Chapter V: Part 5

“Hush, mademoiselle!” said Honorine; “I really believe that you have less sense than Monsieur Edmond. Luckily, I have enough for you. Here you are engaged! you are to be pitied, are you not? And now the slanderous tongues of the neighborhood can wag all they choose! Poucette will be justified in saying to them:

“‘If Monsieur Edmond Didier does come to my mistress’s house often, it’s because he’s engaged to Mademoiselle Agathe.’”

The young lovers were beside themselves with joy, and Edmond left the house with the assurance that he was beloved, and that his dearest wish would be fulfilled some day.

Honorine left Agathe to enjoy that delicious reverie which always follows the certainty of being united to the object of one’s choice, and went down alone to the garden.

It was a superb day, and it was a joy to breathe the pure air of the country.

Honorine was pensive too, and sighed without asking herself why.

When she reached the end of the garden, she opened the little gate which gave access to an unfrequented road from which one had an extensive view of the surrounding country.

Honorine glanced instinctively in the direction of the Tower. She walked, unconsciously, a few steps along the road and seated herself at the foot of a huge walnut tree, on another uprooted tree which formed a natural bench.

She had been sitting there for some time, happy in Agathe’s happiness, and thinking that it must be very sweet to inspire love in a person to whom one is attracted, when she felt, all of a sudden, something rub against her hand; her first feeling was one of alarm, but it speedily vanished when she saw beside her Ami, the beautiful dog belonging to the owner of the Tower.

Ami was not backward in manifesting his pleasure at the meeting; he licked her hands and played about her; he even carried his familiarity so far as to put his paws on the young woman’s lap now and then. But she received these tokens of affection with pleasure, and while she patted Ami’s head and neck, she glanced about her, for the dog’s presence always announced his master’s. But she looked in vain--she could see no one.

Ami left her for a moment; he too seemed to be looking in all directions; then he returned to Honorine, and barked as if he wished to ask a question.

“I see plainly what you are looking for, good dog; you are asking me where Agathe is--Agathe, whom you are used to seeing with me always. I am alone to-day; you must be content with my company. But you too are alone, Ami; how is it that you come here without your master? You are far from home. Did you leave the Tower to come to see us? Did your master send you here? Have you some message? Are you going back soon?”

The dog, after listening a moment, lay down at Honorine’s feet and stretched himself out there with that unrestraint, that unfeigned laziness which dogs exhibit when they have found a spot which they like.

“He doesn’t act as if he intended to go away,” thought Honorine; “it’s singular; I wonder if his master is anywhere about?”

At that moment Ami turned his head quickly, but did not leave his place. The young woman looked in the direction to which the dog seemed to call her attention, and she saw the owner of the Tower climbing a little path which led from the village to the road by which she was then sitting.

Paul had not seen her, but he could not fail to pass her in a moment. Honorine lowered her eyes, but she let her arm rest on the dog, as if to ask him not to leave her. A few seconds later Paul had halted in front of the young woman; and his dog gazed at him earnestly, without moving from his place, as if to say: “I am very comfortable here!”

“Really, madame, I am afraid that Ami presumes too far upon your kindness to him,” said Paul, as he bowed to Honorine; “he is altogether too unceremonious; you should send him away.”

“Oh! monsieur, why should I send the good dog away, when he shows such a friendly feeling for me? it is not such a common thing; and one can depend upon it in his case, I fancy?”

“Oh! yes, yes! and in no other!”

“Do you really mean that you make no other exception, monsieur? It must be very melancholy to think that no one can ever have a friendly feeling for one!”

Paul made no reply; he remained standing in front of the young woman; but he gazed fixedly at his dog and seemed to be studying the contented expression that he read in his eyes.

“Monsieur,” said Honorine after a moment, “if you care to rest a while, this tree trunk on which I am sitting is quite large enough for two. I do not ask you to come into the house, although it is within a few steps; for, as you have never deigned to accept our invitations, I am bound to presume that they do not please you.”

Ami’s master made no reply, but he seated himself on the tree trunk, beside the young woman; and his dog, who had followed him with his eyes, stretched out one of his paws and rested it on his master, looking at him with an expression of the greatest satisfaction.

Honorine waited expecting that her neighbor would speak to her, but he maintained silence and seemed absorbed in his reflections.

The young woman, who was very desirous to talk, decided to begin.

“Have you lived in this part of the country long, monsieur?”

“A little more than nine years, madame.”

“And you live alone on your estate?”

“Practically alone.”

“You abandoned the world very young.”

“One finds it easy to leave what one despises!”

“Oh! pray let me believe, monsieur, that that contempt does not include the whole world.”

“Doubtless there are exceptions, madame; but I have been so cruelly tried, that I am quite justified in entertaining a bad opinion of men.”

“And of women too, perhaps?”

“Of women even more!”

“Really? And because one woman deceived you, you despise them all! Allow me to tell you, monsieur, that all women are not alike!”

“They have all been alike to me, however!”

“Ah! you have been deceived by several?”

“So long as it is only a matter of pleasure--of follies, if you will--one can always make excuses, forgive; but there is a kind of treachery that reaches the heart, that has deplorable, heartrending consequences, and that leads to irreparable disasters! Ah! that sort of treachery one never forgives!”

“No; but one pours out his grief upon the bosom of a friend, who comforts one, who strives to make one forget one’s suffering, or at least to alleviate it.”

“I have never met one of those friends!”

“How could you have met them, since you shun all society, all companionship?”

