Chapter III: Part 3

“That isn’t what I am afraid of.”

“Do you mean to say that you believe in that peasant woman’s nonsense, and the groans that are heard in the ravine?”

“I’ll tell you this, that when we pass the place, I shall run. Mon Dieu! how dark it is!”

“Here we are on the main road, at all events. We must turn to the left again.”

“I can hardly see, and I am beginning to be very tired.”

“Oh! look, my dear, this narrow path between those two little hills must be the ravine.”

“Well! perhaps you would like to go in there, to delay us still more?”

“Oh! I entreat you, just a minute, to see the cross. I don’t know what is taking place in me, but it seems to me that I must go there, and--and pray for the unhappy man who met his death there.”

“Why, Agathe, you are positively foolish! I am not willing to stop.”

“Ah! listen! did you hear?”

“No, I heard nothing.”

“Nothing? listen again.”

This time a prolonged groan was heard by them very distinctly. Honorine began to tremble. She tried to hasten on, but her legs gave way; she could only cling to Agathe’s arm, saying:

“You see--the peasant did not deceive us. This is a ghastly place! Mon Dieu! I should say that someone was running toward us now.”

“That is true; but it’s no man running so fast as that.”

Agathe had hardly finished speaking when Ami, the noble Newfoundland, was beside her. After running around the two friends several times, as if to see if they were alone, he went to the girl, rubbed his head against her, wagged his tail, and stood on his hind legs, fixing his intelligent eyes upon her as if to express the joy he felt at seeing her.

“It’s Ami! it’s Ami!” cried Agathe, patting the dog. “Oh! now I am not afraid any more; for, if we should be in any danger, he would defend us.”

“It certainly is Monsieur Paul’s dog; if he is here, his master cannot be far away.”

“At this moment, I should not be at all sorry to meet him. See, Honorine, Ami is going into the ravine; now he stops and comes back to us, and now he turns back again. He certainly is urging us to follow him; come.”

“But we can’t see where we are going; and those groans that we heard----”

“The dog is with us, and I am not afraid any more.”

Honorine allowed herself to be led into the ravine by Agathe, who had taken her hand.

The dog trotted before them. It was very dark in that sunken road, but they had taken scarcely twenty steps when a brilliant flash of lightning furrowed the clouds and enabled them to see distinctly everything within thirty yards. They then saw the owner of the Tower on his knees beside a grassy mound at one side of the road, in the centre of which stood a wooden cross.

At that strange apparition the two women halted, grasping each other by the hand; then Agathe murmured very low:

“Do you see that?”

“Yes, it’s Monsieur Paul; and he is kneeling by the cross on that grave.”

“Isn’t it very strange? What can he be doing by that cross?”

“One would think that he was weeping; listen, listen! I believe he is speaking.”

It was true that Ami’s master, believing himself to be alone on that spot which the people round about were careful to avoid, especially at night, uttered these words:

“Forgive me, unfortunate victim of the most dastardly treachery. Ah, me! if only I could have fulfilled your last wishes, it seems to me that you might forgive me for your death. But it was impossible; all my efforts were fruitless!”

“Did you hear?” murmured Honorine to her companion; “he said: ‘You might forgive me for your death.’--So it must have been he who killed the person who is under that cross! Why, this is frightful!”

“It isn’t possible,” said Agathe; “we couldn’t have heard right.”

At that moment, Ami, who had reached his master’s side, looked up in his face and began to yelp, but softly, not angrily. It was his way of informing his master that he was no longer alone.

“What! is there someone here?” cried Paul, springing hastily to his feet; “where, Ami? where, I say?”

The dog ran back to the two friends who stood a short distance away, trembling, afraid to go forward or to retreat, especially since they had heard the words uttered by that mysterious man.

“What! ladies?” cried Paul, stopping in front of them. “Why, this is strange; so far as the darkness permits me to distinguish your features, I seem to recognize the ladies whom I escorted back to Chelles a few weeks ago.”

“Yes, monsieur, it is we,” replied Agathe, who was the first to recover her courage. “It is we again, and sorely embarrassed; for we were surprised by the storm, then by the darkness; we lost our way, and I do not know what would have become of us, but for your dog. He met us and recognized us; and we followed him, having no idea where he was leading us.”

“But you are a long way from Chelles; did you find no protection from the storm?”

“Only some big trees. It is so deserted about here.”

“Is madame indisposed?”

This question was addressed to Honorine, who, pale as a statue, had not yet uttered a word, because she recalled too distinctly those uttered by their companion when he believed himself to be alone before the cross on the grave.

But, feeling that her companion was nudging her, Madame Dalmont said in a faltering tone:

“No, monsieur, no; I am not ill; but I had a fright, and----”

“She was afraid of the storm,” interposed Agathe hastily; “and just now she admitted to me that she could not walk.”

“Oh! that’s all over, and I can walk very well now.”

“Since chance has placed me in your path again, mesdames, you will allow me to act as your guide once more, and to take you home.”

“Oh! I thank you, monsieur, but if you will be kind enough to take us as far as the bridge at Gournay, that will be sufficient. Really, you might well conceive a strange idea of us, when you constantly find us wandering about the country at night, and always obliged to call upon you for assistance!”

“When I am able to render a trifling service, madame, my thoughts do not go beyond it, and I do not try to guess by what circumstances the occasion was brought about. I am simply doing my duty, and you owe me no gratitude.”

“Oh, dear! I believe it is beginning to rain again!” cried Agathe; “for my part, monsieur may think what he pleases, but I am very glad that we met him, and I accept his arm with pleasure.”

