Chapter XXXVI: The Truth Sometimes Seems Improbable

The snow had fallen with more violence and in greater abundance than usual; the gusts of wind constantly snapped off branches of the trees and hurled them far away across the roads, which soon became impassable. The clock struck eight and it had long been dark.

Adeline, whom the roaring of the tempest made more melancholy than usual, had not left her room during the day. Catherine had brought Ermance downstairs and put her to bed beside her mother, who was sitting in a chair and refused to retire so early, despite the old servant’s entreaties. The master of the house was playing his usual game with Dupré, and Lucas had just taken up his great book, when the bell at the gate rang loudly.

“Somebody is ringing,” said Monsieur Gerval; “company so late as this, and in such weather!”

“It is very strange!” repeated Lucas.

“Shall I open the door, monsieur?” asked Dupré.

“Why, we must find out first who it is; it may be travellers who have got lost in the mountains and cannot go any farther, or some unfortunate creature whom the villagers have sent to me, as they sometimes do. I hear Catherine coming, she will tell us who it is.”

Catherine had been to the door to look out, and she came up again to take her master’s orders.

“Monsieur,” she said, “it is three travellers, three peddlers, it would seem, for they have bales on their backs. They ask for shelter for to-night, as they cannot go on, because there are more than two feet of snow on the road. One of them is a poor old man who seems to suffer much from the cold. Shall I let them in?”

“Certainly, and we will do our best for them.”

“But, monsieur,” said Dupré, “three men, at night--that is rather imprudent!”

“Why so, Dupré? They are peddlers and one of them is old; what have we to fear? It is perfectly natural that they should seek shelter in bad weather; ought I to leave people to lose their way among these mountains, for fear of entertaining vagabonds? Ah! my friend, if it were necessary to read the hearts of those whom one succors, one would do good too seldom! Go and let them in quickly, Catherine; do not leave these travellers at the gate any longer; and do you, Dupré, make a big fire so that they may dry themselves; and Lucas will prepare the small room which I always reserve for visitors.”

Catherine went down and opened the gate for the travellers, who overwhelmed her with thanks. The two younger ones held the old man by the arms, and only with great difficulty did they succeed in helping him up the staircase to the first floor, where the master of the house awaited them in the living-room.

“Welcome, messieurs,” said honest Gerval, inviting them to draw near the fire. “First of all, let us make this old gentleman comfortable; he seems completely exhausted.”

“Yes, monsieur,” said the aged stranger in a tremulous voice, “the cold has so affected me that, except for the help of my children, I should have remained on the road.”

“You will soon feel better, my good man. Messieurs, take off those bales, which are in your way, and I will send them to the room which you are to occupy.”

The peddlers deposited in a corner of the room several bundles which seemed to contain linens, handkerchiefs and muslin; Dupré, who was a little suspicious, walked to the bundles and examined them; one of the young men noticed his action, and made haste to open several of them and exhibit his wares to the old servant.

“If there’s anything that takes your fancy, say so, monsieur,” he said; “we will do our best to please you.”

“Thanks,” replied Dupré, seeing that his master appeared displeased by his inspection of the bundles; “we can see these things better to-morrow morning.”

The two peddlers returned to the old man, and sat down in front of the fire. Catherine brought a bottle of wine and glasses, and Lucas took up the bundles and carried them to the room on the second floor.

“Here is something that will warm you while your supper is preparing,” said Monsieur Gerval, filling the strangers’ glasses. “Drink, messieurs,--it is very good.”

“With pleasure,” said that one of the young men who had already spoken to Dupré. “An excellent thing is good wine! Here, father; here, Jean; your health, monsieur.”

“Are these your sons?” Monsieur Gerval asked the old man.

“Yes, monsieur, they are my support, the staff of my old age. This is Gervais, my oldest; he is always merry, always ready to laugh; and this is Jean, my youngest, he isn’t so light-hearted as his brother, he doesn’t speak much, but he is a steady fellow, a great worker and very economical. I love them both, for they are honest and incapable of deceiving anybody, and with those qualities a man is certain to make his way.”

“I congratulate you on having such children; but why do you go on the road with them at your age?”