“I have the companionship of my dog. He loves me; he won’t betray me, will you, Ami?”

In reply to this question, Ami, whose left paw was still resting on his master, pricked up his ears, lifted his right paw and laid it on Honorine’s lap.

“On my word, Ami, you are getting to be too familiar,” said Paul, putting out his hand to remove the paw; but Honorine stopped him.

“Do let the dog alone. He loves me too, you see. Does that displease you?”

“No--no--madame; but----”

“Does it surprise you?”

“I confess that--knowing you such a short time----”

“You do not understand the friendship that your dog displays for me. But the very first time that he saw Agathe, he fawned upon her and caressed her; that was much more singular!”

“It was indeed; and I have often wondered, but in vain, what could be the source of Ami’s affection for a person he had never seen.”

“I should suppose, monsieur, that you would divine more readily this honest and faithful servant’s instincts; at least, after what I have heard.”

“What have you heard, madame?”

“That your dog had the gift of divining at once the sentiments with which a person regarded his master; and that, as a result of that instinct, he greeted your enemies far from cordially, that he growled and barked at people whom you had reason to distrust; while, on the contrary, he showed much affection for those who were disposed to feel a--a sincere affection for you.”

Honorine almost stammered in her utterance of these last words.

Paul fixed his eyes on the young woman’s sweet and sympathetic features, and his brow, ordinarily clouded, seemed to clear; one would have said that for the first time during a long period his heart beat fast under the impulse of a pleasurable sensation.

“It is true, madame,” he said after a moment’s silence, “that my dog has often afforded proofs of that peculiar instinct; but had I not the right to doubt the accuracy of his second sight in this instance? How could I suppose that you could entertain the slightest affection for me? I have done nothing to deserve it.”

“You forget, monsieur, that you have twice established a claim to our gratitude--on the two evenings of the cow and the storm. What would have become of us but for you?”

“Anyone would have done as much as I did.”

“I see, monsieur, that you have made up your mind that you will see only evil-minded, false, treacherous people in all who surround you.”

“Oh! madame!”

“But your efforts are vain; your dog, who knows what to believe, will always look upon us as his friends. Look; see how he gazes at me; he seems to express approval of my words; if he continues to show such friendliness to me, you will distrust him too, will you not, monsieur?”

“Ah! madame, far from it; on the contrary, I shall think that I have at last found what I believed it to be impossible to find--a true friend!”

At that moment Agathe appeared at the little gate.

“Honorine!” she called; “Honorine! are you there?”

“Here I am,” said the young woman, rising; “I was not far away.”

“I have been looking for you everywhere; I was worried about you. Ah! here’s Ami; good-day, brave dog!”

Ami had left his place to run to meet Agathe, who then spied the owner of the Tower.

She bowed affably to him, saying:

“Had I known that monsieur was with you, I shouldn’t have been alarmed, as he is always our protector.”

“I have done nothing yet to earn that title,” said Paul, returning Agathe’s bow. “But I should esteem myself very fortunate, mademoiselle, if I could ever be of any real service to you.”

As he finished speaking, he bowed to the two friends and left them, motioning to his dog to follow him, which he did not make up his mind to do until he had trotted back several times to the young women, to fawn upon them and wag his tail.

XI

AN AMAZON

Two days later, Père Ledrux was working in Madame Dalmont’s little garden. Humming as usual, he approached the two friends, who were sitting amid a clump of trees.

“Well!” he said, “here’s more fine folks in the place; ah! but these are regular bigwigs, so it seems; even bigger than Madame Droguet!”

“Whom are you talking about, Père Ledrux?” asked Honorine.

“The folks who’ve bought the house with the goldfish.”

“What!” cried Agathe, “is there a house with goldfish in this village--and we didn’t know it?”

“Bless me! mamzelle, when it was for sale, nobody thought much about it; it was too dear for the natives here. It’s a splendid place, with a park and an English garden and a kitchen garden.”

“And goldfish apparently?”

“Yes, mamzelle; a big pond full of ‘em.”

“And you know who has bought the place?”

“Pardi! everybody in Chelles knows.”

“You see that that isn’t so, Père Ledrux, for we don’t know a word about it.”

“The buyers are Monsieur and Madame de Belleville--man and wife; both young. The lady’s a fine woman, and she’s always dressed up--my word!--as if she was going to a wedding.”

“Really? then they are living here?”

“Oh, yes! they’ve been here for the last ten or twelve days----”

“Oh! I’ve seen the lady, I have,” said Poucette, coming forward; “I’ve seen her several times--for the last three days you don’t see anything but her riding by here on horseback. Anyone would think it was our house she wanted to see; she rides in front of it and behind it, and she looks over the garden wall; that’s easy, on horseback!--She’s got a fine blue cloth habit, with a long skirt that hides her horse’s tail, and a man’s round hat. You ought to see how well she sits on her horse! Oh! she ain’t afraid, that lady ain’t! you can see that right off.”

“Is she pretty?”

“Faith, mamzelle, you can’t say that she ain’t good-looking; but with her great black eyes, when she looks at you, you’d think she wanted to frighten everybody. She’s got a bold, haughty way! for my part, I don’t like such ways.”

“When you see this beautiful amazon again, Poucette, call me; I am curious to see her.”

“All right, mamzelle; I’ll bet she’ll ride by again to-day; for I tell you she always rides round the house and then comes back this way.”

“That’s rather strange, don’t you think so, Honorine?”

