... The old farmer's eyes fell upon the +two newly made furrows rising before him to the ash-tree +on the hill; then it struck him that Mathurin was +waiting and wondering, and that he must say something +to prevent his growing uneasy.</p> + +<p>"Ohé!" cried he, "Lumineau!"</p> + +<p>Over the curve of the hill, through the still air, +a voice replied:</p> + +<p>"Here I am. You are not coming up again?"</p> + +<p>"No; the chain has snapped. I must take back +the team."</p> + +<p>"All right."</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_95" title="95"> </a> +"Do not mind waiting a bit; Rousille will come +to fetch you. I am going round by the slope of the +meadow."</p> + +<p>At the foot of the field, filled in with bundles of +thorn, was a gap in the hedge leading on to a narrow +slip of meadow, and thence to the farm. To avoid +having to answer Mathurin's questions, the farmer +touched up his oxen and took this way back. In +the middle of the courtyard he perceived the dog-cart +already harnessed, François standing beside it in his +Sunday clothes.</p> + +<p>"Fasten up the oxen," he said roughly. Then, +passing in front of him, he opened the house door +and called:</p> + +<p>"Eléonore!"</p> + +<p>There was no answer. Going through the house-place +he passed into the kitchen, where he met +Rousille.</p> + +<p>"Where is your sister?"</p> + +<p>"She was talking to François in the courtyard +just now. Shall I look for her?"</p> + +<p>"No, that will do. I will see her later on. Rousille, +we have some business at Chalons, François and I. +We shall be back before supper. Go to Mathurin, +who will be tired of waiting so long at La Cailleterie, +and bring him back."</p> + +<p>Without another word, the farmer returned to the +yard, where François awaited him. Getting into the +cart, he signed to his son to take the place beside +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_96" title="96"> </a> +him, and with a cut of the whip sent the mare, +unaccustomed to such harsh usage, off at a gallop.</p> + +<p>"Where are they going at such speed?" thought +the few spectators whom they passed on their way—spectators +whom nothing escapes: innkeepers standing +at their doors, tramps on the highway, peasants +lopping the trees. "What has come to them? Old +Lumineau is lashing La Rousse, and jerking the reins +like a groom afraid of his master, and not a word does +he say to his lad."</p> + +<p>In fact the farmer's wrath was growing as he +meditated his wrongs; he muttered between his teeth +what he would say to that Meffray, while his stalwart +arms, eager for strife and vengeance, lashed into the +mare. François, on the contrary, exhausted by the +effort he had made, had relapsed into his usual apathy, +and suffered himself to be carried on towards his fate, +looking at the hedges with vacant stare.</p> + +<p>It was he, who on arrival at the Place by the +Halles-Neuves of Chalons, jumped down and tied +the mare to a ring attached to one of the pillars; +then followed his father who turned up one of the +streets on the left, and stopped before a modern, +narrow, red-brick building. An iron plate, under the +door bell, was inscribed, "Jules Meffray, Ex-Sheriff's +Officer, Town Councillor."</p> + +<p>The farmer pulled the bell vigorously.</p> + +<p>"Is your master in?" he asked the servant who +opened the door.</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_97" title="97"> </a> +The girl examined the peasant who inquired for +her master in a tone and look not of the pleasantest, +and who presented himself in work-day clothes soiled +with mud, and replied:</p> + +<p>"I think he is. What may be your business?"</p> + +<p>"Tell him that Toussaint Lumineau, of La +Fromentière, wants to speak to him; and let him +be quick, I am in a hurry."</p> + +<p>Astonished, not daring to show Lumineau into the +dining-room where M. Meffray was wont to receive +his clients, the maid left the farmer and his son +standing in the shabby passage at the foot of the +stairs. So taken aback was she, that she did not see +the shamefaced François hidden in the background, +but only the stalwart old peasant, whose broad +shoulders almost blocked the way as he stood erect, +hat on head, under the ill-kept hall lamp that was +never lighted.</p> + +<p>A few seconds later the garden door opened, and +a tall, stout man came in, dressed in a white flannel +suit, a cap of the same material on his head; his +face was clean-shaven, his small eyes blinking, +probably with the sudden change from the outer +glare. This was M. Meffray, member for Chalons, +an ambitious small tradesman, who, originally one +of them, was possessed by a secret animosity towards +the peasant class; and who, living amongst them, +had only learnt to know their defects of which he +made use.</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_98" title="98"> </a> +Informed of the manner in which Lumineau had +presented himself, dreading some violence, he stopped +short at the foot of the staircase, rested his elbow +on the banisters, and touching the brim of his cap +with three fingers, said carelessly:</p> + +<p>"They should have shown you in, farmer. But +as it seems that you are in haste, we can talk just +as well here. I have done your son a service, is +that your reason for coming?"</p> + +<p>"Just so," returned Lumineau.</p> + +<p>"Can I do anything more for you?"</p> + +<p>"I want to keep my boy, M. Meffray."</p> + +<p>"Keep him? What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; that you should undo what you have done."</p> + +<p>"But that depends upon him. Have you had your +summons, François?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"Well, my friend, if you do not want to take the +post, there is no lack of candidates to fill your place, +as you know. I have now ten other applications +which I have far more reason to support than I had +yours. For after all, you Lumineaus, you do not +vote with us in the elections. So do you wish to +give up the place?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir."</p> + +<p>"It is I who will not have him go," broke in +Toussaint Lumineau, "I want him at La Fromentière."</p> + +<p>"But he is of age, farmer!"</p> + +<p>"He is my son, M. Meffray. It is his part to +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_99" title="99"> </a> +work for me. Put yourself in my place, I who am +an old man. I had counted on leaving my farm to +him, as my father left it to me. He goes away, and +takes my daughter with him. So I lose two children, +and through your fault."</p> + +<p>"Excuse me; I did not seek him; he came to +me."</p> + +<p>"But without you he would not be going, nor +Eléonore either! They had to have recommendations. +You call that doing a service, M. +Meffray? Did you even know what would be best for +François—had you ever seen him in his home to +know if he was unhappy there? Monsieur Meffray, +you must give him back to me."</p> + +<p>"Settle it with your son. It does not concern +me."</p> + +<p>"You will not speak to those who have entrapped +my son, and annul the agreement?" Advancing a +step, and pointing at him with extended arm, +Toussaint Lumineau said in a loud voice: "Then +you have done my son more harm in one single +day than I in all my life."</p> + +<p>M. Meffray's heavy face crimsoned.</p> + +<p>"Be off, old hound!" he shouted. "Be off, take +your son! Manage your own affairs. Ah! these +peasants! Such are the thanks one gets for troubling +about them!"</p> + +<p>The farmer seemed not to have heard; he remained +motionless. But there was a strange fire in his eyes; +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_100" title="100"> </a> +from the depths of his tortured heart, from the +depths of the faith taught to his race for generations +past, the words came to his lips:</p> + +<p>"You shall answer for them," he said.</p> + +<p>"How so?"</p> + +<p>"There where they are going they will both be +lost, M. Meffray. You shall answer for their eternal +perdition."</p> + +<p>As though stupefied by a speech so unlike any +he had ever heard, the town councillor made no +reply; it needed time for him to take in an idea +so different from those usually filling his mind; then +throwing a contemptuous glance at the huge peasant +standing erect before him, he turned on his heel, +and moved to the garden door, with a muttered:</p> + +<p>"Boor—go!"</p> + +<p>Toussaint Lumineau and his son went out into the +street, walking silently side by side until they reached +the Place. There the father, unfastening the mare, +said as he was about to put his foot on the step of the +cart:</p> + +<p>"Get up, François. We will go home."</p> + +<p>But the young man drew back.</p> + +<p>"No," he said, "the thing is done; you will not make +me alter it. Besides, I arranged with Eléonore, who +must have left La Fromentière by now. You will not +find her there when you go back." He had taken +off his hat in farewell, and was looking uneasily at +his old father, who, leaning against the shaft with +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_101" title="101"> </a> +half-closed eyes, seemed about to swoon. Under the +colonnade of the Halles there was not a soul; a few +women in their shops round the Place were carelessly +looking at the two men. After a moment, +François drew a little nearer and held out his hand, +doubtless to clasp that of his father for the last time; +but seeing him approach the old man revived, +motioned his son away, sprang into the cart, and +lashing up La Rousse, drove off at a gallop.</p> + +<p class="p4"><a class="pagenum" name="Page_102" title="102"> </a></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER VI.</h2> +<h3><a name="THE_APPEAL_TO_THE_MASTER" id="THE_APPEAL_TO_THE_MASTER"></a>THE APPEAL TO THE MASTER.</h3> + +<p class="p2">Eléonore had suffered herself to be persuaded. +She had left her home. Weak, and easily led, she +had for months past listened too readily to the +promptings of vanity and laziness, which, censured by +her father at La Fromentière, could be yielded to at +will in the town. To have no more baking to do, no +more cows to milk, to be in some sort a lady, to wear +a hat trimmed with ribbons—such were the reasons +for which she went out into the unknown, with only +her brother, who would be away all day, for protector. +Eléonore had yielded from force of example, +and in complete ignorance of the step she was taking. +Thus she cast herself adrift, and exposed herself to +life in a suburb, to the familiarities of frequenters of +the café, without dreaming of its dangers, with the +utter ignorance of the peasant who knows nothing +beyond the troubles incidental to life in the country.</p> + +<p>The separation was accomplished. At the moment +that the farmer drove away, intent upon the hope of +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_103" title="103"> </a> +still recovering his children, Eléonore had hurriedly +left the shelter of the barn where she had been +hiding, and, despite the entreaties of Marie-Rose and +even of Mathurin, going from room to room she had +hurriedly collected the little store of personal clothing +and trinkets belonging to her. To all Rousille's +pleading, as to the calmer adjurations of Mathurin, +she had replied:</p> + +<p>"It is François' wish, my dears! I cannot tell if +I shall be happy; but it is too late now. My promise +is given."</p> + +<p>She was so greatly in fear of seeing her father come +back that she was almost frenzied with haste. Quickly +she made up her bundle, went out from La Fromentière, +and reached the hollow road, where, crouching +beneath the hedge, she waited for the steam tram +that runs between Fromentière and Chalons. There +some hours later François was to rejoin her.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the farmer, driving La Rousse at her +greatest speed, had returned home.</p> + +<p>"Eléonore!" he had cried.</p> + +<p>"Gone," Mathurin had answered.</p> + +<p>Then, half-mad with grief, the old man had flung +the reins across the steaming beast, and without a +word of explanation had stridden away in the direction +of Sallertaine. Had he been actuated by a last +hope and idea? Or did his deserted house inspire +him with dread?</p> + +<p>Night was falling. He had not yet returned. A +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_104" title="104"> </a> +damp, encircling mist, silent as death, enveloped all +around. In the living-room of La Fromentière, beside +the fire that no one tended, beside the simmering +pot that murmured as if in low plaint, the two remaining +inmates of the farm sat watching, but how differently! +Rousille, nervous, burning with fever, could +not keep still; she was for ever rising from her chair, +clasping her hands, and murmuring: "My God, my +God!" then going to the open door to look out, +shivering, into the dark, thick night.</p> + +<p>"Listen!" she said.</p> + +<p>The cripple listened, then said:</p> + +<p>"It is the goatherd of Malabrit taking home his +flock."</p> + +<p>"Listen again!"</p> + +<p>A distant sound of barking, borne on the silent air, +died away in the stillness.</p> + +<p>"That is not Bas-Rouge's bark," returned Mathurin.</p> + +<p>So from hour to hour, and minute to minute, a step, +a cry, the rolling of a vehicle, would keep their senses +on the alert.</p> + +<p>What were they expecting? Their father, who +came not. But Rousille, younger, more credulous, was +expecting the others too, or if not both, at least one, +either François or Eléonore, who, repentant—was it +too much to hope—had come back. Oh, what joy it +would be, what rapture to see one of them! It +seemed as if the other would have the right to go +if one came back to take his place in the home. The +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_105" title="105"> </a> +young girl felt raised out of herself as a vague sense +of duty came over her; she, the only woman, the only +one to act in her deserted home.</p> + +<p>Mathurin sat in a stooping posture by the hearth, +his feet wrapped in a rug, the glow of the fire reddening +the beard crushed beneath his chin. For hours +he had sat so, never moving, speaking as little as +possible; from time to time tears rolled down his +cheeks; at other times Rousille, looking at him, was +astonished to see the shadow of a smile cross his +face—a smile she could in nowise understand.</p> + +<p>Nine o'clock struck.</p> + +<p>"Mathurin," exclaimed the girl, "I am afraid that +some misfortune has befallen father."</p> + +<p>"He may be talking over his trouble with the Curé, +or the Mayor."</p> + +<p>"So I tell myself; yet, all the same, I am frightened."</p> + +<p>"That's because you are not accustomed to wait +as I am. What do you want to do?"</p> + +<p>"To go towards Sallertaine to meet him."</p> + +<p>"Go, if you like."</p> + +<p>Rousille ran to her room to get her black cloak. +When she came back, looking like a little nun, she +found that Mathurin had thrown off the rug, and was +standing up. His crutches were lying on the ground, +and by an effort of will he stood nearly upright, resting +one hand on the table, the other on the back of +his chair. He looked at his sister with an air of pride +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_106" title="106"> </a> +and of suppressed pain, perspiration standing on his +forehead.</p> + +<p>"Rousille," he said, "what should you do if father +did not come back?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't say such things," she exclaimed, covering +her eyes with her hand. "And do not exert yourself +to stand like that; you make me feel quite ill!"</p> + +<p>"Well, I," continued Mathurin gravely, "should take +the management here. I feel strong enough. I feel +that I am recovering."</p> + +<p>"Sit down; sit down, I beg of you. You will fall."</p> + +<p>But he remained standing until she reached the +door. Scarce had she crossed the threshold before +she heard the human mass sink together with a groan. +She turned back, saw that he was in a sitting posture +on the chair, pressing both hands to his side, doubtless +to still his fast-beating heart; then noiselessly, +timid as a fawn rising out of the bracken, she ran +into the courtyard, and out on to the road.</p> + +<p>The rising moon had lessened the mist, already +one could see a considerable distance; in another +hour it would be clear moonlight. Avoiding the shade +of the hedges, Marie-Rose followed the middle of the +path that, leading past the dwarf orchard, skirted the +meadows; she was frightened, almost running, nor did +she slacken speed until she reached the edge of the +Marais, where the road suddenly widening like a river +that falls into the sea, mingled its grasses with those +of the marshland. Then, reassured by the moonlight, +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_107" title="107"> </a> +she stood still and listened. Where could her father +be?</p> + +<p>She hoped to hear footsteps on the road, or even +Bas-Rouge's bark. But no; in the dream-like mist +that incessantly formed and dispersed about her, amid +the dim moving lights and shadows around, there was +but one sound, that of the distant roll of the sea +against the shores of La Vendée. She was about to +turn, follow the dyke to reach the bridge of Sallertaine +and its familiar houses, when a well-known whistle, +like that of a plover, met her ear. Could it be +possible?</p> + +<p>The young girl's blood rushed to her heart; she +stopped short in rapture and astonishment, without +strength to look behind her. Motionless she stood, +listening to the coming of one her heart had recognised. +He came by the road she had come, from the +thickets of La Fromentière. Erect, trembling, she +stood on the grass-grown road, felt two hands placed +on her shoulders, then a rush of air that moved the +right side of her cloak, and a man had lightly sprung +in front of her, with the words:</p> + +<p>"It is I, Rousille. I have not frightened you?"</p> + +<p>There he was in his brown coat, stick in hand, looking +well pleased at his piece of audacity.</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding her distress, Rousille could not +repress a cry of joy. A smile rose to her face like +an air bubble on troubled waters that none can hinder, +and that widens as it goes.</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_108" title="108"> </a> +"Oh how happy I am!" she said. But then quickly +resumed: "No, I am wrong to speak like that. You +do not know of our trouble at home. François has +gone, Eléonore has gone; I am all alone there, and +I have come out to find father, who has not come +home. I have no time to spare for you, Jean Nesmy. +It would be wrong!"</p> + +<p>He watched the smile fade from her face in the +moonlight; and as she drew her cloak about her to +resume her way, he said hurriedly:</p> + +<p>"I know all, Rousille. For the last three days I +have been at Chalons trying to find a situation as near +here as possible. I have not found one. But this +evening I heard of François' going; it is the talk of +the town in one way and another. I ran at once to +La Fromentière, keeping out of sight. I watched +you in the garden, in the barn. Since sundown I +have heard you crying; but the farmer was the only +one I saw go out."</p> + +<p>"Where is he—at Sallertaine?"</p> + +<p>"No; he went, but came back. I was in hiding +about here. He passed just where we are now standing, +and he was gesticulating and talking to himself +as if he were demented."</p> + +<p>Terrified, she asked:</p> + +<p>"Was that long ago?"</p> + +<p>"A quarter of an hour."</p> + +<p>"Which way did he go?"</p> + +<p>Jean Nesmy pointed in the direction of the +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_109" title="109"> </a> +mainland, and to the wooden heights further +away.</p> + +<p>"To the grounds of the Château, I believe. He +jumped the fence some hundred yards from here."</p> + +<p>"Thanks and good-bye, Jean. I must go."</p> + +<p>But he, taking her hand, grew very grave in his +turn.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he replied, "I know quite well—but myself—soon +you will have me no longer. To-morrow I +am going home to the Bocage; and I came back to +ask you one thing, Rousille. What shall I say to my +mother to-morrow when she asks me, 'Is it really +true that she loves you? What word of plighted +troth did she give you when you parted? My poor +Jean, when true-hearted girls see their sweethearts +going away from them they say some word that is +as binding as a betrothal ring, something to comfort +him in absence. What did she of La Fromentière +say to you?' If you have said no word, she will not +believe me!"</p> + +<p>The dim solitude enveloping them threw their +shadows faintly on the grey grass. Rousille, her +sweetheart's glowing eyes fixed upon her, answered +sadly:</p> + +<p>"Do not come back until Driot is well settled at +home. Some months hence, in mid-winter, if our +neighbours who frequent your markets tell you that +he is working like a true farmer, that he is to be seen +at fairs and gatherings, above all, that he is courting +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_110" title="110"> </a> +a girl at Sallertaine, then come back and speak to +father. My father will not hear of a <i>Boquin</i> for son-in-law; +but if I will have no other husband than +you—if André speaks for me, who can tell? Father +spoke well of you after you went."</p> + +<p>"Really, Rousille? What did he say?"</p> + +<p>"No, not now. I must be going. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>He raised his hat with a natural courtesy that sat +well upon him; nor did he seek to detain her longer.</p> + +<p>Already Rousille, turning her back upon Sallertaine, +was running across the meadow; she had reached the +last bushes that border the Marais, her cloak fluttering +in the mist. For more than a minute after she had +disappeared beyond the fence Jean Nesmy remained +motionless, on the same spot, where the words she +had spoken were still ringing in his ears. Then slowly, +as one learning by heart who looks not about him, +he took his way towards Sallertaine and on from +thence to Chalons. His heart sang with joy as he +repeated to himself: "In mid-winter, if our neighbours +who frequent your markets tell you that he is working +like a true farmer, come back...."</p> + +<p>The one thing he saw on the road to Chalons was +that the topmost leaves of the willows were already +turning yellow, and that the branches were growing +leafless.</p> + +<p>Rousille, through a gap in the fence, had made her +way into a stubble field, thence through a narrow belt +of wood. Then finding that she was in the gravel +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_111" title="111"> </a> +walk of an avenue, she paused, terrified by the solitude, +and seized by the instinctive respect for the seigniorial +domain, where even then her people ventured but +rarely, from fear of displeasing the Marquis. She +was in the outskirts of the park. On all sides, lit by +the peaceful light of the moon, were sloping lawns, +broken now by groups of forest-trees forming islands +of black shade, now disappearing in the blue mist of +distance. Sometimes in light, sometimes in shadow, +Rousille followed the path, her eyes on the watch, her +heart beating wildly. She was seeking marks of +footsteps on the gravel; straining to see objects amid +the dense thickets. Was that her father over there, +that dark form through the wood? No, it was but +the pile of a fence overgrown with brambles. Everywhere +thorn-bushes, roots, dead branches impeded the +moss-grown paths. How neglect had grown with +years! The master absent, all was deserted, gone to +waste. As she pursued her way, Rousille began to +realise more keenly her sorrow at her brother's and +sister's flight. They too, perhaps, would never come +back to their home; fear in her gave place to +grief.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, the path winding round a clump of cedars, +she found herself in front of the Château, with its +huge main building flanked by towers and pointed +roofs, on which the weather-cocks that once told the +direction of the wind were now motionless with rust. +Night owls were silently chasing each other round +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_112" title="112"> </a> +the gables; the windows were shut, the ground-floor +secured with shutters strongly battened.</p> + +<p>Anxious as she was, the young girl could not but +stop for a moment to look at the melancholy pile, +stained by winter rains, already as grey as any ruin; +and as she stood there on the broad carriage-drive, +her ear detected a distant murmur of words.</p> + +<p>"It is father," she thought without a moment's hesitation.</p> + +<p>He was sitting some hundred yards away from the +Château, on a bench that Rousille knew well, placed +in the half-bend of a group of birches, and called by +the country people the bench of the Marquise. Bent +double, his head resting on his hands, the old man +was looking at the Château and down the avenues +that sloped towards the Marais. Under the shadow +of the birches Rousille drew nearer to him, and as +she came closer, she began to distinguish the words +he was saying, like a refrain: "Monsieur le Marquis! +Monsieur le Marquis!" And as she hastened over the +soft turf which deadened her footsteps, Rousille had +the horrible dread that her father was mad. No, it +was not that, but grief, fatigue, and hunger, of which +he was unconscious, had excited his brain. Finding +neither help nor support anywhere, in his despair +instinct and habit had brought him to the door of +the Château, where so often before he had come in +sure hope of relief. He had lost all knowledge of +time, and only continued to address his lament, +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_113" title="113"> </a> +"Monsieur le Marquis! Monsieur le Marquis!" to the +ears of the master too distant to pay heed. The +girl, throwing back the hood of her cloak, said softly +so as not to startle him:</p> + +<p>"Father, it is Rousille. I have been looking for +you for an hour. Father, it is late—come!"</p> + +<p>The old farmer shuddered, looking at her with +absent eyes that saw not present objects.</p> + +<p>"Only think," he said, "the Marquis is not here, +Rousille. My house is going to ruin, and he is not +here to defend me. He should come back when +I am in trouble, should he not?"</p> + +<p>"Of course, father, but he does not know of it; he +is far away, in Paris."</p> + +<p>"The others, the people of Sallertaine, they can do +nothing for us because they are humble folks like +ourselves, who have no authority beyond their farms. +I have been to the Mayor, to Guerineau, to de la +Pinçonnière, le Glorieux, de la Terre-Aymont. +They sent me away with empty words. But the +Marquis, Rousille, when he comes back—when he +knows all! Perhaps to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps."</p> + +<p>"Then he will not leave me alone in my +grief. He will help me; he will give me back +François—eh, child? will he not give me back +François?"</p> + +<p>His voice was raised; the shrill words struck +against the walls of the Château, that sent them +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_114" title="114"> </a> +echoing back in softened accents to the avenues, the +lawns, until they were lost in the forest. The still, +pure night listened as they died away, as it listened +to the rustle of insects in the thickets.</p> + +<p>Rousille, seeing her father in so great distress, sat +down beside him, and talked to him for a while, trying +to inspire a hope which she did not feel. And, +possibly, a calming influence, a consoling power +emanated from her, for when she said: "There is +Mathurin at home, father, waiting for you," of his +own accord he rose, and took his daughter's arm. +For a long while he looked into the face of his +pretty little Rousille, so pale with emotion and +fatigue.</p> + +<p>"True," he replied, "there is Mathurin. We must +go."</p> + +<p>And together they passed in front of the Château, +turned into the avenue leading towards the servants' +offices, and thence into the fields belonging to the +farm. As they neared La Fromentière, Rousille felt +that the farmer was gradually recovering his self-control, +and when they were in the courtyard, with a +rush of pity for the cripple, Rousille said:</p> + +<p>"Father, Mathurin is very unhappy too. Do not +talk much to him of your distress."</p> + +<p>Hereupon the farmer, whose courage and clear +reasoning had revived, passed his hand over his eyes, +and preceding Rousille, pushed open the door of +the house-place, where his crippled son lay stretched +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_115" title="115"> </a> +deep in thought, beside the nearly burnt-out +candle.</p> + +<p>"Mathurin, my son," he said, "do not worry overmuch +... they have gone, but our Driot will soon be +home again!"</p> + +<p class="p4"><a class="pagenum" name="Page_116" title="116"> </a></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER VII.</h2> +<h3><a name="DRIOTS_RETURN" id="DRIOTS_RETURN"></a>DRIOT'S RETURN.</h3> + +<p class="p2">"Our Driot is coming." For a fortnight La Fromentière +lived on these words. Work had been resumed +the day after the trouble. A farm-labourer, hired by +Lumineau at Saint Jean-de-Mont, a tall, lean man, +with thighs as flat as his cheeks, replaced Jean Nesmy, +and slept in the room beyond the stable. Marie-Rose +did, single-handed, the work before shared by both +sisters: housekeeping, cooking, dairy-work, and bread-making. +She rose earlier and went to bed later. +Under her coif she ever had some wise idea in her +little head which prevented her from thinking of the +past; and in all her movements was displayed that +silent activity that the farmer had loved in his old +Luminette.</p> + +<p>Mathurin had of himself offered to look after the +"birds," that is to say, the stock of half-wild turkeys +and geese bred at La Fromentière. Carrying a sack +fastened across his shoulders, he would drag himself +down every morning to the edge of the first canal of +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_117" title="117"> </a> +the Marais, where, at a part that widened out, were +fastened the two boats belonging to La Fromentière. +In the shallow water he would scatter his supply of +corn or buck-wheat, and from across the meadows +drakes with blue-tinted wings, ducks, grey, with a +double notch cut on the right side of their beaks to +mark them as belonging to Lumineau, would hurry +and dive for their food. For hours Mathurin would +find amusement in watching them, then, lowering himself +gently into one of the boats, seated or kneeling, +would try to recover the sure and rapid stroke which +at one time had made him famous among the puntsmen +of the Marais.</p> + +<p>Toussaint Lumineau delighted to see him managing +his boat near the farm, thus distracting his mind, as +he thought, from the ever present regret. He would +say: "The lad is regaining his old pleasure in punting. +It can but be good for him and for us all." But +to Mathurin, to Rousille, to his man, to the passers-by, +sometimes even to his oxen, often when alone to himself, +he would talk of the son so soon to be home again +among them. Help was coming; youth and joy were +returning to sorrow-stricken La Fromentière. At +table nothing else was talked about:</p> + +<p>"Only twelve days; only ten; only seven. I will +drive to Chalons to meet him," said Lumineau.</p> + +<p>"And I will make him some porridge," said +Rousille, "he used to be so fond of it before he +joined his regiment."</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_118" title="118"> </a> +"And I" said Mathurin, "will go in the punt with +him the first time he looks up his friends."</p> + +<p>"How much there will be to hear!" exclaimed +Rousille. "When he was home on furlough he had +an endless store of tales to tell. As for me, I shall +have no time to listen to them. I shall have to send +him to you, Mathurin. And what a change it will +make in the house to have a chatterbox among us." +Then she added, with the grave air of one entrusted +with the household purse: "One change we must +make, father, and that will be to buy a paper on +Sunday. He will not like to go without one; our +André is sure to want to know the news."</p> + +<p>"He is young," said the father, as if to excuse him.</p> + +<p>And all André's predilections, every recollection +connected with him, all the hopes that centred in his +return were incessantly recapitulated by one and the +other in the living-room of La Fromentière, where +the caress of such discourses must have ascended more +than once to the smoke-stained rafters.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the son thus occupying all their thoughts +had not been told by any of them of the going of +François and Eléonore. Partly from dislike to letter-writing, +but principally to spare him pain, and to +avoid giving him bad news on the eve of his homecoming, +the blow which had so diminished the number +of those he was to rejoin had been withheld from him. +For they could not tell how he would take the absence +of his favourite brother, his childhood's companion; +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_119" title="119"> </a> +it would be better to break the news to him gently, +when he should have come back to France, back to his +home. Soon a letter came, bearing the Algiers postmark, +giving from day to day the itinerary of the +journey; and under the elms of La Fromentière +would be heard, every successive four-and-twenty +hours, announced by one of the family lovingly, +meditated over by the others, "Now Driot must be +leaving Algiers." "Now Driot is on the sea." "Now +Driot is in the train for Marseilles." "Children, he +has reached the soil of France."</p> + +<p>So one morning, which chanced to be the last +Saturday in September, Toussaint Lumineau gave La +Rousse a double feed of oats, and drew out from the +coach-house a tilbury, the body and wheels of which +were painted red. This tilbury was a relic of former +prosperity, and as well known in all the country side +as were the round head, white hair, and clear eyes of +Toussaint Lumineau himself. He, harnessing the mare, +looked so joyous and happy, that Rousille, who had +not heard him laugh for many a day, as she watched +him from the doorway, felt her eyes fill with tears, she +knew not wherefore, as though it were the return of +spring. The last strap buckled, the old farmer put +on his best coat with upright collar, fastened the broad +blue Sunday belt round his waist, and slipped two +cigars at a halfpenny each into his coat pocket, a +luxury he never indulged in nowadays. Then swinging +himself up into the tilbury with a cheery, "Ohé, +La Rousse!" he was off.