And the girl took Monsieur Paul’s arm without more ado. He looked at Honorine, who, after a moment’s indecision, decided at last to take his other arm, and they started off at a rapid pace, escorted by the faithful Ami.

But Honorine’s arm trembled so in her cavalier’s that he finally said:

“How you tremble, madame! is it with cold, or with fear of the storm? It is passing over, and you will reach home safely.”

“Yes, monsieur, it’s the thunder; it has upset me completely.”

“Pray lean on me, madame; one would think that you were afraid of tiring me, and I can hardly feel you.”

“Thanks, monsieur, thanks; I am leaning on you as much as I need.”

“We were altogether lost when we saw you, thanks to your dog,” said Agathe; “that is a very lonely spot where you were, monsieur!”

“Yes, mademoiselle; yet it is quite near my house.”

“That road, monsieur, is the ravine where there is a cross, is it not?”

If Honorine had been next to Agathe, she would have pinched her viciously, to make her regret her question, but their escort separated them; so that she could only make a convulsive movement, which she instantly checked, pretending that she had made a misstep.

“Yes, mademoiselle,” replied Paul curtly, “that is the ravine of the cross.”

“We have been told a very sad story about that cross--that a young man was found dead on that spot, nine or ten years ago, I believe. Is it true, monsieur?”

Honorine would have beaten Agathe with the greatest satisfaction; she began to cough as if she would tear her throat to tatters.

“I too have heard of that occurrence, mademoiselle,” replied their companion in a gloomy tone.

“And the unfortunate man’s assassins have never been discovered?”

“Assassins!” exclaimed Paul in a loud voice, raising his head proudly. “Who told you, mademoiselle, that the person found dead on that spot had been assassinated?”

“Oh! mon Dieu! no one, monsieur, no one. I said that, because the people who tell the story----”

“The world almost always judges falsely; it never knows the true inwardness of things; and as it is more disposed to believe evil than good, as soon as a stranger is found dead by the roadside, it says: ‘He was murdered!’--You are still very young, mademoiselle! Distrust the judgments of the world; you will often have occasion to realize their injustice.”

“Here is Gournay bridge,” said Honorine; “will monsieur leave us now?”

“No, madame; unless you bid me to do so, I shall not leave you, trembling as you are, out in the country, at night. I shall escort you to your home.”

Honorine bowed and they walked on. But they were silent, for Agathe dared not speak since their guide had almost lost his temper in answering her last question.

They reached Honorine’s house, and Paul bowed to the ladies, saying:

“You are at home now, I believe?”

“Yes, monsieur. I do not know how to thank you----”

“For what, madame, pray? I have simply done my duty.”

“Adieu, Ami; adieu, my good dog!”

The dog and his master took their leave.

“Oh! I could have beaten you!” said Honorine, “when you questioned that man about the story of the cross!”

“Why so? You heard him answer that the young man who was found there was not murdered.”

“But since he was the one who killed him, could you expect him to admit it?”

“That man an assassin! Nonsense! it’s impossible. Do you believe it, my dear love?”

“I believe--Mon Dieu! I don’t know what to believe; but this much is certain, that I will not walk in that direction again. Let’s go to bed; what with the fright, excitement, fatigue and the storm, I am completely exhausted; and you?”

“I? Oh! I regret that we didn’t go as far as the cross in the ravine. I would have liked to pray for him who lies there!”

VI

CALUMNY

Several days had passed since the memorable evening of the storm. Honorine and Agathe had promised each other never to breathe a word of what they had seen and heard that evening by the cross in the ravine. There are some subjects with respect to which the slightest indiscretion is a crime, in that it may have the most serious consequences; and the words which the owner of the Tower had uttered when he was on his knees beside the cross, were of those which one regrets having heard, and which one tries to forget.

However, there was no reason why the two friends should not discuss the subject between themselves, and in fact they often did.

Agathe, who always defended Paul, would exclaim:

“No, that man is not an assassin! I am absolutely convinced of it. Indeed, the very emotion that he showed when I said that a stranger had been murdered in the ravine, and the warmth with which he repelled that suggestion prove that it is false.”

“It is a fact that he did seem keenly wounded by your words. But why, then, did he ask the forgiveness of the man who is buried there?--When one has fought a duel, loyally and honorably, it is no crime; the victor may regret his victory, but he does not accuse himself of it as of a criminal act.”

“But how can we tell how it happened--what brought it about?”

“Well, let us say no more about it; that will be the better way.”

“You are right; let us never mention it again.”

But it rarely happened that the following day passed without Honorine herself leading the conversation to the subject of the owner of the Tower. And after talking about him, the young woman would be thoughtful and melancholy for a long while.

Agathe noticed this fact, but she was very careful not to mention it to her friend; women very quickly understand the secrets of the heart, and know when it is advisable not to seem to have divined them.

Edmond had returned to Chelles; he had passed several days in Paris, because he had been led to hope for a very well-paid position in a banking house; but it had been given to another and the young man was not cast down. He still had about twenty thousand francs; with that amount, with love in one’s heart, and with a great hope of its being reciprocated, one has before one a whole future of happiness.

One morning the two ladies were working in the garden and Père Ledrux was raking a path a short distance away, when Honorine suddenly said:

“It’s a long while since we have had a call from Doctor Antoine Beaubichon; I wonder if he can be sick?--Père Ledrux, do you know whether Doctor Antoine is well?”

“Oh, yes!” replied the gardener; “I saw him this very morning going to Madame Droguet’s.--Tutu-turlututu.”

“It’s strange that he hasn’t been to see us for a fortnight.”

“Well! perhaps it’s because he agrees with the rest--that you have enough company without him!”