“For my part, I see nothing extraordinary about it, my dear girl; this lady comes to live in a part of the country that she isn’t familiar with, and she goes out in the saddle; that’s the best way of becoming acquainted with the neighborhood. If she looks at the houses, it’s because she wants to know the people who live in them.”

“But why does she pass our house so often? why does she ride round it?”

“She passes it, no doubt, because it’s on her road when she goes out to ride. Poucette thinks that she rides round it; probably that is because it’s her shortest way home.”

“You always think that everything’s all right. Still, I am very curious to see this beautiful equestrian.”

“And I am not in the least, I assure you.--By the way, you don’t mention the husband; doesn’t he ride too?”

“Oh, no!” said the gardener; “the husband don’t know how to sit a horse very well, it seems; the first day Madame de Belleville went out to ride, her husband thought he’d go with her. So he took a horse, but he didn’t look as if he was very comfortable on him. ‘My dear love,’ he sings out to his wife, ‘please don’t go so fast! I’ve got out of the habit of galloping.’--But whether his wife didn’t hear him, or whether her horse wouldn’t stop, she was off like a flash in an instant. Monsieur de Belleville tried to overtake her, but _patatras_!--off he went, head over heels. He got up and went home, limping a little and swearing he’d never get on a horse again; but that don’t prevent madame’s going every day.”

“She has a servant follow her, of course?”

“No, she always goes alone. As Poucette says, she ain’t afraid. It seems there’s to be a dinner-party to-morrow, given by the owner of Goldfish Villa; all the bigwigs of the place are invited--the Droguets and Remplumés and Jarnouillards; you don’t hear anybody talking about anything else. Perhaps it’s to invite you that Madame de Belleville rides round your house the way she does.”

“Oh! no, Père Ledrux; it can’t be for that. In the first place, one doesn’t go on horseback to pay a ceremonious visit; and in the second place, we are not bigwigs, and as this lady chooses to make friends of all the people who talk ill of us, it is probable that we shall never make friends with her. But if you hear any more gossip, Père Ledrux, about Monsieur Edmond Didier’s frequent visits to us, I authorize you to say that there is nothing surprising in the fact of a young man’s paying court to the person he is to marry; for Monsieur Edmond and Agathe are engaged.”

“Well, well! I had a suspicion of that!” cried the gardener; “I says to myself: ‘That young man and that girl--hum! it might well be--they’re both very good-looking!’--But, you understand, I just said that to myself, by way of reflection; for it don’t concern me, it’s none of my business.--I’ll just go and take a look at your hens; it’s as sure as can be that the black one fights with the others; if you don’t eat her, I’ll have to take her away; she makes the others too miserable.”

“We don’t eat the hens whose eggs we have eaten; take her away, Père Ledrux.”

“Well! you understand, it’s in your interest; she’d spoil all the others.”

Père Ledrux went off to the hencoop, and Honorine had returned to the house, when Poucette came running to Agathe, crying out:

“Mamzelle, here she is, she’s coming this way.”

“Who? the amazon?”

“Yes, she’s on the narrow road, at the end of the garden; you can see her nicely from the summer-house.”

“Let us go there then!”

Agathe was soon at the window of the summer-house, and Poucette, who had followed her, pointed to a lady on horseback, coming from Gournay, and riding her horse at a gallop, with a poise and boldness worthy of a circus rider.

Thélénie was dressed in a beautiful habit of light blue broadcloth; on her head was a man’s hat, with a very broad brim, set a little on one side, and adorned with a waving mass of black ribbons. Her lovely black hair fell in corkscrew curls on each side of her face, and her great gleaming eyes shone with wonderful brilliancy beneath her hat-brim. She held in her right hand a dainty riding-crop, with which she lashed her horse vigorously when he showed signs of relaxing his pace.

Agathe gazed with unwearying admiration at the beautiful equestrian; she leaned from the window in order to see her better, saying to Poucette:

“Oh! how splendidly she rides! what grace! what fearlessness! She is a very pretty woman too!”

“Yes, at a distance! but wait till you see her near to.”

As Thélénie drew near Honorine’s house, she saw that there was someone at the window of the summer-house; instantly she changed her horse’s gait and brought him down to a walk.

“I can see her much better now,” said Agathe; “she has stopped galloping and is coming very slowly.”

“I guess she’s walking her horse so that she can see you better. Just see how she stares at you, mamzelle! wouldn’t you think she wanted to bury her eyes in your face?”

“That is true; she is looking at me so attentively!--I don’t think her so pretty now.”

“There! I knew it! She has a very wicked look, that fine lady has!”

“See; she is turning round to look at me.”

“If I was you, mamzelle, I’d stick out my tongue at her.”

“She is going on at last; I’m glad of that!”

“Never mind; she’ll know you another time!”

“Really, I can’t understand how a person can stare at one in that way!”

“And with such a look! anyone would think she’d have liked to beat you! I say, mamzelle, I’m sure that if Monsieur Edmond had seen that woman stare at you like that, he’d have gone out and said to her: ‘What business have you to look at my intended like that? Do you know her? Do you want anything of her?’”

“That is very likely; but I shan’t mention that woman to Edmond! After all, if she doesn’t find me to her taste, so much the worse for her! it’s all the same to me.”

“She must be pretty hard to suit! For my part, I think she finds you too good-looking, and that’s what vexed her.”

“How foolish you are, Poucette! what difference can it make to her whether I am good-looking or not?”