“You see, monsieur, we’re going to Metz to set up in business; my boys are going to marry the daughters of a correspondent of theirs, and I am going to live with them.”

“That makes a difference; but was it chance that brought you to my house, or did the peasants point it out to you as a good place at which to pass the night?”

“Monsieur,” said Gervais, “we are not familiar with this neighborhood, and as we started out rather late, the darkness took us by surprise; that is why we sought shelter, especially on account of our father, who is too old to endure severe weather. But for him, we should never have been able to make up our minds to ask a gentleman for a night’s lodging, and we should have passed the night on the snow, my brother and I--shouldn’t we, Jean?”

“Yes,” said Jean in a low voice, and without removing his gaze from the fire.

“You would have done very wrong, messieurs,” said Monsieur Gerval, filling the strangers’ glasses; “I like to be useful to my fellowmen, and I will try to give you a comfortable night.”

“You live in a very isolated house,” said Gervais, emptying his glass; “aren’t you ever afraid of being victimized by robbers?”

“I have never been afraid of that; nothing has ever happened to me thus far.”

“Besides, there are enough of us here to defend ourselves,” said Dupré, drawing himself up; “and we have weapons, thank God!”

“Dupré, go and see if Catherine is getting supper ready.”

“Yes, monsieur, and I’ll go too and see if Madame Constance and her daughter want anything.”

Dupré did not go to Adeline’s room; but he was glad of an opportunity to let the strangers know that there were more people in the house, for he was not at all pleased to find that the strangers were going to pass the night there.

He went to the kitchen, and asked Catherine what she thought of the strangers.

“Faith! I think they’re honest folk; the old man seems very respectable.”

“For an old man who can hardly stand on his legs, he has very bright eyes! And his two sons! one of them looks very much like a regular ne’er-do-well; he always has a sneering laugh when he speaks, and he drinks--oh! he don’t leave any in his glass!”

“Indeed! that’s very surprising, isn’t it? A peddler!”

“And the other one,--such a sombre air! He never lifts his eyes; and so far the only word he has said is a single ‘yes,’ and he said it in such a lugubrious way! I don’t like those people.”

“Bah! you are too suspicious, my dear Dupré.”

“No, but I like to know my people.”

“Do we know this poor woman who has been living here for more than a year?”

“Oh! but what a difference! A young, beautiful, and interesting woman; why, her condition alone would make anyone pity her; and that child, such a sweet, pretty creature! You see, I know something about faces; and these peddlers--I tell you, Catherine, I shan’t sleep sound to-night.”

“And I shall sleep very well, I trust.”

“For all that, don’t forget to lock your door.”

“Well, upon my word! if you’re not just like Lucas! I must say that we have brave fellows here to defend us, if we should be attacked!”

“You are mistaken, Catherine; I am not a coward; but I realize that I am more than twenty years old. Oh! if I were only twenty, I wouldn’t be afraid of three men!”

“Let me get my supper ready, instead of making my ears ache with your nonsense.”

“Nonsense! Hum! that’s easy to say.--And what about our young woman,--won’t she come to supper?”

“You know very well that it isn’t her custom. She is asleep, I hope; I suppose you would like to wake her, wouldn’t you?”

“Catherine.”

“Well?”

“It seems to me that I hear a noise in the yard, near the gate.”

“It’s the wind waving the trees and shaking the windows. However, go and see.”

“Yes, I propose to make sure for myself, although you say that I am a coward.”

Dupré lighted a lantern, and made the circuit of the courtyard. Everything was in its accustomed order; the gate was securely locked; he stopped a moment to look through the bars, but the wind blew the snow into his face. While he was rubbing his eyes, a dull sound reached his ears, which seemed to come from the room on the ground floor which Adeline occupied.

“Poor woman! she isn’t asleep yet,” said Dupré to himself; “suppose I should go and find out if she wants anything? But monsieur doesn’t want her to be disturbed at night; he has forbidden it; so I’ll go upstairs again and watch the peddlers.”

The old servant met Lucas on the stairs; the gardener was laughing and singing, because he was always very cheerful when there was much company in the house.

“Have you arranged the bedroom for these strangers?” asked Dupré.