</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_120" title="120"> </a> +The mare started at such a pace that an instant +later her headstall, ornamented with a rosette, looked +like a poppy swept along the hedges by the wind. +Bas-Rouge tore along after them. His master had +called out on starting, "Driot is coming, Bas-Rouge! +Come to meet him!" and the dog, all excitement, had +dashed after La Rousse in ungainly gallop. Soon +they had reached Chalons. Without slackening speed, +the farmer drove through the streets, responding to +the greeting of the landlord of the Hotel des +Voyageurs, and nicely marking by the angle at which +he raised his hat his sense of a tenant farmer's +superiority over shopkeepers as he returned their +salutations, then proudly erect upon the box-seat, +tightening the reins, he turned in the direction of the +railway station, some two miles beyond the town.</p> + +<p>People looking after him, said:</p> + +<p>"He has gone to meet his lad, that's certain. Well, +poor fellow, he has had plenty of trouble, now he is +having his share of good luck!"</p> + +<p>La Rousse being restive, Lumineau alighted in the +railway yard, and stood at the head of the mare. +Thence could be seen the perspective of lines going +towards La Roche—the lines by which one son had +left, and the other was so soon to return to La +Fromentière. He had not long to wait. The train +dashed into the station with a whistle; the farmer +was still quieting the mare, terrified by the noise, +when the passengers came thronging out: townspeople, +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_121" title="121"> </a> +men-of-war's men on leave, fishmongers from +Saint Gilles or Sables, and lastly a smart Chasseur +d'Afrique, slight and tall, his képi well balanced, fair +moustaches waxed to a point, his knapsack full to +bursting, who, after looking eagerly round the yard, +smiled and ran out with widespread arms:</p> + +<p>"Father! Ah! what luck, it's father!"</p> + +<p>The bystanders, indifferently looking on, saw the +two men embrace each other with a strong, almost +suffocating pressure.</p> + +<p>"My Driot!" exclaimed the old man. "How happy +I am!"</p> + +<p>"And I too, father!"</p> + +<p>"No, not so happy as I am! If you only knew!"</p> + +<p>"What, then?"</p> + +<p>"I will tell you. Oh, my Driot, the joy of seeing +you again!"</p> + +<p>They disengaged themselves from each other's +arms. The young soldier adjusted his collar, and +restored the equilibrium of his képi on the point of +falling.</p> + +<p>"Ah, I expect you will have no end of things to +tell me, after all this long time? Important, perhaps? +You will tell me by degrees at La Fromentière, while +we are at work. Ever so much better than letters, +eh?" And he threw back his fair head with a merry +laugh.</p> + +<p>His father could only respond with a faint smile; +then, going towards the tilbury, one on either side, +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_122" title="122"> </a> +they swung themselves up with the elasticity of +two men of the same age.</p> + +<p>"Shall I drive?" asked André, and taking up the +reins he gave a click with his tongue. La Rousse +pricked up her ears, reared playfully to show that she +recognised her young master, and with arched neck +and eyes aflame, she soon left far behind the two +empty hotel omnibuses, which were in the habit of +racing each other on their way back from the station. +Those who had exchanged greetings with the farmer +on his way to the train, and many others, watched to +see the two men pass by; clear-starchers looking out +as they ironed; the little dressmaker from Nantes who +came at the beginning of each season to take orders +from her ladies at Chalons; shopkeepers standing at +their doors; peasants at their dinners in inn parlours; +all attracted by the sight of a soldier, or gratified to +have a sign of recognition from the two Lumineaus. +La Rousse trotted at such speed that the old man had +not time to resume his hat between his salutations. +Remarks followed the tilbury in the vacuum of air +made by its rapid course.</p> + +<p>"That's the son from Africa. A handsome lad! +How well his blue tunic suits him. And the old man, +how happy he looks!"</p> + +<p>The farmer sat close to his recovered son. Halfway +down the last street, bordered by an elm hedge +shedding its leaves on the road, the old man plunged +his big hand into his pocket and nudged Driot's elbow +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_123" title="123"> </a> +to call attention to the two choice cigars he held +between finger and thumb.</p> + +<p>"With pleasure," responded the young man, and +taking one he lit it, somewhat slackening the mare's +pace as he did so, then, after a few puffs, as the gorse-covered +slopes, golden with blossom, the stony fields, +the crown-topped elms, came in sight, bringing with +them the sweetness of old familiar scenes, Driot, +hitherto somewhat silent and abashed by the attention +they had excited, began:</p> + +<p>"And all the home-folks, father, how are they?"</p> + +<p>A deep furrow lined the farmer's brow. Toussaint +Lumineau turned a little in his seat and looked away +towards the landscape, distressed at having to tell the +trouble, and still more by the fear of what his handsome +Driot would think about it.</p> + +<p>"My poor boy," he said, "we have only Mathurin +and Rousille at home now."</p> + +<p>"And François, where is he?"</p> + +<p>"Only fancy! Ah! you little think what I am +going to tell you. A fortnight ago yesterday he left +La Fromentière to work on the railway at La Roche. +Eléonore went with him. It seems that she was to +keep a coffee shop. Can you believe it?"</p> + +<p>"You sent them away from home?" asked the +young man, removing the cigar from his mouth and +looking straight at his father. "They are not such +fools as to have left you for any other reason!"</p> + +<p>The words gave the old father a thrill of joy. His +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_124" title="124"> </a> +Driot understood him; his Driot was at one with him. +Returning the frank gaze, he answered:</p> + +<p>"No; they are a couple of idlers, who want to make +money without doing anything for it ... ungrateful, +both of them, leaving their old father ... and then +you know that François loves pleasure. Since he +served his time he has always had a hankering after +town life."</p> + +<p>"I know; and I know that town has its attractions," +returned André, touching up La Rousse with the +point of the whip; "but to grease the wheels of a +railway carriage, or serve out drink! Well, everyone +goes his own way in this world. All the better for +them if they succeed. But I cannot tell you what the +fact of François' going is to me. I was so looking +forward to our farm-life together."</p> + +<p>He remained bending forward awhile as if only +intent on the twitching of the mare's delicate ears, +then asked in his caressing voice:</p> + +<p>"Things are going badly with us then, father?"</p> + +<p>"They have been somewhat, my boy. But they +won't now that you are home."</p> + +<p>André made no direct reply, nor did he say anything +at all just then. He was scanning the horizon +for a slate-covered clock tower and certain tree-tops +not yet distinguishable in the distance; his heart was +already in the old home.</p> + +<p>"At any rate," said he, "Rousille is left to us. +She had grown a pretty girl when I was last home on +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_125" title="125"> </a> +leave, very taking, and with a will of her own! You +cannot imagine how often I used to think of her when +I was out in Africa, and try to sketch her portrait from +memory. Is she as jolly as ever?"</p> + +<p>"She is not bad," replied the farmer.</p> + +<p>"And a good girl, I hope? She is not the sort to +turn herself into a barmaid."</p> + +<p>"No, certainly not."</p> + +<p>The good-looking young soldier slackened the +mare's pace, partly because they had reached a turn +in the road where there was a steep descent, partly +that he might the better see, at the foot of the sloping +ground, the Marais of La Vendée opening out like +a gulf. He had only been home once before in his +three years of service; with growing emotion he +gazed upon the groups of poplars and tiny red roofs +standing out from the waste of marshland; his eyes +roved from one to the other; his lips trembled as he +named the farms one by one; all other emotion was +silenced in that of coming home again.</p> + +<p>"Parée-du-Mont!" he exclaimed. "What has become +of the eldest Ertus?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing much; he is in the Customs."</p> + +<p>"And Guerineau of la Pinçonnière, who was in the +32nd line regiment?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, he went off like François; is conductor on the +tramway to Nantes."</p> + +<p>"And Dominique Perrocheau of Levrelles?"</p> + +<p>The farmer shrugged his shoulders with annoyance, +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_126" title="126"> </a> +for, in truth, it was aggravating to be obliged constantly +to answer "Gone—left—deserted the Marais." +However he had to say:</p> + +<p>"You heard, doubtless, that he gained his gold +stripes at the end of his first leave; then he obtained +further promotion, and was given some post, I don't +know where, as Government clerk. A set of stupid +fellows, all of them—not worth much, my Driot!"</p> + +<p>"Ah, now I see Terre d'Aymont," cried Driot. "It +seems nearer than it used to be; I can distinguish +their wind-mill. Tell me, father, there were two of +my playfellows there, sons of Massonneau le Glorieux, +one older, the other younger than me. What are they +doing?"</p> + +<p>Radiant, Toussaint Lumineau made reply:</p> + +<p>"Both on the farm. The eldest exempted his +brother. They are fine fellows who do not mind hard +work; you will see them to-morrow at mass in Sallertaine."</p> + +<p>With a light, happy laugh the young soldier said:</p> + +<p>"Ah, by-the-bye, one must get into the way of +attending mass again, I suppose. In the army devotion +did not trouble us much. Sundays were rather +a favourite day for our chiefs to hold reviews ... +they don't look at things as you do. But you see, +father, I will soon accustom myself to going to mass +again—even to high mass—it is not that that will be +the difficulty."</p> + +<p>"What then, my lad?"</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_127" title="127"> </a> +They were both silent for a moment. Another turn +in the road had revealed La Fromentière on their +left. With a simultaneous movement father and son +had risen and were standing almost upright, one hand +on the front of the carriage, contemplating the +property, La Rousse trotting along, unheeded by the +driver.</p> + +<p>A great, tender rush of feeling, cruel withal, paled +André's face. The land was welcoming a son of its +soil; all the scattered recollections of his childhood +awoke and called aloud to him; there was not a hillock +that did not greet him, not a furze-bush, not a lopped +elm but had a friendly look for him. But one and all, +too, recalled the brother and sister he would find there +no more.</p> + +<p>Without turning his eyes from La Fromentière +Driot replied, after a silence, and without naming +those of whom he was thinking:</p> + +<p>"I will go and see them at La Roche ... of course +I will ... but brotherhood is not altogether the same +when one has broken from the old place...."</p> + +<p>An instant later he was holding Rousille, who had +run out into the courtyard to meet him, high in his +arms, looking her full in the face, into the very depth +of her eyes, with the gaze of a brother whose military +experience has made him somewhat suspicious of +maidenly virtue; but seeing that her eyes met his +in all frankness, but with something of a sad expression, +he kissed her, and set her down on terra +firma again.</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_128" title="128"> </a> +"Always the same, little sister! That's good; but +a little sorry at having lost Lionore, eh?"</p> + +<p>"You can see that?"</p> + +<p>"Ah well! But I have come now. We will try +to get on without them, won't we?"</p> + +<p>"And I?" put in a thick voice.</p> + +<p>The soldier left Rousille, and hastened to Mathurin +who was coming towards them; dragging his limbs +after him.</p> + +<p>"Do not hurry, old man! I must do the running +for both; I have sound legs."</p> + +<p>Stooping over his crutches, and stroking his elder +brother's tawny head, André could find no words of +comfort. Coming fresh from a military centre where +all was young, active, alert, he could not hide the +distress and a certain feeling of horror with which +Mathurin's infirmity inspired him. However, compelled +by the other's anxious look, which seemed to +ask, "What do you think of me?—you who come +back, judge—can I live?" he hastened to say:</p> + +<p>"My poor old man, I am so glad to find you like +this. So you have not got any worse?"</p> + +<p>With a shrug of the shoulders, the cripple angrily +pushed him away.</p> + +<p>"I am much better," he returned. "You will see. +I walk more easily. I can stand as firmly as I did +three years ago, when I thought I was getting +well ... and, for a beginning, I am going with +you to mass at Sallertaine to-morrow."</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_129" title="129"> </a> +To avoid answering, the young soldier turned to +meet his father, who, having unharnessed La Rousse, +was coming towards them, with happy, smiling face, +having eyes only for his Driot come home to him +again. The men, one following the other, turned +towards the house, and went in; but on this happy +day it was the farmer who held back, and the returned +son who went first. Alert, interested as on a first +visit, rejoiced to be made the object of the eyes +and ears of the others, he did not sit down but +wandered from room to room, the blue and red uniform +an unfamiliar sight in this home of the toilers of +the field.</p> + +<p>To amuse his auditors he made the old walls ring +again with words of command; knocked up against +corners to feel the strength of the massive stones; +opened the cupboard, cut himself a slice of bread, +and tasted it, with a, "Better than the bread of +Algiers, my friends. This is Rousille's baking, eh? +It is excellent; we shall have a good farmer's wife +in her."</p> + +<p>Followed everywhere by his father, Mathurin, and +Marie-Rose, he went from the house into the stables +and barns.</p> + +<p>"I do not know these oxen," said he.</p> + +<p>"No, my boy, I bought them last winter at Beauvoir +fair."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll bet that I can tell their names from +their faces. This dun-coloured one, that does not +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_130" title="130"> </a> +look great shakes, is Noblet, and his companion, the +little tawny one, is Matelot?"</p> + +<p>"Right," answered his father.</p> + +<p>"As for the others, our old ones, they have not +changed much, save to put on more horn and muscle. +The plough ought to work well drawn by them. +Good day, Paladin; good day, Cavalier!"</p> + +<p>The good creatures lying in the straw, hearing +the young voice that called to them, thrust out their +heads, and with their thoughtful eyes followed the +young master.</p> + +<p>A little further, stooping down, he took up a handful +of green forage.</p> + +<p>"Fine maize for the time of year," he said. "This +must have come from our high land; from La +Cailleterie?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"From Jobinière then, where not a grain is lost. +Here's a good specimen!"</p> + +<p>The father was ready to join in praise of his oxen, +his fields, everything, so happy was he that the last +of his sons, after three years' absence, still loved the +ground.</p> + +<p>But the handsome young soldier laughed more than +he felt inclined to do, to hide the sad thoughts that +would come during his round, and when in the shed +affected not to see the traps for blackbirds, made +by François the preceding winter. In the threshing +floor, seeing a bundle of faded grass lying on the +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_131" title="131"> </a> +neatly made hayrick, he bent towards Rousille, and +murmured:</p> + +<p>"Did François gather that? Ah, it pains me more +than I could have believed, Rousille, not to find +François here. It quite changes La Fromentière for +me."</p> + +<p>But the father heard nothing of this. He only +saw that his son was home again, and the future +of La Fromentière assured. When they had re-entered +the general sitting-room, Lumineau passed +his hand over the blue tunic of the Chasseur d'Afrique, +saying:</p> + +<p>"I like you in this, but I bet anything that you +will not be sorry to lay aside your soldier's toggery."</p> + +<p>"All right, father," returned André, laughing at +the unwitting affront to his uniform, and his father's +indirect mode of inviting him to change to civilian +dress. "I am not got up in Sallertaine guise; I'll +go and change."</p> + +<p>From the bottom of the chest in the end room, +beside the bed where he was to sleep, André took +the carefully folded work-day suit, laid there by him +the day he left. He took great pains with the waxing +of his moustache, and adjusting the brim of his hat, +adorned his button-hole with a sprig of jasmine; +then going the length of the house, opened the kitchen +door, and there, framed against the old walls, his +slim figure clad in cloth suit, was seen the handsomest +young Vendéen of the Marais. Bronzed and fair-haired, +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_132" title="132"> </a> +his joyous face reflected the happiness of the +others.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Driot," exclaimed the farmer merrily, +"now you are quite yourself again! You were my +son before, but not so completely my very own as +now," then added: "Now come, and we will drink +to your health, and that you may stay at La Fromentière; +for I am ageing fast, and you shall take my +place."</p> + +<p>Mathurin, sitting at table beside his father, became +very gloomy. When the glasses were filled, he raised +his with the others, but did not clink it against that +of André.</p> + +<p class="p2"><a class="pagenum" name="Page_133" title="133"> </a></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> +<h3><a name="IN_THE_PLACE_DE_LEGLISE" id="IN_THE_PLACE_DE_LEGLISE"></a>IN THE PLACE DE L'EGLISE.</h3> + +<p class="p2">The bells rang out the close of High Mass; choir +boys chanted the <i>Deo gratias</i>.</p> + +<p>As in its early days, when in the last years of +the twelfth century it was erected on the summit +of the Isle of Sallertaine, the little church, now +yellow with age and growth of lichen and wild-flower, +witnessed the crowd of worshippers, dressed in the +same fashions as then, pour out from the same doors +in the same order and collect in the same groups +in the same Place.</p> + +<p>The first to be seen were the farm-labourers +and farmers' sons, who came out by the east door +from the transept where they had heard mass, and +who, passing round the choir, grouped themselves on +the other side, where the young girls would presently +emerge. Two by two they appeared between the +pillars of the west porch with eyes lowered to the +tips of their sabots. They were well aware that +their rosy cheeks, smoothly braided hair beneath the +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_134" title="134"> </a> +pyramid of muslin, the embroidered stockings peeping +under the short petticoat, the manner in which they +walked with hands demurely crossed over the moiré +aprons, made them the cynosure of all eyes. This +retired bearing only lasted for some twenty paces; +soon the girls had formed themselves into a group +close by the Michelonnes' house, at a short distance +from that of the younger men. And now in their +turn they waited. Eyes grey, blue, brown, very much +on the alert; eyes sparkling with life; eyes in which +lived a remembrance. Laughing lips, telling of the +mere joy of living; the chirping as of a flock of +birds greeting one another. Following them came the +farmers and their wives; widows, distinguishable by +the band of velvet in front of their coifs; older men, +men of position; these all issuing from the nave, +among them many a grave face still under the +influence of devotion, in which like walking saints +they seemed wholly absorbed. Many tall, finely +set up men there were, with calm, fresh complexioned +faces closely shaven, save for a thin line of whisker. +All wore the same costume of black cloth coat with +straight collar, trousers with flaps, raised on the ankle +by a fold in the cloth, blue or green belt extending +half way up the waistcoat, round felt hat bound with +velvet. They joined the younger men, swelling the +groups that shouldered each other, forming by this +time a dark swaying mass reaching to the last buttress +of the choir.</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_135" title="135"> </a> +The matrons, on the contrary, making a passage +for themselves through the crowd, went their way, +looking in their plaited skirts like ornamental round +towers. From their calm eyes, and the brief smile +with which they exchanged greetings with a town +acquaintance, it was plain to see that, having outgrown +the follies and illusions of youth, each had +settled down to her store of domestic happiness, +joy, or sorrow that a green patch in the Marais had +reserved for her. They talked with other farmers' +wives, were joined by one or other for the homeward +way, and thus accompanied, dignified and +worthy, they directed their steps towards the plain, +or to the various boating stages.</p> + +<p>Despite their departure, the gathering in the Place +grew denser and denser. It was the place of Sunday +meeting where for centuries past the dwellers of the +marshes, prisoners of the canal-bound land, had been +wont to assemble. To them attendance at mass was +alike a religious duty and an occasion of social +gathering. Before wending their way back to their +farms, not a man, even the gravest and most considered +among them, would have failed to pass an +hour in a wine shop chatting with his friends over +a bottle of muscadet and a game of cards, <i>luette</i> +particularly, a game imported from Spain in ancient +times. Already innkeepers were standing at their +doors at the foot of the Place, sounds of merriment +and laughter were to be heard from within, and the +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_136" title="136"> </a> +stock-phrases of <i>luette</i> players, "Your turn." "My +turn." "I play a horse." "I take merienne."</p> + +<p>Meanwhile there was more than ordinary animation +among the girls stationed behind the groups of men. +They were scanning all the church doors, whence +were now issuing good women, tellers of rosaries, +who had lingered long over their devotions.</p> + +<p>"He is coming out," exclaimed tall Aimée +Massonneau, the daughter of farmer Glorieux, of +Terre-Aymont. "Did you see him, that poor +Mathurin Lumineau? He insisted upon coming to +mass. I am sure he might have got dispensation!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," returned the little auburn-haired daughter +of Malabrit, "it is six years since he came to +Sallertaine."</p> + +<p>"Six years—really?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I remember. It was the year my sister was +married."</p> + +<p>"And why do you think he came?" asked Victoire +Guerineau, of La Pinçonnière, a sharp-tongued +pretty girl, with a complexion like a wild rose. "For +he must have shown some spirit to manage it."</p> + +<p>"To stand by his father," said a voice; "the old +man had been so saddened by the going of Eléonore +and François."</p> + +<p>"To show himself with his brother André," put +in another. "He's a good-looking fellow is André +Lumineau! I should not mind——"</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_137" title="137"> </a> +Victoire Guerineau and the others broke into a +peal of laughter.</p> + +<p>"You are quite out of it. It's for Félicité Gauvrit +he came!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, oh!" exclaimed those in front.</p> + +<p>"How ill-natured you are! If she were to hear you."</p> + +<p>And several turned towards the Michelonnes' doorstep, +near to which, amid a little throng, stood +Mathurin's former fiancée.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a murmur ran through the crowd.</p> + +<p>"There he is. Poor fellow! How difficult it is +for him to walk."</p> + +<p>And under the pointed arch of a low doorway, one +half of which only was open, a deformed figure was +seen struggling to force a passage through the narrow +aperture, one hand holding a crutch clutched hold of +a pillar outside, by which the poor man strove to drag +himself through, but he had only succeeded in freeing +one shoulder. With head thrown back, there was an +expression of agony upon the face which attested the +violence of the effort, and the strength of will that +would not give in. Mathurin Lumineau seemed on +the point of suffocation; he looked at no one in the +throng of people whose gaze was riveted upon him; +his eyes on a higher level than those of the spectators +were fixed upon the blue vault of heaven with an +expression of anguish that re-acted upon them.</p> + +<p>Conversation was interrupted; voices began to +murmur:</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_138" title="138"> </a> +"Oh, help him! He is suffocating!"</p> + +<p>Some of the men made a movement to go to his +assistance; at that moment, from the gloom of the +interior, his father asked:</p> + +<p>"Shall I help you out, Mathurin? You cannot +squeeze through there. Let me help you."</p> + +<p>In a low voice, inaudible to those without, but with +terrible energy, Mathurin answered:</p> + +<p>"Don't touch me. Confound it! Don't touch me. +I will get out by myself."</p> + +<p>At length the man forced his huge bust through +the door, and with a tremendous effort steadied himself, +stroked his tawny beard and settled his hat on +his head. Then with the aid of his crutches, standing +as upright as he could, Mathurin looked straight before +him, and advanced towards the group of men, +which opened out silently at his approach. No one +ventured to address him, it was so long since he had +been among them, the old habit of familiarity seemed +lost; but the attention of all was concentrated upon +their former comrade, and no one noticed that his old +father with André and Marie-Rose were following +close behind him.</p> + +<p>The cripple had soon reached the spot where the +girls were standing. They fell apart even more +quickly than the men had done, for they guessed his +intention; a lane opened between them reaching up +to the houses. At the far end of this living avenue, +clad in black dresses and white coifs, standing erect, +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_139" title="139"> </a> +quite alone, was seen Félicité Gauvrit. She was the +one he sought. She knew it; she had foreseen her +triumph. No sooner had she observed Mathurin +Lumineau sitting on the family bench in church, +then she had said to herself: "He has come +for me. I will hide away by the Michelonnes' house, +and he will follow me." For she was gratified to have +it seen that he still loved her, the girl to whom, handsome +though she was, no suitors came. The women +with whom she had been talking had prudently moved +away; she stood alone, under the Michelonnes' window, +looking like a lay figure from some museum in +her costume of heavy stiff material, the braids of her +lustrous brown hair shining under the small coif, her +dazzlingly white complexion and uncovered throat. +Erect, with arms pendant on either side of the moiré +apron, she watched her former lover coming towards +her between the double row of inquisitive lookers-on. +The many faces bent upon the girl in nowise intimidated +her. Perhaps in the suit and cravat Mathurin +was wearing she recognised the very ones he had +worn at the time of the accident; any way, she remained +calm and unabashed, her face even wore a +slight smile. He drew nearer, leaning on his crutches, +his eyes fixed, not on the path, but on Félicité Gauvrit. +What the poor fellow wanted was to see her once +again; to make her understand that health was returning, +that hope was awakening out of his misery, +that the heart of Mathurin Lumineau had never +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_140" title="140"> </a> +wavered. All this his sad eyes told her as he drew +near, offering in piteous pleading the bodily and +mental suffering he had endured to her who had been +their cause. But his strength was unequal to the +effort, he grew deadly white; and when the +insolent beauty, the first to speak, said calmly before +all the throng:</p> + +<p>"Good day, Mathurin," he could not answer. To +have seen the smile on those rosy lips, to be so near +to her, and to hear her address him in the same +easy tones as if they had but parted the day before, +was more than he could bear.</p> + +<p>He grew faint, leant heavily on his crutches, and +slightly turned his tawny head to Driot, who was +behind him, as if to say: "Take me away," and +the younger brother understanding the appeal, passed +the suffering man's arm under his and led him away, +saying as he did so, to divert the attention of the +crowd:</p> + +<p>"Good day to yourself, Félicité. It is an age since +I have seen you. You are not a bit altered."</p> + +<p>"Nor are you," she retorted.</p> + +<p>A few laughed; but among those assembled there +were many who were deeply touched, even disposed +to tears. Some of the girls of Sallertaine pitied the +poor fellow so exhausted and confused, led away on +his brother's arm; they sorrowed that he could never +enjoy that love which each, in the recesses of her +heart, hoped some day to share with the yet unknown +swain. One of them murmured:</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_141" title="141"> </a> +"It is not only in body that he is afflicted, his +mind, too, seems gone, poor fellow!"</p> + +<p>Many women, mothers going home with their children, +walked more sedately as they saw the group +on the way to Chalons: old farmer Toussaint, André +and Mathurin, with Marie-Rose bringing up the rear. +They recalled with a shudder what a magnificent +youth the poor cripple once had been, and thought: +Heaven send that no such calamity befall our boys +when they grow up!</p> + +<p>Félicité Gauvrit began to be affected in her turn, +but in a different manner. The departure of the +Lumineaus had turned attention away from her. +Some of the men surrounded the district crier, who +was calling out the list of lost articles and farms to +be let; others repaired to the inns. The girls collected +in little companies to seek the homeward way. +Every minute five or six white coifs were to be seen +bowing and bending in farewell salute, separating from +the others, and going off to the right hand or the +left. Félicité, left alone for some minutes, joined one +of the groups going west of Sallertaine, towards the +high Marais; she was received with some embarrassment, +as one whom they did not want to fall out with, +yet who was somewhat compromising, and whose +company their mothers did not desire for them.</p> + +<p>Young men drinking together in the inns called +after her the slighting remarks men make on girls +for whom they have little respect. She did not answer +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_142" title="142"> </a> +them back, but with her companions descended the +hilly road bordered with houses, and thence on to the +open Marais in the direction of Perrier.</p> + +<p>At that time of the year, before autumn rains had +set in, many of the farms could be reached on foot +without the aid of boats. A raised path, rough and +ill-kept, flanked by dykes on either side, led across +the meadows; grey-green grass covered the level plain +until the uniform tint dissolved in brownish hue in +the distant horizon. Horses grazing, stretched out +their necks, and looked at the little group clad in +black and white, breaking the continuity of grey-green +plain. Ducks, at the sound of their footsteps, ran in +among the rushes that trembled on the edge. From +time to time a shelving embankment branched off +the path, and one of the girls, separating from the +group, would make her way by it to some distant +house, only marked by the customary cluster of poplar-trees; +and Félicité Gauvrit, roused for a moment from +her abstraction, would say "Good-bye," and then walk +on silently as before.</p> + +<p>Soon she was left alone on the path that stretches +to the sea. Then slackening her pace, she gave herself +up without restraint to her thoughts. She was +not happy at home. At sixty-five her father had +married again a woman of thirty of loose character, +whom he had met at Barre-de-Mont, and to whom in +virtue of her youth he had made over the most +realisable part of his property. The young stepmother +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_143" title="143"> </a> +was not kind to Félicité. One reproached the +other with extravagance and ruining the home. The +eldest brother, in the Customs at Sables d'Olonne, a +gambler and hard drinker, was perpetually threatening +the old man with a summons for falsified accounts, +and by thus intimidating him drained still further the +diminished capital of the Gauvrits. The old family, +once so respected in the Marais, was rapidly declining, +and this Félicité knew too well. The young men of +Sallertaine and the neighbouring parishes came readily +enough to dances at La Seulière; they danced, drank, +joked with her, but not one of them offered to marry +her. The impending ruin, the family divisions, kept +suitors away.</p> + +<p>Yet another reason, more real, and one that +appealed more strongly to sentiment than any other, +held back the sons of farmers, and even farm-labourers +from asking the hand of Félicité Gauvrit in marriage; +and this was the tie, binding only in honour, the debt +of fidelity, rendered even more sacred by misfortune, +which public opinion obstinately maintained as still +existing between La Seulière and La Fromentière. +In everybody's opinion Félicité Gauvrit remained one +of the Lumineau household; a girl who had not the +right to withdraw her betrothal promise, and who was +not to be sought in marriage by any other while +Mathurin was living. Some men even had a superstitious +dread of her; they would have been afraid +to set up housekeeping with a girl whose first love +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_144" title="144"> </a> +had met so unhappy a fate. All the advances she +had made had come to nought. Soured and embittered, +in her rage she had gone so far as to regret +that the cripple had not been killed on the spot. Had +the poor wretch, who was scarcely to be called living, +died then and there, she would have recovered her +liberty, the past would have been quickly forgotten; +while now, it was kept in everyone's memory by the +sight of the maimed man on crutches, hanging about +the farmstead of which he should have been master. +She had found that Death is sometimes long in claiming +its victims. Then courage had returned; in her +astuteness Félicité had recognised that public opinion +holding her as belonging to the Lumineau family, by +them only could she realise her ambition: to go away +from La Seulière, escape the domination of her stepmother, +and become the mistress of a large farm, with +more means and freedom than ever she had possessed +at home. Never having loved her former betrothed, +actuated only by vanity, as is sometimes the case in +country surroundings, she had said to herself:</p> + +<p>"I will bide my time. I will make them long the +more for me by not going to La Fromentière. One +day Mathurin will come to me, or will call me to him. +I am positive that he has not forgotten me. Stupid +of him; but it will help my ends. Thanks to him, I +shall see them all again; the old man who mistrusts +me, the young men who will admire me for my beauty. +And I shall marry either François or André, and shall +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_145" title="145"> </a> +be the mistress of a farm as I ought to be, and of +the richest farm in the whole parish."