“Look you, mamzelle! that handsome amazon probably says to herself when she comes here to live: ‘I shall be the prettiest woman in the place; everybody will admire me!’ Especially as she’s mighty particular about her dress.--Well, you understand, so long as she don’t see anybody but the Droguets and Remplumés and Jarnouillards, she might well think herself the handsomest woman in the place; but now that she’s seen you, it’s another story.”

Agathe went to Honorine and told her what had happened, and described the impertinent way in which the new owner of Goldfish Villa had stared at her. Whereat Madame Dalmont began to laugh, saying:

“That serves you right! You were so curious to see this woman and now you are well paid for your curiosity.”

“Never mind, my dear; if I meet this Madame de Belleville again, and she stares at me as she did just now, I shall ask her what she wants of me.”

“You will be very foolish, Agathe; when people behave impertinently, the best way to mortify them is to pay no attention.”

Since her conversation with the owner of the Tower, Honorine had gone out quite frequently to sit on the tree trunk under the walnut. She declared that from there the view was very extensive, while Agathe maintained that it was quite as fine from the window of the summer-house. So that Madame Dalmont almost always selected the hours when her young friend was practising on the piano, to open the little gate and go out into the road. Did she hope to meet there again the excellent dog, who had shown her so much affection? or was it his master whom she hoped to see? But there was no sign of Paul or of his dog.

By way of compensation, the one engrossing subject of conversation in the neighborhood was the dinner given at Goldfish Villa. Père Ledrux and Poucette repeated to the two friends what was said in Chelles on that subject.

“It was a magnificent affair.”

“Besides the notable people from this region, there were lots of people from Paris, men especially, all of the best tone and of the most perfect refinement! Some smoked at dessert, but it was only to change the air.”

“They had things to eat that no one knew the names of, and wines to drink that looked like liqueurs.”

“There was a most beautiful porcelain service. A servant broke a plate on Monsieur Jarnouillard’s head; but it did nothing but spoil his coat, which was spoiled already.”

“The master of the house nearly strangled eating fish.”

“Monsieur Luminot got a little tipsy.”

“Madame de Belleville changed her dress after the second course.”

“Madame Remplumé was sick.”

“Monsieur Jarnouillard counted the different dishes of dessert--there were thirty-three.”

“They played cards and danced in the evening.”

“Monsieur Droguet fell while waltzing.”

“They played for infernally high stakes. Madame Droguet lost four francs at lansquenet. But Monsieur Antoine Beaubichon won three at écarté.”

“Everybody went away overflowing with admiration for Monsieur and Madame de Belleville.”

Such were the remarks which circulated through the village after the grand banquet. The names of the new owners of the villa were mentioned in Chelles only with the most profound respect. Monsieur Remplumé even went so far as to remove his hat when he passed their house. And when Thélénie pranced through the village on horseback, people ran to their doors and windows to see her pass, crying:

“There she goes! there she goes! she rides like a dragoon!”

To be sure, there were some urchins who yelled: “_A la chienlit!_” But those unseemly words were drowned by the applause and cheers.

Thélénie continued to gallop by Madame Dalmont’s house; but Agathe, instead of watching her, left the window if she were sitting at it, determined that that lady should not have the satisfaction of scrutinizing her as she did before.

One afternoon, when Honorine was sitting alone under the great walnut tree by the roadside, she suddenly heard piercing shrieks not far away. They evidently proceeded from a child’s lips, and the young woman, thinking that someone might be in need of assistance, hastened down the hill, and saw, some two hundred yards away, a woman on horseback striking with her crop a small boy in whom Honorine instantly recognized the one who had stolen her cherries.

The appearance of a lady on the scene did not calm Thélénie’s wrath; she continued to belabor the lost child, exclaiming: “Ah! you won’t stand aside when I tell you to look out, won’t you? You make signs to show that you aren’t afraid of me, and you make faces at me! You little blackguard, I’ll teach you to know me and respect me!”

When he caught sight of Madame Dalmont, little Emile ran to her for protection, still making a great outcry, in which there was at least as much anger as pain.

The amazon would have ridden after him, but Honorine barred her way.

“Mon Dieu!” she said, “what has this child done to you, madame, that you should punish him so severely?”

Thélénie eyed Honorine insolently as she retorted:

“What has he done to me? what business is it of yours? If I horsewhip him, it’s because I choose to do it, and because he deserves it. What are you meddling for?”

“Meddling--when I defend a child who is being beaten! Evidently, madame, you would see a child overwhelmed with blows without thinking of defending him!”

“What does this mean? that madame is pleased to give me a lesson, perhaps?”

“I might well give you a lesson in politeness, I fancy; for you adopt a tone which is very little in harmony with your costume.”

Thélénie bit her lips angrily; then she cried abruptly:

“Ah! you are Madame Dalmont, no doubt?”

“I am Madame Dalmont.”

“I might have guessed as much. Ha! ha! ha! I have frequently heard of madame and her little friend, Mademoiselle Agathe! Ha! ha! You ladies are very well known in Chelles.”

“I think not, madame, as we see very few people.”

“But you are much talked about all the same!”

“It is quite possible, madame; there are people whose sole occupation is gossip, slander, calumny. But what comes from the mouths of those people is not worth thinking about, really!”

“Do you mean that for me, madame?”

“How could I mean it for you? I do not know you!”

“I am Madame de Belleville, and I am not in the habit of putting up with an insult from anybody, no matter who it may be.”

“And I am Madame Dalmont, and I am not in the habit of fighting because I am not a man.”

Thélénie was irritated beyond measure by the young widow’s imperturbable calmness.