“Yes, and I’ve carried their bundles there; and the tall one wanted to give me a piece of money for my trouble, but I refused it.”

“You did well. For people who travel on foot, they’re very generous.”

“Oh! he has the look of a high liver, has that tall fellow with the red hair; he laughs and drinks and talks for the whole party. If we often had guests like him, there’d be a little more fun here, I tell you! But we haven’t got anybody but that poor woman; and a lunatic is never very gay, especially this one.”

“Humph! you don’t know how to judge people. I don’t say that these peddlers are scoundrels, but----”

“But what?”

“Lock your door tight to-night--do you hear, Lucas?”

“Yes, Monsieur Dupré, yes, I hear,” replied Lucas, whose hilarity suddenly vanished, and who became pale and perturbed, while Dupré returned slowly to his master’s presence.

The old man and Gervais were talking with Monsieur Gerval; the other young man replied only by monosyllables to the questions that were put to him.

“My brother is a little serious,” said tall Gervais to his host, in an undertone. “The trouble is, that he is jealous, he’s afraid that his sweetheart has forgotten him in the two years that he has been away, and that disturbs him.”

“I can understand that, but you don’t seem to have the same anxiety!”

“I? morbleu! woman never worried me! I’m a rake, I am! I snap my fingers at them all, and I am capable of----”

“Hush, my son,” said the old man, interrupting him abruptly; “you talk a little too freely; excuse him, monsieur; you see he’s been a soldier.”

“Aha! you have been in the army, have you?”

“Yes, to be sure I have; and when there’s any fighting to be done, I am always on hand; eh, father?”

“Oh! to be sure! You are a wrong-headed youngster! anybody can see that!”

Catherine appeared and announced that supper was served in the next room.

“Let us adjourn to the table, messieurs,” said Monsieur Gerval, escorting the newcomers to the dining-room. They took their seats, the old peddler beside his host. Dupré, as a very old servant, who had become his master’s friend, always ate at his table; he took his place, but Monsieur Gerval noticed that there was another plate beside him.

“For whom is this place, Dupré?” asked Monsieur Gerval.

“It is for our young lady, monsieur, or for her daughter, if either of them should come.”

“You know very well, my friend, that they are asleep now; Constance isn’t in the habit of sitting up so late.”

“She isn’t asleep, monsieur, for I heard a noise in her room.”

The old man cast a glance at his two companions, then addressed his host:

“You have ladies in your house? If we prevent them from coming to the table, we will go up to our room at once.”

“No, indeed! I have only a young woman and a child. The poor mother, alas! is bereft of her reason. She is an unfortunate creature, who has a too loving heart.”

“I am sorry for her!”

“Let us drink to her health, messieurs,” said tall Gervais, filling his glass and his neighbor’s.

“That fellow doesn’t stand much on ceremony,” thought Dupré, as he glanced at the peddler, who took the bottle himself; “the devil! he would exhaust our cellar in short order.”

The old man glanced at his oldest son from time to time; he seemed displeased to see him drink so often, and reproached him for not being more temperate.

“You see, our host’s wine is delicious,” replied Gervais; “and you know that I am a good judge, father.”

“Do not spare it,” said Monsieur Gerval; “it will give you strength to continue your journey to-morrow.”

“With pleasure, my dear monsieur; I am inclined to crook my elbow a bit.”

Dupré made a wry face; it seemed to him that Monsieur Gervais used some very peculiar expressions, and the more he drank, the less reserve he manifested. Honest Gerval excused it, and was much amused by the joviality of the peddler, which did not seem to please the old man so much.

“Why don’t you drink, Jean?” said Gervais, nudging his neighbor; “you’re a sad fellow! And you, my dear and honored father; you make eyes at me that shine like salt cellars! Morbleu! I am the only one of the family that knows how to laugh; eh, monsieur?--Monsieur de Gerval, your health and your family’s and your lunatic’s; and yours, you old fox, who look at us as if we’d come from Arabia Petræa.--Here’s everybody’s health! I am not stingy!”

“Excuse him, monsieur,” the old man said to Dupré, “but when he has drunk a little, he doesn’t know what he says.”

Dupré frowned and made no reply.

