Chapter XXI: Servants’ Gossip.--Alfred and the Vagabond

The next day, at daybreak, a certain excitement was apparent among the servants of the château; they were assembled in the courtyard, talking earnestly among themselves. Among those who declaimed the most loudly was the concierge, who seemed to be haranguing the others.

"I tell you that it can’t be anything," cried Cunette, gesticulating in a most dramatic way. "For more than fifteen years I’ve been concierge in this château, and nothing strange ever happened here."

"I don’t know whether it is strange or not," said the groom, "but I tell you that I saw a light. You know we came back late with monsieur; and then I had to groom the horse, put away the carriage, and then eat my supper; so that it was very late when I went to bed. As the weather was fine and I didn’t feel much like sleeping, I went to the window and happened to look at the tower opposite, which you call the North Tower."

"Where no one lives," said Cunette, "because monseigneur thought that it was in too bad condition, and that it wasn’t worth while to have it done over new, as there’s plenty of room in the château."

"Well, whether anyone lives there or not, I tell you that last night about eleven o’clock--or rather, it was pretty near midnight--I saw a light in one of the little windows up at the top."

"Mon Dieu!" said Jeannette; "midnight! That’s the time for ghosts, ain’t it, Mamzelle Cheval?"

"Nonsense!" said the cook; "do you suppose I believe in ghosts? All those stories are made up to frighten folks. It’s more likely to be thieves who want to steal my chickens,--that is, if it was anything at all."

"What!" said François, approaching the other servants, "are there ghosts in this château, too?"

"Oh, no! Monsieur François; there’s no question of ghosts," replied the groom, "it’s just a light that I saw last night in the tower where no one sleeps."

"It was a reflection of the moon, that he took for a light," said Cunette; "I am the concierge, and I’ll answer for it that no suspicious person came into the château."

"Pardi!" said Jeannette, "if it was a ghost, do they come in through the doors?"

"Observe," continued the concierge, "that Benoît says that the light was up high at that window; that’s in the arsenal; what would any thieves go to the arsenal for, where there’s nothing but old rusty swords?"

"But suppose it wasn’t a thief?"

Vincent, who had not yet spoken, drew near at that moment with a mysterious air, and said:

"My children, all this reminds me of something I’d forgotten, which might have some connection with what Benoît saw."

All the servants crowded around Vincent and looked at him with interest.

"About five or six days ago," continued the gardener, "I don’t know just when it was, but it was night, and I was going to bed; I remembered that I needed my big pickaxe the next morning to work in this part of the garden. You know that I keep most of my tools in a little shed at the end of the broad path on the left."

"Yes, yes."

"Well then, I says to myself: ‘I guess I’ll go and get my pickaxe.’ So I went out, and went into the garden; I was about in the middle of the broad path when I heard steps in front of me."

"Mon Dieu! how that frightens me!" said Jeannette, pressing against one of the scullions.

"I thought it was one of the gentlemen from the château," continued Vincent, "and I stopped politely to let him pass, and took off my hat; but no, he stopped too, and instead of coming toward me, he turned back. That appeared to me suspicious, so I called out: ‘Who’s that?’ but he didn’t answer; he walked faster than ever and I tried to follow him, but I ran into a tree, and then good-night! I didn’t hear anything more."

"Ah! what a strange thing!"

"Pshaw! perhaps it was our master as was taking a ramble."

"Oh, no indeed! he never goes alone into the garden at night."

"You ought to have asked the gentlemen the next morning."

"Faith, I slept on it, and I forgot all about it."

"We must ask Monsieur Férulus what it was," said the other servants. "He’s a man who knows everything, a scholar; he’ll tell us whether we ought to be afraid."

As it happened, Monsieur Férulus was just crossing the courtyard, holding in his hand some verses which he had already written for Robineau’s future bride, and which he intended to present to Robineau at breakfast. He approached to ascertain the cause of the gathering which he noticed in the courtyard. Thereupon he was told of what Benoît and Vincent had just related. Monsieur Férulus listened with much attention, shaking his head now and then; every time that the librarian moved his eyebrows, Jeannette and the groom exclaimed:

"See, that frightens him, too!"

After reflecting long, Monsieur Férulus asked Benoît:

"Are you perfectly sure that it was a light that you saw in the tower?"