</p> + +<p>Now François, whom she had tried to captivate, had +gone away. But, on the other hand, Mathurin had +come to her; at the cost of terrible fatigue and suffering +he had dragged himself to Sallertaine to greet +her publicly; while André, before all the girls, had +said: "It is an age since I saw you. You are not a +bit altered."</p> + +<p>Félicité had gathered one of the yellow irises that +grew so profusely on the Marais. Half laughing she +thought over her recent triumph, the iris lightly held +between her lips; her arms swinging as she walked +caused the full sleeves to rustle against the moiré of +her apron; her smiling gaze was directed to the distant +meadows. She was thinking that André would +make a handsome husband, better looking than ever +Mathurin had been; that, after all, he was one year +younger than herself, that he had engaging manners, +and had not been wanting in audacity either to have +said: "You have not altered." And she went on to +think: "The first opportunity that offers, I will invite +them to a dance at home. I am sure that André will +come."</p> + +<p>Slowly she walked along the raised path in the +burning rays of the mid-day sun. Grasshoppers were +chirping; every now and again the acrid scent of +fading rushes was in the air. Wholly absorbed in +her daydream, Félicité Gauvrit did not perceive that +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_146" title="146"> </a> +she had nearly reached home. The white buildings +of La Seulière, standing out in the meadow, came as +an unwelcome surprise. At the same moment a doubt +crossed her mind, disturbing, unbidden ending to her +dream. Suppose André too were to go away? Or +that Mathurin, elated as he was sure to be by the +least sign of remembrance, and made thereby more +eager, more jealous, were to guess what was in the +wind?</p> + +<p>Félicité had stopped in the middle of the bridge +that led from the path to the farm. The tall, supple +young woman raised her arms above her head, scowled +impatiently, and snapped the stem of the yellow iris, +which fell prone into the dyke, then following it with +her eyes for a second, she looked at her own reflection +in the water, and smiled again. "I shall succeed," she +said. And descending the slope of the bridge she +reached La Seulière by the cross road.</p> + +<p class="p4"><a class="pagenum" name="Page_147" title="147"> </a></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER IX.</h2> +<h3><a name="THE_CONSCRIPTS_OF_SALLERTAINE" id="THE_CONSCRIPTS_OF_SALLERTAINE"></a>THE CONSCRIPTS OF SALLERTAINE.</h3> + +<p class="p2">The afternoon of that autumn Sunday was marked by +a deeper peacefulness than usual. The air was warm, +the light veiled, the wind, which, rising with the tide, +had outstripped it, sweeping over the vast grassy plain, +brought no sound of work in its train, no creak of +plough, no ring of hammer, spade, or axe. The bells +alone were heard answering each other from Sallertaine, +Perrier, Saint Gervais, Chalons with its new +church, vast as a cathedral, and Seullans hidden among +the trees on the hill. Chimes for High Mass, ringing +for Angelus, the three strokes for vespers left the +bells but little rest; far and near they told out the +familiar tones, understood for centuries past. Adoration +of the Holy One; forgetfulness of earth; pardon +for sin; union in prayer; equality of all men in the +light of eternal promises. The tones rang out into +space and interlocked with a vibration, and were as +garlands flung from one belfry to another. Among +the toilers of the fields, cattle drivers, sowers, there +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_148" title="148"> </a> +were but few who did not obey the summons. Along +roads deserted all the week were to be seen families +hastening, passing and repassing one another, of those +who lived at the remotest portions of the parish; +while those who lived nearer took it more leisurely. +On the canal, which, broadening at the foot of the +church, forms the quay of Sallertaine, boats were +constantly moving hither and thither.</p> + +<p>Towards evening the bells had ceased; the frequenters +of inn parlours too had betaken themselves +to their farms, lying peacefully in the light of the +setting sun. Universal silence reigned over the land. +Quiet as it was on working-days, at the close of the +week it seemed sunk in meditation and silence; +dominical truce that had its great significance, when +weary souls refresh themselves, and whole families +unite in calm and meditation to review their living +and their dead.</p> + +<p>But to-day the quiet was to be of short duration.</p> + +<p>Mathurin and André were lying under the shade +of the elms that afforded provisional shelter to the +harrows and ploughs close by the old stonework gateway. +The cripple, leaning against the cross-bars of +a harrow, was resting after the fatigue and excitement +of the morning. André, from concern for him, had +not gone into town again with his father, but lying +at full-length on the grass was reading the paper +aloud, pausing every now and then to make his comments +on the news, and, as a travelled man, to explain +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_149" title="149"> </a> +the whereabouts of places and countries—Clermont +Ferrand, India, Japan, the while twirling his little fair +moustache, a very youthful and ingenuous self-sufficiency +showing itself in his frank, merry face. At +about four o'clock, to the left of Sallertaine, was heard +the sound of a bugle, coming apparently from the +open marsh between the parishes of Lumineau and +Seullans. Mathurin roused from the torpor into which +he had sunk, looked at André, who at the first sound +of the bugle had let fall the paper, and with uplifted +face and straining ears was listening to the call.</p> + +<p>"It is the cadets," said his brother, "they are out +this afternoon. Soon they will be leaving."</p> + +<p>"They are playing the call of the 'Chasseurs +d'Afrique,'" returned André, a light in his eyes. "I +recognise it. Is there anyone of our old regiment in +the Marais?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, the son of a gooseherd in Fief; he served +his time with the Zouaves."</p> + +<p>They were silent, both men listening to the bugling +of the ex-Zouave, their thoughts very different. +André with eyes fixed on the distant marshland was +seeing in imagination a white town, with narrow +streets, and a troop of horsemen emerging from a +crenulated gateway, its arches echoing with the ring +of their horses' hoofs.</p> + +<p>Mathurin, watching the expression on his brother's +face, thought: "His heart is still with the regiment." +For an instant his features distended, his eyes dilated +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_150" title="150"> </a> +as those of a wild beast detecting its prey, then he +returned to his one idea.</p> + +<p>"Driot," he exclaimed after a while, "you like that +music?"</p> + +<p>"I should think so."</p> + +<p>"Do you regret the regiment?"</p> + +<p>"No, that I don't. No one does."</p> + +<p>"Then what was the attraction out there?"</p> + +<p>The young man looked inquiringly into his brother's +face as though to say, why should he want to know, +then answered:</p> + +<p>"The country——Hark! that's the reveille +now."</p> + +<p>The sounds of the bugle, sharp, incisive, stopped. +Now five or six strong untrained voices struck up +"Le chant du départ." Occasional words reached the +listeners where they lay. "Mourir pour la patrie ... +le plus beau ... d'envie." The rest was lost in space.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the sounds were approaching; the two +brothers motionless under the elms, each pursuing +the train of thought evoked by the first notes of the +bugle, could hear the conscripts of Sallertaine coming +up the hill towards them.</p> + +<p>Toussaint Lumineau, on his way home from vespers +with his friend Massonneau, heard them also. Massonneau, +an old tenant farmer, tall and thin, with skin +as dark as a ripe ear of corn, the cartilages of his neck +standing out like the breast-bone of a fowl, had +acquired his name of "Le Glorieux" from a nervous +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_151" title="151"> </a> +twitch he had, which caused his chin to jerk upwards +at every instant; Lumineau and he were discussing +the latest events of La Fromentière. The two men +represented the age and wisdom of the Marais; moreover, +they could tell the names and nicknames of +every living soul at Sallertaine, their history and +parentage. As they reached the last houses of the +town, both simultaneously stopped and turned their +faces windward.</p> + +<p>"Do you hear, Glorieux?" exclaimed Lumineau. +"They are bugling and singing, poor boys! But the +parents of those who are going may well weep."</p> + +<p>"Yes," returned Massonneau, with a twitch of the +chin, "the parents are to be pitied."</p> + +<p>"I could name them, everyone, from only hearing +their lad's voices," continued Lumineau. "You, good +people of La Bounellerie, and you, of Grand Paiement; +you, of Juch-Pie; you, of Linotteries; and +you, of Belle-Blanche, I recognise your boys' voices. +May it not do the same work for them that it did +for my François! They are going to the place that +changed my boy's heart—to the town that robbed +me of him."</p> + +<p>"As it robbed La Pinçonnière," said his companion.</p> + +<p>"And Leverells."</p> + +<p>"And Parée-du-Mont."</p> + +<p>The litany might have been prolonged; Massonneau +hearing the voices at the edge of the Marais +broke in with:</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_152" title="152"> </a> +"They are singing again," he said, "they are going +up the hill to you, Lumineau."</p> + +<p>And in truth the young conscripts had begun the +ascent towards La Fromentière; soon the bugle call, +soon their voices, resounded over the silent Marais, +carried afar by the wind, like grains of seed falling +everywhere. And everywhere, without apparent +reason, emotions were stirred, old sorrows awoke, +and the humble occupants of isolated farms or remote +villages listened with a tightening of the heart to the +tramp of the conscripts of Sallertaine.</p> + +<p>As they reached the meadow-land of La Fromentière, +Mathurin, who had been following the sounds, +and with his marvellous sense of observation had +marked every step of their way, said to André:</p> + +<p>"They have already halted at three farms. I think +they must be collecting for their class. You did not +do that? For the last two years they have started +calling at all the houses where there is a young girl of +their own age, to ask her for a fowl as compensation +for having to serve. Rousille is drawn among the +other girls. You should catch a fowl to give them +when they come."</p> + +<p>"So I will," returned André, laughing and springing +up with a bound. "I'm off. What do they do with all +the fowls?"</p> + +<p>"Eat them. They get three or four farewell dinners +out of them. Be quick! they are coming!"</p> + +<p>André disappeared within the courtyard. Soon +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_153" title="153"> </a> +could be heard his merry laugh, and a rush in the +direction of the barn, then the terrified cries of the +fowl he had evidently caught; and soon he reappeared +holding his prize by the legs, its round +spotted wings, grey and white, rising and falling on +the grass as he walked. At the same moment a blast +on the bugle was heard at the foot of the dwarf +orchard; Mathurin half-raised himself upon the +harrow, his hands clasping the cross-bars, his arms +extended, his shaggy head bent forward, awaited the +arrival of the troop, André standing beside him. +Opposite them, just at the opening of the road leading +down to the Marais, the setting sun, an enormous ball +tinted orange by the mist, filled the entire space between +the two treeless banks.</p> + +<p>In this sun-bathed glory three girls advanced, arm-in-arm, +up the ascent, the tallest in the middle; all +were dressed in black with lace coifs; the jet on their +velvet kerchiefs sparkling in the light. As they +walked they rhythmically swayed their heads; they +were girls from Sallertaine, but the light was behind +them, and only Mathurin could recognise in the centre +one Félicité Gauvrit. A few paces in the rear came +the bugler, a standard-bearer, and five young men +walking abreast, carrying either in their arms or suspended +from a hempen cord the fowls collected from +the farmhouses. The procession advanced some hundred +yards along the road, then pulled up between the +elms and the ruined wall of La Fromentière.</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_154" title="154"> </a> +"Good day, brothers Lumineau!" said a voice.</p> + +<p>There was a burst of laughter from the band, +excited by their march and the muscadet they had +drunk on the way. The cripple's hands gave way, he +glanced up at André.</p> + +<p>Félicité Gauvrit, without leaving hold of her companions, +had advanced slightly in front of them, and +was gazing with a pleased expression at the youngest +Lumineau, who held out the grey fowl to her.</p> + +<p>"You guessed then, André?" she said. "Ah, that's +what it is to have to do with intelligent boys. Here, +Sosthene Pageot, come and take Rousille's fowl."</p> + +<p>A sturdy lad with ruddy face, and the stupefied air +of one beginning to feel the effects of drink, stepped +out from among the others and took the fowl. But +from the mocking attitude of André, and his studied +silence, Félicité guessed that he was surprised to see +a girl of her position in such company, therefore she +added carelessly:</p> + +<p>"You may be satisfied that I do not range the +Marais every day with conscripts. My doing it to-day +is out of kindness. My two friends here, who belong +to the class, were called upon to go the round to collect; +they are shy and dared not go alone, and so it +must have been given up, had I not come to the +rescue." She expressed herself well, with a certain +refinement that came with the habit of reading.</p> + +<p>"That would have been a pity!" said the young +man coldly.</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_155" title="155"> </a> +"Yes, would it not? The more so, that I am not +often seen in your part of the world."</p> + +<p>She turned her head towards the windows of La +Fromentière, the stables, the hayricks, sighed, then +immediately remarked in a playful tone:</p> + +<p>"You will come to one of our dances, will you not, +André? The Maraîchines hope so."</p> + +<p>At this there were signs of approval to the right +and left of her.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," replied André. "It is so long since I +was at a dance in Sallertaine; inclination may return."</p> + +<p>She thanked him with a knowing wink; then for +the first time seemed to be aware of the presence of +Mathurin, who was looking at her with an air of +mingled passion and grief.</p> + +<p>A look of pity and embarrassment, not altogether +feigned, came into her face as she said:</p> + +<p>"You understand, Mathurin, what I say to one I +say to all in your house.... If it were not too +fatiguing for you?... I was glad to see you at mass +again this morning ... it shows that you are feeling +better...."</p> + +<p>The cripple, only able to express himself clearly +when he had time to think over his words, stammered +out:</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Félicité ... you are very kind, +Félicité," and he uttered her name with a kind of +adoration that seemed to touch two or three of the +conscripts, stupefied as they were.</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_156" title="156"> </a> +"What was your regiment, Mathurin?" asked the +standard-bearer.</p> + +<p>"The third Cuirassiers."</p> + +<p>"Bugler, a <i>fanfare</i> of the Cuirassiers in honour of +Mathurin Lumineau! Forward, march!"</p> + +<p>The three girls, the bugler, the standard-bearer, and +the five young men bringing up the rear, left the shade +of the elms, and went on their way towards Quatre-Moulins, +raising clouds of dust crossed by the slanting +rays of the sun. The <i>fanfare</i> shook the walls of the +old farmhouse.</p> + +<p>When the last lace coif had disappeared among the +furze-bushes and willows that bordered the road, +Mathurin said to his brother, who had taken up the +paper again and was absently reading:</p> + +<p>"Would you believe it, Driot, this is the first time +for six years that she has been here!"</p> + +<p>André replied, too abruptly:</p> + +<p>"She did for you once, old man. Better take care +that she does not do it a second time."</p> + +<p>With muttered words of anger Mathurin Lumineau +picked up his crutches, and moving away to a little +distance, leant up against a tree. The two brothers +spoke no more to each other; both were absently +gazing out over the marshland, where the daylight +was dying away. The sun was rapidly sinking in the +lowland, only a red crescent broken by shadows remained +of the fiery globe, against which some dark +object in the horizon, a willow, or a group of rushes, +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_157" title="157"> </a> +stood out like a crown of thorns. It faded away; a +fresh breeze rose on the hills; the sounds of the bugle +and of voices were no longer heard. Profound silence +was over the country, here and there in the grey +distance was the glimmer of a fire. Peace had returned; +sorrows, one by one, were ending in sleep or +in prayer.</p> + +<p>Old Lumineau coming back from the town saw his +two sons standing motionless among the trees wrapt +in contemplation of the quiet scene, and not knowing +their thoughts, said brightly:</p> + +<p>"A fine sight, our Marais, eh, boys? Now let us +go in together; supper will be waiting." Then as, in +the darkness, André came first, he added:</p> + +<p>"How glad I am to have you home again from +the regiment, my Driot!"</p> + +<p class="p4"><a class="pagenum" name="Page_158" title="158"> </a></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER X.</h2> +<h3><a name="THE_UPROOTED_VINEYARD" id="THE_UPROOTED_VINEYARD"></a>THE UPROOTED VINEYARD.</h3> + +<p class="p2">Winter had come. La Fromentière seemed peaceful +and happy. Anyone going over the fields and watching +the men at work, would have had no fear for the +future of the farmstead. The new farm-hand did not +excite himself, as Toussaint Lumineau said, that is to +say, he worked his fourteen hours a day regularly, +without uttering fourteen words. As for André, he +was the joy and pride of his father, who, on his part, +did not spare himself. Good labourer, good sower, +an early riser, careful of the animals and of everything +else that came to his hand, the young man +seemed to prove that he had found his vocation, and +was determined to remain a farmer all his life.</p> + +<p>And yet at the bottom of his affectionate, restless +heart, there was a growing sore. André could not +accustom himself to François' absence. He missed +the friend of his young life, the companion without +whom La Fromentière had never presented itself to +his mind.</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_159" title="159"> </a> +The week after his return home, André had gone +to see François and Eléonore at La Roche-sur-Yon. +He had found them settled in a house in the outskirts, +already somewhat discontented: one inveighing +against the hardness of his employers; the other +that customers did not come; without any regrets, +however, for what they had done, and quite decided +as to the advantages of living in a town, and being +their own masters. He had gone back without the +least wish to follow their example—more severe even +than before against the renegades from the old home +life; but possessed of a fixed idea, he sought François +in everything. La Fromentière that knew François +no longer was to him empty and void. It became +a thing of which he could not shake himself free; +a suffering of which he never spoke, but that everyone +unwittingly renewed.</p> + +<p>The farmer, whose anger had abated, more +particularly since he knew that the position of his +two absent children at La Roche was none too +brilliant, began voluntarily to speak of François as +if to secretly encourage the others to remember him, +and to do their best to bring him home again. It +would be: "To-day we will sow La Cailleterie, where +François ploughed the first two furrows," or, "let us +have some chestnuts roasted in the embers to-night, +Rousille, François used to like them." He thought +to do well by so speaking, to re-unite, as it were, +in some degree those whom misfortune had parted. +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_160" title="160"> </a> +And Rousille did the same. Still oftener did everyday +objects speak of, and recall the absent one. +Now it was a fork he had been wont to use; a +basket woven by him; the rope twisted round a +rafter of the stables by a hand no longer there; +or even a nook or corner of a road or field to which +some memory clung; the stump of a tree; a furze-bush; +in fact, the whole Marais, where for years +two boys of almost the same age, brothers inseparable, +had driven the cows, jumped dykes, and gone birds'-nesting +together.</p> + +<p>Poor François, lazy, spendthrift, pleasure-loving as +he was in reality, legendary virtues were already +gathering round him at La Fromentière. His place +in the diminished family was reserved to him with +tender, affectionate regret, a regret that even magnified +what had been his place there. André, disheartened, +and disappointed in the joy of home coming, had +not the same love for the new La Fromentière that +he had had for the old one. It was all so changed! +He had known it bright with the noise and bustle +of a large, united family under the control of a man +who, despite his years, was cheery and vigorous, and +with more willing hands than were needed to get +through the day's work—a home as passionately loved +and defended as any nest from which the fledgelings +have not yet flown. He found it unrecognisable. +Two had gone, leaving the house desolate, the old +father inconsolable, the work too heavy for those +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_161" title="161"> </a> +left behind. Rousille was wearing herself out. André +saw clearly that he alone would not suffice to keep +La Fromentière in a state of good cultivation, certainly +not to improve it, as he had so often meditated through +the hot, sleepless nights in Africa, thinking of the +elm-trees at home. For this two strong young pair of +arms were needed, without counting the help of a farm-servant: +François should have been there with André! +He struggled against the discouragement that +oppressed him, for he was a brave lad. Every morning +he went out into the fields with the determination +to work so hard that there should be no room for +thought; and he worked and ploughed, sowed seed +or dug ditches, planted apple-trees with all zest and +energy, not taking a moment's rest. But the recollection +of François followed him everywhere; in everything +he saw the decline of the farmstead. Working +alone made the days long; longer still were they in +the company of the new farm-hand, who went about +his work stolidly, interested neither in the projects nor +regrets of the farmer's son.</p> + +<p>In the evening when André returned from work in +whom should he confide, or who was there to comfort +him? His mother was dead; his father had need of +all his own hope and buoyancy of spirit that he might +not break down himself; Mathurin was so uncertain +and so soured that pity might well go out to him, but +not real brotherly love. There remained Rousille, +possibly. But Rousille was seventeen when André +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_162" title="162"> </a> +had left home, and he continued to treat her as a child, +and told her nothing. Besides she was scarcely ever +to be seen, poor girl, always on the run and hurried. +The house was dull, and the young man felt it the +more that regimental life, hard enough in all conscience, +was yet full of go and movement.</p> + +<p>Weeks went by, and there was no break in the +sadness. Weary of being thus thrown upon himself, +little by little André suffered his thoughts to go out +from the mournful surroundings amid which he, in +vain, tried to recognise the home of his youth. Like +all peasants of the coast, he was one of those taciturn +labourers who look over the sand-hills towards the +sea, and who dream dreams when the wind blows. +Sad and dejected he fell back upon the fatal knowledge +he had acquired in absence: that life was +possible in other places than at La Fromentière on +the borders of the Marais of La Vendée.</p> + +<p>The temptation grew stronger. Two months after +having re-taken possession of the room that the two +brothers had formerly shared together, one night, +when the other inmates of the farm were sound asleep, +André began a letter to a comrade in the foreign +legion, whom he had known in Africa. "I find it too +dull here. My brother and sister have left home. If +you happen to know of any good investment in land +in Algiers, or elsewhere, let me know. I have not +come to any decision, but I am thinking of going +away. I am, as it were, alone here." And answers +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_163" title="163"> </a> +soon came. To the great astonishment of Toussaint +Lumineau the postman began bringing pamphlets, +papers, and prospectuses to La Fromentière, over +which André did not make merry as did Rousille and +Mathurin. Laughingly his father, who had no suspicion +of André, said:</p> + +<p>"There has never been such a supply of paper at +La Fromentière, Driot, as in the few weeks since +you have been home. I don't grudge it you, reading +is such a hobby of yours! As for me, I should be +tired to death with all the printed stuff."</p> + +<p>Only on Sundays the old father suffered a little +from his son's passion for reading and writing. On +that day after vespers it was his habit to bring back +some old friend, either Le Glorieux de la Terre-Aymont, +or Pipet de la Pinçonnière to pay a visit of +inspection round the farm fields. Up hill and down +dale they would go in single file, examining everything, +expressing approval or disapproval by uplifted +eye or shrug of the shoulder, exchanging an occasional +word that had always the same object: the harvest, +present or future, good or indifferent, threatened or +gathered in. In this winter season it was the fields, +the young wheat, and patches of lucerne that were +under consideration; and Toussaint Lumineau, who +had not succeeded in getting André to accompany +them, would confide to his neighbour of La Terre-Aymont, +or La Pinçonnière as they stopped where the +slanting rays of the sun fell on the corner of a field:</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_164" title="164"> </a> +"My son André is quite different from anyone I +have ever known, and not a bit like we used to be. +Not that he despises the land, on the contrary, he +loves it, and I have no fault to find with his work all +the week. But since he came home from the regiment, +his one idea on Sunday is reading."</p> + +<p>Rousille, too, was sometimes surprised. She had +too much to do indoors to occupy herself with the +work or amusements of the others. Busy with housekeeping, +and the thousand and one duties of the farmyard, +she never saw André save at meal-times, and +in presence of the others. At those times, whether +by an effort of will, or that youth obtained the mastery +over depression, André was usually in gay and careless +spirits, bantering Rousille and trying to make her +laugh. But as a woman and one who had suffered, +Rousille had learned to discern the sorrows of others; +and from many a little sign, eyes fixed on the upper +window, words dropped that might bear some other +meaning, her loving heart had divined that André was +not altogether happy; without knowing more, she +felt sorry for him. But even she was far from guessing +the crisis through which her brother was passing, +or the project he was meditating.</p> + +<p>One solitary member of the family had penetrated +the designs of André, and that was Mathurin. He +had observed his brother's increasing sadness; the +useless efforts he was making to regain his former +equability of temper; his calm fortitude in daily +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_165" title="165"> </a> +labour. Sometimes he would follow him into the fields, +then watch for the arrival of the postman and take +charge of the letters and papers addressed to André. +The smallest details remained engraven on his brooding +memory; and one day, under the guise of indifference, +with a skilfully put question his brooding took +shape. He was aware that the greater number of +the letters received by André bore the stamp either +of Algiers or Antwerp, and the latter place conveying +nothing to Mathurin, André had explained:</p> + +<p>"It is a large port in Belgium, larger than Nantes +that you once passed through."</p> + +<p>"How do you come to know anyone living so far +from here and far from Algiers?"</p> + +<p>"It's very simple," replied his brother. "My best +friend in Algiers is a Belgian in the foreign legion, +whose family live in Antwerp. Sometimes I hear from +Demolder, sometimes from his people, who write to +give me the information I want."</p> + +<p>"News of old comrades, then?"</p> + +<p>"No, things that interest me in the matter of +voyages, other countries.... One of the sons has +settled across the sea, in America. He has a farm +as large as this whole parish."</p> + +<p>"Was he rich?"</p> + +<p>"No. He is now."</p> + +<p>Mathurin did not further press the subject, but he +continued to observe, to add indication on indication. +If André chanced to leave a pamphlet on emigration +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_166" title="166"> </a> +lying about, or an advertisement of land to be let or +sold, taking it up Mathurin would seek to discover +the places over which his brother's brows had met in +a frown, or where something like a smile, a wish, a +desire had lighted up his eyes.</p> + +<p>By proof on proof he had arrived at the conviction +that Driot was thinking of leaving La Fromentière. +When? For what remote land where money was +easily made? Those were the problems. Thus in the +month of December, when opportunities for confidential +chat are more frequent by reason of days of snow +and rain and squall, when alone with André in the +stables or the house, he would say treacherously:</p> + +<p>"Tell me about Africa, Driot. Tell me some yarns +of men who have made money out there. I like to +hear such things." Or at other times he would say: +"La Fromentière must seem small and insignificant +to a fellow like you who read so much. It certainly +is not as productive as it used to be."</p> + +<p>Mathurin had settled coming events in his mind, +while Driot was still in doubt.</p> + +<p>So the year drew to a close, and the new year +began. It was a wet winter, with hard frost at nights; +every morning spiders' webs covered with frozen mist +would wave in the breeze like white wings, the damp +earth would steam in the mid-day sun, and the white +wings turn grey. The main work of the fields was +suspended; the owners of land on high ground felled +trees, or re-made fences; those on the Marais were +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_167" title="167"> </a> +perforce reduced to idleness; it was holiday-time with +them; dykes and ditches were overflowing. The +greater number of the farms surrounded by water, +and, as it were, floating above it, were cut off from +all communication with the neighbouring towns or +each other save by boats steered over the inundated +meadows. It was the time for dancing and shooting.</p> + +<p>The ground, however, was not too hard to work +upon, and, following Mathurin's advice, Toussaint +Lumineau resolved to dig up his vineyard attacked +by phylloxera.</p> + +<p>So one morning the farmer and André made their +way up to the little field lying well exposed to the +south on the high ground which cuts the road between +Chalons and La Fromentière. Before them they saw +nothing but seven rows of vine enclosed by furze +hedges, stony ground, and the revolving sails of two +wind-mills.</p> + +<p>"You begin on one row," said the farmer, "I will +take the next," and pulling off their coats, despite the +cold, for it meant hard work, they began on their +task. Coming up the hill they had talked cheerily to +each other; but no sooner did they begin to dig than +their spirits sank, and they grew silent, not wanting +to impart the thoughts that the work of destruction +engendered. If a root, perchance, made very tough +resistance, the father once or twice attempted to joke, +saying playfully: "It felt quite comfortable there, and +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_168" title="168"> </a> +did not want to be turned out," or something else to +that effect. But he soon gave up the attempt. He +could not succeed in banishing from his mind, nor +from that of the son working beside him, sad thoughts +of the time when the vine prospered, and yielded +abundantly the white foaming wine they had drunk +so merrily in the old happy days of fêtes and +gatherings. The contrast of his former prosperity +with present hard times fretted him; and as far as he +could see, it weighed still more upon the spirits of +his Driot.