“I don’t know what I say!” cried Gervais; “ah! ten thousand dogs! you think that, do you, my dear father? Well! you lie like the blockhead you are! Isn’t that so, Jean? isn’t he a blockhead?”

The old man rose in a rage.

“If it weren’t for the respect that I owe to our host,” he said, “I’d punish you for your insolence; but I take pity on the situation you’re in; come with me, and let us not keep monsieur from retiring any longer.”

“That’s so, that’s so, my dear father; I rather think I have been talking nonsense, and it’s more prudent to go to bed; meanwhile I ask you for your blessing.”

As he said this, Gervais approached the old man, who pushed him away, and bade Monsieur Gerval good-night, apologizing again for his oldest son’s conduct.

Lucas took candles and was about to escort the strangers to the room set apart for them, when they heard a noise in the courtyard. The peddlers expressed surprise and Dupré ran to the window to look out; he saw Adeline, dressed in a simple déshabillé, holding a light in her hand and walking excitedly through the drifts of snow in the courtyard.

“It is she, monsieur,” said Dupré to his master; “it’s very surprising that she has left her room so late.”

“Is that the poor woman?” asked the old man.

“Pardieu! I want to see the mad woman!” cried tall Gervais; “I am curious to know whether or not she is pretty.”

He ran at once to the window but Adeline had already returned to her room.

“Good-night, messieurs,” said Gerval to the strangers; “I will see you to-morrow before you leave.”

The peddlers went up to the second floor, Lucas left them a light, and hastened down to his room, which adjoined the kitchen, taking care to barricade the door, from top to bottom, as Dupré had advised.

The latter, left alone with his master, for the cook had already retired, communicated to Monsieur Gerval his observations on the subject of the strangers.

“You must agree, monsieur,” he said, “that that tall fellow has the look of a vagabond. His way of talking and of behaving, his lack of respect toward his father----”

“What do you expect? He had had a little too much to drink!”

“His peculiar expressions----”

“He has been in the army.”

“Oh! that isn’t the language of a soldier.--God grant, my dear master, that you do not repent the hospitality you have given to these people!”

“What are you afraid of?”

“I don’t know, but everything about them looks suspicious to me; even the silence of that other one, whose sinister expression does not indicate an honest heart.”

“Nonsense, Dupré! calm your excitement and go to bed. A night is soon passed.”

“Yes, when you sleep! but it is very long sometimes. What pleases me is that my room is next to yours; if you hear any noise, you will call me instantly, won’t you, monsieur?”

“Yes, my good Dupré; go now and don’t be frightened.”

Dupré left his master regretfully; the latter went to bed in perfect confidence, and soon forgot in sleep his old servant’s words.

Dupré’s room was on the first floor, adjoining Monsieur Gerval’s; but his door opened on the landing, from which one flight of stairs led up to the second floor and another down to the courtyard.

Tormented by an anxiety which he could not overcome, Dupré resolved to keep awake, and to try to clear up his suspicions. He looked from his window at the strangers’ apartment; the light was still burning.

“They have not gone to bed,” he said; “if I only could hear them talking! I will try.”

He left his room noiselessly, without a light, and went up to the second floor; he stopped at the door of the peddlers’ room; but he remembered then that there was a small dressing-room between the hall and the bedroom, which made it impossible to hear what they said, from the landing. Dupré was about to go down again, when he remembered that the top of the chimney of the room where the strangers were was directly in front of the round window in the loft. He at once went up to the loft, walking with the utmost precaution. He opened the round window very softly, crawled out on his stomach, and placed his ear near the top of the flue; then, thanks to his nearness to the floor below, he easily heard the following conversation:

“You are incorrigible, Lampin; your infernal sottishness came near betraying us a hundred times.”

“Bah! bah; what had we to fear, after all? There’s nobody in the house but three old blockheads, a fool, a mad woman and a child! That’s a very terrible lot, isn’t it? If you had taken my advice, once we were in the house, we would have acted without disguise. For my part, I would look after the old Crœsus and his servant.”

“It is much better to act without risk, and to be able to effect our retreat without disorder. You may be sure that, before bringing you here, I made inquiries about the people in the house. The owner is very rich, he helps everybody.”

“Well, he must help us too, the old Crœsus!”