"Oh! yes, monsieur! In the first place, it moved around; if it had been the moon, I should have saw----"

"I should have seen----"

"I should--what?"

"I should have seen; you must pay attention to the pluperfect subjunctive."

"Oh! monsieur, I didn’t say that I saw a pluperfect! I said I saw a light."

"How unfortunate it is to have to deal with ignoramuses!" said Monsieur Férulus to himself.--"And you, Vincent, are you perfectly certain that there was a man in the garden?"

"Certain; that is to say, a man or a woman, I can’t be sure about the sex. But it was someone, for it walked and ran in front of me."

"Perhaps it was a rabbit?"

"Nonsense! A rabbit with nails in its shoes!"

"All this seems to me decidedly peculiar," said Férulus.

"There you see that it is peculiar," cried Jeannette, "and that we ought to be afraid."

"I don’t say that. Things which seem to us marvelous at a distance are often perfectly natural when examined at close quarters. Indeed, there are some which lose a good deal by being looked at too closely. But before pronouncing definitely upon this, I would like to assure myself with my own eyes of the truth, for _pluris est oculatus unus quam auriti decem_!"

"You see!" said Cunette, "that means that it’s all nonsense, and that you dreamed it all."

"No, it doesn’t mean that, at all!" continued Férulus. "My dear Cunette, you do not translate literally. I think, _primo_, that there is something or nothing. That is my principle, and I start from that, because one should start from a principle."

"Well! I say that there ain’t anything," said Mademoiselle Cheval, "and that they was frightened by their own _shades_!"

"Why!" said Jeannette, "monsieur is a scholar, you must know--for he has shown me a whole heap of things already, me----"

"That’s all right, Jeannette! that is between ourselves," said Férulus, nudging the stout girl’s arm; "but don’t branch off from the question."

"Well, monsieur," replied Jeannette, "tell us once for all whether there is any ghosts or isn’t."

"Yes, that’s it," said the other servants; "then at least we shall know what to think."

"My children," said Férulus, after blowing his nose at great length, "the question that you put to me is a thorny one. Hippocrates says yes and Galen says no!"

"But we don’t ask you for Monsieur Pocrates’s opinion," said Mademoiselle Cheval, "for it’s yours that we want."

"My dear _coqua_, otherwise called cook, do not interrupt me, if you please. You wish to know whether there are or have been ghosts, or if we ought still to believe in them; that is the problem propounded; I start from that. I embark my reply upon the vessel of my lips, to cross the stormy sea of your attention, and to reach at last the blessed haven of your ears!"

"Look here, monsieur, if you are going to talk a foreign language, we shall never understand you!" said Jeannette.

"That is true, Jeannette; I yielded to the torrent of my eloquence, and forgot that I should come down to your level. I am there now. Ought we to believe in ghosts? Saint Augustine declares that it is rash to deny the intimate connection between devils and women; but Montaigne says that we should give magicians hellebore and not hemlock. For my part, I do not believe in supernatural things; in fact, I never have. However, I am not a Pyrrhonist; I am not one of those people who doubt everything! According to them, Xerxes did not enter Greece with five million men, and did not chastise the sea; a wolf was not the nurse of Romulus and Remus; Mutius Scævola did not proudly extend his arm over a red-hot fire; they do not believe in the phantom which twice appeared to the second Brutus, or in the labarum seen in the air by Constantine the Great. I know very well that all those things were very much out of the common course; but since they are in history, why, then, as Virgil says, _felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas_!--That, my children, is my opinion concerning ghosts; I advise you to govern yourselves by it. However, I do not see that it is worth while as yet to worry monseigneur about it."

With that, Monsieur Férulus walked away to present his poetry to Robineau; and the servants, who had not understood a word of his harangue, separated, each retaining his own opinion.

Edouard soon left his room. He would long before have left the château had he not deemed it his duty to wait for Alfred, in order to go to Isaure with him. He hoped in that way to prove to him that he did not seek to influence the girl’s feelings, and that it was her heart alone which guided her. In short, although overjoyed by the preference accorded to him, Edouard, who was warmly attached to Alfred, earnestly desired that his success in love should not cause him to lose his friend.