But while this dialogue was taking place between the two ladies, little Emile, thirsting for revenge for the blows he had received, picked up a large lump of earth and threw it with all his strength at the person who had beaten him. The clod did not reach her, but it struck one of the ears of her horse, and as it broke, spattered and soiled the beautiful blue skirt.

The horse, not expecting the assault, made a leap side-wise which might well have unseated his rider; but Thélénie, unshaken in her saddle, simply cried out in rage:

“Ah! you little villain!” she shrieked; “this time you shall feel my crop, and you’ll keep the marks of it!”

The lost child hid behind Honorine; but that obstacle did not seem to deter Thélénie.

“Stand aside, madame,” she cried; “move from in front of that rascal, or I won’t be answerable for my horse.”

“For heaven’s sake, madame, forgive the child!”

“No! no! and if you don’t move--So much the worse for you, if you get a taste of the crop too!”

With that the amazon urged her horse upon Honorine and the little boy; but, like the great majority of those noble-hearted creatures, the horse hesitated, stopped and tried to make a détour in order to avoid running down a woman and a child. The amazon persisted in her attempts to ride him upon them, when suddenly an unexpected defender changed the whole aspect of affairs. Ami rushed down the hill, and without pause or hesitation jumped at the rider, barking in a tone which indicated that he was not in a good humor.

At sight of that magnificent beast, who was doing his utmost to jump upon her, Thélénie, forced to defend herself, tried to strike Ami with her crop. But he cleverly avoided the blows, springing from side to side, but biting the horse at the same time.

“Madame! madame! call off your dog!” shouted the amazon; “he is biting my horse! you will be responsible for what may happen!”

“The dog is not mine, madame; but I am thankful for his arrival at this moment, for it has prevented you from doing a cowardly thing.”

“Oh! you haven’t heard the last of this, madame! The cursed dog! And I shall find this little wretch again, too. We shall see! we shall see! I will find that dog’s master!”

But harassed by Ami, who tried to bite her legs, and obliged to attend to her horse, whom the constant attacks of the dog were driving to frenzy, Thélénie had no choice but to abandon the field of battle. She plunged her spurs into the beast’s sides, and gave him the rein; he instantly galloped away at the top of his speed, and horse and rider soon disappeared altogether.

Ami started to pursue them, but Honorine called him back so vehemently that he returned to her side at last, still excited by the battle he had fought.

The young woman looked about in every direction, but to no purpose; the dog’s master did not appear. She was about to return to the house, when she noticed that little Emile was still by her side.

“Why did you throw a stone at that horse just now?” she asked.

“It wasn’t a stone, it was a lump of dirt.”

“No matter; you hoped to hit that lady, I suppose?”

“Yes, I aimed it at her.”

“That was a very naughty thing for you to do. Just think of all that might have happened: the lady galloped her horse at you----”

“And at you too.”

“And if it had not been for this good dog that arrived just in time, you might be badly hurt.”

“And you too.”

“None of those things would have happened if you had not thrown that lump of dirt.”

“What made that dragoon strike me with her whip?”

“Why didn’t you stand aside to let her pass?”

“She could pass well enough; there was plenty of room. Does she need the whole road for her and her horse?”

“My child, do you mean always to be naughty? You have already forgotten what I told you the other day; make people love you instead of making them fear you, and you will be much happier.”

The boy looked at the ground and muttered in a low voice:

“No one wants to love me!”

Honorine took a small coin from her purse and gave it to Emile.

“See, I will give you this,” she said, “but only on condition that you won’t throw any more stones or dirt at anybody. If I learn that you have done it again, I will never give you anything more.”

“Not cherries?”

“Neither cherries nor anything else; now go.”

Ami listened to this conversation, seated on his haunches, with the gravity of an examining magistrate. Then he followed Honorine to the garden gate, where she turned and said to him:

“Are you coming in with me, good dog? No; you won’t. Your master isn’t with you, so you came all by yourself to pay me a visit; that was very nice of you. When you choose to come again, just scratch at this gate, and you will always be welcome.”

Ami, who seemed to understand her words perfectly, yelped once or twice, then bounded away toward the Tower, barking loudly and joyously.

XII

THE BARON VON SCHTAPELMERG

Thélénie galloped to her house, without once drawing rein. As she rode into the courtyard, she almost over-turned her husband, who was just starting out for a walk, and had barely time to jump into the stable. Then she dropped the reins, jumped to the ground, tossed her crop in the face of the servant who stepped forward, and, still in a rage at having been forced to retreat, cried:

“Where is monsieur? where is he hiding? tell him to come to me instantly.”

Chamoureau made bold to put his head out of the stable.

“Here I am, my love,” he said; “I am here. Your infernal horse came near upsetting me! Is it possible you didn’t see that? Your horses are too restive, they’ll play you some bad trick one of these days. You look annoyed; have you had a fall?”

“Hold your tongue, monsieur! It’s natural for you to fall; you know nothing about bodily exercise!”

“What’s that? I know nothing about bodily exercise! Why, it seems to me that there are some kinds in which I----”

“I am furious, monsieur; I am exasperated!”

“The deuce!”

“Yes; for I have been insulted, outraged, laughed at! But it shall not pass off so! I must have reparation; and I look to you for that!”

Chamoureau, scenting a duel in what his wife had said, and feeling no vocation for that sort of amusement, was strongly tempted to return to the stable. He walked about the courtyard, muttering:

“I had something in hand; what in the devil did I have in hand?”

