Chapter XXXVIII

Jacques Bastien, after having brutally put his wife out of the house, returned to his chamber with a tottering step, threw himself on the bed in his clothes, and fell into a profound sleep.

At three o'clock, according to the order he had given in the evening, Marguerite carried a light to her master and found him asleep; she had much difficulty in awakening him, and announced to him that old Andre had hitched the horse to the little carriage.

Jacques, still heavy with sleep and the consequences of his intoxication, which obscured his ideas, shook himself in his garments, like a tawny beast in his fur, passed his hand through his tangled hair, put on his back over his clothes an overcoat of goatskin with long hairs, rinsed his mouth with a full glass of brandy, and sent Marguerite to inform Bridou that all was ready for their departure.

Bastien's head was aching, his ideas confused, and he scarcely had a vague remembrance of his atrocious brutality toward his wife; he struggled painfully against a violent desire to sleep, and while waiting for his companion, he seated himself on the edge of the bed, where he was beginning to sleep again, when Bridou entered.

"Come, Jacques, come along," said the bailiff; "you look stupid all over, old fellow, shake yourself up."

"There! there!" replied M. Bastien, standing upon his legs and rubbing his eyes. "My head is heavy and my eyes full of sand,--perhaps the fresh air will revive me. Wait, Bridou, drink a drop, and then we will set off on our journey. It is twelve miles from here to Blemur."

"To your health, then, old fellow!" said the bailiff, pouring out a glass of brandy. "Ah, so, you will not drink?"

"Yes, indeed, it will wake me up, for my brain is devilishly confused."

And, after having swallowed a new bumper of brandy, which, far from clearing his ideas, rendered them all the more confused, Bastien, preceding Bridou, went out of his chamber, followed the corridor and opened the door, through which he had driven his wife two hours before.

But Marie had left the porch where she had at first cowered.

The snow had ceased to fall.

The moon shone in the sky, the cold was becoming more and more intense. Jacques felt it keenly, for he had just swallowed two glasses of brandy, and for a few moments he seemed bewildered, walking directly before him across the lawn, instead of following the walk which led to the gate.

Bridou saw the distraction of his friend and said to him:

"Jacques, Jacques, where in the devil are you going?"

"Sure enough," responded the Hercules, stopping short and balancing himself on his legs. "Sure enough, old fellow," said he. "I do not know what is the matter with me; I am besotted this morning. I go to the right when I mean to go to the left. It is the cold which pinches me so when I come out of the house."

"It is enough to pinch one!" replied Bridou, shivering. "I have a hood and a comforter, and I am frozen."

"You chilly fellow, go on!"

"That is very easy for you to say."

"Come, Bridou, do you want my skin?"

"What! your skin?"

"My goatskin, you idiot!"

"And what will you do, Jacques?"

"Take it; when I get into the carriage the heat will fly to my head, and I shall sleep in spite of myself."

"Then, Jacques, I accept your skin all the more cheerfully, my old fellow, for if you fall asleep you will turn us over."

"Here, put it on," said Jacques, taking off his goatskin, in which his companion soon wrapped himself. "Come, now," said Bastien, passing his hand over his forehead, "I feel more like myself; I am better."

And Jacques, with a less unsteady step, reached the gate that Andre had just opened from the outside, as he led the old white horse, hitched to the carriage, to a convenient spot for his master.

Bastien jumped into the carriage first; Bridou, embarrassed by the goatskin, stumbled on the foot-board.

"Take care, master, take care," said old Andre, deceived by the goatskin, and thinking he was addressing M. Bastien. "Pay attention, master!"

"Jacques, this must be a regular lion's skin," whispered the bailiff. "Your servant takes me for you, old fellow, because I have on your cloak."

Bastien, whose mind continued to be somewhat confused, took the reins and said to Andre, who stood at the horse's head:

"Is the old road to Blemur good?"

"The old road? Why, nobody can pass, monsieur."

"Why?"

"Because the overflow has washed up everything, monsieur, without counting the embankment on the side of the pond which has been swept away,--so from that place the road is still covered ten feet in water."

"That is a pity, for that would have shortened our way wonderfully," replied Bastien, whipping the horse so vigorously that it started off at a full gallop.

"Softly, Jacques, softly," said the bailiff, beginning to feel concerned about his comrade's condition. "The roads are not good and you must not upset us. Come, come now, Jacques, do pay attention! Ah, you do not look an inch before you!"

* * * * *

We will leave M. Bridou in his constantly increasing perplexity and will return to the farm.

As we have said, Marie, after having tried in vain to reach the stable through the garden gate, came back and cowered down in one of the corners of the porch.

During the first half-hour the cold had caused her the most painful suffering. To this torture succeeded a sort of numbness at first very distressing; then soon followed a state of almost complete insensibility, an invincible torpor, which in such circumstances often proves a transition to death.

Marie, brave as ever, preserved her presence of mind a long time and tried to divert her thoughts from the danger that she was running, saying to herself that at three o'clock in the morning there must necessarily be some stir in the house caused by the departure of M. Bastien, who wished, as Marguerite had told her, to set out on his journey at the rising of the moon.

Whether he left or not, the young woman intended to profit by the going and coming of Marguerite, and to make herself heard by rapping either on the door of the corridor or the blinds of the dining-room, and thus gain an entrance into her chamber.