“What’s that? enough company? I don’t understand. What do you mean by that, Père Ledrux?”

“I--nothing at all; in the first place, you understand it don’t make any difference to me, it ain’t any of my business; you can have whole regiments come to see you for all me; you’re your own mistresses, and I ain’t the one to find fault!--But you know, there’s some folks who do nothing but meddle with what don’t concern ‘em, and talk--why, just for the sake of talking!”

“Do you understand one word of all that he says, Agathe?”

“Not very well; but it seems that people think that we receive a great deal of company. Isn’t that what they say, Père Ledrux?”

“Yes, they say that you receive a good many men; that you’ve had some come from Paris, without counting those from this part of the country, who go to walk with you in the evening.--Tutu--turlututu.”

“You hear, Agathe; what do you think of that?”

“Why, I think that it’s an outrage, and that people in the country are even more unkind than they are in large cities.--Poucette, is it true that many men come here?”

“Oh! my word, mamzelle, I haven’t ever seen anybody come but our neighbor Monsieur Edmond, and then two or three times his friend, Monsieur Freluchon, who’s so full of mischief.--Oh! what a scamp that little man is!”

“Where did you hear all this about us, Père Ledrux?”

“Bless me! a word here and a word there; you hear people jabbering; you may not listen, but you hear all the same. In the first place, when I’m working in Madame Droguet’s garden, she’s always talking about her neighbors, and I heard her say to Madame Jarnouillard the other day--or Madame Remplumé, I don’t just know which; in fact, I think they was all three there--and Madame Droguet, she says:

“‘You know Monsieur Durand has let that nice house of his close by, almost opposite me; but what you don’t know perhaps is that he’s let it to a young dandy from Paris, who’s come there to live all alone, without any servants; Mère Lupot opposite does his housework.’

“‘And what can one man all alone do with that big house, where there’s room enough for two families?’ says Madame Jarnouillard.

“‘Oh! you understand, mesdames, the young dandy has his reasons for going to such an altogether useless expense. He’s settled here because he’s on intimate terms with the two newcomers in the Courtivaux house.’

“When they talk about you, they always say: ‘the ladies in the Courtivaux house,’ as a matter of habit, because, you see, Monsieur Courtivaux lived here a long time.”

“Very well, Père Ledrux; go on.”

“‘Yes,’ says Mame Droguet, ‘he goes there night and morning; he’s always prowling round there. Which of ‘em is he in love with? no one knows; perhaps it’s both.’”

“Oh! my dear love!”

“Hush! let him go on.”

“‘And then,’ says Mame Droguet, ‘he’s got a friend who looks like a regular good-for-nothing; it’s the same fellow who had the face to knock at my door very late one night, to ask if we had seen his friend Edmond Didier; and with such a sly, impertinent air! humming his tra la la!’

“‘Oh! what do such people amount to anyway!’ says La Remplumé; ‘this gives me a very poor opinion of the women in the Courtivaux house.’

“‘But that ain’t all,’ says La Droguet; ‘guess who we saw walking home with ‘em the other night--at quite a late hour?’

“‘The two young men from Paris?’

“‘No. Oh! they’ve made other acquaintances here. They came home arm-in-arm with Monsieur Paul and his dog!’

“‘Is it possible?’

“‘Did they have the dog’s arm too?’

“‘I didn’t say they had the dog’s arm! I said the dog was in the party. And it was very lately, the night of the storm--don’t you remember?’

“‘Perfectly! I’m afraid of the thunder, and I stuffed my head in a butter crock so as not to see the flashes! I put it in so far that I couldn’t get it out again, and I says to my husband: “Break the crock, Jarnouillard, I can’t move my head;” and he replied, as calmly as you please: “That would be a pity; it’s almost new!” So I was obliged to break it myself by banging my head against a wall.’

“‘Never mind about your crock!’ says Mame Droguet impatiently; ‘we’re talking about these newcomers. How does it happen that after living in this part of the country such a short time, they’re already on intimate terms with the owner of the Tower--that disgusting man, that ogre, who won’t speak to anybody? It seems to me more than extraordinary.’

“‘It is very mysterious, that’s so.’

“‘I should say that it was suspicious even.’

“‘Well! birds of a feather flock together, as the proverb says. The bear of the Tower must have found these ladies to his taste!’

“‘As for me,’ says Mame Droguet, ‘I have a very bad opinion of the persons in the Courtivaux house.’

“‘It isn’t Monsieur Courtivaux’s, since he has sold it.’

“‘That don’t make any difference. Besides, we don’t know whether these fine ladies have paid for the house; there’s so many people who buy and then don’t pay.’

“At that, you see, I couldn’t help putting in my word.

“‘So far as that goes,’ says I, ‘I’m very sure that Madame Dalmont has paid for the house. I had a letter from the notary telling me to give ’em the keys and everything.’”

“Thanks, Père Ledrux, thanks for defending us on that point; but pray understand that the remarks, the insults of those ladies affect us very little! When one knows that one has no reason for self-reproach, one should hold oneself above the sneers of calumny! But we congratulate ourselves now that we have not called on that woman, that we have not made a friend of her.”

“It’s just that thing that’s vexed her most, I tell you! And she only says all these nasty things about you from spite because you haven’t been to see her. But what I can’t understand is how there’s anybody who’ll allow himself to be taken in by all that tittle-tattle. It’s just because Mame Droguet invites ‘em to dinner. She says to Monsieur Luminot: ‘You must choose between the society at the Courtivaux house and mine, monsieur. My husband and I are determined not to receive people who go to see those ladies.’--She puts her husband forward, the poor dear man! but he doesn’t meddle in such things; so long as he can dance in the evening in front of a mirror, with himself for his vis-à-vis, he’s satisfied! But Monsieur Luminot--you see, he thinks a lot of Mame Droguet’s dinners.”