“Be kind enough to listen to me, monsieur. I tell you that your wife has been insulted!”

“Insulted! you! Madame de Belleville! That strikes me as most extraordinary, for everybody in the neighborhood bows to the ground before us. They don’t talk about anything else but the dinner we gave them. They think that you ride a horse like Madame Saqui, like the late Franconi, I should say; they shout ‘hurrah!’ when you pass, and they are constantly throwing bouquets to us.”

“That’s just the reason, monsieur, why it’s an outrage that a woman, a child and a dog should have formed a league against me!”

“What! it was a dog, and a woman, and a child, who had the audacity to insult you?” cried Chamoureau, recovering all his courage when he found that there was no man concerned in the affair. “_Fichtre_! bless my soul! _vive Dieu_! where are the rascals, pray, that I may punish them! I will whip the woman, I mean the child--no, I mean the dog; in fact, I will castigate all three of them.”

“When it comes to administering punishment, I shall not need you, monsieur; what I want of you is that you should make inquiries and find out, first, whom the child belongs to--a little boy of seven or eight, I should think, who looks like a little villain, and who threw stones at my horse.”

“Ah! I’ll chastise that little scamp. What! he dared! Really, there aren’t any children nowadays!”

“He was dressed in a short brown jacket, worn out at the elbows, and torn everywhere, dirty green breeches covered with patches, no stockings, shoes full of holes, and nothing on his head except a forest of black hair which gives him the look of an imp.”

“Is the little fellow a beggar?”

“He looks like it, but I don’t say that he begged of me. You are to find out whom he belongs to--what his parents do; then I will take it on myself to go to speak to them.”

“Very good; I understand perfectly. You don’t want me to whip the child?”

“Do nothing more than I tell you. Then there’s a dog, a monstrous dog.”

“Describe him, if you please.”

“Mon Dieu! monsieur, I can’t do it very well. I was on horseback and the dog tried to jump at me; I had to keep twisting and turning to avoid him. I think he was of the bull-dog breed; he was very large, and seemed very savage.”

“Peste! what a savage beast! Wasn’t he muzzled?”

“Of course not, as he bit my horse.”

“He is unlawfully at large; I will complain to the authorities and have him impounded.”

“Just find out whom he belongs to; I will attend to the rest.”

“That may be rather difficult; didn’t you notice any particular marks?”

“Oh! how you irritate me, monsieur!”

“I mean, didn’t he have any blanket on him? They put blankets on some dogs, just as they do on horses.”

“No, monsieur, he had nothing on him; he’s white with black spots. I presume that he belongs to the little boy’s parents, as he instantly undertook to defend him.”

“True; your conjecture is very just; if he belongs to the boy’s parents, the boy is his little master, and it was as such that he defended him.--Now let us come to the woman: some wretched peasant, I suppose?”

“No, monsieur, a lady; but I know who she is!”

“Ah! you know her, do you?”

“I don’t know her, but I divined who she was: that Madame Dalmont, for whom you bought a miserable shanty down here!”

“Indeed! Madame Dalmont, the protectress of young Agathe, with whom our friend Edmond Didier is in love.”

“Exactly. Did you hear how they talked about those two women at our party?”

“I heard--that is to say, no, I didn’t hear. What did they say about those two ladies?”

“That they were creatures unfit to be received in society; that they led a scandalous life here, receiving no one but men, and, it is believed, lodging them at night;--do you understand?”

“What! they let lodgings?--furnished?”

Thélénie shrugged her shoulders impatiently and left her husband, saying:

“Don’t forget what I have told you to do, monsieur!”

Chamoureau left the house by the fine avenue of lindens of which he was so proud. Reflecting on the instructions his wife had given him, he said to himself:

“I shall find the child; that ought not to be difficult. But as for the dog--it seems that he’s very savage; I’ll inquire about him, but I won’t try to come to close quarters with him. What’s the use; he’ll never admit his culpability toward my wife.”

Communing thus with himself, the new landed proprietor made slow progress, because he halted at every tree on the avenue, examined it and walked around it admiringly, murmuring:

“This fellow must be at least fifty years old--what do I say? eighty years! perhaps more! How in the devil can one tell the age of a tree? That’s something the geologists have never thought of--the _arborists_, I should say, or, better still, the wood-cutters. And yet it’s a very important matter. When a man can say: ‘I have on my estate several centuries of trees,’ that should add immensely to its value. Let us see, let us see; that is something worth finding out--how to tell the age of a tree! Suppose I should find it out! I should think that I might then offer myself as a candidate for the Academy; I should be justified!”

Engrossed by his study of the trees, Chamoureau had not noticed a man who had entered his avenue and was walking toward him, looking to right and left, like one who is determined to observe everything.

This individual, whose dress was modest and suggested poverty rather than elegance, had nevertheless an arrogant manner and a self-assured bearing; his dirty round hat was perched on the right side of his head in true swaggering style, and the thick stick which he held in his hand was made to perform evolutions and revolutions which might have led one to think that he had been a drum-major. Adding to all this the face of a bird of prey, you will at once recognize Croque, Thélénie’s brother, less dilapidated than at the time of his visit to his sister some months before, but not apparently in the most prosperous circumstances.

Croque approached Chamoureau, who, on raising his eyes, was vastly surprised to see within a few feet of him that gallows-bird, who tried to salute him gracefully, as he said:

“A thousand pardons, monsieur; but am I not on the estate of Monsieur and Madame de Belleville?”