</p> + +<p>Thus, in silence, they plied their huge, old-fashioned +pickaxes, made to be wielded by giants. The earth +flew in showers; the trunks trembled; some few +shrivelled leaves left upon the branches fell, and were +blown about in the wind with a noise as of broken +glass; now the stem was disclosed, vigorous but +warped, covered with green moss, the effects of many +a summer dew and rain, and tapering off to the size +of a tendril. The marks of pruning made by successive +vinedressers were not to be numbered; no one +could tell the age of the vineyard. Every year since +he could remember anything, Driot had pruned it, +dressed it, gathered its grapes, drunk of its juice. And +now it was dying. Each time that he gave the final +blow to a root he felt a pang; each time that, seizing +a portion of the lifeless fibres he threw it on the +heap of dead uprooted stems, he shrugged his +shoulders with mingled sorrow and rage. Dead those +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_169" title="169"> </a> +veins through which the red, joyous sap was wont to +rise. Dead the fertile branches once bending under +the weight of bunches of grapes, until they rested a +golden glory on the ground! Never again would the +flowerets, pale stars with drops of honey in each centre, +attract the summer gnats, nor diffuse their mignonette-like +perfume far over the fields, even to La Fromentière. +Never again would the children of the +farmstead push eager hands through the gaps in +the hedge to clutch the bunches within reach! Never +again would the women carry away basketfuls at +vintage time. For many a long day wine would be +scarce at the farm, and would be no more of "our +own growing." Something belonging to the family, +an hereditary and sacred possession seemed to perish +with the vineyard, old and faithful servant of the +Lumineaus. Father and son were both so intensely +penetrated by the sense of their loss, that, as night +descended, and the father raised his pickaxe for a +final stroke, he could not help exclaiming:</p> + +<p>"It's a hateful work, Driot, we have done to-day."</p> + +<p>All the same, there was a difference between the +sadness of father and son. Toussaint Lumineau, as +he rooted up the vines, was already thinking of the +day when he would plant fresh ones, and in his silent +musings had seen his successor gathering in the +vintage and drinking the muscadet of the new vineyard. +He possessed that love, strong and tried, which +rises hopefully after every stroke of misfortune. With +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_170" title="170"> </a> +André hope did not speak, because with him love had +waxed feeble.</p> + +<p>The two men, their figures indistinct in the darkening +day, turned to skirt the grassy edge of the vineyard, +then descended the sloping fields that led towards +the farm. With weary, stooping frame, +shouldering their heavy implements, they looked +across the Marais to the crimson horizon, and at the +clouds driven by the wind towards the setting sun. +It was a melancholy evening; all around them were +furze-bushes, ground uncultivated, hedges devastated, +leafless trees, the gloom and chill of autumn. +Thus they had gone some two hundred yards before +the son could make up his mind to speak, as though +feeling that his reply would be too hard for the +father, who lived on in the same old groove.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "the day of the vine is at an end +in our land, but it flourishes elsewhere."</p> + +<p>"Where, my Driot?"</p> + +<p>In the half dark the son extended his disengaged +hand above La Fromentière, sunk below in the +shadows; and the action extended so far, away over +the Marais and over La Vendée, that through his +stout woollen garments Toussaint Lumineau felt the +keen blast of the wind.</p> + +<p>"What do other countries matter to us, my Driot," +said he, "seeing that we are living in our own?"</p> + +<p>Did the son understand the anxious tenderness of +the words? He answered:</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_171" title="171"> </a> +"Because in ours it becomes more and more difficult +to live."</p> + +<p>Toussaint Lumineau remembered words, almost +similar, spoken by François and was silent, trying to +explain to himself how it was that André, who was +neither lazy nor a frequenter of town pleasures, could +have fallen upon the very same way of thought. As +the men, skirting the brown fields, came nearer home, +La Fromentière with its masses of trees rose like a +dome of denser darkness, above which the winter +night was lighting its first stars. The farmer never +entered the beloved precincts of his home without +emotion; to-night, more than ever, he experienced its +sweetness, dear to him as any bridal promise.</p> + +<p>Rousille, hearing their approaching footsteps, +opened the door, and raised the lamp high in air, +like a signal.</p> + +<p>"You are late to-night," she said.</p> + +<p>Before they could make reply, the long-drawn sound +of a horn was heard coming from the depths of the +Marais, beyond Sallertaine.</p> + +<p>"It is the horn of La Seulière," cried the voice of +Mathurin from within. The two men, followed by +Rousille, entered the warm room with its blazing +hearth.</p> + +<p>Mathurin resumed:</p> + +<p>"There's a dance at La Seulière to-night. Will you +come, Driot?"</p> + +<p>The cripple, half-rising, supporting himself by his +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_172" title="172"> </a> +arms against the table with a nervous movement, his +eyes glaring with long-suppressed desire, was alike +painful to see, and fear-inspiring, as one whose reason +was tottering.</p> + +<p>"I am not much in the mood for dancing," returned +André carelessly, "but it may do me good to-night."</p> + +<p>Silently the farmer pressed his hand on the shoulder +of his afflicted eldest son, and the fevered eyes relaxed +their stare, the body obeyed, and fell back upon the +bench like a sack of wheat that expands as it touches +the ground. The men ate their supper hurriedly; +towards the end of the meal Toussaint Lumineau, +whose mind had reverted to André's words, wishing +to take those of his children to witness whose hearts +had never swerved in their loyal love to La Fromentière, +said:</p> + +<p>"Would you believe, Mathurin, what foolish stuff +this Driot was talking to-night? He declares that +vines have had their day with us; that they flourish +better elsewhere. But when one plants a vine, one +expects it to die some day, does one not?"</p> + +<p>"Many enough have died before ours," responded +the cripple roughly. "We are not more unlucky than +our neighbours."</p> + +<p>"That is just what I say," put in André, and he +raised his head. His eyes were lit by a spirit of contradiction, +and his silky moustache quivered as he +spoke. "It is not our vineyard alone that is played +out, it is the soil; ours, our neighbours', that of the +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_173" title="173"> </a> +whole country, as far and further than you have ever +been. One must have new land to produce good +results."</p> + +<p>"New land?" returned his father. "I know none +about here. It is all cultivated."</p> + +<p>"Ah, but there is in many a country." He hesitated +an instant, then enumerated hurriedly: "In America, +the Cape, Australia, British possessions—everything +flourishes in those countries. There the earth is +prolific; while here——"</p> + +<p>"Don't speak ill of it, Driot; it is worth the very +best!"</p> + +<p>"Used up; too dear!"</p> + +<p>"Too dear, yes, somewhat. But feed it well, and +you will see!"</p> + +<p>"Feed it then. You have nothing to buy the stuff +with."</p> + +<p>"Only come a good year, not too dry, not too wet, +and we shall have money enough!"</p> + +<p>The farmer had drawn himself up, as if under a +personal insult, and now awaited Driot's answer.</p> + +<p>He, carried away by passion, rose. Everyone +looked at him, even the farm-servant, who, with chin +sunk in his horny hand, was trying to understand the +situation. And there was something in the fluency +of words, ease of gesture that made all vaguely feel +that André was no longer like one of themselves.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the youth, proud of an audience, "there +might still be some work to be done here, in the old +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_174" title="174"> </a> +country; but we are taught nothing of such things +in our schools; that would be too practical. Then +taxes are too heavy, and rents too high; and all the +time that we are leading a miserable existence, they +out yonder are having magnificent harvests. That I +hear every day. Our vineyards are ruined, and they +have wine. Wheat grows without their having to +dress the land, and they export it to us in shiploads +as full as, from what you say, the granaries of the old +Château used to be——"</p> + +<p>"Cock and bull stories! You have read them in +books."</p> + +<p>"Some of them; but I have seen ships in port, and +sacks of wheat being unloaded like the water of a +dyke overflowing its banks. If you were to read the +papers, you would know that everything now comes +to us from abroad far cheaper than we can produce +it ourselves: corn, oats, horses, oxen; and that we +have competing with us Americans, Australians, and +soon we shall have Japanese, Chinese——" he was +intoxicated with words; he was but the echo of the +few pamphlets he had read, or of what he had +heard from others. La Fromentière heard him with +stupor. China, Japan, America, the names circled +round the room like some unknown variety of bird, +brought by the tempest from far-off regions. The +farmhouse walls had heard many uncouth peasant +sounds, but never had they resounded under the +shock of these foreign words.</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_175" title="175"> </a> +Astonishment was marked upon the faces that, in +the light of the lamp, were turned upon Driot, who +continued:</p> + +<p>"I have learnt things, I can assure you! I learn +more every day. And, look you, when one comes +home as I have done to-night, from rooting up a +vineyard, it makes one savage to think that there +are parts of America, and I could give you the +names, where one can settle without opening one's +purse——"</p> + +<p>"You be off!" quoth the ploughman.</p> + +<p>"Yes! Government gives the agriculturist his +passage free; keeps him when he first lands; and +gives him a ranch of seventy-four acres of land."</p> + +<p>This time the farmer shook his head, scandalised +at the enormity of his son's statement, and said in a +tone of disapprobation:</p> + +<p>"You are telling up a parcel of lies, my boy. +Seventy-four acres, that makes two hundred and +ninety-six roods. I am not much of a reader, it is +true, but I do not let myself be crammed with all +the stuff you believe in like the Gospel. Two hundred +and ninety-six roods. Governments would +soon be ruined if they made a present like that to +everyone who wanted it.... Hold your tongue.... +It vexes me to hear our native land talked ill of. +Since you want to cultivate it with me, Driot, do as +we do, and don't talk ill of it.... It has always supported +us."</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_176" title="176"> </a> +There ensued an embarrassed silence, of which the +farm-servant took advantage to get up, and betake +himself to bed.</p> + +<p>The call from La Seulière sounded out again in the +still night. Mathurin said no word, but looked at his +brother; he, ill at ease, excited by the recent discussion, +understood the mute question, and answered +promptly, in a manner that should show that he was +free to do as he chose:</p> + +<p>"Very well. Yes, I am going."</p> + +<p>"I will go with you as far as the boat," responded +the cripple.</p> + +<p>Toussaint Lumineau foresaw danger.</p> + +<p>"It is bad enough that your brother should be +going to La Seulière," said he. "But for you, my +poor boy, on no account would it do to go to their +dance. It is cold out of doors. Do not go further +than the duck meadow, and come back quickly." He +followed with his eyes the cripple, who, in great haste, +with the unnatural energy given him by emotion, +raised himself on his crutches, hobbled the length of +the table, down the steps, and following André, was +lost in the night.</p> + +<p>His sons had gone; an icy wind blew in at the +wide open door. Alas! how difficult it had become +to govern the household! Sitting on the bench, his +head on his arm, looking out into the dark farmyard, +the old man pondered the things he had heard that +night, and his powerlessness, despite his great love +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_177" title="177"> </a> +and long experience, to make himself obeyed, now +that interest was lessening in the work of the old +farmstead.</p> + +<p>But it was not long before he called to his daughter, +busy at her work of washing up; the least word was +such a relief in the empty rooms! "Rousille!"</p> + +<p>The girl opened the connecting door, and came, +drying the plate in her hands without looking at +him.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid that Mathurin may go back to see +her——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, father, he would not do that. Besides, he +cannot have his shoes, and he dare not appear at +La Seulière" ... stooping, she searched under +Mathurin's bed, then in the chest, then said as she +rose:</p> + +<p>"Yes. He has taken them ... he must have put +them on beforehand ... the first sound of the horn +came at six o'clock."</p> + +<p>The old father began pacing the room with great +strides, stopping uneasily from minute to minute to +listen for the sound of crutches on the gravel that +should announce Mathurin's return.</p> + +<p class="p4"><a class="pagenum" name="Page_178" title="178"> </a></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XI.</h2> +<h3><a name="THE_DANCE_AT_LA_SEULIERE" id="THE_DANCE_AT_LA_SEULIERE"></a>THE DANCE AT LA SEULIÈRE</h3> + +<p class="p2">Toussaint Lumineau's uneasiness was well +founded. His two sons had gone down to the +meadow, where the dyke, widening, served as a +drinking place for the animals on the farm, and as a +harbour for the two punts belonging to it.</p> + +<p>There André had offered no resistance when +Mathurin had said:</p> + +<p>"Take me. I want to see Félicité." Venturesome, +imprudent in things concerning himself, soldier of +but yesterday, still impregnated with barrack maxims, +he had merely said:</p> + +<p>"There's not a shadow of sense in it; but if it +amuses you!"</p> + +<p>And he had chosen the best of the boats, and +helped the cripple to stretch himself in the prow; +then, standing on the raised part in the stern, and +taking up the pole, had begun to punt, now pressing +the iron point into the bed of the dyke, now into the +bank on either side.</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_179" title="179"> </a> +Soon they were far out in the middle of the Marais, +the night intensely cold with no moon. Clouds were +chasing each other towards the sea; and yet it was +not one unbroken darkness; up above in the grey +firmament were lighter trails, clear patches constantly +broken and effaced by shifting clouds reflected in +their passage on the surface of the waters, not only +of the dykes, but of the submerged meadows which +had been changed into a series of lakes by winter +rains, and above which the sloping embankments +were scarcely perceptible. Every light was multiplied. +The darkness had eddies of light, which +enabled André to keep a right course.</p> + +<p>The punt followed the canals, cut at right angles; +progress was slow, impeded by ice needles, that +formed by the cold clustered on the sedges of the +bank. Did the wind not rise, the whole Marais would +be one sheet of ice before morning; André knew this, +and tried to reach La Seulière as quickly as possible. +He began to realise the imprudence he had committed +in taking Mathurin with him on such a night +and so far. The cripple neither moved nor spoke, +anxious not to attract his brother's attention to himself, +lest he should straightway turn back. But when +he saw that they were more than two thousand yards +from La Fromentière, sure of reaching their destination, +he broke the silence. Lying on his back, his +face hidden by the side of the boat, he asked:</p> + +<p>"Driot, when you were speaking to-night of land +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_180" title="180"> </a> +being given to agricultural emigrants, you were not +joking?"</p> + +<p>"Of course not."</p> + +<p>"Have they proposed to give you some?"</p> + +<p>Noiselessly, he had raised his head, and was +watching with eyes and ears for André's answer. No +reply came. In the vast extent of inundated meadows +there was heard no sound but the swish of the water +parted by the punt and washing up as the tide rose +against the hard mud of the shore with little sharp +gurgles. Mathurin resumed:</p> + +<p>"You miss François, do you not? The house +seems different to you with only me there?"</p> + +<p>The young man standing so erect in the stern, his +profile scarcely defined in the darkness, stooped +precipitately:</p> + +<p>"Look out!" he cried, "lie back, Mathurin!" +Perfect darkness was around them; they were passing +under one of the single-arched stone bridges that +intersect the Marais here and there. When they +had passed through Mathurin noticed that the +boat was going more slowly, as though the propeller +were absorbed in thought. Encouraged by +this, resolved to be put in possession of the secret +that concerned the future of La Fromentière, the +cripple resumed persuasively:</p> + +<p>"We are quite by ourselves here, André; why not +tell me all you are pondering? You would like to +cultivate newer soil than ours; you, too, want to go +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_181" title="181"> </a> +away, but further than François, and for another +purpose?"</p> + +<p>Then the younger brother ceased to punt. He still +stood erect on the raised stern of the boat, and +suffered the pole to float aimlessly behind him.</p> + +<p>"As you have discovered it, Mathurin," he said, +"keep my secret. It is true that proposals have been +made to me.... With my two thousand francs I +might have, on the other side of the Atlantic, a whole +farm of my own and a brood of horses.... Some +friends of mine are looking into the matter for me ... +but I have not made up my mind. I have not yet +consented."</p> + +<p>"You are afraid of father?"</p> + +<p>"I am afraid of leaving him in difficulties. If I +were to go, who would carry on La Fromentière? +There is certainly Rousille, she might marry."</p> + +<p>"Not that <i>Boquin</i> fellow! That would not do for +us at all! But my father has said No; and he is not +the man to go back on his word."</p> + +<p>"Then I do not see who is to carry on the farm?"</p> + +<p>In a hard, imperious voice, which betrayed the +intensity of his feelings, the cripple cried:</p> + +<p>"Then I count for nothing?"</p> + +<p>"My poor Mathurin...."</p> + +<p>"I am better, I shall recover," continued Mathurin, +in the same tone. "When it comes to be my turn to +rule, no one but myself will manage La Fromentière, +do you understand?"</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_182" title="182"> </a> +Not to exasperate him, André replied:</p> + +<p>"Your recovery would be a happy thing for us all, +old man. I, for one, heartily wish it may come about."</p> + +<p>But the cripple's wrath was not to be appeased so +easily nor so quickly. Rising from his recumbent +position with an effort which threatened to capsize the +punt, he dragged himself on hands and knees to the +stern, where shouting, "Give me your place, boy, +you shall see me punt," he struggled for possession of +the pole; and seating himself in the stern, began +propelling the boat with astonishing force and +steadiness, keeping it clear of the banks, and with a +rapidity, despite ice splinters and sedges, which André +could not have accomplished. His huge frame took +up the whole width of the boat; his powerful chest +bent and raised itself with all the ease of robust +health. As he went on arms and punt pole worked +ever more vigorously; the banks flew by on either +side. Soon he turned off into a canal on the right for +some hundred yards. Now rays of light appeared on +the surface of the water, rendering them more +dazzling. They proceeded from the door of La Seulière. +The farm buildings rose up indistinctly from +out the darkness; sounds of voices singing broke the +stillness, mingled with the noise of footsteps on the +paved court. With a couple of strokes, Mathurin +brought up the boat into line with some ten other +punts lying side by side; and before André had +thought of going to his help, had rolled with his +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_183" title="183"> </a> +crutches on to the slope before the house where he +got up unaided.</p> + +<p>"Well punted, Mathurin," cried his younger +brother, jumping on shore. He, crimsoned, breathless, +pleased as if with a victory won, looked round:</p> + +<p>"Then don't worry yourself!" he said. "A man +who can punt a boat as I do, is capable of managing +a farm," and with a blow of his shoulder he shook the +house door. A voice from within called out:</p> + +<p>"Gently there! Who wants to break the door in?"</p> + +<p>It was flung noisily open, revealing Mathurin +standing in the full glare of the lamplight. The +appearance of a ghost could not have produced +greater effect. The noise ceased abruptly, the girls, +frightened, ran away or clustered in groups against +the walls. In their astonishment, many of the lads +took off their hats, which they had kept on while +dancing; farmers' wives half rose from the chairs on +which they were sitting. Scarcely did they recognise +the new-comer at such an hour and place.</p> + +<p>Tired and crimsoned from his exertions, affected by +the hot air of the room, but proud of the stupefaction +he was causing, Mathurin stood erect on his crutches, +and, laughing in his tawny beard, called out in a +stentorian voice:</p> + +<p>"How do you do, all of you!"</p> + +<p>Then, addressing the group of girls who were +retreating to the other end of the room:</p> + +<p>"Who will dance a round with me, my beauties? +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_184" title="184"> </a> +Why do you look at me like that? I am not a ghost. +I have brought my brother, handsome Driot, to dance +<i>vis-à-vis</i> with me." And they saw him approach, +followed by the youngest son of La Fromentière, tall +and slim, his hand at his forehead in military salute. +Then the room resounded with merry laughter, +questions, and greetings; the girls ran towards +them as precipitately as they had before retreated; +men's hands were extended on all sides. Old +Gauvrit's loud voice drowned all others, as, already +somewhat heated with wine, he called out from an +inner room:</p> + +<p>"The handsomest girl to dance with Mathurin! +the handsomest! Let her show herself!"</p> + +<p>It was not in obedience to her father that Félicité +Gauvrit came forward. But, though for an instant +disconcerted by this abrupt entry before all these +men and women, she realised that she must put a +bold face on it, and going up to Mathurin Lumineau, +her black eyes looking into his, she threw her arms +round his neck and embraced him.</p> + +<p>"I embrace him," she said, "because he has more +courage than most of the lads in the parish. It was +I who invited him!"</p> + +<p>Stupefied, intoxicated by the memories awakened +in him, Mathurin once more shrank away. They saw +him grow livid, and, turning on his crutches, force a +path through the group of men on his left, with:</p> + +<p>"Make way, make way, lads. I want to sit down!"</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_185" title="185"> </a> +He found a place in the second room, beside some +of the elder men, old Gauvrit among them; who rising, +poured him out a bumper of the white wine of +Sallertaine, in token of welcome. Still quite pale, +Mathurin lifted the glass with the customary formula, +"I drink to you all with cordiality and love!"</p> + +<p>Soon he appeared to be forgotten, and dancing was +resumed.</p> + +<p>The farmstead where the gathering was held was +a fairly modern building, the usual large house-place +being divided into two rooms of unequal size. In +the smaller of these the elder men, with the master +of the house, were drinking and playing luette. In +the larger, that by which the two Lumineaus had +entered, dancing was going on. The tables had +been pushed along the walls beside the beds, the +curtains of which had been spread over the counterpanes +to save them from being torn. Some half-dozen +matrons, who had accompanied their daughters, had +collected round the hearth before a fire of dried cow-dung, +the fuel of that treeless district, each having +on the mantel-piece her cup of coffee, with a dash of +brandy in it, from which she took an occasional sip.</p> + +<p>Petroleum lamps placed along the wall lighted +the narrow space reserved for dancing. A smoky, +heated, vinous atmosphere pervaded the house. The +icy air from without drew in under the door, sometimes +making the young Maraîchines, despite their +stout woollen gowns, shiver with cold. But no one +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_186" title="186"> </a> +minded. The room was filled with laughter, chatter, +and movement. Youths and maidens from isolated +farmhouses, cut off from one another by periodical +inundations, they were tired of solitude and repose. +Escaped from their tedium and restored for a brief +space of social intercourse, they seemed possessed by +feverish excitement. Soon all the gay dancers would +be dispersed again over the mute, trembling sheet of +water. They knew it; and made the most of the +short reprieve.</p> + +<p>So dancing recommenced.</p> + +<p>First the Maraîchine, a dance for four, a kind of +ancient <i>bourrée</i>, which the lookers-on accompanied by +a rhythmic humming; then <i>rondes</i> sung by a male or +female voice, taken up by the others in chorus to the +accompaniment of an accordeon played by a sickly, +deformed boy of twelve; or there were modern dances, +polkas and quadrilles, danced to one and the same +tune, the time only made to vary. The girls, for the +most part, danced well, some with a keen sense of +rhythm and grace. Round their waists the most dainty +had knotted a white handkerchief, to preserve their +dresses when, after each refrain, their partner seized +his lady round the waist and jumped her as high as +possible, to demonstrate the lightness of the +Maraîchines and the strength of the Maraîchins. +Known to each other, these young people from the +same parish, often neighbours, resumed the flirtations +of the preceding winter; they made love; appointed +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_187" title="187"> </a> +meetings at Chalons fair, or at some coming dance at +another farm; new-comers were gladly welcomed. +Among these latter André Lumineau was the most +sought after, the most cheery, most fertile at inventing +nonsense and talking it.</p> + +<p>Time passed. Twice Père Gauvrit had gone through +the two rooms, opened the house door, and said:</p> + +<p>"The moon is rising and will soon be visible; +the wind is getting up and it freezes hard," then +had gone back to resume his place at the card-table +where the players awaited him. Mathurin +Lumineau had taken a hand, but was playing +absently, attending far less to his cards than to every +movement, look, and word of Félicité. Already the +artful beauty had several times contrived to bring +her partner to a halt in the inner room, that she might +exchange a few words with Mathurin. She was +radiant with pride; on the bold, regular features that +towered above the greater number of tulle coifs +could be read triumphant joy, that after six whole +years, the mad love she had inspired still endured, +and had brought back to her the young men of La +Fromentière.</p> + +<p>It was ten o'clock. A little Maraîchine, her complexion +russet as a thrush, started the first notes of a +<i>ronde</i>:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>"When as a little child I played,</p> +<p class="i1">Light-hearted, never dull;</p> +<p>Down to the spring one day I strayed</p> +<p class="i1">The cresses fresh to cull."</p> +</div></div> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_188" title="188"> </a> +Twenty lads and as many girls took up the chorus:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>"The ducks, the ducks, the ducklings, oh!</p> +<p class="i1">To the Marais forth they go!"</p> +</div></div> + +<p>And the <i>ronde</i> invaded both rooms. At the same +time Félicité Gauvrit, who had refused to take her +place in the chain of dancers, drew near the table +where Mathurin was sitting. He at once rose, +throwing down his cards to the man sitting next +him.</p> + +<p>"Stay where you are, Mathurin," she exclaimed. +"Do not trouble about me. I have come to watch +the dancers."</p> + +<p>But she drew a chair into a corner of the room, +assisted Mathurin to it, and then sat down beside him. +Neither spoke. They were sitting in the half shade +of a projecting piece of furniture; the cripple was +not looking at Félicité, nor she at him. Side by side +they sat in the shade of the cherry wood wardrobe, +apparently engrossed in watching the dancers as they +passed in and out of the room. But what they really +saw was something very different; one saw the past +love meetings, the plighted troth, the return that night +in the waggon, the awful suffering stretching out +through years, the desertion—now at this very +moment—at an end. The other saw the possible, +perhaps, near future; the farmstead of La Fromentière +where she would reign; the bench in church where +she would sit; the greetings that would be hers from +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_189" title="189"> </a> +the proudest girls round about; and the husband +she would have—André Lumineau—who was now +dancing the <i>ronde</i> with the little girl of fifteen, the +singer of the couplets.</p> + +<p>Mathurin began speaking in a low voice, words +broken by long periods of silence; he was very pale +and in fear that this brief happiness would too soon +come to an end.</p> + +<p>Grave and reserved, her hands crossed upon her +apron, the daughter of La Seulière spoke without +haste words heard by none but themselves. Many +eyes were turned upon this strange pair of once +betrothed lovers.</p> + +<p>The dance went on, the refrain echoed from the +walls.</p> + +<p>The clear, laughing voice of the little Maraîchine +sang:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>"The spring was deep, alas, alas,</p> +<p class="i1">Therein I needs must fall.</p> +<p>Along the road just then did pass</p> +<p class="i1">Three barons valiant all.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>"'What will you give us, maiden fair,</p> +<p class="i1">If to your help we press?'</p> +<p>'An' you do that,' I did declare,</p> +<p class="i1">'My gift you'll never guess.'</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p>"Now when the little maid was freed</p> +<p class="i1">And home again that day,</p> +<p>Straight to the window she did speed</p> +<p class="i1">And sang a merry lay.</p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_190" title="190"> </a> +"'Not that we ask, oh, maiden fair,</p> +<p class="i1">'Tis hard to treat us so,</p> +<p>But tresses of your golden hair,</p> +<p class="i1">Or tokens ere we go.'"</p> +</div></div> + +<p>The dance grew faster and more furious. The big +Maraîchins seized their partners and sprang them so +high that their muslin coifs touched the ceiling. The +mothers drank a final cup of coffee. The card-players +watched the <i>sarabande</i> through the dusty atmosphere +by the uneven light of the smoking lamps. Mathurin +and Félicité, sitting closer together, still talked on. +But the daughter of La Seulière had suffered one +of her hands to be taken between those of the cripple, +and it was the huge hairy hands that trembled, and +the little white hand that seemed not to understand, +or to be unwilling to respond.</p> + +<p>The <i>ronde</i> came to an end:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<p>"'Ah, tokens give I none,' said she,</p> +<p class="i1">'To barons gay like you,</p> +<p>For chosen I am proud to be</p> +<p class="i1">By Pierre, who serves us true.'"</p> +</div></div> + +<p>For the first time Félicité, looking at Mathurin +said confidentially, with a laugh:</p> + +<p>"That song is Rousille's story."</p> + +<p>"Do you know what she wanted?" returned +Mathurin hotly, "to marry our farm-servant; to +become mistress of La Fromentière! But I was on +the watch. I had that fellow Jean Nesmy turned out, +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_191" title="191"> </a> +and I swear to you it will be long before he dare +show his face there again. And now...."</p> + +<p>Here he lowered his voice and bent forward +until the tawny hair touched the outer rim of +the muslin coif, which did not draw back—"And +now, if you will still have me, Félicité, it is you +who shall be the mistress of La Fromentière." +She had not time to answer. She had risen, the +last refrain of the <i>ronde</i> had ended in a murmur of +surprise. A man, whose white head towered above +those of the assembled guests, had abruptly entered +and advanced into the middle of the first room, without +removing the hat he wore on his entrance, or +making any salutation. His clothes were coated +with ice; on his left arm he carried an old brown +cloak that swept the ground as he walked. Severe of +countenance, with eyes half closed from coming +suddenly into the glare of light, he was evidently +seeking someone.</p> + +<p>All made way for the farmer of La Fromentière, +"Are my lads here?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course," returned a voice behind him. +"Here I am, father."</p> + +<p>"That's right, Driot," said the old man without +looking back, "I am not afraid for you, though this is +not the place for my sons. But it is freezing so hard +that it seems likely that the whole Marais will be +frozen before sunrise; and it may be the death of +Mathurin, crippled as he is. Why did you bring +him?"</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_192" title="192"> </a> +In the general silence the farmer's eyes swept the +larger room; a movement of some of those present +showed him Mathurin sitting in the inner one; and +the father saw his crippled son, and beside him the +girl who had been the cause of so much suffering +and sorrow.</p> + +<p>"That girl!" he muttered, "lying in wait for him +again!" With imperious gesture he forced a +passage through the dancers, shouldering them to +right and left. "Gauvrit," he exclaimed, nodding +to the host, who had risen and was staggering towards +him, "Gauvrit, I have no wish to offend you; but I +must take away my lads. The Marais is a deathtrap +in weather such as this."</p> + +<p>"I couldn't prevent your sons coming," stammered +Gauvrit. "I assure you, Toussaint Lumineau...."</p> + +<p>Without heeding him, the farmer raised his +voice:</p> + +<p>"Out of this, Mathurin!" said he. "Take the wrap +I have brought you," and he threw the shabby old +cloak over the cripple's shoulders, who rising, meek +as a child, followed his father without a word. The +guests looked on, some mockingly, others with +emotion, at the sight of the fine old man who had +come that bitter night across the Marais to rescue +his son from the wiles of La Seulière. Some of the +girls said to each other, "He had not a word for +Félicité." Others, "How handsome he must have +been as a young man." And one voice murmured, and +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_193" title="193"> </a> +it was that of the young girl who had sung the <i>ronde</i>, +"André is the image of his father."