“He must have much money here; I know that he received remittances from his farmers a week ago. All that money must be in his room; we can easily get in there, take possession of the treasure, and escape through the mad woman’s room; for the gate is very strong, and very securely fastened, and we should have much difficulty in forcing it.”

“Very good! But I saw bars at the ground floor window looking on the woods. Is that the way that you propose to take us out, my most honored father?”

“You idiot! Do you suppose that I haven’t thought of everything? Our comrades have orders to file the bars, and I told them that they could work without fear, as the woman who occupies the room would watch them without saying a word.”

“Bravo! That is a most excellent idea; isn’t it, Edouard? Speak up, you infernal dreamer!”

“Yes, yes, the plan is well devised.”

“It is very lucky that it pleases you! If only that old steward who looked askance at us doesn’t disturb our arrangements.”

“Woe to him, if he should dare!--We will let our comrades in; then we shall be in force; and those who make trouble for us will soon be reduced to silence!”

“That’s the talk! strong measures.”

“Luckily I was moderate at table; if I had imitated you, Lampin, we should have betrayed ourselves.”

“What the devil! you played the old man so well that I nearly choked with laughter. But if I did drink, it only increased my courage; there is gold to be got here, and that gives me nerve, my colleagues. Let’s see, how do we distribute our functions?”

“We will let our friends in, in a few moments; we must give these old men time to get to sleep. We will leave Edouard on guard with the mad woman, to see that she doesn’t lock the door of her room in a fit of delirium; for that would cut off our retreat. Our comrades will stand guard, one over the gardener, the other over the cook; and you, Lampin, will go with me in search of the money.”

“That’s well arranged; this good fellow cannot complain of having a too dangerous post; to stay with a woman and a child, both asleep! What prowess!”

“Very true, but they mustn’t wake; if they should make the slightest sound--remember, Edouard, that our safety, our lives, are at stake.”

“All right, I understand.”

“And so do I,” said Dupré to himself, noiselessly withdrawing his head; “I know enough;--the villains! I was not mistaken! We have given hospitality to brigands! O my God! inspire me, so that I may save my master and that poor woman!”

The old servant crept along the roof and reëntered the loft. Despite all he could do to revive his spirits and his courage, his legs trembled, he could hardly hold himself erect, and his imagination, thrown into confusion by all that he had heard, saw nothing but scenes of blood and death. Dupré was sixty-five years old; at that age, a man is a long time coming to a decision; and in dangerous crises, the time that he loses in making up his mind as to what he shall do makes the danger more imminent.

Dupré felt his way through the loft. Should he wake his master or Lucas? But the gardener did not wake easily, he would have to make much noise at his door, and in the silence of the night, the slightest sound would be heard by the robbers and would arouse their suspicions. Catherine was locked into her kitchen, and would be of no assistance to them. But it was the young woman’s apartment through which the comrades of the brigands were to enter the house; it was most essential to close that entrance, after removing Constance and her daughter from the room.

This plan seemed the wisest to the old servant. He decided to go downstairs, but he trembled and shuddered as he placed his foot on the staircase. If the villains should come out of their room and meet him, he would be lost! He listened before venturing upon each step; at the slightest sound he stopped. He was about to pass the door of the second floor; but he heard voices and footsteps. The door was thrown open, and Dupré hurried back to the loft.

The pretended peddlers had heard a noise above their heads; the old man’s heavy step had made the boards creak and had disturbed the silence of the night. Dufresne left the room first; he held a torch in one hand and a dagger in the other. Lampin followed, and they entered the loft just as the old servant was crawling under a bundle of straw.

“We are betrayed!” said Dufresne; “someone has been listening to us.”

He instantly plunged his dagger into the old man’s bosom, as he clasped his hands to implore mercy. Dupré expired without uttering a sound; his blood inundated the floor, and Lampin covered the ill-fated servant’s body with straw.

“Let us go down,” said Dufresne; “and as suspicion has been aroused, let us make haste to act!”

“What has happened?” asked Edouard, who had remained on the landing as a sentinel.

“Nothing,” said Lampin; “only there is one less prying fool.”

“Let us go at once to the mad woman’s room; our friends should be at their post; let us not leave them any longer cooling their heels in the open air.”