“You are indeed, monsieur, for this avenue, with these superb lindens, also belongs to us; it forms a part of the domain which my wife and I recently purchased.”

“Ah! monsieur, from what I hear, it must be to Monsieur de Belleville himself, in his own person, that I have the great honor of presenting at this moment my most sincere respects and compliments.”

Chamoureau, highly flattered by the respectful tone in which the stranger addressed him, began to think that he was not so ugly after all; and, striking an attitude as if he were on a pedestal, he bowed and replied:

“Yes, monsieur, I am Cha--I am Monsieur de Belleville.”

“Who married Madame Sainte-Suzanne--a charming woman, of the utmost refinement, distinguished to her finger-tips, and with a most superior mind.”

“Well, well!” thought Chamoureau, “he speaks well of my wife! He’s the first one to do that!”

“However, monsieur,” continued Croque, “I do not need to praise your excellent wife to you; for since you have taken her for your cherished companion in life, you must have learned to appreciate her numerous good qualities and her admirable perfections.”

“Certainly, monsieur, I am acquainted with my wife’s perfections; she has superb eyes, jet-black hair------”

“Oh! monsieur, physically she is incomparably beautiful, beyond doubt, but the physique is nothing compared with the heart, the mind and the virtues! There are many beautiful women in the world, but such virtues as those of your good wife are less common--if I dared, I would say very rare!”

“Thélénie must have rendered this man some great service!” thought Chamoureau; “he discovers too many virtues in her; I am not acquainted with so many as that.--May I know with whom I have the honor of talking?” he said, turning to Croque.

Croque drew himself up, twirled his cane so rapidly that Chamoureau for a moment feared for his nose, and replied:

“I am the Baron von Schtapelmerg. I imagine that that name is not unknown to you, and that your wife must often have spoken to you of me?”

“Baron von--I beg your pardon?”

“Schtapelmerg.”

“Oh, yes! Schtapel--Yes, I have it.”

“You know me, do you not?”

“Faith! no; this is the first time I ever heard your name; otherwise I should have remembered it, as it’s rather uncommon!”

“You surprise me very much. What! Madame Sainte-Suzanne--I beg your pardon; I always think of her by that name.”

“There’s no harm done.”

“Has she forgotten her old friend, her devoted Schtapelmerg?”

“Were you a friend of hers?”

“Ah! monsieur!--a friend--in life and death! Twenty times I have fought for that charming woman!”

“You have fought for her?”

“I did little else at one time, monsieur; if anyone looked at her too closely, if anyone trod on her foot or tore her dress--instantly my sword was unsheathed. Ah! I am not given to jesting! I am very sensitive on the point of honor.--One! two! parry that thrust! pif! spitted!”

“Sapristi!” muttered Chamoureau, while Croque went through the motions of spitting a linden. “Here’s a man that I’ll never quarrel with! But he seems to be a friend to be relied on.”

“Lately, monsieur, after travelling in Bavaria, my native land, and visiting some of my numerous domains----”

As he said this, Croque pushed back under his coat sleeve a bit of ragged shirt which persisted in showing itself.

“I was saying that, on returning from one of my principalities, my first thought, on reaching Paris, was to call upon my noble and respected friend, Madame Sainte-Suzanne. There I learned that that most gracious woman had recently espoused a young, noble and fashionable gentleman, blessed with an immense fortune and with amiable qualities in proportion; I was told your name--Monsieur de Belleville!”

Chamoureau, who had appeared at first somewhat surprised to hear this individual in threadbare coat and rusty tile speak of his domains, forgot that seedy costume as soon as the words gentleman, fashionable, and amiable fell upon his ear. He was radiant, his face fairly beamed, and he extended his hand to the pretended baron, exclaiming:

“Monsieur de Schtapel--what’s your name----”

“Merg.”

“Yes, that’s it; I was afraid of pronouncing it wrong. My dear baron, as you are my wife’s friend, I venture to hope that you will consent to be mine also from this moment. It will be an honor and--the keenest satisfaction to me to offer you my friendship. Shake hands!”

“Ah! _tarteiff_! you are what I call a man! I judged you at the first glance; I said to myself: ‘Ten thousand cabbages! there’s a man who is worthy to be hitched up with Madame Sainte-Suzanne; they were born for each other!’--And you offer me your friendship! _Sapreman_! here’s my hand. Bah! these damned musketeer sleeves are intolerable; they get torn and soiled in an hour; no matter--here’s my hand. Now, if you have an enemy, if anyone has the misfortune to look askance at you--why, it no longer concerns you--it’s my affair--mine!”

“Oh! really, baron, I should not want you to go so far as that.”

“Nonsense! I tell you that it no longer concerns you; that’s the way I deal with my real friends! But I beg your pardon--you must realize my impatience; I would be glad to present my respects to Madame de Belleville.”

“That is quite natural; we will go to her. She has just come in from her ride, which she takes every morning. Do you know how well she rides?”

“Do I know? why, it was I who held her stirrup at the riding-school of--at the circus, in fact!”

“I shall have the pleasure of taking you to my wife.”

“Bless my soul! don’t put yourself out. You were going somewhere, and you mustn’t change your plans on my account. Madame is at the château; that’s enough for me; I will go alone.”

“No indeed! I shall be very glad to witness the joy which my wife cannot fail to feel when she sees you.--Come, baron, come.”

Croque would have preferred that Monsieur de Belleville should not be present at his first interview with his sister, but it was impossible to object. Moreover, after the conversation he had just had with his brother-in-law, he was justified in concluding that it was very easy to make him believe whatever one chose.