“And as we do not give dinners, the gentleman is very wise to choose her society. But Madame Droguet has no suspicion that she gratifies us exceedingly by ridding us of Monsieur Luminot’s visits--eh, Agathe?”

“Oh! yes, my dear; and we must hope that Monsieur Jarnouillard will follow Monsieur Luminot’s example.”

“Oh! that won’t stop him! he ain’t pleasant very often, Monsieur Jarnouillard; and then, I don’t like money-lenders, I don’t.--I’ll go and take a look at the hens; I’m sure the black one beats the others; if she does, we ought not to leave her in the coop.”

The gardener went away and Agathe looked at Honorine, with a sigh.

“Oh! my love! how cruel the world is!”

“Yes, even more so in small villages than in the large cities. That is easy to understand: these people here have nothing to do most of the time, and their principal occupation is to attend to their neighbors’ affairs. In a small place everybody is everybody else’s neighbor.”

“The idea of saying that we receive men!”

“Oh! I suspected that Monsieur Edmond’s appearance in this village, a short time after we settled here, and his frequent visits to us, would give occasion for gossip.”

“And I am the cause of it, my love! You are going to be angry with me.”

“No, indeed! That young man is honorable, his company is agreeable; and we will not deprive ourselves of the only society we have here, just because Madame Droguet is displeased.”

“Oh! how right you are! how good you are!”

“As for this gentleman--from the Tower, he is not an acquaintance. We have met him twice, and both times his assistance was quite necessary to us; he escorted us as far as our gate, but he has never entered the house, and probably never will.”

“Ah! my dear friend, suppose Madame Droguet had heard that strange man’s words in the ravine, beside the cross! what fine tales she would have to tell!”

“Hush, Agathe, hush, for heaven’s sake! I shudder in spite of myself when I think of that. I feel that it would distress me to be compelled to have a bad opinion of that man.”

“Especially as he has very refined manners, and a very _comme il faut_ air, has this Monsieur Paul. I am sure that he would be very fine-looking, if he hadn’t so much hair on his face.”

“Oh! I didn’t notice that; I hardly looked at him. He has black eyes, hasn’t he?”

“Not exactly--brown; but very soft.”

“Do you think so? And a scornful mouth?”

“Oh, no! his smile is very agreeable.”

“What! did he smile while he was talking to us?”

“When I slipped and almost fell, I clung to him, and that made him smile.”

“It’s strange; I remember nothing of all that.”

“Oh! the storm was so violent!--Well, I am sure, for my part, that it makes Madame Droguet furious to see we already know that gentleman, who has refused to have anything to do with anyone in the neighborhood! Just for that reason, I am delighted that she saw him bringing us home.”

The conversation of the two friends was interrupted by sobs from Poucette, who tried in vain to check them. They rose at once to inquire the cause of their servant’s grief.

VII

A SALE BY AUTHORITY OF LAW

Little Claudine, Poucette’s cousin, had just arrived; her eyes were red, and she too was crying; evidently it was something that she had told Poucette which caused the young peasant to sob so bitterly.

“What is the matter, my child; what makes you so unhappy?” Madame Dalmont asked her servant.

But she, according to the custom of country people, continued to sob and made no reply.

“And you, my girl,” said Agathe to Claudine, “you are crying too; is it something you have told your cousin that is making her cry?”

“Yes--yes--mamzelle.”

“What misfortune has come upon you? Come, speak.”

“Ye--Ye--yes, madame!”

“Come, Poucette, tell us about it; this child will never be able to, you see.”

The young peasant succeeded at last in forcing back her sobs.

“Madame, Claudine has just told me that they’re very unhappy at home. My poor uncle--poor aunt! what is going to become of them! They’re going to sell everything in their home to-day, furniture and everything! Mon Dieu! mon Dieu! and turn them out of their cottage, which won’t belong to them any more! What is going to become of them! Here, Claudine, I’ve got three francs left out of my wages, and I’ll give ‘em to you. Oh! if I had more!”

“You can’t have any more, when you give us all you earn!”

“Poor people! why this is frightful!” cried Honorine. “Who on earth is so hard-hearted as to despoil those unfortunate creatures, who have hardly enough to provide their children with food and shelter?”

“Who? Alas! madame, it’s Monsieur Jarnouillard; he has lent small sums to Uncle Guillot at different times. Well! it was a hard winter, and he had four children to take care of, and me too with the rest. It seems that Monsieur Jarnouillard made my uncle sign some bits of paper, so, if he wasn’t paid just on the minute, he could take everything my poor uncle owned!”

“And as papa couldn’t pay him, although he had given him some money on account,” added Claudine, “a man all dressed in black came to-day and told mamma that all she could do was to leave the house with the children, but she didn’t have any right to take anything away.”

“Oh! what a wretch that Monsieur Jarnouillard is!” cried Agathe, “he does well not to show his face here, for we would put him out of doors, we wouldn’t have him in the house. And these are the people that say unkind things about us, who would be so distressed to cause pain to anyone! Madame Droguet’s society contains some most estimable people!”

While Agathe made these reflections, Honorine had gone up hastily to her room; she returned with her bonnet on her head, and said to Agathe:

“Come with me.”

“Where are we going, my dear?”

“Mon Dieu! to Guillot’s cottage, to see if there is any way of assisting those poor people, and at the very least to save some of their furniture. I have a hundred francs I can give them; it’s very little, but still it will help them.”