But the terrible influence of the cold--the rapid and piercing effects of which were unknown to Madame Bastien--froze, so to speak, her thoughts, as it froze her limbs.

At the end of the half-hour the exhausted woman yielded to an unconquerable drowsiness, from which she would rise a moment by sheer force of courage, to fall back again into a deeper sleep than before.

About three o'clock in the morning, the light that Marguerite carried had several times shone through the window-blinds, and her steps had resounded behind the front door.

But Marie, in an ever increasing torpor, saw nothing and heard nothing.

Fortunately, in one of the rare periods when she succeeded in rousing herself from her stupor, she trembled at the voice of Bastien; as he went out with Bridou he noisily drew the bolt of the door.

At the voice of her husband the young woman, by an almost superhuman effort of will, roused herself from her stupor, rose, although stiff and almost bent double by the icy cold, went out of the porch, and hid herself behind one of the ivy-covered posts, just as the door opened before Bastien and Bridou, who went out through the garden gate. Marie, seeing the two men depart, slipped into the house and reached her chamber without having met Marguerite. But the moment she rang, her strength failed, and she fell on the floor unconscious.

The servant ran at the sound of her mistress's bell, found her lying in the middle of the floor, and cried, as she stooped to lift her up:

"Great God! madame, what has happened to you?"

"Silence!" murmured the young woman in a feeble voice; "do not wake my son! Help me to get back to bed."

"Alas! madame," said the servant, sustaining Marie as the poor woman got into bed, "you are shivering, you are frozen."

"To-night," replied the young mother, with a failing voice, "feeling myself in pain I tried to rise to ring for you. I had not the strength, I was ill, and just this moment I dragged myself to the chimney to call you, and I--"

The young woman did not finish; her teeth clashed together, her head fell back, and she fainted.

Marguerite, frightened at the responsibility resting on her, and losing her presence of mind entirely, cried, as she ran to Frederick's chamber:

"Monsieur, monsieur! get up! madame is very ill." Then, returning to Marie, she cried, kneeling down by the bed:

"My God! what must I do, what must I do?"

At the end of a few moments Frederick, having put on his dressing-gown, came out of his chamber.

Imagine his agony at the sight of his mother,--pale, inanimate, and from time to time writhing under a convulsive chill.

"Mother," cried Frederick, kneeling in despair by Marie's pillow. "Mother, answer me, what is the matter?"

"Alas! M. Frederick," said Marguerite, sobbing, "madame is unconscious. What shall I do, my God, what shall I do?"

"Marguerite," cried Frederick, "run and wake M. David."

While Frederick, in unspeakable terror, remained near his mother, the servant hurried to Andre's chamber, where David had spent the night. The preceptor, dressing himself in haste, opened the door for Marguerite.

"My God! what is the matter?"

"M. David, a great trouble,--madame--"

"Go on."

"To-night she was taken ill and rose to ring for me; all her strength failed her; she had fallen in the middle of her chamber, where she lay a long time on the floor; when I entered and helped her to bed she was frozen."

"On such a night,--it is frightful!" cried David, turning pale; "and now, how is she?"

"My God! M. David, she has fainted away. Poor M. Frederick is on his knees at her pillow sobbing; he calls her, but she hears nothing. It was he who told me to run for you, because we do not know what to do, we have all lost our head."

"You must tell Andre to hitch up and go in haste to Pont Brillant for Doctor Dufour. Run, run, Marguerite."

"Alas! monsieur, that is impossible. Master left this morning at three o'clock with the horse, and Andre is so old that he would take I do not know how much time to go to the city."

"I will go," said David, with a calmness which belied the agitation depicted in his face.

"You, M. David, go to the city on foot so far this freezing night!"

"In an hour," replied David, as he finished dressing himself for the journey, "Doctor Dufour will be here. Tell Frederick that to calm him. While waiting my return, you had better take some warm tea to Madame Bastien. Try to get her warm by covering her with care, and drawing her bed near the large fire which you must kindle immediately. Come, courage, Marguerite," added David, taking his hat and hastily descending the stairs; "be sure to tell Frederick Doctor Dufour will be here in an hour."

* * * * *

Marguerite, after having conducted David to the garden gate, came to get the lamp that she had left on the threshold of the door, sheltered by the rustic porch.

As she stooped to take up the lamp she saw, half hidden by the snow, a neckerchief of orange silk belonging to Madame Bastien, and almost in the same spot she found a little slipper of red morocco encrusted, so to speak, in the snow hardened by the ice.

More and more surprised, and wondering how these articles, which evidently belonged to her mistress, came to be there, Marguerite, struck with a sudden idea, picked up the neckerchief and the slipper, then, with the aid of her lamp, she examined attentively the pavement of the corridor.

There she recognised the recent imprint of snow-covered feet, so that in following this trace of Madame Bastien's little feet she noticed the last tracks at the door of her mistress. Suddenly Marguerite recollected that when she had assisted her mistress, overcome by the cold, to get in bed, it had not been unmade; other circumstances corroborated these observations, and the servant, terrified at the discovery she had just made, entered Madame Bastien's chamber, where Frederick was sitting near his mother.

* * * * *

An hour and a quarter after David's departure a cabriolet with two horses white with foam and marked with the postilion's whip stopped at the door of the farm.

David and Doctor Dufour descended from this carriage.