</p> + +<p>Toussaint Lumineau and his sons heard nothing of +this. The door of La Seulière had shut behind them, +and they were out in the darkness and the icy +wind.</p> + +<p>The clouds were very high; as they scudded along +in huge irregular bodies they formed a succession of +black patches, their edges silvered by the moon. The +cold was so intense it seemed to pierce through the +stoutest clothing, and chill to the very marrow of the +bones. It was indeed death to any but the strongest. +The farmer, who knew the danger, hurriedly untied +the two punts, and getting into the first motioned +Mathurin to lie down in the bottom of the boat, then +pushed out into the middle of the canal. Again the +cripple obeyed, curling himself up on the boards; +wrapped in his brown cloak, motionless, he looked +like a mass of sea-wrack. But, unnoticed by the +others, he had lain down with his face turned towards +La Seulière, and raising his cloak with one finger, was +looking back towards the farm. As long as distance +and the canal banks allowed him to distinguish the +light proceeding from the chinks of the door, he remained +with eyes fixed upon the paling ray that +recalled to him a new hope. Then the cloak fell back +into its place, covering the radiant, tearful face of the +crippled man.</p> + +<p>André followed in the second punt. By the same +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_194" title="194"> </a> +dykes, past the same meadows they returned, struggling +against the strong gusts of wind that blew. +The storm that had burst had prevented the sheet of +ice from covering the water. The farmer, unaccustomed +to punting, did not make rapid progress. From +time to time he would ask:</p> + +<p>"You are not too cold, Mathurin?"</p> + +<p>Then in a louder voice:</p> + +<p>"Are you following, André?"</p> + +<p>And in their wake a cheery voice would reply:</p> + +<p>"I am all right."</p> + +<p>The strain was tremendous, but with it was mingled +the joy of taking back his two sons.</p> + +<p>Although there was no apparent reason, and he had +not thought of her for weeks, the farmer's thoughts +flew to his dead wife: "She would be pleased with +me," he mused, "for taking Mathurin away from La +Seulière." And at times in the turn of a canal he +would seem to see a pair of blue eyes like those of his +old wife smiling upon him, which gradually sank +until they rested among the reeds under the punt. +And he would dry his eyelids with his sleeve, shake +himself free from the overmastering drowsiness, and +say again to his youngest son:</p> + +<p>"Are you following?"</p> + +<p>The younger son was not dreaming. He was thinking +over what he had seen and heard: Mathurin's +senseless infatuation, his violence, which, when their +father should be no more, would make life very difficult +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_195" title="195"> </a> +to the head at La Fromentière. The events of +that evening had increased the temptation of pastures +new to this disturbed mind. In course of time both +punts had reached the duck meadow.</p> + +<p class="p4"><a class="pagenum" name="Page_196" title="196"> </a></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XII.</h2> +<h3><a name="ROUSILLES_LOVE_DREAM" id="ROUSILLES_LOVE_DREAM"></a>ROUSILLE'S LOVE DREAM.</h3> + +<p class="p2">Sunday afternoon had become Rousille's hour for +solitude. She could only go to vespers when the +farm-servant was left in charge of the house; and he +had stipulated that he should go once a fortnight to +Saint Jean-de-Mont to his sister, a deaf-mute. +Mathurin, who formerly had not left La Fromentière, +now never missed attending High Mass at Sallertaine, +where he met Félicité Gauvrit, greeted her for the +most part without speaking, in order not to vex his +father, watched her as she moved about the Place, then +sat down at one of the inn tables to luette. As for +André, he seemed just now to like to be away from +La Fromentière as much as possible, and on Sundays +would be off as early as he could to the villages on +the sea coast, where he sought out old sailors and +travellers who could tell him of the countries where +fortunes were to be made.</p> + +<p>Rousille knew nothing of the attraction that led +her brother so far afield. One day she affectionately +reproached him with leaving her so much alone. At +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_197" title="197"> </a> +first he had laughed, then suddenly had grown +serious and said:</p> + +<p>"Don't reproach me with leaving you so much alone, +Rousille. Perhaps you will reap the benefit of my +tramps one of these days; I am acting in your +interests."</p> + +<p>Thus on the fourth Sunday in January La Fromentière +was in charge of Rousille. But Rousille did not +find time hang heavy on her hands; she had taken +refuge in the threshing-floor at the back of the farm, +and was sitting at the foot of a great heap of straw, +her face turned towards the Marais, visible through +a break in the hedge. She would have been frozen +in the north wind that was blowing, had not the straw +all about her kept in the warmth like a nest. Leaning +her head back against it, she had buried her elbows +in the soft depths of some loose straw that had been +forked out from the compact mass and not yet taken +away.</p> + +<p>The air was so clear that she could see away to the +clock tower of Perrier, to the most remote farmsteads +of the Marais, and even to the ruddy streaks, but +rarely visible, of the pine-grown downs that bordered +the sea more than three leagues distant. She was +looking before her, but her mind was travelling beyond +her father's meadows, beyond the great Marais, +beyond the horizon—for Jean Nesmy had written to +her. Rousille had the letter in her pocket—was feeling +it with the tips of her fingers. Since morning she +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_198" title="198"> </a> +had known it by heart, had said it over to herself +many a time, that letter of Jean Nesmy; the smile +it called forth did not leave her lips, save to light +up her eyes. All care was driven away, forgotten. +Little Rousille was still loved by someone; the +letter testified to it. It said:</p> + +<div class="blockquote"> + +<p class="right">"Le Château, Parish des Châtelliers,<br /> +"January 25th.</p> + +<p class="left5"><span class="smcap">"My Dear Friend</span>,</p> + +<p>"We are all in good health, and I hope it is the +same with you, though one is never sure when so far +away. I have hired myself as labourer in a farm on +the back of a hill as you leave the moor of Nouzillac, +about which I have told you. In fine weather one +can see six clock towers round about, and I think +that but for the Mount of Saint Michel one might see +the trees of the Marais where you are. Despite that, +I see you always before my eyes. On Saturdays I +generally go home to La Mère Nesmy, and so does +my brother next in age to myself, who also has hired +himself to one of the farmers of La Flocellière. We +talk of you at mother's, and I often say that I am not +as happy as I was before I knew you, or as I should +be if they all at home knew you. At any rate, they +know your name! My sister Noémi and the little +ones, when they come along the road to meet me on +Saturday evenings, always call out to make me laugh: +'Any news of Rousille?' But Mother Nesmy will not +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_199" title="199"> </a> +believe that you care for me, because we are too poor. +If only she saw you, she would understand that it is +for life. And I spend my time on Sundays telling +her all about La Fromentière.</p> + +<p>"Rousille, it is now four months since I have seen +you, according to your desire. It was only at the +fair at Pouzanges that, through a man from the Marais +who came to buy wood, I heard that your brother +André had come home, and that he was working on +the land as the master of La Fromentière likes those +about him to work; so it will not be very long before +I come back to see you. Some evening I shall come, +when the men are still out in the fields, and you, perhaps, +are thinking of me as you boil the soup in the +big room. I shall come round by the barn, and when +you hear or see me, open the window, Rousille, and +tell me with one of your little smiles, tell me that +you still care for me. Then La Mère Nesmy will +make the journey in the proper manner, and will ask +your hand from your father, and if he says, Yes, by +my baptism! I swear to you that I will bring you home +to be my wife. You are my one thought and desire; +there is no one but you that I cherish in my heart of +hearts. Take care of yourself. I greet you with my +whole heart.</p> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">"Jean Nesmy.</span>"</p> +</div> + +<p class="p2">One by one, like the beads of a rosary being told, +and that pass between the fingers of the devotee, the +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_200" title="200"> </a> +sentences of the letter passed through the mind of +Marie-Rose, and her eyes gazing intently on the landscape, +saw only the image of Jean Nesmy. The +young girl saw him in his coat with the horn buttons, +his high cheek-bones, his eager eyes that only +laughed for her and for good work done, when at +the close of day, his scythe slung on to his bare arm, +he scanned the corn he had cut, and the sheaves he +had tied standing upright in the stubble.</p> + +<p>"Father no longer talks against him," thought she. +"He even defended him once to Mathurin. As for +me, he has never found me complain, nor refuse to do +the work I had to do, and I think he is pleased with +me for having done my best. If André were to settle +down now, and to bring a wife to La Fromentière, +perhaps father would not refuse to let me marry. And +I begin to think that Master André has his reasons +for absenting himself on Sundays, and going off to +Saint Jean, Perrier, and Saint Gervais, as he +does...."</p> + +<p>She smiled. Her eyes had taken the colour of the +fresh straw that surrounded her. Far away, on the +road to the meadows, she saw a fine strapping youth +walking with swaying movement, carrying over one +shoulder a pole to jump the dykes with.</p> + +<p>"Driot," she murmured. "I will tease him about +his Sunday walks."</p> + +<p>Soon she saw André come up the hill, skirt the +dwarf orchard, then pass between the leafless hedges +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_201" title="201"> </a> +in the road. When he was at a little distance, she +coughed to attract his attention. He looked up. His +face which had worn an anxious expression cleared; +instead of continuing his way to the courtyard of La +Fromentière, he jumped over into a small field that +ran beside it, passed the row of hives where the bees +were sleeping their winter sleep, and stopped beside +Rousille in the threshing-floor, leaning on his pole. +As he did so, he endeavoured to assume the half-bantering, +half-protecting air he usually adopted towards +his sister, thinking himself obliged to laugh +with her as with a child.</p> + +<p>"I was looking for you," he said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you were looking for me very badly then. +Your head was bent down. I believe you were thinking +of someone else than me."</p> + +<p>"Indeed!"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Where do you come from with your pole, +you roamer? Not from vespers?"</p> + +<p>"No, from Saint Jean. The water is grand, and +jolly cold. On the other side of Le Perrier there are +inundations on both sides of the road."</p> + +<p>"You have been calling at the farms, I suppose. +Did you stop at La Seulière?"</p> + +<p>"You do not know me one bit; do you think I +should go against...."</p> + +<p>He was about to say "against the intrigues of +Mathurin, who has returned to his former infatuation," +but he stopped short.</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_202" title="202"> </a> +So happy herself that she did not notice his +reticence, she resumed:</p> + +<p>"To the Levrelles? No? Then to the mill of +Moque-Souris, where there is that pretty little Marie +Dieu-donnée, the prettiest miller's daughter between +here and Beauvoir?"</p> + +<p>"Still wrong."</p> + +<p>Trying to be grave, but without succeeding in hiding +the joy that pervaded her whole soul, she resumed:</p> + +<p>"You see, I want you so much to marry, André. +And such a dear boy as you are, I think it would be +easy. Indeed, you have no idea how greatly I wish +it!"</p> + +<p>André's face grew careworn again as before, and +he said:</p> + +<p>"On the contrary I know very well...."</p> + +<p>"No. You always think of me as a child. But I +am twenty, Driot. I know when others are unhappy. +You, for instance, are grieving over our François; +you miss him even more than father does. If you +were to marry, you would forget your sorrow a little. +Settled down at La Fromentière, married to a girl +you love, your thoughts would no longer be brooding +over the past as now."</p> + +<p>"And above all," put in André, "there would be a +housekeeper here, and little Rousille could marry her +faithful swain."</p> + +<p>Pressing herself back against the rick with a girlish +movement of shoulders, head, and arms, Rousille +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_203" title="203"> </a> +raised herself and knelt forward the better to reach +her pocket. Bending over the aperture hidden +amongst the innumerable folds of her dress, she extracted +the letter and gently held up the square of +paper to her brother, raising it to the level of her +head and following it with her eyes as she did so.</p> + +<p>"I would show it to no one but you, André ... +read my letter ... I want to prove that I have confidence +in you. And then you will understand how +light it makes one's heart to receive such a dear +letter, so light that one feels like air. It will make +you want to receive such an one yourself."</p> + +<p>André took the letter without showing the slightest +impatience, and without a word of thanks. But as he +read, he grew moved, not with jealousy of such love, +but with pity for the girl, who was dreaming her dream +of happiness between two misfortunes.</p> + +<p>For he had definitely decided to leave the farmstead +and La Vendée. Some tidings, in a measure +foreseen, dreaded for some time past, very serious for +La Fromentière, had caused him to come to a decision +that very afternoon. He had returned home, sorrow +stricken, weighing all the pain he was about to cause; +and now coming upon this joy, this hope of Rousille's, +those eyes that persisted in smiling at life, that flower +of the ruined farmstead, the feeling came over him +that he must spare the child, at least, that one evening, +and not tell her at once all he knew.</p> + +<p>Having read the letter he slowly folded it, and +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_204" title="204"> </a> +gave it back to Rousille, who, impatient for an appreciative +comment, her whole soul in her eyes, her lips +breaking into a smile, asked:</p> + +<p>"Do you think that father would consent, if you +were to marry, and if you spoke for my Jean?"</p> + +<p>"Would you go to live in the Bocage, Rousille?"</p> + +<p>"I should have to on account of Mathurin, who +would never suffer us near him."</p> + +<p>She was surprised at the manner in which André +looked at her, so gravely and so tenderly. Taking +her hand in both of his, her hand which still held the +letter, he said:</p> + +<p>"No, little Rousille, I will not speak for you. But +I will shortly do something else, of which I cannot tell +you now, and which will avail you. The day I do it, +your marriage will be assured, unless father breaks +up everything.... And it will not be at the Bocage +that you will make your home, but at La Fromentière, +in our mother's place—the dear mother with whom we +were so happy in the days of our childhood. Put +your faith in what I say, and do not worry about +Mathurin."</p> + +<p>Letting go her hand, which fell to her side, he +added:</p> + +<p>"I have an idea that you, at least, will be happy, +Rousille."</p> + +<p>She opened her lips to speak; he made her a sign +that he would say no more. All the same Rousille +asked hurriedly, seeing him move away:</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_205" title="205"> </a> +"One thing only, André, tell me only one thing. +Promise me that you will always till the ground, for +father would be so grieved...."</p> + +<p>And he answered:</p> + +<p>"I promise you, I will."</p> + +<p>Rousille watched him as he went round the corner, +and on into the courtyard. What was the matter with +him? What meant those mysterious words? Why +had he spoken the last so sadly? For a moment she +wondered; but the trouble was evanescent. Scarce +had solitude returned about her, than Rousille heard +again the words of her love-letter singing their soft +refrain to her. They came into her heart, one by one, +like transparent waves, each opening out in its turn +and covering the shore. "It cannot be a very important +secret," thought she, "since Driot will continue +to till the ground, that will make father happy, +and I shall be happy too."</p> + +<p>She recalled the smile that had passed over her +brother's face, and thought: "It is nothing," and +peace, entire, unquestioning, returned to her.</p> + +<p>In the twilight of that winter afternoon on the +borders of the Marais of Sallertaine, for one short hour +there was a girl who smiled at life, and deemed that +bad times were past and gone. She was still smiling, +still sheltered in her retreat amid the straw, when +André accosted his father, coming in from the Sunday +tour of inspection, with:</p> + +<p>"Everything is certainly going to the bad, father."</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_206" title="206"> </a> +The farmer, his head full of the promise of hay and +wheat harvests he had just been examining, answered +contentedly:</p> + +<p>"No, everything is coming up well. The spring +crop of oats is promising; what is going to the bad?"</p> + +<p>"I heard at Saint Jean-de-Mont that there is to be +a sale of the furniture at the Château, father!"</p> + +<p>For a moment Toussaint Lumineau could not take +it in.</p> + +<p>"Yes, all the furniture," repeated André. "It is +advertised in the papers. See, if you don't believe +me, here's the list. Everything is to be sold."</p> + +<p>He drew a paper from his pocket, and pointed with +his finger to an advertisement, from which the old +farmer laboriously read:</p> + +<p>"On Sunday, February 20th, Maître Oulry, notary +at Chalons, will proceed to sell the furniture of the +Château de la Fromentière. There will be sold: the +entire drawing-room and dining-room furniture, old +tapestries, oak chests, pictures, beds, tables, china +and glass, wines, guns, contents of the library, wardrobes, +etc."</p> + +<p>"Well?" exclaimed André.</p> + +<p>"Oh," returned his father, "who would have foretold +this eight years ago? Have they become poor, +then, in Paris?" He fell into silence, not willing to +judge his master too hardly.</p> + +<p>"It is ruin," said André. "After the furniture, they +will be for selling the land, and us with it!"</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_207" title="207"> </a> +The head of La Fromentière, the successor of so +many farmers under the same masters, was standing +in the middle of the room; he raised his weary eyes +until they rested upon the little copper crucifix hanging +at the head of his bed, then let them fall again +in sign of acceptance.</p> + +<p>"It will be a great misfortune," he said, "but it will +not hinder our working!"</p> + +<p>And he went out, perhaps to shed tears.</p> + +<p class="p4"><a class="pagenum" name="Page_208" title="208"> </a></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> +<h3><a name="THE_AUCTION" id="THE_AUCTION"></a>THE AUCTION.</h3> + +<p class="p2">In the ensuing week the coming sale at the Château +was the frequent subject of discussion among the men +of La Fromentière. André openly attacked the +masters.</p> + +<p>"They are ruined," he said. "All the nobles go +the same road, because they do nothing. So much +the worse for them!"</p> + +<p>"So much the worse for the farmers," replied his +father; "they do not often gain much by changing +masters."</p> + +<p>Toussaint Lumineau was painfully hit by the +coming event, not only in his sincere and lifelong +affection for the master's family, but in his honest +pride as a peasant.</p> + +<p>It was a humiliation to hear people talk of the +downfall of the family to whom the Lumineaus were +allied by traditions of generations; he took his share +of the blame, his share of the disgrace; he felt he +had lost stability, that in future he must be exposed +to chances and changes, like so many another; and +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_209" title="209"> </a> +even found himself envying those whose farms belonged +to wealthy proprietors, clear of mortgage.</p> + +<p>"No," he resumed, "you do wrong to speak as you +do, Driot. Our masters may have their reasons for +this, of which we know nothing. Perhaps M. le +Marquis is about to marry his daughter, and is in want +of ready money. Rich and poor alike find it an +expensive business to settle their children."</p> + +<p>"If that is their only means to obtain money, they +must be at a pretty low ebb!" rejoined André. "To +think that even family portraits are to be sold. I +remember seeing them one day when I went with you +to pay the rent."</p> + +<p>"Bah! Perhaps they were not good likenesses. +Besides, the Marquis probably has others. How are +people in our station in life to know all that families +like theirs possess?"</p> + +<p>"And personal clothing? Is that usually sold? It +is not very creditable in them to let everything go in +a public sale, as if they were bankrupts."</p> + +<p>"I tell you what, André, I do not believe that half +the things will be sold that are down in the +catalogue; it is merely to draw people." But all the +same, in his heart of hearts, the farmer well knew +how poor were the reasons which respect for the +family led him to urge.</p> + +<p>Rising from the table, under pretext of having +work to do, he shortened the meal.</p> + +<p>André's aggressiveness did not lessen, indeed his +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_210" title="210"> </a> +irritation seemed to increase as the day fixed for the +sale approached. The poor lad needed to anger himself +against something or somebody to gain courage. +February 20th was the date on which he had secretly +planned to leave La Fromentière, four days before +the departure of an emigrant ship that he was to join +at Antwerp. His anger was inspired not by temper, +but by the ever-increasing grief within him. He +forced himself to speak ill of La Fromentière because +he still loved it, and was about to desert it.</p> + +<p>Thus Sunday, the 20th of February, arrived. On +that day the silence that had reigned over La Fromentière +vanished, but to give place to what noises—what +clatter! Visitors were again seen within its walls, +but what visitors! People had come from afar, +curiosity dealers from Nantes, from La Rochelle, even +from Paris. Before eight in the morning they had +gathered in groups beside the two flights of steps leading +to the portico. Men, short, stout, red-faced; some +with auburn beards, others with bird-like noses, talking +together in subdued voices, sitting on chairs—to be +sold—that had been ranged in rows on the broad +carriage drive, laid with the red gravel that used to +crunch so pleasantly beneath the roll of carriage +wheels. On the topmost of the entrance steps, now +converted into an auctioneer's rostrum, were the +notary, Maître Oulry, his eyes displaying discreet +satisfaction behind his spectacles, the public crier, +indifferent as any stone-breaker to the relics of +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_211" title="211"> </a> +which he was about to announce the dispersion, +and the furniture removers standing in their shirt-sleeves +despite the intense cold. The two flights +of stone steps, stained with mud even to half +way up the balustrades, testified to the crowds +admitted on the previous two days to see the +interior of the Château. Some had gone from +curiosity, taking advantage of their first opportunity +to go over a seigniorial dwelling; but all within was +in disorder, faded, covered with dust. The battens, +which for years had secured the windows of the rooms +on the ground-floor, had been unnailed on one side, +and hung down beside the open <i>persiennes</i>. In the +dining-hall, and the two drawing-rooms <i>en suite</i>, had +been piled the greater part of the bedroom furniture, +cooking utensils, and crockery. Pictures, turned with +their faces to the wall, formed a dado in front of +couches and easy-chairs; there were four clocks on +one mantel-piece, candelabras standing in fireplaces, +fire-dogs on occasional tables, book shelves on the +billiard table, baskets of choice wine standing in the +boudoir of the dowager Marquise, hung with its dainty +cherry-coloured satin; silk draperies trailing on a +kitchen table. Broken bell-ropes and strips of torn +paper hung from the walls. Everywhere was disorder +and desolation as complete as is produced by Death +in the human frame.</p> + +<p>Pushing their way through the narrow passages left +by all these piles of costly objects were to be seen +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_212" title="212"> </a> +coarse men accustomed to the handling of rags and +rubbish, discharged servants, dealers in old clothes, +coffee-house keepers covetously fingering carved oak +chests, scratching the gold off picture frames to see +how deep it was laid; opening cupboards and drawers, +and bursting into rude loud laughter if, perchance, they +lighted upon some private token, such as photographs, +letters, missals, rosaries, relics of departed souls thus +exposed to, and profaned by vulgar eyes.</p> + +<p>On the upper floors boys in their sabots had perched +themselves on the window-sills with legs hanging out, +or were trying the mattresses still left on their wooden +bedsteads. Gradually as the late February day dispersed +the fog, and it was drifted by the wind in +heavy masses over the woods, vehicles of all descriptions—cabriolets, +victorias, tilburys, closed carriages +formerly graced with armorial bearings, now let out on +hire, mixed with some few well-appointed turn-outs—drove +into the park. These were unharnessed, the +carriages standing upon the lawns, some of the horses +tied to the trees with nosebags of hay; while others, +their feet clogged, were left to graze where they +would. A row of carts stood on the border of a +neighbouring copse, their shafts raised diagonally.</p> + +<p>All round the Château was like a fair; the stables +and coach-houses had been appropriated; plough +horses were to be seen in the loose boxes; coachmen +and stable-boys from inns, in their straw hats, gazed +admiringly at the vast proportions of the stables and +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_213" title="213"> </a> +dependencies, or stood hypnotized before the copper +appointments of the stalls, the nickel locks, the iron +bars separating one from the other.</p> + +<p>"It was a fine place after all," they said to themselves.</p> + +<p>The sight of all the careful appointments seemed +to give them a vague insight into the ancient splendours +of the domain, while at the same time it came +across them with stupefying force: how could a man +have lost such a fortune? how could there be ruin, +with a rental of hundreds of thousands of pounds? +And, as a natural consequence, they gave the family +credit for vices which had but a very small share in +the disaster, for, spitting on the cemented floors, they +exclaimed: "A pleasure-loving set!"</p> + +<p>In front of the entrance the crowd increased rapidly, +some impelled by the desire to buy, others by +curiosity. Three hundred people, seated on chairs and +benches, formed a compact, immovable, semicircular +mass; outside them was perpetual movement of +coming and going. Dealers in antiquities, sellers of +old clothes, occupied the first row; after them came +a number of shopkeepers, former purveyors to the +Marquis, householders of Chalons with their wives, +country dames dressed up as if for Easter Day, with +bright eyes and loud voices, wearing little bunches of +spring flowers in their bodices which they themselves +had cut from the hot-houses of La Fromentière, given +up this day to pillage. They commented derisively +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_214" title="214"> </a> +to each other on the ill-kept state of the apartments +in the Château, the dirty windows, the grass-grown +avenues, the bogs in the cross roads of the park. "We +keep things very differently," said they. "Thank +goodness, we know better what is fitting than your +ruined Marquises do!" And with an air of "knowing +all about it," they called up memories of bygone +fêtes. Behind them, again, were to be seen peasants +of Saint Gervais, of Soullans, of Saint Urbian, but +men only. Very few had come from the parish itself. +The auction was not for them; what should take them +there? To many who had known the family, it had +seemed as if it would have been an insult to assist at +the humiliating spectacle. At the most some ten of the +old inhabitants of Sallertaine were there, and they +not the most important, keeping well at the back, not +daring to sit down. Shamefaced, as though the lord +of the Château were there before them and sorrowful, +they had followed the crowd, having nothing else to +do in their Sunday leisure, and now exchanged recollections +of kind words spoken by "Monsieur Henri," +of greetings and girlish smiles given by Mademoiselle +Ambroisine. Alas! after all the money so +lavishly spent, so many a kindly action, so much +cordiality and urbanity shown for centuries past by +successive Marquises of La Fromentière—after eight +years there only remained that slight expression of +regret to be seen in the sad faces of a handful of +farmers.</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_215" title="215"> </a> +Still fewer in number were the neighbouring gentry. +Hidden among the throng was the Baron de la Houvelle, +whose mania for collecting led him to forget +what was due to his rank; the Comte de Bouart, +coarse and red-faced, attracted by the wine cellar, and +young d'Escaron, whose object was to secure a breeding +mare.</p> + +<p>But the notary had many commissions to buy; for +earlier in the week, before the day on which the +Château had been on view to the invasion of +plebeians, châtelaines, young and old, friends of the +family, had driven over and, shown round by the +game-keeper, might have been seen in private apartments +and reception rooms, examining old tapestries +and household linen with many an exclamation and +regret.</p> + +<p>Only one member of the Lumineau family was +present at the auction, and that was Mathurin, to +whom every event, even of a painful character, was a +grateful change to his sufferings and weariness. When +he had announced "I shall go," his father had said:</p> + +<p>"I could not; it would irritate me too much. Go +if you like; and when they come to selling personal +things, send me word, Mathurin, for I want some little +thing as a remembrance of M. le Marquis."</p> + +<p>At some distance from the circle of buyers, to the +left of the entrance, Mathurin Lumineau had found a +seat under a group of trees. Wrapped in his brown +cloak, more taciturn and brooding than ever, he had +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_216" title="216"> </a> +gradually pushed back his chair until he was almost +hidden between the branches of two fir-trees, thence, +as if lying in ambush, he listened to all that was going +on, and his blue eyes, ever and anon lit up with sudden +anger, scanned the front of the Château, now the +buyers, now the passers-by.</p> + +<p>At half-past eight the auction began. The +auctioneer, a small bloodless man, endowed with a +strong voice, announced from the top of the entrance +steps to the crowd assembled, to brute nature, to the +forests left for the past eight years to solitude and +silence:</p> + +<p>"The reception-room furniture of M. le Marquis, +comprising six <i>fauteuils</i>, a couch, four ebony chairs +upholstered in old gold satin, Louis XV. style, with +gilt nails, for fifteen hundred francs; the covers will be +thrown in. Going at fifteen hundred francs! Fifteen +hundred and twenty; fifteen hundred and fifty; +sixteen hundred." He rolled his eyes as the price +augmented.</p> + +<p>At sixteen hundred francs, the old gold satin <i>suite</i> +was knocked down; and while the notary was putting +the curtains up for auction, Mathurin's eyes followed +the <i>fauteuils</i>, couch, and chairs he had only seen once +before and that by chance on a quarter-day, now +being carted away by the furniture removers who fell +at once on these the first spoils. After the contents +of the reception rooms followed tables, wardrobes, +beds, these latter especially coveted; crockery, +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_217" title="217"> </a> +covered with dust and displayed to view on the steps, +clocks, the billiard table.</p> + +<p>The sale lasted the whole day, save a short interval +at half-past ten. The auctioneer's voice was untiring. +As people went, their places were taken by new-comers; +the pale rays of the February sun lighted +up clouds of dust issuing from the open windows; the +rooms were thronged. Many of the purchasers were +carrying away their lots themselves; others, who were +only later to come into possession of their acquisitions, +were writing their names in chalk on old oak chests, +or pieces of furniture, covered for the time being with +heaps of incongruous articles. Costly hangings, +partly unnailed, hung from the cornices, and streaming +over step-ladders, trailed on the dusty floors.</p> + +<p>Towards four o'clock, the number of spectators had +diminished; tethered horses had been taken from +under sheltering trees; vehicles of all kinds and descriptions +were on the homeward way to town and outskirts. +Mathurin had not left his nook under the +shade of the fir-trees. An uneasy suspicion was +agitating him violently. Twice, at some distance in +the direction of the offices, he had thought to recognise +the eager face of Jean Nesmy. The young man, +clad in brown, his hat drawn over his eyes, who only +stealthily advanced, but who had been seen by +Mathurin now here, now there in the copse on the +other side of the lawn, could be no other than the +dismissed farm-servant, Rousille's lover.