“Oh! my good Honorine, if it were possible, I would love you even more.”

The two friends left the house, followed by Poucette and Claudine, who had ceased to weep because they hoped and divined that the ladies proposed to assist their dear ones.

In due time they reached the farmer’s cottage, where a number of people had already collected. For the announcement of a sale on execution always brings together a multitude of bargain-hunters and idlers.

A melancholy spectacle was presented to that assemblage, which would have touched their hearts, had there been any persons susceptible to emotion among those who were disputing over the purchase of an old chair.

Guillot’s wife sat at the foot of a tree, about forty yards from the house, holding her last-born child at her breast, while the two others stood at her side, hiding their faces against their mother’s skirts as if terrified by the sight of all those people. The peasant gazed with tear-dimmed eyes at her hovel and at all the poor furniture that was brought from it, to be offered for sale; then she turned her eyes on her children, and her glance said plainly:

“We have no roof to shelter us; where will they sleep to-night?”

A short distance away, the farmer himself, in despair but striving to retain his courage, watched the officers of the law who had taken their places at a table, and were preparing to begin the sale.

Monsieur Jarnouillard walked about, examining the different articles as they were brought from the house, and muttering with a shrug:

“Mon Dieu! what wretched stuff! I shall never get my money back. The wood is rotten; it will crumble to powder!”

Meanwhile Guillot approached his creditor, hat in hand, and said to him in a suppliant tone:

“Oh! monsieur, are you going to sell my house, too?”

“His house! that’s a pretty name for it! He calls this a house--a miserable hovel that will hardly hold together!”

“Such as it is, monsieur, it has sheltered me and my family; it came to me from my father, too, and I was fond of it.”

“What difference does all that make to me? It would have been better for me if it had come from the devil and had been built of hewn stone. Nobody’ll give anything for your hut.”

“If you don’t think anybody’ll give anything for it, monsieur, why do you have it sold?”

“Why? and what about the money you owe me? do you imagine I shall get it back from the sale of your furniture? Nice stuff, that is! You have taken me in, my good man; I am sold, trapped is the word.”

On hearing this accusation from the mouth of the man who was robbing him, the farmer proudly raised his head and replied in a firm voice:

“I have never deceived anybody, monsieur! I am an honest man, and everybody in the neighborhood knows it; and if either of us has cheated the other I am not the one, do you understand?”

The usurer lowered his crest and his tone, as such men always do when they are afraid of being unmasked.

“Bless my soul! Guillot,” he rejoined; “don’t lose your temper; I may have said one word when I meant another; my tongue must have taken a twist. I never intended to attack your honesty; but of course you understand that I must get back what I have advanced.”

“I only owe you four hundred and eighty francs, monsieur.”

“Of principal, yes; but the interest, which never stops running--and interest on interest--all that counts up; so that you owe me to-day eight hundred and seventy-five francs, besides the costs of the execution and sale; it will amount to a thousand francs.”

“My God!”

“That’s why I am obliged to sell your cottage, as well as your furniture.”

“But suppose it should bring more, monsieur?”

“Oh! if it should bring more than your debt and the costs, the surplus would go to you--that’s your right; but unluckily, instead of going above a thousand francs, I’m afraid it will fall far short of it.”

“But, monsieur, if you’re going to sell a house you must have buyers; and to bring them together it is necessary for them to know beforehand that it’s to be sold.”

“Don’t be afraid, all the formalities have been attended to; the notices were posted.”

“I didn’t see them.”

“That isn’t my fault.”

“Among all these people that I see here, there isn’t one who will buy my house.”

“Pshaw! there’s sure to be someone; at a pinch, I’ll buy it myself.”

“You, monsieur!”

“Bless me! if no other purchaser comes forward, I shall have to take it; it will embarrass me a good deal, but I shall be driven to it!”

As he said this, Monsieur Jarnouillard rubbed his hands, thinking:

“There won’t be any other purchaser and I shall get the house for almost nothing. Then I can let it to Guillot, and it will add just so much to my income.”

The farmer moved away from his creditor, with death in his heart and despair on his face. But, before joining his family, he tried to dissemble his suffering to some extent in order not to increase his wife’s grief. Luckily for the poor people, little Claudine came running toward them, followed by her cousin Poucette. And the child, pointing to Honorine and Agathe, who had stopped a short distance away, said:

“Don’t cry any more, mamma; there’s Poucette’s two mistresses; they’ve come with us and they’re very kind; they’re sorry for us.”

“Yes,” chimed in Poucette. “Don’t cry, aunt. My mistress told me to tell you that everything she bought would be for you; and she’ll buy all she can!”

The farmer’s wife felt as if she were coming to life again; she started to rise, to go with her husband to thank the lady who was so kindly disposed to them; but Poucette detained her.

“Madame don’t want you to say anything to her now,” she said; “for if anyone should guess she was doing it for you, the dealers are so mean, they’re quite capable of bidding against her and making her pay more for everything; you mustn’t look as if you knew anything about it; you can thank her afterward.”

Meanwhile the notables of the neighborhood, those who are commonly called the _bourgeois_ in the country, began to arrive for the sale. The slightest novelty is an event which one is careful not to miss when one lives in a small village.

Moreover, Monsieur Jarnouillard, being interested in the success of the sale, had not failed to say to all his acquaintances:

“It’s always well to go to a sale; you often find something you need and that you had forgotten about; there are sure to be good opportunities; and you should seize opportunities; they don’t come twice.”