The brigands went down to the ground floor; the key was in the door of Adeline’s room, and they entered. A lamp on the hearth half lighted the room, the window of which opened on the forest. The child’s little bed was placed beside the mother’s, the curtains of which were tightly drawn. Well assured that she who was in the bed was not awake to spy upon their acts, Dufresne went at once to open the shutters, and admitted his companions, who had remained by the window after sawing the bars.

“All goes well,” said Dufresne; “let us leave these shutters open, and there will be nothing to interfere with our flight. Edouard, remain here; above all things, no pity if she wakes.--You, my friends, come with me, and I will show you your posts; then Lampin and I will look after the rest.”

During Dufresne’s speech, Lampin turned up his sleeves, drew his weapons, and examined the point of his dagger; a tigerish smile gleamed in his eyes, and his hideous face, animated by wine and the anticipation of pillage, seemed to bear with joy the impress of crime.

The four brigands departed from the room and Edouard was left alone. On the alert for the slightest noise, he walked constantly from the window to the bed; he listened to see whether anyone passed in the woods, then returned to put his ear to the curtains which concealed the young woman from him. His eyes turned toward the child’s crib; she was not in it. Adeline, more excited than usual, and disturbed by the dull sound she had heard outside her shutters, had taken her daughter and laid her across her breast, when she threw herself fully dressed on her bed. Curious to see the mad woman, Edouard was about to put aside the curtain when a noise from the woods attracted his attention, and he returned to the window. He heard footsteps trampling over the dry branches and crunching the half-frozen snow. The noise drew near, and he heard voices. If they were gendarmes sent in pursuit of them, if they should see the window with the broken bars--Edouard trembled; he softly closed the shutters so that no one could see into the room. He hardly breathed. Despite his precautions, Adeline had waked; she abruptly opened her curtains, half rising.

“Is it you? is it you?” she cried in a loud voice.

“This miserable creature will betray us,” said Edouard to himself; “her voice will attract those travellers in this direction.--Well! I must do it!”

He ran to the bed, dagger in hand; he was about to strike, when he recognized his wife and child.

A cry of dismay, of horror, issued from the mouth of the miserable outcast, who dropped the murderous steel and stood motionless before the woman he had been about to strike. But that terrible cry had found an echo in Adeline’s soul; she recognized her husband’s voice; those same accents which had destroyed her reason once more revolutionized her whole being; she tried to collect her ideas; it was as if she were waking from a hideous dream; she saw Edouard, recognized him, and rushed into his arms with a cry of joy.

“Edouard! here, by my side!” cried Adeline, gazing at him lovingly. “My dear, how does it happen? Ah! I do not know what to think! My head is on fire!”

“Come,” said Edouard; “give me the child; let us fly, let us fly from this place, or you are lost.”

“Why should we fly? What danger threatens you? Have you not suffered enough? Does man’s justice pursue you still?”

“Yes, yes; and you yourself are in danger from the rage of the brigands! Listen,--do you hear those shrieks in the house? They are murdering an old man without pity; come, I tell you, or they will kill you before my eyes! Oh! do not refuse me! I am a monster, a villain, but I long to save you.”

Adeline allowed herself to be led away by her husband; she took her child in her arms and was about to follow him, when the shutters were violently thrown open, while the bell at the gate rang loudly.

A man appeared in the window, and prepared to leap into the room, calling to his companion:

“Here’s a breach; this way, comrade, this way! There are villains in the citadel; let us go in and we’ll give them a hiding, ten thousand cartridges! Forward!”

At sight of the stranger, Edouard, bewildered and beside himself with fear, had no doubt that he had come to arrest him and his companions; seeking to avoid the punishment that awaited him, he dropped Adeline’s hand and pushed her away when she clung to him.

“You are saved,” he said; “let me alone, do not follow me; adieu, adieu forever!”

He rushed out through the door at the end of the room, reached the courtyard, succeeded in climbing over the gate and fled into the woods. At the same moment Jacques and Sans-Souci entered Adeline’s room by the window; she, exhausted by all the shocks to which her mind had been exposed, fell unconscious at the moment that her husband disappeared.