</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_218" title="218"> </a> +Mathurin sat and waited for his father, to whom +he had despatched a village lad, telling him of the +approaching close of the sale. In the bluish mist, to +right of the Château, Farmer Lumineau appeared, and +with him Marie-Rose. Despite the growing dusk, +both were somewhat shamefaced. Rousille did not +go far, at a hundred paces from the front of the +Château she stopped, and sitting on the bench of <i>la +Marquise</i>, looked on with startled eyes at the scene of +devastation, while her father went up closer to make +his purchase. Among the two hundred people still +grouped round the granite steps, women predominated. +They had stayed to see the "wearing +apparel and toilet appurtenances," given out by the +notary as being the next lot. And now the +auctioneer lifted above his head a soft, clinging, pale +violet material, that unfolded and fluttered in the +wind.</p> + +<p>"A young lady's dress of mauve silk with muslin +collarette—ten francs!" he called.</p> + +<p>"Show it!" cried the women's voices.</p> + +<p>And Rousille saw the object lowered on to +the stone steps, the little silken gown left behind, +forgotten, that still retained something of the supple +grace of its wearer, Mademoiselle Ambroisine de la +Fromentière. And coarse words and low jests reached +her, made by the brokers as they handled the dainty +relics of refinement and purity.</p> + +<p>"Can they put up that for sale!" she murmured; +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_219" title="219"> </a> +she shrank from the profanation, and would gladly +have gone away.</p> + +<p>But at that moment two sudden emotions, two +surprises nailed her to her seat. Across the lawn, +facing her, in front of a group of fir-trees, she had +seen Mathurin, who had left the protection of the +branches, and was looking over at the bench of <i>la +Marquise</i>, shaking his fist; while, quite close behind +her, she heard a voice from out the flowering laurels, +say:</p> + +<p>"My Rousille, Jean Nesmy has come!"</p> + +<p>With perfect self-control she did not turn her head, +made no movement; feeling herself to be spied upon, +she had all the courage of her ancestors whom peril +had ever found ready. Scarce opening her lips as if +only breathing to calm her beating heart, she +said to him who had rustled the leaves behind +her:</p> + +<p>"Beware! Mathurin is watching us."</p> + +<p>"I know, he has already seen me."</p> + +<p>"Then, go quickly! Come back later."</p> + +<p>"When?"</p> + +<p>"To-night, in the barn; when I put my candlestick +on the window-sill."</p> + +<p>Mathurin was hurrying across with the aid of his +crutches to satisfy himself that he had seen a man's +figure among the shadows of trees in that opposite +group. Jean Nesmy meanwhile slipped away amid +the undergrowth, and through the lonely copses. +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_220" title="220"> </a> +Round the steps, already in darkness, loud talking +and laughing rose from the diminished crowd.</p> + +<p>"I will have it. That's what I want," was heard +in Lumineau's strong voice. The auctioneer was +offering a walking-stick, with horn handle bound with +a gold ring.</p> + +<p>"That depends, my good man," was the reply, amid +the jibes of the townspeople of Chalons, "that +depends! To say 'I will have it' in an auction is not +enough. What price do you put on it?"</p> + +<p>"Two francs," said a broker.</p> + +<p>"Five francs!" cried the farmer. Now no one +laughed; the bid was an unusual one. Toussaint +Lumineau had made it greatly to prevent competition, +but also, as he would have said, from a spirit +of bravado to prove that the tenant was not ruined +like his master. Mounting the lower steps he reached +up a crown piece, seized the cane, and, not venturing +to lean upon it, tucked it under his arm, and slouched +away from the remaining group of bargainers who +were greedily snapping up odd remnants of the +furniture of La Fromentière, hastily priced, given for +next to nothing. Skirting the excited cluster of +buyers, he went towards the group of trees where +Mathurin had again taken up his post.</p> + +<p>"Let us go," he said, "I have made my purchase. +M. Henri's walking-stick."</p> + +<p>"You paid too much for it," said the cripple.</p> + +<p>"My poor lad," returned the farmer reproachfully, +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_221" title="221"> </a> +"he would have given it to me had he been there. I +paid that price that no one should dispute it with +me.... All those fellows would have made game of +me, had I not!—"</p> + +<p>And with a movement of the shoulder he signified +the notary, the auctioneer, the invisible agents of the +law, who to his excited fancy had had a hand in the +proceedings now coming to an end. Moderating his +pace so as not to hurry Mathurin, whose crutches +struck against the mole-hills on the lawn, the farmer +crossed the broad expanse where the blue mist +thickened. They could hear the cracking of whips; +see the red light of lanterns passing along the leafless +woods, the frightened wood-pigeons circling +over head. Rousille saw her father coming. She +had remained in the same place sitting on the bench, +joyous at heart, but with somewhat too much of love's +dream in her eyes, for her father asked severely:</p> + +<p>"What is it, child? This is no day for laughter."</p> + +<p>"Nothing," she answered, rising.</p> + +<p>"Then walk on in front," put in Mathurin. "You +might be meeting someone."</p> + +<p>And she went down the avenues, then along the +path by the leafless hedges in front as she had been +hidden. Her white coif turned neither to the right +nor to the left; but proud as one enduring for her +love, she walked on with elastic step down the hill +towards the elm-trees of the farmstead, and her eyes +gazing fixedly into the gathering night—those eyes +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_222" title="222"> </a> +which none could read, gazing at everything, seeing +nothing, were filled with tender musings. She +entered her domain, and began to pour over the +bread the soup which had been simmering in her +absence. The men stayed without, talking. When +they came in she felt sure that she had been again +betrayed by Mathurin, and that her father was angry +with her. André came in last, at about eight o'clock. +The farmer had proposed waiting supper until his +return, and he and Mathurin had sat in the chimney-corner +warming themselves, by turns taking and +trying the cane of M. Henri as they talked over the +sad events of the day: the men who had come from +Sallertaine to bid, how they had heard the battens +nailed up again across the lower windows as they +came away; the lights they had seen wandering +along the corridors of the upper floor as in the good +old days when the great white house was full of +guests.</p> + +<p>"Our masters will never come back now," said +Toussaint Lumineau. "And I, who always believed +in them! This is the end!"</p> + +<p>"The end!" repeated André, as he came in at the +door from the outer darkness. "I am glad not to +have seen it."</p> + +<p>The good-looking young Maraîchin seemed tired +and troubled; his eyes were brilliant as if about to +shed tears. Toussaint Lumineau thought that the +shame of this public auction, so painful to him, had +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_223" title="223"> </a> +affected his son in like manner, and had been the sole +cause of his long absence.</p> + +<p>"Sit down, Driot," he said, "you must be hungry. +The soup is ready."</p> + +<p>"No, I am not hungry," replied André.</p> + +<p>"Nor am I," returned his father.</p> + +<p>Mathurin alone, dragging himself to the table, +ladled out a plate of soup; while his father remained +sitting beside the fire, and Driot stood leaning against +the projecting chimney-corner, looking alternately +at his father and brother.</p> + +<p>"Where did you go?" asked the farmer.</p> + +<p>André made a sweeping gesture:</p> + +<p>"From one to the other. To your friend +Guerineau, of La Pinçonnière; to the miller of +Moque-Souris; the Levrelles; the Massonneau...."</p> + +<p>"A good fellow, le Glorieux," interrupted the +farmer; "worthy family his."</p> + +<p>"I saw the Ricolleaus of Malabrit too."</p> + +<p>"What, you went as far as that?"</p> + +<p>"The Ertus of La Parée du Mont——"</p> + +<p>Toussaint Lumineau looked straight into his son's +clear eyes, trying to understand.</p> + +<p>"What led you to go and see all these people, my +boy?"</p> + +<p>"An idea"—no longer able to endure his father's +inquiring look, his eyes sought the dark corner +wherein stood the bed—"an idea. Well then, going +along, I thought I would go as far as La Roche and +see François."</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_224" title="224"> </a> +"François?" murmured the farmer. "You are like +me then, dear lad, your thoughts are often with +him?"</p> + +<p>Slowly the young man nodded his head, as he +answered:</p> + +<p>"Yes, this evening especially; this evening, more +than any evening of my whole life, I would have liked +to have him beside me."</p> + +<p>André's words were spoken with such strong +emotion, with so mournful a solemnity, that Mathurin, +who had not known the date of André's departure, +understood that the time had come, and that his +brother had not many more minutes to remain in La +Fromentière.</p> + +<p>The blood rushed to his head, his lips half opened, +a violent fit of trembling seized him, while his eyes +stared fixedly at André. There was an unwonted +animation in those eyes of his, for, while they +expressed triumphant pride, there was also, in that +supreme hour, something of pity and affection, +perhaps of remorse. André knew that they bade him +farewell. The father, meanwhile, had drawn up his +chair to the table, and raising the cane horizontally to +the level of the lamp, that André might the better +see it, was caressing the gold ring with his fingers, +none too clean from the day's toil. He imagined that +his son's thoughts were again with the present, or like +his own, were embracing the same future.</p> + +<p>"See," said he, "what I bought as a souvenir of M. +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_225" title="225"> </a> +Henri. How often he has knocked against my door +with the point of this cane, tap! tap! tap! 'Are you +there, my old Lumineau?' André, when you are the +master of La Fromentière——"</p> + +<p>At these words the young man, who was standing +behind the farmer, felt all his courage give way. +Unable to restrain his tears, and fearing lest his +father should turn towards him, he retreated silently +towards the door.</p> + +<p>Toussaint Lumineau had noticed nothing; he +continued: "When you are the master at La +Fromentière, you will see no more of the family. I +do not believe that the farmstead will be sold. I +greatly hope not, but our Marquises will not come +amongst us again. My lad, the new times you will +be living in will not be like those I used to know!"</p> + +<p>Now Driot's tears fell fast as he looked at the old +walls worn with the shoulders of many a Lumineau +past and gone.</p> + +<p>"Do not distress yourself, dear boy. If the +masters go, the land remains." Driot's tears fell fast +as he looked on the rosary of Mère Lumineau, +hanging at the head of the bed.</p> + +<p>"The land is good, though you have spoken ill +of it, and so you will find out."</p> + +<p>Driot's tears fell as he looked at Mathurin.</p> + +<p>"You will do your best for it; and it will do its +best for you!"</p> + +<p>Driot's tears fell fast as he looked at his father, still +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_226" title="226"> </a> +fondling the light wood cane. He gazed for some +time by the light of the lamp on the tired hands, the +horny hands, seamed with scars gained working for +his family for their support and education—the hands +that had never known discouragement, and, impelled +by respect and grief, he did a thing unknown at La +Fromentière, now that the sons were grown up and +the mother dead; he came close in the shadow +behind his father, leant over him, and kissed the old +man's wrinkled brow.</p> + +<p>"Dear boy!" said Toussaint Lumineau, kissing +him in return.</p> + +<p>"I will be off to bed," murmured André. "I am +done up."</p> + +<p>He seized Mathurin's hand in a warm, hurried clasp. +But he took some time to go the ten paces which +separated him from the door leading into the kitchen +where Rousille was washing up her dishes. As he +shut the door he looked back once more into the +room. Then he was heard talking to his sister. Then +he was heard no more.</p> + +<p>Deep night enveloped the farmstead, the last on +which the roof of La Fromentière would shelter +Driot. An hour after, any late wanderers along the +road, seeing the mass of buildings standing out from +the trees, darker even than the enveloping fog and as +silent, would surely have thought that all within were +sleeping soundly. But, save the farm-servant, all +within were wide-awake.</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_227" title="227"> </a> +Mathurin, greatly excited, had not ceased talking +and turning restlessly. The light extinguished, talking +still continued between father and son, whose beds +were ranged, near each other, beside the wall. Not +daring to speak of André's flight, the idea of which +was ever present with him like a persistent nightmare, +the cripple turned feverishly from one subject to +another, and his father found it impossible to calm +him.</p> + +<p>"I assure you I did see the <i>Boquin</i>. I was some +distance from him, but I detest him too much to make +any mistake about the fellow; he has a sly way of +running about like a ferret. He wore a brown suit, +and had something tawny in his hat, like oak leaves."</p> + +<p>"Go to sleep, Mathurin, you must be mistaken."</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course they were oak leaves. When he +was here he used to stick them in his hat every now +and then out of bombast, to show that his province +was richer and more wooded than ours. Ah, the +<i>dannion</i>! If I could but have run!"</p> + +<p>"You would not have found him, my poor boy! +He is at home in his Bocage. What should have +brought him to the Marquis' sale?"</p> + +<p>"To see my sister, of course! He may even have +spoken to her for all I know, for it was too dark for +me to see Rousille plainly."</p> + +<p>The father, lying in his large canopied bed, sighed, +and said:</p> + +<p>"Always your sister! You worry yourself too much +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_228" title="228"> </a> +about her. Go to sleep, Mathurin. They would not +dare to speak to each other; they know I should not +allow it."</p> + +<p>The cripple was silent for a few seconds, then +his mind reverted to the events of the day; he +enumerated the neighbours who had spoken to him, +and what they had said about the probable sale of +La Fromentière; then, impelled by the one master-thought, +he recapitulated the things to be done for the +improvement of the farmstead, the conditions of the +fresh lease to be arranged for with the owners, and +added:</p> + +<p>"You do think me better, don't you? My back +is straighter. I am not so short of breath. Did yoo +notice, as we came home to-night, how at every step +I used my legs without needing my crutches?"</p> + +<p>Several times in the middle of a sentence he had +stopped short to listen, seeming to hear that which in +imagination he never ceased to see; Driot for the last +time leaving the room at the end of the house; Driot +going stealthily through the courtyard that his footsteps +might not be heard on the gravel; Driot +passing the door close by, and going away for ever.</p> + +<p>Towards eleven o'clock, Bas-Rouge, who had +growled at times earlier in the night, began to bark +violently to the right of the yard.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter with him?" exclaimed Toussaint +Lumineau; "one would think there were people +moving about in our lane."</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_229" title="229"> </a> +Mathurin, growing cold, silently raised himself on +his elbows. After a minute the farmer resumed:</p> + +<p>"Do you hear how our dog is barking? There +certainly must be someone near."</p> + +<p>"Father," returned Mathurin, "he is as mad as a +March hare at this time of year. I think he sees +bernacles flying in the air." The barking sounded +nearer, not angry but joyous, as of a dog being taken +for a walk. Then a footstep was distinctly heard, +and the animal began to howl.</p> + +<p>"They are throwing stones at Bas-Rouge," exclaimed +the farmer. "I must go."</p> + +<p>"No; do not go. I will not have you go! Stay, +father, stay!"</p> + +<p>"Why?" asked Toussaint Lumineau. "I have +done it scores of times before, and have taken no +harm."</p> + +<p>Sitting on the side of his bed, the old peasant +listened yet for a few seconds, before hastily putting +on his breeches and running to the door. A thought +flashed through Mathurin's mind:</p> + +<p>"It is André. I have but to say one word, and +my father will be with him in time. Shall I?" Six +years of suffering and of being in subordinate +position to the younger ones, answered: "No!" and +letting himself fall back on his pillow, he said, as if +reassured:</p> + +<p>"It is not worth the trouble. The sounds are +already further off."</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_230" title="230"> </a> +And, in truth, Bas-Rouge must have run out into +the lane towards the main road. His barks were more +faintly heard and at intervals; he evidently was seeing +the intruder off the premises.</p> + +<p>The farmer lay down again, and no longer hearing +Mathurin move, fell asleep. It was a little past midnight.</p> + +<p>At that hour Rousille was still at work in her room, +with doors bolted and window shut, waiting for him +who had promised to come. The thought of seeing +her lover once more, of what she should say to him, +and the idea that there might be some danger to +Jean Nesmy, were he surprised by her father, had +occupied the long hours during which the murmur of +voices from the adjoining room had not ceased to +reach her. "What can they have to say to each +other?" she thought. On the side towards the barn +she had carefully closed the shutter of a narrow little +window, cut in the thickness of the wall, breast high, +and protected by an iron bar. Sitting on the chest +at the foot of the bed, she was hemming some coarse +kitchen aprons. The candle standing near lit up the +bowed head of the young girl and the more distant +panels of the five wardrobes, the polished pillars of +the bedsteads, and the sides of the chests, each of +which gave a different softened reflection; there was +the violet of wild cherry wood, the dark-red of the +cherry-tree, the golden-brown of walnut and oak, and +finally the ghostly reflection of one, made for a somewhat +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_231" title="231"> </a> +eccentric great grandmother, of the finest ash +wood; and in the same room and atmosphere that +had surrounded her ancestresses, industrious as was +their descendant, now sat Rousille, the last daughter +of the Lumineaus, with eyes modestly bent upon her +needlework.</p> + +<p>Rousille was never idle. However, in this self-imposed +night-watch, it sometimes happened that she +would pause with thread outstretched, or would rise +and go with slippered feet to listen at the door of the +room nearest to the house-place whence voices were +still audible.</p> + +<p>When nothing more was heard, neither the barking +of the dog, nor the vague sound of voices, she still +listened, but she had ceased to ply her needle. Looking +round the room with the eye of a housekeeper, +she thought:</p> + +<p>"Will he find it in good order, and as he would like +his house to be kept?" Rousille tied the kerchief she +wore as protection from the cold more closely; then +a little shudder of fear ran through her at the thought +that her father might suddenly appear; and her face +grew grave and stern, as before, when she had had +to do battle for Jean Nesmy; then, rising, she placed +her candlestick on the deep window-sill, which by +reason of the thickness of the wall was triangular, like +the loophole of a fortress. After that she opened +back the shutter on its hinges. A breath of icy fog +enveloped the flame, nearly extinguishing it; almost +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_232" title="232"> </a> +on tip-toe, with both hands shading her eyes, Rousille +endeavoured to distinguish objects from out the darkness. +Was he there? She only saw the bare +branches of two gooseberry-bushes trained against +the wall. There was no sound of footsteps; no sign +of anyone; she only heard the dull thud of mist-drops +falling from the slates on to the turf beneath. +A minute passed.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the branches were pushed aside, a dark +head emerging from the total darkness was framed +in the window between the wall and the iron bar. +The face was pale, but the eyes laughing, half-closed, +dazzled by the candle-flame.</p> + +<p>"I thought," said Jean Nesmy, "that you were not +coming. I was chilled to the bone. I was going!" +He looked so radiant as he said it, his eyes gradually +opening, revealing the rapture of perfect delight.</p> + +<p>Rousille, more grave, for she had within her the +recollection of her past meditations, said:</p> + +<p>"We must talk quickly. Father has only just fallen +asleep. If he were to awake! If he were to come +upon us!"</p> + +<p>But Jean Nesmy seemed in nowise to share her +fears. Nor did he look about the room to see if all +was in order. He only looked at Rousille, so agitated +under her little coif. The light placed between them +illuminated their eyes to the very depths.</p> + +<p>"You are as pretty as ever," replied the lad. "One +might well walk miles to catch a sight of you! +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_233" title="233"> </a> +Mother Nesmy did not want me to come on account +of the expense; but I said to her: 'I would rather go +without my bread,' and it was true, my Rousille."</p> + +<p>She could not help smiling.</p> + +<p>"You always know how to pay compliments, Jean +Nesmy; and really I see no change in you."</p> + +<p>"There is none," he returned, showing his white +teeth.</p> + +<p>And now she forgot all her previous uneasiness, +and it seemed to them both, as though they had never +been apart, so natural was the interchange of ideas; +the candle quivered under the mutual stream of +question and answer.</p> + +<p>"Tell me, Rousille, how are things going? Are +you happy?"</p> + +<p>"Not very. At La Fromentière we have more +sorrow than happiness. Now, as you know, our master +the Marquis has had all his furniture sold. Such a +pity!"</p> + +<p>"Our nobles of Le Bocage would not have done +such a thing," said the <i>Boquin</i>, throwing back his +head.</p> + +<p>"Besides," resumed Rousille, "since François left +us nothing goes right. Driot is inconsolable at his +absence."</p> + +<p>"Even now?"</p> + +<p>"Even now. We thought him so lively when he +first came home. Well, this evening he actually cried. +Why could it have been? Was it fear that the farm +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_234" title="234"> </a> +would be sold over our heads? Was it anything +else? With him one never knows."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps he is thinking of a sweetheart about +here?"</p> + +<p>"I wish indeed it were so, Jean, for his sake and +ours, because his marriage would be the signal for +our own. You see, all our hope is in André. I have +thought many a time, indeed why not tell you—every +day since the one on which you went: If André does +not marry, my poor Jean, I shall be quite white-haired +before our banns are published in your church and +mine. Father will not let me go unless there is a +housekeeper here to take my place. And as for our +coming to live here with Mathurin—he hates us both +too much. There would be bad blood at La +Fromentière. Father would never put us on the farm +with Mathurin."</p> + +<p>"Does he ever speak of me when he is ploughing?" +asked Jean.</p> + +<p>"I never go into the fields," replied Rousille. +"But one evening I heard him say to my eldest +brother, 'Do not speak ill of the <i>Boquin</i>, Lumineau! I +refused him my daughter, and in that I did well; +but he was a good worker, he had a love for +soil.'"</p> + +<p>Behind the iron bar the face of the former farm-hand +coloured with pride.</p> + +<p>"It is true that I loved everything about the place +for your sake, Rousille. And so André will not +marry?"</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_235" title="235"> </a> +"I do not say that. He is still in such low spirits; +but time will cure that. We shall have him on our +side, that good André; he spoke so kindly to me +the day of the letter. He promised to help me; +but did not explain in what way."</p> + +<p>"Did he mean soon?"</p> + +<p>"I think so," said Rousille, "for his manner was +very decided, and he was very sure about the step +he was going to take."</p> + +<p>Suddenly she lowered her voice—"Did you hear +that?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"No, nothing."</p> + +<p>"Something moved in the bakery."</p> + +<p>"Look at me, Rousille. Nothing moved," returned +Jean.</p> + +<p>Obedient, victorious over all fear for love of him, +she bent once more towards the window, even began +to laugh as she said:</p> + +<p>"It is easy to see that you have no fear of anything. +Where were you hidden, just now, before I opened +the shutter?"</p> + +<p>"Among the layers of straw. The wind was as +keen as on one of my worst wild-fowl expeditions; +it stupefied me, and seeing no light I must have fallen +asleep for a while."</p> + +<p>"Really? and what woke you?"</p> + +<p>"Bas-Rouge, going after your farm-servant."</p> + +<p>"Going after the farm-servant?" exclaimed Rousille +in astonishment. "I heard the dog bark, but I +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_236" title="236"> </a> +thought he was after a tramp, there are so many +about on these roads; or that he had recognised +you——"</p> + +<p>"You know very well, Rousille, that he never barks +at me, since I used to take him out with me when I +went shooting. No, I am certain that it was the farm-servant.... +I heard the latch fall, and the distinct +sound of footsteps on the gravel at the back of the +house. I tell you it was the servant, or else your +brother.... I am convinced that a man went out +from here."</p> + +<p>She blanched a little and then drew herself up:</p> + +<p>"No!" she replied, "André does not go out shooting +like you; nor does he go off to Chalons as François +did! Can Mathurin have got up to spy upon us +while father was asleep? Oh, do take care of yourself, +Jean Nesmy! Listen!"</p> + +<p>Seizing the candlestick from the window-sill, she +held it out at arm's-length towards the other end +of the room, the light shining on the polished furniture +as she moved it.</p> + +<p>"You are right, someone is moving about in the +bakery," said Jean Nesmy. Now the door was +gently pushed from the outer side, and the bolt shaken +in its socket. Rousille grew white. But she had +brave blood in her veins, and still holding the light +as far forward as possible, she noiselessly crossed +the room, cautiously slid back the bolt, and flung +open the door.</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_237" title="237"> </a> +A shadow moving about in the room sprang +towards Rousille, and she saw it was Bas-Rouge. +"What are you doing here—where do you come +from?" she said.</p> + +<p>A rush of air came whistling in from the adjoining +room. Had the outer door not been fastened? The +girl glanced towards the window, and saw Jean +Nesmy still there; then she went into the bakery: +the straw baskets, the kneading trough, the ladder +reaching to the hayloft, the faggots for next baking +day, all was there; but the door leading into the +furthermost room, André's, was wide open. Rousille +went on, the wind nearly extinguishing the light which +she was obliged to shade with her hand. It blew in +unimpeded from the courtyard. Yes, André had +gone out.... She ran to the bed; it was untouched.... +A doubt seized her that, at first, she repelled. +She thought of François; of André's tears that +evening—his agitation....</p> + +<p>"Oh, my God," she murmured.</p> + +<p>Rapidly she stooped and lowered the candle to see +under the bed where André kept his boots and shoes; +they had gone. She opened his trunk, it was empty. +Going back into the bakery, she clambered up into +the loft. There to the right, beside a heap of wheat, +she ought to find a little black portmanteau he had +brought home from Africa. She lifted the candle, +the portmanteau was not there.</p> + +<p>Everything pointed to the one fact. There was no +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_238" title="238"> </a> +manner of doubt concerning the misfortune that had +befallen them. Terrified, she hastily descended the +ladder, and unable to keep the secret, she screamed:</p> + +<p>"Father!"</p> + +<p>A voice, muffled by the intervening walls, replied:</p> + +<p>"What is it?"</p> + +<p>"Driot has gone!" she cried, as she ran through +the rooms. Outside the barred window, her eyes +seeking him, she thought she discerned a shadow.</p> + +<p>"Farewell, Jean Nesmy," she called, without +stopping. "Never come back any more. All is lost +to us," and she disappeared into the kitchen, to the +door of her father's room.</p> + +<p>Toussaint had sprung out of bed, and now +came, barefoot, hurriedly buttoning his work-day +clothes over his night-shirt. Startled out of his first +sleep, only half understanding the purport of her +words, stern of countenance, he came forth into the +light shed by his daughter's candle.</p> + +<p>"What are you screaming about?" he said. "He +cannot be far off."</p> + +<p>Then seeing her terrified face he, too, thought of +François, and trembling, followed her.</p> + +<p>They traversed the whole length of the house, and +on into André's room; there Rousille made way for +her father to enter first. He did not go far into the +room; he looked at the undisturbed bed, and that +sufficed to make him understand.</p> + +<p>For a moment he remained motionless, tears +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_239" title="239"> </a> +blinding him; then, staggering, turned towards the +courtyard, on the threshold, clinging to the doorposts +for support, he took a long breath, as if to call into +the night, but only a stifled, scarce audible sound +escaped him:</p> + +<p>"My Driot!"</p> + +<p>And the noble old man, struck by the bitter cold, +fell backwards in a swoon.</p> + +<p>At that instant from the other end of the house +Mathurin, swearing, and striking head and crutches +against the walls and furniture, came struggling along.</p> + +<p>"Lend me a hand, Rousille," he cried, "I must see +what is going on!" Rousille was kneeling beside +her father, kissing him amid her tears. The farm-servant, +roused by the noise, came through the yard +with a lantern.</p> + +<p class="p4"><a class="pagenum" name="Page_240" title="240"> </a></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> +<h3><a name="DWELLERS_IN_TOWNS" id="DWELLERS_IN_TOWNS"></a>DWELLERS IN TOWNS.</h3> + +<p class="p2">The farmer soon recovered consciousness. Sitting +up, he looked about him, and hearing Mathurin +moaning and saying: "He is dead!" answered: +"No, my boy, I am all right," then with the aid of +the farm-servant he went back to his bed.</p> + +<p>At dawn next morning, he started for a tour round +the farms to try and learn particulars of his son. It +seemed that neither Mathurin nor the man had had +the least suspicion of André's flight; they had +neither seen nor heard the slightest thing.</p> + +<p>Thus Toussaint Lumineau went to make inquiries +among the old and new friends frequented by André +during the last few months, sons of farmers, gooseherds, +or sailors. For three whole days he scoured +the Marais from Saint Gervais to Fromentière, from +Sallertaine to Saint Gilles. Those he asked knew +but little, or were unwilling to betray confidence. All +agreed in stating that André had often talked of +making his fortune across the sea where the land was +new and fertile. The best informed went on to say:</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_241" title="241"> </a> +"Last Sunday he said good-bye to several of us, +myself among the number. He told me he was off to +South America, where, for a mere nothing, he would +get a farm of seventy-four acres of virgin soil; but +I do not remember the name of the place where he +was going."</p> + +<p>On the evening of the third day, when, having had +this information, the farmer returned home, he found +the cripple sitting by the fireside.</p> + +<p>"Mathurin," he said, "you ought still to have some +of those books where countries are sketched out, +you know what I mean?"</p> + +<p>"Geography books? Yes, there must be some +left from old schooldays. Why?"</p> + +<p>"I want to look at America," replied the old man. +"It is there that your brother is going they all say."</p> + +<p>Dragging himself to the chest, from under the +clothes at the bottom the cripple brought forth a +handful of school books, which had belonged to +one or other of them as boys, and came back with a +little elementary atlas, on the cover of which was +written in a beginner's large handwriting: "This +book belongs to Lumineau André, son of Lumineau +Toussaint, of La Fromentière, Commune of Sallertaine, +Vendée." The father stroked his hand over +the writing, as if to caress it.</p> + +<p>"It was his," he said.</p> + +<p>Mathurin opened the atlas. It was all to pieces; +the maps were rounded at the corners from wear, +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_242" title="242"> </a> +crumpled or torn, the edges frayed. The cripple's +fingers turned the pages gingerly, and stopped at a +map covered with ink-blots in which the two +Americas, united by their isthmus, in deep orange +colour, looked like a pair of huge spectacles. The +two men bent over it. "This is South America," +said Mathurin. "And here is the sea."</p> + +<p>The farmer pondered for a considerable time over +Mathurin's words, endeavouring to harmonise them +with the inky map, then shook his head.</p> + +<p>"I cannot picture to myself where he is," he said +sadly, "but I see that there is sea, and that he is lost +to us...."</p> + +<p>Mathurin slowly shut his book and said:</p> + +<p>"They were both bad sons; they have forsaken you."