The Droguet family soon appeared on the scene, in the person of its tall, bulky mistress, who leaned familiarly on the arm of friend Luminot, the jovial dealer in wines. Little Monsieur Droguet walked behind his wife, taking measured steps, almost in rhythm.

Madame Jarnouillard came next, arm-in-arm with Madame Remplumé, a tall, machine-like person, as long and thin as a bean-pole, who, you would have sworn, was a man dressed as a woman. Behind them came a little man with a limp, Monsieur Remplumé, who never spoke, but who coughed, spat, took snuff, sneezed and blew his nose incessantly, which made him a very unpleasant neighbor; so that there was soon a vacant space about him. Lastly, Doctor Antoine Beaubichon appeared, some little distance behind this party.

When Agathe saw them in the distance, she squeezed her friend’s arm, saying:

“Look, my dear; here come all the people who speak ill of us. Really they are all so hideous that I am no longer surprised that they are spiteful!”

“Don’t seem to be looking toward them.”

“Why not, pray? Do you suppose I am going to give myself a crick in the neck because of Madame Droguet? I am very sorry that Monsieur Edmond is in Paris to-day; for he would have come with us, and that would have made all those people all the more frantic.--Ah! my dear, the doctor bows to us! Good for him! he is still polite, at all events.”

Honorine turned and bowed pleasantly to the doctor, thereby placing the former wine merchant in a painfully embarrassing position; for he too was facing the young woman and would have been glad to salute her; but Madame Droguet held his arm and glared at him fixedly and with such a determined expression that, in order to extricate himself adroitly from his predicament, Monsieur Luminot simulated five or six sneezes in quick succession; and everyone knows that in sneezing one usually makes a movement of the head which resembles a bow.

“Well! what does this mean?” demanded Madame Droguet, with an angry glance at her cavalier. “Why do you sneeze like that?”

“Why--I sneeze--Mon Dieu! because I had to sneeze. It takes you suddenly, you know; I suppose I have a cold in my head.”

“This is the first I have heard of it.”

“Or I; but you never know you have one until it appears.”

“Really, one would have thought that you were bowing to those women.”

“Well, upon my word! I never thought of such a thing.”

“Why did you sneeze toward them?”

“Faith! I sneezed when it caught me. I didn’t do it purposely.”

“All right!”

“The doctor bowed to those ladies.”

“I saw him; he’ll pay me for that; he was to apply leeches to Droguet to-morrow, but he shan’t do it.”

“Oh! but, consider--if your husband needs the leeches!”

“I tell you that not a leech shall be put on him. I propose to show the doctor how much I care for his prescriptions.”

“But if your husband complains of pains in his head----”

“Let me alone; I am beginning to believe that Doctor Beaubichon is just fit to take care of hens. Droguet is dancing on my dress at this moment; does he look sick?”

“There are the people from the Courtivaux house,” said Madame Remplumé, approaching Madame Droguet.

“Oh! we have seen them! they are noticeable enough. What rigs!”

“Their dresses are in wretched taste!”

“The materials are the very cheapest!”

“They look so to me.”

“Regular lorettes, aren’t they, Monsieur Luminot?”

“Dear me! mesdames, allow me first to ask you what you mean by lorettes?”

“Oh! the little innocent! who doesn’t know the ladies who live in the Bréda quarter in Paris!”

“I assure you that I don’t know that quarter! When I lived in Paris, I never went out of Bercy.”

“Hush, you wicked monster!”

Madame Jarnouillard interrupted this dialogue.

“Come, mesdames, and look over the furniture and other things to be sold,” she said; “sometimes one finds just the utensils one needs. Look at what is on exhibition.”

“Mon Dieu! madame, what do you expect us to buy in all that wretched trash?” cried Madame Droguet, with a disdainful glance at the farmer’s furniture. “I see nothing but rubbish--dirty stuff! and I have no doubt it’s all full of bugs!”

“That is what I was thinking!” muttered Madame Remplumé, while her husband spat at random.

“But there’s a pair of candlesticks that might do to use in the kitchen, eh, Droguet?--Bah! he doesn’t hear me; he’s whistling a polka.”

“Your husband is a zephyr!”

“He’s a wind, but not a zephyr!”

“Ah! that’s very good; I’ll remember that.--Did you hear that, Remplumé?”

_“Ahtchi! crraho! furssscht!”_

“That isn’t a wind!” muttered Luminot; “it’s a continuous fusillade.”

“There are some very decent kettles.”

“Oh! oh! I wouldn’t want to boil artichokes in them!”

“And that bellows?”

“It’s a huge thing--like the bellows of a forge; but it’s the only thing here that one could use.”

“Jarnouillard is signalling that the sale is about to begin. Let us go nearer, mesdames.”

“Ah! look; the occupants of the Courtivaux house are approaching also.”

“Probably they mean to buy something.”

“Yes, yes; they intend to furnish their house with the peasant’s furniture; it will be good enough for them!”

The sale began.

The first object offered for sale was a table, still in good condition.

“Three francs for the table!” cried the auctioneer; “three fifty--fifty-five--sixty!”

The peasants bid five or ten centimes at a time. Honorine offered five francs. The bystanders stared at her in amazement, the peasants were stupefied, the second-hand dealers made wry faces.

The table was knocked down to Madame Dalmont.

“What did I tell you!” muttered Madame Droguet. “These lovely Parisians come here for their furniture!”

After the table came a walnut buffet, very old and in bad condition; the upset price was twelve francs, and there was no purchaser. Honorine took it at that figure. Then there came a lot of dishes, glass and earthenware, which also were knocked down to her.