Thélénie had just changed her dress and was half reclining on a couch, when her husband entered her apartment, exclaiming from the outer room:

“My dear love, I am bringing someone whom you will be delighted to see, a visitor whom you did not expect, but who will give you great pleasure.”

Thélénie did not deign to turn her face toward the door, but contented herself with asking:

“Who is it? what’s the matter? whom have you brought?”

“Monsieur de Schtapelmerg.”

“Who’s he? Schtapelmerg! Where does he come from? I don’t know any such person.”

“She has forgotten your name, baron.”

“When madame hears my voice, I am quite sure that she will recognize me at once and will not ask again who I am.”

There was a shrill, strident tone in Croque’s voice which, in truth, made it easy to recognize; so that, as soon as he began to speak, Thélénie faced about abruptly, and, after examining him, exclaimed:

“What! is it you?”

“Yes, dear and noble lady; it is I, the Baron von Schtapelmerg, your old friend, who was always the most sincere and devoted of your servants. I have just had the honor of informing your highly honored husband, Monsieur de Belleville, of that fact, madame, having had the pleasure of meeting him on my way here; and I already entertain for him the most sincere esteem, having, at the first glance, seen that he is endowed with capacities of all sorts.”

Croque finished his harangue by bowing low to Monsieur and Madame de Belleville.

Thélénie had much difficulty in refraining from laughing in the faces of her husband and the pretended baron, especially when she saw Chamoureau press Croque’s hand warmly, saying:

“Faith, my dear baron, if I suit you, I can say without flattery that you are altogether to my taste, and that my wife could not have an acquaintance who would be more agreeable to me.”

“You hear, charming lady; now I am your husband’s friend too; and I like to believe that you have kept a little place warm for me in your heart. _Tarteiff!_”

“Certainly, Monsieur de--I cannot possibly remember your name.”

“Schtapelmerg--descended, I venture to say, from one of the most venerable families of Bavaria.”

“Yes, yes! I know it. But, my dear baron, allow me to tell you that you are really rather careless in the matter of dress! I know that a man pays little attention to such details when travelling; but upon my word, if I didn’t know you as I do, seeing you appear in this garb I should never have detected in you the true aristocrat.”

“I deserve the rebuke. Yes, I deserve it. I am dressed like a ragamuffin, that is true! You see, in the train, while I was dozing, a fellow traveller took my hat, which was quite new, and left me with this one. I didn’t notice it till I left the train.”

“There’s some very clever stealing done on railway trains,” said Chamoureau; “I myself, one day--that is to say, one evening--or rather it was just between daylight and dark; but there was a man----”

“I believe that we will postpone your story, monsieur,” said Thélénie, interrupting her husband. “But how about the things I gave you to do--have you attended to them?”

“Not yet, my sweet love; I was going out for that purpose, when I met the dear baron in the avenue of lindens. At that moment I was thinking of something very important--how old those magnificent trees probably are.”

“It seems to me, monsieur, that you will do better to think of my commissions--while I talk with this old friend, who has many things to tell me, no doubt.”

“Oh! yes, _belle dame_; I have to tell you about a lot of people, whom I met on my travels.”

“In that case, dear love, I will leave you to talk with the baron, to whom I will not say adieu, for I am sure that he will do us the honor to dine with us, and even to pass a few days with us.”

“I ask nothing better, ten thousand cabbages! I will stay as long as you choose; this must be a good place to loaf!”

Thélénie flashed an angry glance at her brother; the words _loaf_ and _ten thousand cabbages_ seemed sadly out of place in the mouth of a Bavarian baron.

But, at a gesture from her, Chamoureau made haste to leave the room, after pressing Herr Schtapelmerg’s hand once more.

“Faith, my dear girl,” said Croque, when his brother-in-law had disappeared, “there’s nobody like you for picking up men of this bake! if you had ‘em made expressly, they wouldn’t be any better! And rich, very rich, with it all--so I understand. My compliments, madame; a most excellent marriage!”

“There is no doubt that my dear husband must be a great simpleton to believe the fable you told him. You must have plenty of cheek to present yourself as a baron, dressed as you are!”

“I never lack cheek, you know!”

“How did you learn that I was here?”

“We idlers always know everything that’s going on. I am sufficiently interested in you not to lose sight of you. I was told that you had made a rich marriage, and I soon learned that you called yourself Madame de Belleville! Very pretty! very coquettish! It was not hard to find out the rest!”

“What is your object in coming here?”

“In the first place to inquire for your health and congratulate you on your marriage; secondly----”

“To ask me for more money?”

“What the devil do you expect? Living’s so dear!”

“Have you spent already the thousand francs I gave you some time ago?”

“Oh! they’re a long way off. In the first place, I paid debts, settled with tradesmen; that ruined me. I can’t bear to have debts! In that respect I carry delicacy to the point of absurdity, perhaps. However, a man can’t make himself over, so I never borrow; especially as no one would lend me.”

Having satisfied herself that they were quite alone, Thélénie went back to Croque, who had thrown himself into an easy-chair and stretched himself out as if he proposed to go to sleep.

“Listen, Croque,” she said; “I am willing to give you money again,--to come to your assistance, but you must do something for me.”

“Whatever you choose, I will do! I am at your service, and you know my talents.”

“There are two women whom I hate and detest; one of them is my rival, the other has insulted me; and they live together.”

“Very good. Where do they live?”