</p> + +<p>The farmer did not seem to have heard him; +turning to Rousille, he said gently, far more gently +than was his wont: "Rousille, have a cup of coffee +ready for me the first thing to-morrow morning. I +will go and find out François." And accordingly at +ten o'clock the next morning, the fourth day after +Driot's departure, the farmer of La Fromentière +alighted from the train at the station of La Roche-sur-Yon. +The moment he set foot on the platform, +he began looking for his son amongst the porters +engaged in shutting the carriage doors, or taking +the luggage from the van. Taller by a head than +most of the passengers who were hurrying hither and +thither, he would stop every ten paces to follow with +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_243" title="243"> </a> +his eyes some porter with young, full face like +François. He wanted to see his son again, but was +nervous at meeting him in so public a place. He, +clad in his black cloth suit, with blue waistband, his +new hat bound with velvet set well at the back of his +head, free to come and go at his own time—he, the +master of his working and leisure hours, felt a kind of +shame at the thought that among that group of paid +servants, hustled about by their superiors, clad in a +uniform they had no right to exchange for ordinary +clothes, was a Lumineau of La Fromentière.</p> + +<p>Not finding François on the platform, he was proceeding +to a part of the line where carriages were uncoupled, +and was watching a gang of men push a +loaded truck along with their shoulders, thinking the +while, "Why, they are doing the work of our oxen +at home," when a voice called out:</p> + +<p>"Hey! Where are you going?"</p> + +<p>"To find my boy."</p> + +<p>"Who is he?"</p> + +<p>"You may perhaps know him," replied the farmer, +touching the brim of his hat. "He is employed on +the line; his name is François Lumineau."</p> + +<p>The inspector said carelessly:</p> + +<p>"Lumineau? Ah, yes, one of the men on the line. +Been here four months?"</p> + +<p>"Five," returned the father.</p> + +<p>"Maybe. A stout, red-faced fellow, somewhat lazy. +Do you want to speak to him?"</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_244" title="244"> </a> +"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Very well. If you know where he lives, go to him +there. You can do your business with him when +he goes home to his dinner. Foot passengers are +not allowed on the lines, my good man." And as he +went away, the inspector grumbled: "These peasants +think they have the right to go anywhere, as if they +were in their own fields."</p> + +<p>The farmer controlling himself on François' account, +made no reply. He left the railway station and +began wandering among the broad, deserted streets +with their rows of low-built houses on either side; rain +had been falling since early morning. The people he +stopped to inquire of did not know Café la Faucille, +the name of which he had learned from the +Maraîchins who came to the fairs of La Roche. At +length, by means of the sign-board, he found it out for +himself, in the outskirts of the town. Like the others +in the street it was a little one-storied house, with +one window. Pushing open the door, Toussaint +Lumineau found himself in a coffee shop, furnished +with deal tables, cane stools, and a glass cupboard, +wherein were displayed bottles of wine and spirits, +and on a counter at the foot were a few plates of cold +meat, between two boxes of sweet biscuits. Nobody +was there. Lumineau took his stand in the middle +of the shop; the bell, set ringing by the farmer's +entrance, continued to sound more and more feebly. +Before it had altogether ceased, an inner door +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_245" title="245"> </a> +opposite opened, emitting a whiff of cookery, and a +woman, without cap, her hair very much dressed, came +forward in a mincing manner.</p> + +<p>Although he stood with his back to the light she +at once recognised the new-comer, coloured vividly, +let fall the corner of her apron she was holding in +both hands, and stopped short.</p> + +<p>"Oh," she said, "it is you, father! What a surprise! +How long it is since we have seen you!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, true. A very long time."</p> + +<p>She hesitated, glad to see her father, and not +daring to say so, not knowing his object in coming, +and whether she ought to ask him to sit down, to +kiss him, or to keep her distance as one who may not +hope to be forgiven.</p> + +<p>Her eyes were fixed on him. However, the words, +not hard, the gentle tones and voice that trembled, +reassured her; and she asked:</p> + +<p>"May I kiss you, father, despite all?"</p> + +<p>He suffered her embrace, but did not return the +kiss. Then sitting on a stool, while Eléonore went to +the other side of the table, he looked at his daughter +with melancholy curiosity to see in what way she had +changed. Eléonore, standing near the wall, embarrassed +by the penetrating gaze, began fastening +the collar of her grey woollen dress, drawing down +the sleeves over her bare arms, then twisted a ring +she was wearing on her right hand.</p> + +<p>"I did not expect," she stammered, casting down +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_246" title="246"> </a> +her eyes.... "It has quite startled me to see you +again! François will be astonished too. He comes +in at eleven every day, sometimes half-past. Father, +you will have something to eat?"</p> + +<p>He made a negative gesture.</p> + +<p>"A glass of wine? You will not refuse that?"</p> + +<p>For all answer, Toussaint Lumineau said:</p> + +<p>"Do you know what has happened at home, +Eléonore?"</p> + +<p>Suddenly the slight amount of self-possession she +had assumed left her. She drew back still further. +Her light blue eyes assumed an expression of fear, +while she glanced towards the street as if, perchance, +the expected help were coming from that direction. +Then, obliged to speak, leaning her head against the +wall, with eyes downcast:</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said. "He came to La Roche. He +wanted to see François."</p> + +<p>"What!" exclaimed Toussaint Lumineau, rising +and pushing back the stool. "André? You have +spoken to André?"</p> + +<p>"Very early on Monday he came. His face had a +look on it that is always coming back to me when I +am alone. Oh! a look as of a world of sorrow. He +pushed open the door, like you did, and said: +'François, I am going away from La Fromentière, +because you are not there!' I am sure, father, it is +a blow to you ... but do not be angry, for we said +nothing to induce him to go. We were even sorry +on your account."</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_247" title="247"> </a> +She had put out her hand as if to ward the old +man off; but she saw at once that there was nothing +to fear, and the outstretched hand fell beside the +dingy plastered wall. For Toussaint Lumineau was +crying as he looked at her. The tears were coursing +down his face, wrinkled by suffering. He wanted to +know everything, and asked:</p> + +<p>"Did he speak of me?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Did he speak of La Fromentière?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Did he at last say where he was going?"</p> + +<p>"He would neither sit down nor stay. He kissed +us both; but words neither came to him nor to us. +François asked him: 'Where are you going, Driot?' +and he answered: 'To Buenos Ayres, in America. +I mean to try and make money. When I am a rich +man you shall all hear of me. Good-bye, Lionore. +Good-bye, François,' and he was gone."</p> + +<p>"Gone," repeated Lumineau; "my last one gone!"</p> + +<p>Eléonore's feelings were touched in sympathy, the +corners of her eyes grew moist; but they still turned +towards the street, while her father shut his.</p> + +<p>"Father," she said, "will you mind coming into +the kitchen with me? François will soon be coming +in, and if he does not find his dinner ready, you +know what it will be! He is not always easy to get +on with." She went into the inner room, followed +by her father. It was but a shed built on, quite +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_248" title="248"> </a> +dark even in broad daylight, whose only window +looked on to a narrow yard built up on all sides. +An iron stove, at present alight, three chairs, and a +table took up nearly all the space. The farmer, +taking a chair, sat down between the window and +the open door, that he might see François when he +came in. Eléonore busied herself with cookery, laid +the table for two, went backwards and forwards from +one room to the other, always in a hurry, never +getting on much with what she had in hand. Toussaint +Lumineau was silent. She felt it necessary to +sigh as she passed him, and say:</p> + +<p>"Things have gone sadly against you. And how +melancholy it must be at La Fromentière now! +Poor father, I am sorry for you!"</p> + +<p>He, listening, took her empty words as words of +pity.</p> + +<p>"Lionore," he said, after a while, as she stooping +was cutting the bread for the soup, "Lionore, you +have given up the coif of La Vendée?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, they ironed them so badly here at La +Roche, and it cost so much. Besides, no one wears +caps here."</p> + +<p>"Humph! Well, since you have given up dressing +as did your mother and grandmother, and all the +women of the family I have ever known, are you +any the happier? Are you content in your new +circumstances?"</p> + +<p>She went on cutting the bread into thin slices, +and answered:</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_249" title="249"> </a> +"It is not the same kind of work, but I cannot say +but that I have as much to do as I had at home. +There are the rooms to keep in order, marketing to +do, my stones to wash every other day when it rains, +as to-day, or snows; cooking at all times of the +day, and that for people who are not always very +civil, I assure you. Sometimes there are complaints +that there are so few customers, for there was too +high a price paid for the café—much too high. And +then when men passing come in for a drink, I am +often afraid of them. Indeed, if I had not neighbours——"</p> + +<p>"And your brother, is he content?" interrupted +the farmer.</p> + +<p>"Half and half. The pay is so poor, you see. +Two francs at La Fromentière go farther than three +here."</p> + +<p>The father hesitated a little. Then asked, lowering +his voice:</p> + +<p>"Tell me, perhaps he regrets what he has done? +I have no son with me now, Lionore; I am wretched. +Do you think that François would come back to his +home?"</p> + +<p>He forgave all, forgot all; he craved help from +the children who had wronged him.</p> + +<p>Eléonore's face changed abruptly. Drying her +eyes with a corner of her handkerchief, she shook +her pointed chignon, and replied drily:</p> + +<p>"I do not think so, father. I would rather tell +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_250" title="250"> </a> +you so out straight. You will be seeing my brother—will +talk it over with him, but I do not think——" +And as if deeply hurt she turned abruptly away to +the store.</p> + +<p>The half-hour had struck, the door of the café +opened noisily, a man came in. Without looking up, +or moving from her place, the girl said:</p> + +<p>"Here he is."</p> + +<p>Despite the railway uniform and cap he was wearing, +the farmer, in the semi-darkness of the shop, had +already recognised his son by the downcast head, +slouching gait, and habit of holding his arms out +from his body. Soon François stood before him in +the doorway of the kitchen, and a glance revealed the +same heavy features as of old—russet-red complexion, +drooping moustache, and look of stolid indifference.</p> + +<p>On seeing his father a shade of emotion passed over +his face.</p> + +<p>"Good day, father," said he, holding out his hand. +"So things are not going well by what I see?"</p> + +<p>The farmer made a sign of acquiescence.</p> + +<p>"You are in trouble. Yes, I understand. So +should I be if I were you. André ought not to have +done it; he was the last, he ought to have stayed."</p> + +<p>Toussaint Lumineau had seized François' hand, and +was pressing it between both of his with a tenderness +that spoke volumes, and his eyes, which sought the +eyes of his son, uttered the same entreaty. In +measure, however, that his father's mute pleading +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_251" title="251"> </a> +entered his soul, François quickly recovered from his +surprise, hardening himself against the momentary +feeling of compassion. Presently, drawing back his +hand, he retreated a step, saying with the air of a +man defiant and on the defensive.</p> + +<p>"I understand. You are not wanting to engage +another servant, but would rather have Lionore and +me back at Sallertaine?"</p> + +<p>"If you could, François. I have no one else to +look to."</p> + +<p>A half-satisfied smile at the correctness of his surmise +passed over François' face as he rejoined:</p> + +<p>"Yet you see that the other has gone too; and +that there is nothing more to be done with the land."</p> + +<p>"You are mistaken. He has gone to cultivate it +elsewhere, in America! It was because he missed +you so sorely, François, that he lost heart at home."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said François, drawing up a chair for himself +and sitting down to the table. "It seems to be +a wonderful country, America! But here with us it's +too hard."</p> + +<p>The farmer did not take up the words which had +angered him before.</p> + +<p>"Well!" he said, "I will give you help. I have +no other son now, for you know that Mathurin is of +no account in the management of a farm. You will +soon be the master; the next lease shall be drawn +up in your name, and there will still be a Lumineau +at La Fromentière. Will you come back?"</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_252" title="252"> </a> +François made a gesture of annoyance and gave +no reply.</p> + +<p>"You are making nothing," resumed the farmer, +"by what Eléonore tells me."</p> + +<p>"No, the pay is poor enough."</p> + +<p>"The café has not many customers?"</p> + +<p>"No; but we paid too much for it. We are not +sure that it will answer." He turned to his sister +who was listening passive and tearful. "But we +scrape along, eh, Lionore? In time I may get a +rise, so the sub-inspector tells me. Then I shall be +better off. I don't want more. We have got to know +people already; on Sundays I have my half-day off."</p> + +<p>"You had the whole day at La Fromentière!"</p> + +<p>"I don't say that I hadn't. But what you ask, +father, can't be done."</p> + +<p>A man, whose entrance they had not perceived, +now called out from the adjoining room:</p> + +<p>"Is no one here? Is there no dinner to be had?"</p> + +<p>Eléonore, glad of the interruption, passed between +her brother and father, and they heard her laugh +to appease the customer. François drew the soup-tureen +towards him, and put in the ladle.</p> + +<p>"You must not mind my helping myself," he said +to his father, who remained sitting at the window +behind him, "I have only got a quarter of an hour; +it's a long way to the station. I shall be fined," and +between the mouthfuls of soup he asked in a softened +voice: "You have not given me news of Rousille. +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_253" title="253"> </a> +Is she quite well? And Mathurin, does he still +imagine that he will be all right again? He who +always was so keen on being master at La Fromentière +did nothing to keep André back, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>Toussaint Lumineau rose abruptly, unable longer +to control his anger.</p> + +<p>"You are a couple of ungrateful children, both of +you!" he exclaimed in a loud voice. "Stay in your +town!" and going out of the kitchen, he crossed the +café before the eyes of the sickly-looking mechanic, +and of Eléonore, who, terrified, leant forward:</p> + +<p>"I told you so, poor father. I told you he would +not! I knew it. Still, <i>au revoir</i>."</p> + +<p>Then to François who was following him:</p> + +<p>"You are going with him to the station."</p> + +<p>He shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Yes, go! It would look better; he would not +then be able to say that we had not treated him +kindly."</p> + +<p>The farmer had opened the door into the street.</p> + +<p>"I will go with you to the station, if you like," +said François sheepishly.</p> + +<p>"I did not ask you to go with me to the station, +ungrateful son; I asked you to come back and save +us all from ruin, and you have refused!" was the +reply. They saw him stride down the street erect, +his fine figure making two of the puny town +mechanics, his silvery hair shining through the mist +of rain. The door shut behind him.</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_254" title="254"> </a> +"No easy customer, the old papa," said the man +who was dining.</p> + +<p>"Don't talk of it," exclaimed Eléonore; "I am +quite ill."</p> + +<p>"What was it he wanted?"</p> + +<p>With a coarse laugh François said as he went back +to the kitchen:</p> + +<p>"Wanted me to go back and dig for him."</p> + +<p>The mechanic, shrugging his shoulders, said with a +self-satisfied air:</p> + +<p>"A fine idea! The old gentleman was a bit unreasonable, +I think."</p> + +<p class="p4"><a class="pagenum" name="Page_255" title="255"> </a></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XV.</h2> +<h3><a name="THE_EMIGRANT" id="THE_EMIGRANT"></a>THE EMIGRANT.</h3> + +<p class="p2">It was late afternoon when Toussaint Lumineau returned +to La Fromentière. It had rained heavily all +day. On the hearth in the house-place the largest +pot was boiling full of potatoes for the men's supper, +and to give food for the pigs. Sitting by the fireside +Mathurin and the farm-servant, kept indoors by +the inclement weather, were warming themselves and +waiting for news. The cripple who had been very +gloomy, and in a state of nervous excitement since +André's departure, had not spoken a word the whole +afternoon. Rousille could be heard folding linen +and arranging it in piles in the cupboard of the +adjacent room.</p> + +<p>The farmer ascended the house steps and opened +the door. Simultaneously the thought came into the +minds of the three awaiting him: "What did they +say? Will they come back? Did they let you go +away without even a promise to return?" But no one +dared to ask him.</p> + +<p>With a curt greeting to his household the farmer +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_256" title="256"> </a> +went straight to his bedside, and began silently +changing his Sunday garb for his working clothes. +The best coat, new hat, shoes, were all laid away. +The answer must have been unsatisfactory. An +awkward silence reigned in the room; as the +minutes went on Mathurin's irritation increased. +Bent almost double in the chimney-corner, his face +drawn, he, the eldest son, felt hurt at being treated +like a servant or a woman. Why not have taken +him apart? A sign would have sufficed. Why not +have given it him?</p> + +<p>His ill temper broke forth when his father, having +changed his clothes, said peremptorily:</p> + +<p>"Rousille, you will come with me and the man into +the barn to make baskets. You, Mathurin, for once +will take your sister's place, and watch the pot."</p> + +<p>"So you think me of no use at all?" said the +cripple.</p> + +<p>Contrary to his usual habit, which was to give +reasons and modify orders, the farmer, raising his +voice, made answer:</p> + +<p>"I am sole master here. Come, Rousille!" +Followed by his daughter and the man, he crossed +the yard in the front of the house, went into the +barn, and threw open the double doors that +separated it from the cart shed. There was the wine +press, the red tilbury; and ranged against the walls +were wheelbarrows, hen-coops, ladders, rafters, and +poles; in the middle of the circle formed by this +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_257" title="257"> </a> +medley was a sandy space, where the fowls came to +scratch and cover themselves with sand. The farmer +sat down upon a joist beside a vat in which a bundle +of osiers were steeping, his face turned towards the +farmhouse. Rousille kneeling close to him, her +back to the light, drew the twigs from the water one +by one, peeled them with her pocket-knife and +handed them to her father. He, taking the white +stems, twisted them round the already prepared +framework of the baskets. In a corner the man +was chopping poles of chestnut wood with a hedge-bill. +The rain came down faster than ever, the air +grew colder and more penetrating, spreading a veil +of mist between the barn and the house. A fantastic +twilight, coming from one knew not whither, +uncertain as the rain and driven by the wind, cast a +faint glimmer upon the workers. The ducks were +quacking merrily in the Marais; sparrows were +chirping in the gutters of the roof. Not a word +passed between the father, his daughter, and the +man. Toussaint Lumineau was looking at Rousille—looking +at her more often and attentively than was +his wont; his thought was: "She is all that is left +to me." At times he stopped plaiting, the white +osier remained motionless, and his hand sank nerveless +to his side. Then it was that the remembrance +of his other children was passing, like the rain, +in a torrent over his soul. In the depths of his heart +the father would cry, "François! André!" He tried +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_258" title="258"> </a> +to picture South America as he had seen it on +map. Where was his youngest son now in the +great wide world? Was he in a town, or wandering +along unknown roads, or on the great ocean that +sucks in so many victims? Toussaint Lumineau +strove to get to him, but the effort was vain. All +the scenes his imagination could picture were lost in +the unknown.</p> + +<p>At that same hour, far away, the heart of a young +man was recalling with all the faithfulness of familiar +scenes, La Fromentière and its elms, his father, +Rousille, Mathurin, the meadows of the Marais and +all the country round. It was the son of whom the +old man was thinking with such poignant regret; +he, whom all three in the barn were vainly trying +to follow in their inexperience of travel.</p> + +<p>Tired after a night passed in the train, and in +going from one agent's office to the other, a stranger +and unknown, André was sitting on a bundle of +sheep-skins in the docks of a great seaport, awaiting +the hour of embarkation in a steamer that was to bear +him away to the new country. In front of him the +waters of the River Scheldt dashed up against the +quay; emerging from the fog on one side they +formed a kind of half circle, to be lost in deeper +fog on the other, their broad expanse covered with +shipping. André's weary eyes followed the moving +panorama of sailing vessels, steamers, coasting and +fishing boats all standing out grey in the fog and the +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_259" title="259"> </a> +fading light of day, now massed together, now disentangling +and gliding away each to its own destination.</p> + +<p>More often he looked beyond to the low-lying +land round which the river curved, meadows half +under water, deserted, immeasurable, seeming to float +on the pale waters. How they reminded him of +the province he had left! How they spoke to him! +Neither the rolling of trucks, nor the whistle of commanding +officers, nor the voices of the thousands of +men of all nations unloading their ships round about +him could draw away his thoughts. Nor did he feel +any interest in the great city that extended behind +him, and whence at times, amid the noise and bustle +of the quay, came the sound of peals of bells such +as he had never yet heard. But the time was +drawing near. He knew this by the increasing +agitation within him. The tramp of an approaching +body of people made him turn his head; they were +emigrants coming out of the sheds where they had +been penned in by the agents, forming a long grey +stream, seen through the mist. They come nearer, +the foremost making their way through the casks +and piles of sacks heaped upon the quay, and crossing +the muddy gangway, hasten to secure the best places +between decks; others follow, a confused mass of +men, women, and children. Young and old are hard +to distinguish; like tears, all look alike; +all have the same sad look in their eyes; all are +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_260" title="260"> </a> +wearing their oldest clothes for the voyage: shapeless +coats, jerseys, old mantles, kerchiefs over the +women's heads, patched petticoats, odd garments in +which they have worked and toiled many a day. +They rub against André Lumineau, sitting on the +bundle of skins, and pay no heed to him. They do +not speak to one another, but in their hurried +progress families form into distinct groups; mothers +holding their children by the hand and shielding +them from the wind, fathers with elbows extended +protecting them from the pressure. All are carrying +something: a bundle of clothing, a loaf of bread, a +handbag tied together with string. All have made +the same pause at the same place. As they turn in +from the streets through the dock gates, they +straighten themselves and stretch out their necks to +look across, ever in the same direction, to the plains +of the Scheldt, where a golden shimmer through +the fog denotes the quarter of the setting sun; and, +as though it were their own, they gaze upon a +solitary little clock tower which rises out of the +misty distance. Then they turn into the docks, find +which is their boat, the steam already up, the windlass +at work, the bridge black with emigrants. And +their courage fails, they are afraid; many among +them would fain turn back. But for them there is +no turning back, they must embark, their tickets +tremble in their shaking hands. In spirit only they +return to the old country, to the poverty they have +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_261" title="261"> </a> +anathematized and now regret; to the deserted +rooms, the suburbs, the factories, the country sides +where once was "home." Pale and nerveless the +living stream suffers itself to be swept on, and +embarks.</p> + +<p>For a long time André Lumineau looked on without +joining the crowd. He was seeking a fellow-countryman. +Seeing none, he at last put himself in +line with the others; he was wearing his military +cloak, the buttons of which had been changed, and +was carrying the black portmanteau that five days +ago reposed in the hayloft of Fromentière. His +neighbours glanced at him with indifference, accepting +him without remark.</p> + +<p>Among them he crossed the quay, mounted the +gangway, and stepped on board, the ship already +swaying with the motion of the river. Then while +others in the throng who had friends or relations +with them were walking the decks in groups, or examining +the machinery, or inspecting the cabins, he +leaned over the side of the boat at the stern trying +to distinguish the river and the grey meadow land, +for memories were rushing thickly upon him, and +his courage was nigh to deserting him. But doubtless +the fog had deepened, for he saw nothing.</p> + +<p>Beside him, hunched up upon the seat, was an old +woman with still fresh complexion, wrapped in a +black cloak with a cape to it, her coif fastened with +a pair of gold pins, and rocking a child in her arms.</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_262" title="262"> </a> +André took no notice of her. But she, unable +to fix her eyes anywhere in the bustle and confusion +of a ship on the point of departure, raised +them every now and then to the stranger standing +beside her, who so surely was thinking of the home +he was leaving. Perhaps she had a son of the same +age. The feeling of pity grew in her and albeit, +well knowing that her neighbour would not understand +her language, the old woman said:</p> + +<p>"U heeft pyn."</p> + +<p>After she had repeated it several times he understood +by the word "pain" and the intonation with +which it was said, that the woman asked, "You are +in sorrow?" and answered:</p> + +<p>"Yes, madame."</p> + +<p>The old mother took Driot's hand in her soft +shrivelled one, all cold and damp with the fog, and +stroked it tenderly, and the young Vendéen broke +down utterly and wept, thinking of bygone caresses +from his old mother, who, too, had worn a white +coif and gold pins on grand occasions.</p> + +<p class="p2">Mist and fog were sweeping over the Marais of +La Vendée, as over the plains of the Scheldt, driven +by gusts of wind.</p> + +<p>At times an expression of anguish crossed the face +of Toussaint Lumineau as he followed with his eyes +the quivering points of the osiers Rousille held out +to him, as though they had been the masts of ships +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_263" title="263"> </a> +labouring in the ocean. At other times he would +look long and lingeringly at his one remaining child, +and Rousille knew that she was fair to look upon. +A violent squall struck the elm-trees, stripping them +clear of leaves, and beating their branches against +the roof of La Fromentière. The rainspouts, the +tiles, the rafters and walls, the very lizards in the +barn groaned and creaked together—and the storm-cry +groaned, wildly and madly, over the Marais.</p> + +<p>Three hundred leagues away the melancholy +whistle of a sirene awoke the echoes, the screw of +a huge steamer parted the waters of the river and +drew away slowly from shore, as though yet half +inert and drifting. No sooner did the emigrants, +outcasts of the old world, poor and hopelessly miserable, +feel themselves afloat, than they were terrified. +The thoughts of all on board flew back to their +deserted homes. It was in the darkness of night +that André Lumineau went forth.</p> + +<p class="p2">The farmer threw back a handful of osiers into +the vat, saying:</p> + +<p>"Let us go in. My old hands can work no +longer."</p> + +<p>But he did not stir. The man, alone, ceased +chopping the poles of chestnut wood, and left the +barn. Rousille, seeing that her father made no movement +to rise, stayed where she was.</p> + +<p class="p4"><a class="pagenum" name="Page_264" title="264"> </a></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> +<h3><a name="HER_FATHERS_BIDDING" id="HER_FATHERS_BIDDING"></a>HER FATHER'S BIDDING.</h3> + +<p class="p2">Evening had come, the evening of a February day, +which casts its shadow so soon. Through the door +of the barn came only a deceptive gleam, like that +of a smouldering cinder, blotting out all form. +Toussaint Lumineau's arms had sunk on either side +of his body; still sitting on the joist, his face uplifted +in the dusk, he waited till the man should +have crossed the yard. When he had seen the door +of the house-place, where Mathurin was watching, +open and shut, he lowered his eyes to his daughter.</p> + +<p>"Rousille," he said, "are you still of the same mind +concerning Jean Nesmy?"</p> + +<p>The girl, kneeling on the ground, her profile indistinct +in the darkness, slowly raised her head and +stooped forward as though better to see him who +spoke in so unexpected a manner. But she had +nothing to conceal, she was not one of those who are +timid and fearful; she only quieted her beating +heart, which could have cried aloud with joy, and +said, with apparent calm:</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_265" title="265"> </a> +"Always, father. I have given him my love, and +shall never withdraw it. Now that André is gone, +I quite understand that I cannot leave you to go and +live in the Bocage. But I shall never marry; I will +stay with you and serve you."</p> + +<p>"Then you will not forsake me as they have +done?"</p> + +<p>"No, father, never."</p> + +<p>Her father rested his hand upon her shoulder, and +the girl felt herself enveloped in a tenderness hitherto +unknown. A hymn of thanksgiving passed from soul +to soul. Around them the wind and rain were +raging.</p> + +<p>"Rousille," resumed the farmer, "I have no longer +a son to lean upon. André was the last to betray +me. François has refused to come back. And yet +La Fromentière must continue ours."</p> + +<p>A firm, sweet voice answered:</p> + +<p>"It must."</p> + +<p>"Then, little one," continued her father, "your +wedding bells must ring!"</p> + +<p>Rousille dared not understand. Still on her knees +she drew a little closer so as to touch her father. +She longed that daylight would come back to reveal +the expression of the eyes fixed upon her. But the +darkness was impenetrable.</p> + +<p>"I had always hoped," continued the farmer, "that +there would be one of my name to carry on the farm +after me. God has refused me my desire. As for +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_266" title="266"> </a> +you, Rousille, I should have liked to have given you +to a Maraîchin like ourselves; one in like position, +and from our part. Perhaps it was pride. Things +have not turned out according to my wishes. Do +you think that Jean Nesmy will consent to come +back to La Fromentière?"</p> + +<p>"I am certain of it! I can answer for him. He +will come back!"</p> + +<p>"And his mother will not seek to offer us any +affront?"</p> + +<p>"No, no. She loves her son too well for that; +she knows everything. But Mathurin!" and she +stretched out her arm towards the house lying hidden +in the darkness. "Mathurin would not have it. He +hates us! He would make life so hard for us that +we could not stay here."</p> + +<p>"But I am still here, dear child, and I mean to +gather the three of you about me."</p> + +<p>Had Rousille heard aright? Had her father +really in so many words given his consent to her +marriage? Yes, for he was now standing upright, +and in rising he had raised his daughter, and was +holding her in close embrace, his tears falling +so fast that he could not speak. But contact with +her youthful happiness seemed to have lent him +fresh courage.</p> + +<p>"Do not fear Mathurin," he said, "I will reason +with him, and he must obey. It was I who dismissed +Jean Nesmy; it is now my will that he +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_267" title="267"> </a> +comes back to be my son and helper, and the master +here when I am gone."</p> + +<p>The girl listened in the darkness.</p> + +<p>"It is my wish that he should come back as +quickly as possible, for a place does not prosper in +hired hands however good they may be. I have +thought it all out for you, Rousille. You will go +from here where we now are, straight to the +Michelonnes."</p> + +<p>"Yes, father."</p> + +<p>"That will give me the time to speak to your +brother. You will therefore go to them and say: +'My father cannot leave La Fromentière and +Mathurin, who has not been well these last few days. +He asks you to go for him to the Bocage, and to +beg the mother of Jean Nesmy to let her son come +back to be my husband. The sooner you start the +better for us.'"</p> + +<p>Now Rousille's tears were falling fast. Toussaint +Lumineau continued:</p> + +<p>"Go, my Rousille. Greet the Michelonnes from +me ... tell them it is to save La Fromentière."</p> + +<p>A whisper answered:</p> + +<p>"Yes," and a pair of young arms were thrown +round the old farmer's neck, and his face drawn +down for a long, loving kiss. Then, going a little +away from him, across the darkness through which +they could not see each other, Rousille said: "I +am happy, father. I will go at once to the +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_268" title="268"> </a> +Michelonnes ... but, oh! how much better it would +have been if we could have had all our people at my +wedding!"