The Droguet party laughed sneeringly, and the ladies said to one another:

“What! do they want broken bowls and chipped plates, too! The commonest sort of china, and old sauce-pans!”

“Really those ladies will have a pretty lot of housekeeping utensils!”

“For my part, I think it’s disgraceful--disgraceful is the word--to buy such miserable stuff!”

“Oh! how glad I am that I came to see this! it will furnish us with amusement for a long time to come.”

“Do you know, I propose to cheat her out of that big bellows.”

“You must force the bidding.”

“Oh! I am bound to have it! you shall see.”

While Madame Droguet’s party amused themselves by making sport of the two young women, they exchanged pleasant smiles with the farmer’s family; the poor creatures felt a thrill of joy at each article that was adjudged to Honorine, for Poucette, who was standing near them, said:

“That’s for you; that will come back to you; madame is buying all these things to give them to you.”

“How much for this great bellows?” suddenly cried Madame Droguet, with an authoritative air; “it’s the only thing here worthy to go into my house--into my kitchen.”

While Jarnouillard, who saw that the bellows was in demand, consulted with the auctioneer as to the price they should set on it, Poucette ran to her mistress and whispered:

“Don’t buy the bellows, madame; it ain’t good for anything; the clack’s gone, and uncle always meant to burn it up.”

“Very well,” replied Honorine; “but, as Madame Droguet wants it, we must try to make her pay a good price for it.”

“Three francs for the bellows!” cried the auctioneer; and Madame Droguet said at once:

“Three francs ten sous!”

“Four francs!” said Honorine.

“Four francs ten sous!” rejoined the stout dame, who did not choose to bid by centimes.

“Five francs!” said Honorine.

“Well! six francs, sacrebleu!” cried Madame Droguet, her voice trembling with anger.

Honorine made no further bid; but she turned away to laugh with Agathe; for the wretched bellows was not worth fifty centimes.

“I knew well enough that I should get what I wanted, and that I would force that hussy to give way to me!” cried Madame Droguet, as she returned to her friends armed with the bellows, which she handed to her husband, saying:

“Put that under your arm, monsieur, and don’t hold it pointed at my back, or you’ll blow on me.”

Several other pieces of furniture and some mattresses were purchased by Honorine. But the bedding brought better prices, and the young widow was nearing the end of her hundred francs, when a new arrival appeared on the scene, walking among the dishes, leaping over the furniture, heedless of the objurgations of Monsieur Jarnouillard, who exclaimed again and again: “What in the devil is that dog doing here? For heaven’s sake, drive the beast away; he’s disarranging the whole sale; he’ll break something and the stuff is poor enough already!”

Ami, for it was he who had arrived, carried his lack of respect so far as to jump over the heads of Monsieur Jarnouillard and the auctioneer, who were seated at the table which served them for a desk.

The latter started back in alarm when the huge dog executed that gymnastic feat; the former hurriedly put his hand to his head to ensure the safety of his wig which came near being carried away by one of the dog’s paws.

Ami had performed this spring-board leap in order to join Agathe and to lavish tokens of affection upon her. The girl patted him on the neck; she spoke softly and caressingly to him. Meanwhile Honorine looked all about, for Ami’s presence ordinarily announced his master’s coming.

But was it to be presumed that that strange man, who shunned all companionship, would come to a place where a large part of the village had assembled?

Meanwhile Monsieur Jarnouillard, who had had barely time to catch his wig, but had not been able to prevent its turning half round on his head, was obliged to readjust it before the whole assemblage. That made him very angry, and he shouted like a deaf man:

“Whose cursed dog is this that nearly put my eyes out, to say nothing of jumping over the auctioneer’s head and knocking over two candlesticks and a jug? I want to know to whom he belongs; I shall have a word to say to his master!”

“And what will you say to his master, monsieur? Speak--he is before you.”

The owner of the Tower had made his way through the crowd almost as unceremoniously as his dog, and he stood in the midst of the sale before anyone had even observed his approach.

Monsieur Jarnouillard was thunderstruck at the abrupt appearance of that singular personage, whose aspect was stern and imposing.

Paul was dressed as simply as usual, but he carried neither gun nor stick; his long-vizored cap was pulled down over his eyes, so that the upper part of his face was in shadow.

“Ah! monsieur is the owner of this great dog, is he?” faltered the usurer, resuming his sycophantic air. “Oh, yes--true--I think I recognize monsieur and his dog.”

“Tell me if Ami has broken anything here?”

“No, monsieur, no; he just frightened us, and he disarranged my wig--that’s all.”

Meanwhile Madame Jarnouillard was making innumerable signs to her husband, and calling to him:

“To the right--that’s all wrong! turn it to the right! it’s on crooked!”

But the implacable creditor, engrossed by the sale, paid no heed to his wife’s signs. He was about to put up an old walnut commode, the peasant’s most valuable piece of furniture, when Paul caught him by the arm, saying:

“One moment, monsieur! You are selling out this poor family’s house and furniture, I believe? The grief of the poor mother sitting over yonder, with her four children about her, does not touch you!”

“Monsieur, business is--business! they are in debt to me, I need my money----”

“Enough, monsieur! How much does your claim amount to?”

“Nearly nine hundred francs; it will amount to a thousand with the costs.”

“Very good; offer the house for sale at once.”

“The house? I beg pardon, but we haven’t finished with the furniture yet, and I would like----”

“I tell you that I propose to buy the house; if it brings enough to pay your debt, then you won’t need to sell the furniture.”

“Of course not; but I doubt very much whether this hovel----”

“Do you understand me, monsieur? I tell you that I mean to buy this house; let us make an end of the business, I beg.”

These words were uttered in a tone which made Jarnouillard as flexible as a glove. He leaned toward the auctioneer and said in a low tone:

“This man is very anxious to have the house; we must make him pay for it! Suppose we should fix the upset price at--at five hundred francs?”

“It’s twice as much as it’s worth.”

“No matter, let’s try it!”

“Jarnouillard! Jarnouillard! turn it to the right! You’ve got it on crooked!”

“For God’s sake, Madame Jarnouillard, let me alone! you tire me! no matter about my wig now!”

The usurer’s wife had thrown away her efforts. She decided to return to her friends, who had been so taken aback by the arrival of the owner of the Tower that Madame Droguet had fallen against Monsieur Luminot, who fell against Madame Remplumé, who fell against her husband, who fell against Monsieur Droguet, who, having no one to fall against, contented himself with dropping on the ground the big bellows that he had been told to hold under his arm.

“What does this mean? that bear here!”

“And with his dog!”

“He never goes out without him!”

“I beg your pardon! I’ve seen him without his dog!”

“What has he come to this sale for? a man who avoids society as he does!”

“It isn’t natural!”

“You might say that it’s most extraordinary!”

“What! you don’t understand why he has come here? It’s evident enough however!” said Madame Droguet, smiling maliciously; “aren’t the sirens from the Courtivaux house here?”

“Oh! to be sure! they are here, so he comes here! What penetration Madame Droguet has!”

“Why, yes, rather, I venture to flatter myself.”

While the notables indulged in these commentaries upon the presence of the owner of the Tower, the peasants, for their part, gazed with interest at the man of whom they had heard so many things. They were, for the most part, surprised to find that he was a man like other men, who had the appearance neither of a wild beast nor of an ogre.

The farmer’s family did not know whether the appearance of Paul and his dog was a subject of fear or hope to them; but the way in which the huge animal fawned upon Agathe and her friend gave them some little hope. And Ami, as if he realized that it was his duty to encourage them, ran to the spot where Guillot and his family were assembled, and gambolled about the mother and children, wagging his tail in such a meaning way that the poor creatures soon ceased to be afraid of him.

Monsieur Jarnouillard, having finished his conference with the auctioneer, shouted:

“We offer for sale this house, with the little enclosure of about fifteen rods that goes with it--the whole for five hundred francs.--Who will give five hundred francs?”

A murmur ran through his audience:

“Five hundred francs for that hovel! why, that’s ridiculous! no one will buy it.”

“If there was any land with it! but fifteen rods! what does that amount to?”

“Evidently Monsieur Jarnouillard means to keep it himself! but he might have got it for less!”

While the bystanders made these reflections aloud, the auctioneer repeated:

“Five hundred! Come, messieurs, who bids more?”

“Who bids less, you mean!” cried Monsieur Luminot, laughing heartily. “Ha! ha! that’s a great joke, that upset price! I’ll give three hundred francs for the house--on condition that it’s torn down at once!”

“And I,” said Paul, in a loud voice, “I will give two thousand francs--on condition that when the creditor and the costs are paid, whatever remains shall be immediately turned over to this poor family.”

A fairy’s wand could not have produced a more magical effect than was produced by the words of the owner of the Tower.

“Two thousand francs!”

“Two thousand francs!”

The words were echoed on all sides.

Agathe and Honorine alone did not seem surprised by the action of Ami’s master; but, on the other hand, it was plain that they were made very happy by it, and that they shared to the full the joy which the farmer and his family manifested.

Paul walked to the desk and threw upon it two thousand-franc notes, to which Monsieur Jarnouillard made a reverence that nearly caused him to lose his wig altogether.

“To whom have we the honor of selling this house?” inquired the auctioneer; “will you kindly give us your name?”

“It is unnecessary, monsieur, for the house has not changed owners. I bought it simply to restore it to this poor farmer and his unfortunate family, whom this gentleman proposed to drive into the fields to sleep.”

The words were no sooner out of his mouth than Guillot’s whole family threw themselves at their benefactor’s feet, and, unable to find words to express their gratitude, confined themselves to looking up into his face and kissing his hand and the hem of his jacket.

The tableau was touching enough to move every feeling heart. Honorine and Agathe did not try to conceal their tears.

But Madame Droguet’s party, sorely vexed at the turn affairs had taken, still tried to sneer at what was taking place.

“Bless my soul! this is superb!” said one.

“It is truly magnificent!”

“This scene was all arranged beforehand, doubtless, with the two ladies--that man’s friends. They wanted to produce a great effect.”

But these ebullitions of spite found no echo. Even Doctor Antoine exclaimed:

“I don’t know whether the gentleman from the Tower intended to produce an effect, but I regard as very noble what he has just done; it reconciles me to him and his dog.”

To add to Madame Droguet’s ill humor, her husband persisted in holding the big bellows under her nose, saying:

“No wind! I assure you, _bobonne_, that it doesn’t blow, it won’t work at all.”

“Hold your tongue, Droguet!” she replied; “I will find a way to make it work, I tell you.”

The sale came to an end with the purchase of the house for two thousand francs. The auctioneer soon had the account made up; Monsieur Jarnouillard being paid and the legal costs deducted, he called Guillot, to whom he handed one thousand and fifteen francs, the residue.

The farmer exclaimed aloud in his amazement:

“What! that gentleman lets me keep my house and gives me all this money too! Oh! this is too much! I don’t deserve all this!”

“Yes, for you have four children to bring up, and you took your niece into your family too,” said Paul. “I know whom I am helping, you see. Now you can afford to take a few moments’ rest, and spare yourself the time to caress your children.”