</p> + +<p>And she ran out into the night. Her father stood +for a moment, proud and happy. She had said "our +people," this little Rousille; she spoke like her +ancestresses who had ruled in La Fromentière. She +was a true descendant of the great-grandmothers +she had never known, thorough housewives, who +from the very day they were brought home as wives, +staid and happy, seemed to bring with them as +reading in an ever open book the sense of family +cares and joys.</p> + +<p>Rousille ran along the road, unheeding the +stoniness of the way. Rain fell heavily, but she did +not feel it. Sometimes she pressed her hand to her +heart, to calm its beating. She thought, "I am +happy," and with that she wept.</p> + +<p>The windows of all the houses in Sallertaine were +lighted when she reached the long street. The +timid sisters Michelonne had already shut their +shutters, and drawn their bolts.</p> + +<p>"Aunts Michelonne!" she cried, knocking with +her hand on the door, "please let me in quickly."</p> + +<p>It was the work of a moment for Véronique to +draw the bolt, open the door, and shut it behind the +new-comer.</p> + +<p>"How wet you are, Rousille!" she exclaimed, +"and without cloak or kerchief in such weather! It +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_269" title="269"> </a> +has struck seven. What brings you out at such an +hour?"</p> + +<p>At the far end of the room, on a chest beside the +bed nearest to the fireplace, Adelaide had stood the +solitary tallow candle, its long smoky wick burnt to +a thick glowing knob. By its dim light she was +beginning to undress, and had already taken off her +apron. A corner of the sheet turned back upon the +coverlet showed a patch of whiteness; the rest of +the shop was in gloom—chairs, spinning wheels, the +table, the other bedstead, and the clock beside it +calmly ticking.</p> + +<p>"Do not let me disturb you, Aunt Adelaide," said +the girl going towards her; "I have news."</p> + +<p>The eldest of the sisters taking the candlestick, +held it up to Rousille's face, and seeing traces of +tears upon it, said:</p> + +<p>"Sad news, again, dear child?"</p> + +<p>"No, aunts, glad news."</p> + +<p>"Then let us sit down, and tell it quickly."</p> + +<p>The old sisters sat on the oak chest and made +Rousille take a chair facing them, close up that they +might see her happy face, and each taking a hand in +hers prepared to listen. The three faces were close +together; the candle gave just light enough to reveal +lip or eyes irradiated with a smile.</p> + +<p>"My news is," said Rousille, "that my father, +having no longer a son to help him, wishes Jean +Nesmy to come back."</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_270" title="270"> </a> +"What, Rousille, your sweetheart?"</p> + +<p>"Aunt Michelonne, it is to save La Fromentière."</p> + +<p>"Then you are going to be married, pet; you are +going to be married?" exclaimed Aunt Adelaide +enthusiastically, half rising; while her sister, on the +contrary, bent lower to hide her emotion.</p> + +<p>"Yes, father has said so. If you will help +me."</p> + +<p>"If! You know I will; you are my daughter. +You have only to ask for what you want—but tell +me, is it money?"</p> + +<p>"No, aunt."</p> + +<p>"A trousseau that we will both set about making?"</p> + +<p>"Something far more difficult," said Rousille. +"To make a journey—a long one."</p> + +<p>"I, a journey?"</p> + +<p>"You, or Aunt Véronique. As far as the Bocage. +Father cannot leave home; you are to go in his +stead to see Jean Nesmy's mother, and persuade +her to let her son come away. Will you do it?"</p> + +<p>Véronique sat upright. "You go to the Bocage, +Adelaide, you are more active than I am."</p> + +<p>"Is that any reason? So great a pleasure; to do +Rousille so great a service, why should you not have +the privilege?"</p> + +<p>"Sister, you are the elder; you take the place +of the mother."</p> + +<p>"You are right," said Adelaide simply.</p> + +<p>She was silent for a short time; in the agitation +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_271" title="271"> </a> +of the news and her decision, the pretty pink cheeks +had paled. Then she said:</p> + +<p>"You see, it is forty years since I have been beyond +the town of Chalons. I never thought to make +any journey again. Where is Jean Nesmy's +country?"</p> + +<p>With a pretty smile on her face at the recollections +it evoked, Rousille touched Aunt Michelonne's black +dress three times with the tip of her finger.</p> + +<p>"Here," she said, "is the farm of Nouzillac, where +he is employed; there, a parish called La Flocellière; +and there Les Châtelliers, where is his house, +called La Château."</p> + +<p>"I do not know any of those names, pet."</p> + +<p>"There are hills in all directions, some small, +some large, and a great many trees. When the wind +blows from Saint Michel it rains without ceasing. +Pouzanges is not far."</p> + +<p>"I have heard speak of Saint Michel and Pouzanges +when I was quite a child by <i>Boquins</i>, who +used in those days to come to our part to seek for +fuel. And when must I go?"</p> + +<p>Lowering her soft eyes, Rousille answered:</p> + +<p>"Father is hard pressed. He said the sooner the +better."</p> + +<p>"Holy Virgin! But I cannot start to-night. Still, +look at the clock, Véronique, your eyes are better +than mine."</p> + +<p>The younger sister rising, trotted to the foot of +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_272" title="272"> </a> +the tall clock which stood between the beds, +and with difficulty read the time from the copper-clock +face.</p> + +<p>"Too late, sister. The last tramway for Chalons +has just passed."</p> + +<p>"Then," said Adelaide, "I will start to-morrow +morning. I have good legs to carry me to Quatre-Moulins, +and a good tongue to ask my way later +from the shopkeepers at Chalons. I will go. All +the way I shall be thinking of you, Rousille, and +when I see La Mère Nesmy—you will say I am conceited—but +I shall not be a bit embarrassed, I will +tell her of you, and I shall have plenty to tell. Why +are you getting up, little one?"</p> + +<p>"To go home, Aunt Michelonne."</p> + +<p>The two old sisters laughing, cried simultaneously:</p> + +<p>"No, that you are not indeed! You have told +us nothing. What did your father say when he gave +you permission? And what about François? And +what does Mathurin think of it all? Stay, dearie, +and tell us all about everything; and what is to be +the message for Jean Nesmy?"</p> + +<p>As when night falls over the fields partridges +cluster together in a furrow, feather to feather, so +the three women again grouped themselves, in close +vicinity, in the corner of the shop. Words, looks, +smiles, gestures, sometimes tears, all that bespeaks +deep feeling, found utterance, and was re-echoed by +the two auditors. A joyous murmur floated through +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_273" title="273"> </a> +the dwelling of the two old maids. Adelaide was +slightly fevered; Véronique, without wishing to confess +it, was already nervous at the idea of being left +alone. Time went on. The neighbours, as they +extinguished their lamps said: "Mademoiselles +Michelonne are sitting up late to-night! Work +seems plentiful in their trade!"</p> + +<p>The town was sunk in darkness and silence under +an icy rain when Rousille left her aunt's doorstep. +On both sides the same words served for their +parting. Adelaide said it first; Rousille repeated it. +In one case it was a promise; in the other an +expression of thanks.</p> + +<p>"To-morrow morning!"</p> + +<p>"To-morrow morning!"</p> + +<p class="p4"><a class="pagenum" name="Page_274" title="274"> </a></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> +<h3><a name="A_FEBRUARY_NIGHT" id="A_FEBRUARY_NIGHT"></a>A FEBRUARY NIGHT.</h3> + +<p class="p2">When Rousille had crossed the courtyard and +taken the road to Sallertaine, the farmer, having +taken the pot off the fire, left the barn. He found +the man sitting in the chimney-corner, pushing +together the half-dead twigs that had fallen from +the fire-dogs with the points of his sabots. At the +far end of the room, Mathurin was moving restlessly +about on his crutches, with crimsoned face, utterly +unable to keep his nerves under control. He did +not speak to his father, did not appear to have heard +him enter. But after a minute, as the farmer, bending +down, was speaking in a low voice to the man, +he exclaimed violently:</p> + +<p>"And Rousille, what had you to say to her that +kept you so long in the barn?"</p> + +<p>Before replying, Toussaint Lumineau followed +with his eyes the movements of the unhappy young +man, a prey to a species of madness produced by +rage and pain, such as was too well known at La +Fromentière—since André's departure the paroxysms +had become more frequent—and the father +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_275" title="275"> </a> +was moved to pity. Ignoring the insolence of the +question, he said simply:</p> + +<p>"Your sister will come back later, Mathurin. +Where she has gone I have sent her."</p> + +<p>"I am not to know where she is, then?" cried the +cripple still more violently. "Everything is hidden +from me here, and she is told all!"</p> + +<p>At a sign from the farmer the man took out a +couple of potatoes with his knife from the saucepan, +slipped them into his coat pocket, cut a slice of +bread from the loaf on the table, and carrying off +his supper, went out into the yard.</p> + +<p>The father and son were alone. Toussaint +Lumineau, standing erect in the firelight, said:</p> + +<p>"On the contrary, you are going to know all, +Mathurin. Your brother François refuses to come +home to us."</p> + +<p>"I thought so."</p> + +<p>The cripple had drawn back into a dark corner +between the two beds, out of the range of the lamplight; +there, as though on the watch for the words +spoken, he listened; his trembling hands resting on +the crutches shook the bed-curtains.</p> + +<p>"La Fromentière cannot go on as it is now," resumed +the farmer. "I have bidden Rousille take a +message to the Michelonnes. One or the other of +the sisters, whether it be Adelaide or Véronique +matters not, is to go to the Bocage to bring back Jean +Nesmy."</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_276" title="276"> </a> +"Ah! you are marrying Rousille?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my friend."</p> + +<p>"To a dismissed farm-servant!"</p> + +<p>"I am taking him back."</p> + +<p>"A <i>Boquin</i>! A man not of these parts!"</p> + +<p>"A good worker, Mathurin, and one who +always loved our soil."</p> + +<p>"And he is to live at La Fromentière?"</p> + +<p>"Of course. I need help. I need a son to stand +by me."</p> + +<p>Mathurin's tawny head was thrust out from +darkness.</p> + +<p>"And me," he cried, "what are you going to do +with me?"</p> + +<p>In his look was a concentrated reproach, all +pent-up suffering and wrath of years.</p> + +<p>"So I, the eldest, the rightful heir, am only to +bear my suffering and submit to the will of others?"</p> + +<p>"My son," replied his father gently, "you will continue +to live with us as now; you will do what you +can, and no one will expect more. No work will be +undertaken here without your having first been consulted, +that I promise you. The farmstead will be +your home after my death as now."</p> + +<p>"No. I will not be ordered about by a man who +does not bear my name. A Lumineau, and a +Lumineau only, must be master here!"</p> + +<p>"It is the sorrow of my life, Mathurin, that this +cannot be."</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_277" title="277"> </a> +"I could have borne with François, even with +André," continued the cripple, with equal vehemence, +"but Rousille and her <i>Boquin</i> shall never be the +masters here. It is my home, and, I tell you, it is +my turn!"</p> + +<p>"But, my poor boy, you cannot take the management."</p> + +<p>The serge curtains shook, and the unhappy man, +suffocating with rage, made a few uncertain steps +forward.</p> + +<p>"I cannot tell what is good ploughing?" he gasped.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"I cannot buy a pair of oxen?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"I cannot have myself drawn about in a cart, or +punt a boat? Answer, if you please."</p> + +<p>"Yes, my son."</p> + +<p>"Then what further do I need for the management +of a farm? Labourers I can hire. A +wife?"</p> + +<p>His father dared not say Yes.</p> + +<p>"I will bring one!" Mathurin had reached the +corner of the table and was now leaning upon it, the +upper part of his body swaying and struggling to +maintain its equilibrium. "One who has more heart +than all of you put together! She knows that I +shall get well. She has almost given me her promise +to marry me as I am ... when I shall have persuaded +her."</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_278" title="278"> </a> +"Do not trust to what the girls tell you, my poor +lad. It is only fathers and mothers who love and +cherish those afflicted as you are.... You are ill +this evening. See, your limbs are failing you. Come +to bed, I will help you."</p> + +<p>The cripple did not try to answer. His eyes +closed, his head sank on to his shoulder; the +crutches slipped from under the arms that stretched +out as those of a drowning man seeking help. He +would have fallen to the ground had not the farmer +rushed forward to support him.</p> + +<p>The giddiness did not last long. It was a sharp +but short attack. Hardly had his father got him +into a recumbent position on the chest at the foot +his bed than Mathurin opened his eyes. He looked +at his father, raised himself unaided, and putting +hand to the back of his neck, said:</p> + +<p>"You see, it is nothing. The pain you caused +did it.... I am not ill."</p> + +<p>All trace of anger had disappeared, but the misery +in his face was the same, mingled with that kind of +horror men experience when they have been at the +very verge of death.</p> + +<p>"Would you like me to help you?" asked his +father.</p> + +<p>With a shrug of the shoulders the cripple began +to undress himself, and taking off his coat, folded it, +and laid it on the chest.</p> + +<p>"No. I will get to bed by myself. I want to be +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_279" title="279"> </a> +left in peace." His voice trembled as much as his +hands. "You had better go to meet Rousille. She +will have her news to tell you—and, moreover, it is +pitch dark, the roads are not too safe——"</p> + +<p>Toussaint Lumineau, who knew the danger of +opposing his son in such an attack, made no demur.</p> + +<p>"I will go as far as the road, Mathurin, and will +tell the man to be at hand in the bakery in case you +need him."</p> + +<p>He did not go even as far as the road. He was +too uneasy. He went some hundred yards along +the wall of La Fromentière in the rain, turned back, +and then not wishing to go in too soon as to allow +Mathurin time to calm down, he went into the stables +to look to the animals, and see that none had broken +loose.</p> + +<p>But, all unsuspected, Mathurin had slipped out after +him. The farmer had not gone ten paces beyond +the gate ere the cripple had come out into the +courtyard, cautiously shut the outer door, and was +making his way towards the threshing-floor in order +to reach the meadow by the short cut.</p> + +<p>His marvellous energy, and the diseased state of +nervous excitability he was in, sustained him. A +mad fancy, born of all his misery and all his dreams, +forced him out on that cruel night to his doom. He +would seek his lost love; would appeal by all the +slights, all the suffering, all the affronts he had endured, +to her who had been and still was the arbitress +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_280" title="280"> </a> +of his life; would say to her: "All forsake me; I +have only you. Tell me that you love me, and they +will scorn me no more. Save me, Félicité Gauvrit!"</p> + +<p>Despite the dark night, the slippery ground, the +two fences he had to climb, he went quickly along +the track which bordered the park. Like a naughty +child fearing pursuit, he turned his head every now +and then to listen. Many a sound came to him, but +it was only the whistling of the wind among the +elms; the rain crashing down upon the slates; the +roll of a distant train, probably on the way to +Chalons. Mathurin descended the sloping meadow; +the darkness was so dense that he had to turn back +twice before he found the landing-stage. Feeling +for a punt with his crutch he threw himself into the +first one, and with a stroke of the pole pushed it out, +not into the canal which led direct to Le Perrier and +La Seulière, but to the left into a dyke rarely made +use of by the occupants of the farm.</p> + +<p>The bottom of the boat was full of water; at each +movement it washed over the limbs of the cowering +man, but he heeded it not. What mattered the wet +boat, the icy rain that was falling, the pitch darkness, +the weeds that checked his progress many a time, +the length of the way, the fatigue. He must reach +her, did he strain his last nerve and die in the effort.</p> + +<p>The darkness was so great that Mathurin could +scarce see the bow of his boat. Since sundown the +wind had been driving the fog into the Marais; in +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_281" title="281"> </a> +its length and breadth it was full of it, covering +whole spaces with its swaying mass; it lay over the +inundated meadows, the embankments, and islets, +shrouding them all in its malarial folds. It dripped +in poisonous drops down poplars and willows, from +the thatched roofs of hovels on the edge of the great +sea shore where men, condemned to live in them, +drank in fever without the power of struggling +against it.</p> + +<p>On such a deadly night was it that Mathurin, +already a prey to the malady hanging over him, the +blood surging to his head, found his strength ebbing +away. In vain he threw himself from side to side +of the punt, unable to distinguish which way to go. +Sometimes his breath failed, he grew unconscious, +and the puntsman would sit leaning forward motionless +in the boat; then the cold would restore him, +and with a shake he would continue his course.</p> + +<p>As he went on further into the wildest part of +the Marais, the shades of night grew peopled with +forms. Birds, more and more numerous, rose as +he brushed past the quivering willows. It was the +time of their flight. Plovers, wild duck, bernacles, +snipe, flew up, uttering their shrill or plaintive +cry, soaring in invisible flocks, now high up in the +icy fog, now close down to the sides of the boat. +At each flight the cripple shuddered: "Why do you +cry thus at me, ye birds of ill-omen?" he thought. +"Leave me in peace, I am going to Félicité—she +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_282" title="282"> </a> +will consent—we shall make preparation again for our +wedding—we will live at La Fromentière."</p> + +<p>But his strength was exhausted. Little by little +the torpor increased. His efforts relaxed; his sight +failed. He continued touching the banks with the +punt pole but fitfully, and not knowing where it +struck. All suddenly the boat, which drifted across +an embankment into the middle of a submerged +meadow, stopped. Water was all around. +Mathurin's hands relaxed their hold of the pole, +his eyes opened wide with terror; he felt Death +creeping up from limbs to brain. Raising himself, +he cried out into the night with a loud voice: +"Félicité! Father!" Then his body swayed backwards +and forwards, his hand made the sign of the +cross, and with mouth still open he sank lifeless to +the bottom of the boat.</p> + +<p>Through the labyrinth of dykes another punt was +being rapidly propelled; at its bow a lantern was +slung, just clearing the water, its tiny flame swaying +with a rapid movement, and shaken by the wind. +The farmer had discovered Mathurin's flight, and +was seeking him.</p> + +<p>Around him, too, coveys of birds arose. White +wings fluttered in the light of the lantern.</p> + +<p>"Ye birds," murmured the farmer, "tell me where +to find him!"</p> + +<p>Did the thousands of voices make answer?</p> + +<p>At each crossway of the canals the father stood +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_283" title="283"> </a> +in the stern of his boat, and turning successively to +the four winds of heaven, he called out with all his +strength the name of his son. Twice men returning +to their island homes from wild duck shooting, or +belated farmers, had opened their windows to cry +in the darkness:</p> + +<p>"What do you want?"</p> + +<p>"My son."</p> + +<p>The voices had given no reply. The third time +Toussaint Lumineau thought he distinguished a +feeble cry, very distant, coming through the icy fog, +and leaving the canal which runs straight to Perrier, +he turned off to the left. From time to time he +called again, but hearing no further sound, and fearing +to have taken a wrong direction, he unfastened +the lantern, and drew up to the side to see if there +were traces of a punt pole. Some hundred yards +further on he detected by newly-made marks in the +mud that the bank had been grazed; a punt had +certainly passed that way. Was it Mathurin's? He +followed it. The punt had made the circuit of a +meadow, but on which side had it gone out? In +vain the farmer, forcing his way through the rushes, +tried the different canals that cut it at right angles, +each time he came back baffled; all traces had disappeared. +He was about to turn back when, by the +light of his lantern, he caught sight of a piece of +floating wood. He stooped to catch it; a presentiment +of the truth flashed across him; it was one of +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_284" title="284"> </a> +the Fromentière punt poles, drifting, carried by the +wind towards the spot where the banks under water +had converted meadow and dyke into one great lake.</p> + +<p>The farmer thought his son's boat had upset.</p> + +<p>"Hold on, Mathurin!" he cried. "I am coming. +Hold on!" and with a stroke of the pole he pushed +on into the channel. "Where are you, Mathurin?"</p> + +<p>In the chopping waves of the open water he had +made some thirty yards, when he was suddenly +thrown forward. Stooping over the side, he felt +about, and caught hold of another boat, which he +drew alongside his own. Then turning the lantern +upon it, he saw at the bottom of the punt his +son, lying motionless. Toussaint Lumineau threw +himself on his knees, nearly sending the boat under +water; he felt his son's temples, there was no pulsation; +his hands, they were icy cold; he put his +mouth to the dead man's ear, and twice called him +by name.</p> + +<p>"Answer me, my son," he implored. "Answer! +Move but a finger to show me you are still living."</p> + +<p>But his son's fingers did not move; the lips clothed +by the tawny beard remained motionless, open as +when the last cry proceeded from them.</p> + +<p>"My God!" groaned Lumineau, still kneeling. +"Grant that he may not be called away before his +Easter Communion. Grant that he be not dead!" +And taking off his coat he covered his son in it, +like a bed, and leaving his own punt he got into +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_285" title="285"> </a> +the one where Mathurin lay, and pushed off. A +shade of hope sustained him, giving renewed vigour +to his old arms. He must find help. Standing upright, +endeavouring to find out where he was in the +pitch darkness, the father had punted on some distance +before he detected the light of a farmhouse. +Then, to the right, a ray of light pierced through the +fog. The punt glided on more rapidly through the +dyke, it neared the building, and Toussaint could +make out that it was a farm from the shape of the +doors and the lighted windows. Alas! it was La +Seulière, and a dance was going in. The noise of +laughter, songs, the muffled notes of an accordeon +plainly audible within, died away in the wind without.</p> + +<p>The farmer went on past the brown hillock, but +even while he punted with all speed he watched to +see if the great dark shade cast by Mathurin had not +stirred; then seeing it motionless, thought to himself: +"My son is dead!"</p> + +<p>Some five hundred yards away on the other side +of the canal, he knew now that there was another +house, and he made all haste to reach it. For this +time it was Terre-Aymont, the farm of Massonneau +le Glorieux, his friend. And soon the farmer, +throwing his boat-chain round a willow, had sprung +to land, and going to the farmhouse door, was crying: +"Glorieux! Glorieux! Help!"</p> + +<p>Soon lights were moving along the muddy slopes +between the farm and the willow to which the boat +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_286" title="286"> </a> +had been attached, and men and women were hurrying +to and fro with tears, laments, and low-voiced +prayers. The whole sleeping household had been +quickly roused, and were assembled on the bank. +Massonneau would have had Mathurin carried into +the house-place of La Terre-Aymont and have sent +to fetch the doctor of Chalons, but Toussaint +Lumineau, having once more examined and felt over +his son's body, said:</p> + +<p>"No, Glorieux. His sufferings are at an end. I +will take him back to La Fromentière."</p> + +<p>Then the farmer of La Terre-Aymont turned to +two young lads standing in the background, who +with arms round each other's necks, their brown +heads touching, seemed to be looking on death for +the first time.</p> + +<p>"My lads," he said, "go and fetch our large punt."</p> + +<p>Disappearing in the fog, they ran to fetch the +boat which was kept in a meadow close by La +Seulière, and as they passed they told the merrymakers +what had happened.</p> + +<p>It was nearly ten at night when the body of +Mathurin Lumineau was reverently placed by +friendly hands in the great punt used for carrying +forage, and which had so often been seen returning +from the meadows laden with hay, one of the Terre-Aymont +children perched on the top, singing.</p> + +<p>The body was laid in the middle of the boat, +covered with a white sheet by the hands of +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_287" title="287"> </a> +Mère Massonneau; on it she placed a copper +crucifix.</p> + +<p>Toussaint Lumineau took his place in the stern +at his son's head. Standing in the bow with their +punt poles were the two sons of Glorieux de la Terre-Aymont, +two lanterns at their feet to light them on +their way.</p> + +<p>The boat left the bank amid the laments of those +present, and proceeded slowly down the Grand +Canal, the wind driving the mists of the Marais +towards it as it advanced.</p> + +<p>When at a short distance from La Seulière, a +voice from land exclaimed:</p> + +<p>"There it is! I hear the punt poles; I see the +lights!"</p> + +<p>The doors of both rooms were thrown open; the +lamplight shone out, illuminating the hillock on +which the house stood; the stunted trees on the +edge of the dyke looked silvery out of the darkness. +Now all those present at the dance, young men and +maidens, came forth in long procession down to the +bank to greet the mournful convoy. In their gala +dresses they knelt on the muddy bank, their coifs +and aprons blown about in the wind. Silently they +watched the approach of the white shroud covering +the remains of the cripple, their senior by so few +years, and the poor old father sitting bent double +in the stern, his head almost touching his knees, +motionless as the dead son he was guarding.</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_288" title="288"> </a> +Behind the others knelt a tall girl supported by +two of her companions kneeling on either side of +her, the blue kerchief and gold chain she wore +conspicuous in the light that streamed from the +house. All were silent. All followed with their eyes +the boat as it slowly glided away again into the +darkness. The sound of the punt poles, as they +dipped the water, gradually died away; the ripples +left on the smooth surface of the water subsided. +The white shroud had passed away into the ever-deepening +fog. There remained only a glimmer of +light, the faint reflection of the lanterns passing +across the meadows; soon nothing could be distinguished +from out the enveloping darkness into +which the punt had disappeared.</p> + +<p>"Poor eldest Lumineau! the handsomest of us +all!"</p> + +<p>In the solitude of the Marais, whither the pity of +his fellow creatures could not accompany him, the +old father wept as he looked on the burden at his +feet; he wept, too, when lifting up his head his eyes +lighted on the stalwart lads plying the punt poles, +who, faithful to their home and soil, were keeping +on the straight course.</p> + +<p class="p4"><a class="pagenum" name="Page_289" title="289"> </a></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> +<h3><a name="SPRINGTIDE" id="SPRINGTIDE"></a>SPRINGTIDE.</h3> + +<p class="p2">The second week of April was extremely mild +throughout the Marais of La Vendée; Spring was +at hand. The first to announce its coming were the +blackthorns and willows; they were not yet in +blossom but in bud. And those buds which precede +the blossoms have a perfume of their own—the +whole country side was permeated with it. In +the low-lying meadows, from which the water had +retired, flowering moss was sending up its slender +heads amid the fresh blades of grass. The plover +was making its nest. Horses, turned out to grass, +were enjoying their gallops on sunny banks, once +more dry and firm. Pools were blue as the clouds +were white, because Spring was coming.</p> + +<p>On an afternoon of that happy week when all life +was young again, Toussaint Lumineau, standing at +his gate, was awaiting the return of the eldest +Michelonne, whom, a week ago, he had sent on a +<a class="pagenum" name="Page_290" title="290"> </a> +mission to the town of Châtelliers. For she had +written him that her quest had been successful, and +that she was bringing back from the Bocage the +humble labourer who was to be Rousille's husband, +the mainstay and eventually the master of La Fromentière. +That morning Véronique had come to +fetch Rousille to go and meet the travellers, and +now the time was approaching when the tilted +cart drawn by La Rousse should have rounded the +corner and appeared at the foot of the hill between +the two corn-fields swaying in the breeze.</p> + +<p>The farmer stood waiting on his own domain, leaning +on the gate which, alas! had opened to let forth, +without return, all the sons of La Fromentière, and +which he, himself, would now open to let in the +new-comers. Truly his heart was sad. Life had +treated him hardly; the future was not reassuring. +Would not the land soon be sold and left to chance? +At the very moment that he was about to welcome +those who should succeed him, could Toussaint +Lumineau chase away the thought that the long +traditions of bygone generations were coming to an +end, and that, inseparable for centuries, his family +name and that of the farm would no longer be one +and the same? However, he was too old, and came +of too good a stock to surrender hope. The blood +that coursed in his veins contained, like wheat, something +of eternal youth. It might be deemed dead, +it sprang to life again.</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_291" title="291"> </a> +A dull, rapid thud, like the sound of men threshing, +smote on the balmy air. Toussaint Lumineau +recognised his mare's pace. She was coming at a +gallop, as when returning from fairs, or fêtes, or +weddings.</p> + +<p>He raised his head. Once more he felt within +him the courage to live on, and turning towards the +road where the old trees were putting on their fresh +glad verdure, knowing that beyond them joy was +hastening to him, he took off his hat, and with outstretched +arms said:</p> + +<p>"Come, my Rousille, with your Jean Nesmy."</p> + +<p class="p4 center"><b>THE END.</b></p> + +<p class="center small"><i>Jarrold and Sons, The Empire Press, Norwich and London.</i></p> + +<hr class="c15" /> + +<p class="p4"><a class="pagenum" name="Page_292" title="292"> </a></p> + +<p class="large center"><b>Selections from</b><br /> +<b>Jarrold & Sons'</b><br /> +<b>List of Fiction</b></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/leaf.png" width="69" height="25" alt="leaf" /> +</div> + +<p class="p2 center large">Maurus Jókai's Famous Novels.</p> + +<p class="center small"><i>Authorised Editions. Crown 8vo, Art Linen, 6/- each.</i></p> +<div class="left25"> +<p><b>Black Diamonds.</b> (<i>Fifth Edition.</i>)</p> + +<p>By <span class="smcap">Maurus Jókai</span>, Author of "The Green Book,"<br /> +"Poor Plutocrats," etc. Translated by Frances<br /> +Gerard. With Special Preface by the Author.</p> + +<p class="small">"Full of vigour ... his touches of humour are excellent."—<i>Morning Post.</i><br /> +"An interesting story."—<i>Times.</i></p> + +<p><b>The Green Book.</b> (<span class="smcap">Freedom Under the +Snow.</span>) (<i>Sixth Edition.</i>)</p> + +<p>By <span class="smcap">Maurus Jókai</span>. Translated by Mrs. Waugh.<br /> +With a finely engraved Portrait of Dr. Jókai.</p> + +<p class="small">"Brilliantly drawn ... a book to be read."—<i>Daily Chronicle.</i><br /> +"Thoroughly calculated to charm the novel-reading public by its ceaseless excitement +... from first to last the interest never flags. A work of the most +exciting interests and superb descriptions."—<i>Athenæum.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"><b>Pretty Michal.</b> (<i>Fourth Edition.</i>)</p> + +<p>By <span class="smcap">Maurus Jókai</span>. Translated by R. Nisbet Bain.<br /> +With a specially engraved Photogravure Portrait of Dr. Jókai.<br /> +"A fascinating novel."—<i>The Speaker.</i></p> + +<p class="small">"His workmanship is admirable, and he possesses a degree of sympathetic +imagination not surpassed by any living novelist. The action of his stories is life-like, +and full of movement and interest."—<i>Westminster Gazette.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"><b>A Hungarian Nabob.</b> (<i>Fifth Edition.</i>)</p> + +<p>By <span class="smcap">Maurus Jókai</span>. Translated by R. Nisbet Bain.<br /> +With a fine Photogravure Portrait of Dr. Jókai.</p> + +<p class="small">"Full of exciting incidents and masterly studies of character."—<i>Court Circular.</i><br /> +"The work of a genius."—<i>Pall Mall Gazette.</i></p> +</div> + +<hr class="c15" /> + +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AUTUMN GLORY***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 38255-h.txt or 38255-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/8/2/5/38255">http://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/2/5/38255</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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