The time passed; Edouard, who was burning with impatience to see Isaure again, was surprised at Alfred’s tardiness. He appeared at last; but when he saw Edouard, his brow darkened and an expression of vexation appeared upon his face.

"I was waiting for you!" said Edouard, going to meet Alfred, whose hand he tried to take; but Alfred at once drew his hand away, replying coldly:

"Why are you waiting for me?"

"In order to go with you--to go with you to see Isaure."

"With me!" exclaimed Alfred satirically; "it seems to me that hereafter that is not worth while, and that each of us is at liberty to do what he pleases. Go, let nothing detain you. I, too, shall go alone to the valley."

"You are still angry with me, Alfred!" said Edouard in a sorrowful tone.

"Oh, no! I should be very wrong to be angry, no doubt; you are so frank in your conduct! And when do you propose to marry Isaure?"

Edouard made no reply; he seemed embarrassed.

"Well! you do not answer," continued Alfred ironically; "when a man is so much in love, and is certain that he is loved in return, I do not see why he should postpone his happiness; you are both free; there is nothing to interfere with your contracting this bond. Is it your purpose to conceal your marriage? to make a mystery of it? you who have so much contempt for the prejudices of society!"

"No, monsieur; if I marry Isaure, I shall not make it a mystery; I shall not fear to call her my wife openly."

"If you marry her! Ah! it seems that you are not so decided to-day as you were yesterday. Really, Edouard, you must think me very credulous, or a great fool, to believe that I will place any faith in this stratagem of yours, which you resorted to only to separate me entirely from the girl! Yes, yes, she is very pretty, I agree; but you know as well as I that one is not bound to marry all the pretty women; and when it is a question of a simple peasant, whose head it is so easy to turn, I shall never believe----"

"So much the worse for you, monsieur, if you think that a man cannot settle down for life with her who combines everything which is likely to make one happy. I have told you frankly what my intentions are. I cannot compel you to believe me, but ere long I trust that you will be convinced that I have not deceived you."

With that Edouard walked away from Alfred, mounted his horse and rode away from the château alone.

Alfred stood for some moments lost in thought. He did not know what course to pursue. He considered Isaure fascinating; his self-esteem was piqued; it was most unpleasant to him to abandon so readily the hope of winning the little goatherd’s heart. However, if he had been certain that Edouard really intended to make her his wife, he would have renounced at once his projects concerning the girl.

He decided to call upon Isaure also. He desired to assure himself with his own eyes of her preference for Edouard, and to know whether he had not deceived him. So he took the only remaining horse, and left the château a quarter of an hour after Edouard. This time he did not urge his steed, for he was reflecting upon the best method of ascertaining the truth. He would have liked to listen to his rival without being seen; and yet the thought of watching, of spying upon anyone, was too repugnant to his frank disposition for him to harbor it a moment.

He was only a short distance from Isaure’s cottage, when someone, jumping out suddenly from behind a rock, caught his horse by the bridle, saying:

"You will arrive too late; another is ahead of you."

Alfred recognized the vagabond, who stood leaning upon his stick, with his gleaming eyes fastened upon the young man.

"Ah! it is you, is it?" said Alfred; "what do you mean?"

"That you started too late. Your rival is an earlier bird than you, and he makes the most of his time. Yesterday you did not come. But he did, and he went away very happy!"

These words were accompanied by a mocking smile. The stranger’s features wore an even more malicious and evil expression than usual.

"How do you know all this?" demanded Alfred.

"How do I know it? Parbleu! it’s not very difficult to know. Lovers always think themselves alone, and they do not trouble themselves to conceal their feelings. I had plenty of time to count their kisses!"

"Their kisses!" replied Alfred, trembling with anger.

"Why, yes! Does that surprise you? Oh! your friend doesn’t go slow; with his little sugary way, he gets ahead! What surprises me is that you, who seem accustomed to the ways of the world, are not more advanced than he."

"But," replied Alfred, stifling a sigh, "since it is Edouard whom she prefers----"

"Whom she prefers! Nonsense! As if these little girls ever had a preference! They love everybody, everybody who makes love to them. She would have loved you, if you didn’t always come last. However, whenever you choose, it will rest entirely with you to carry the day. Don’t you know that with time and money one can accomplish everything?"

"Really," said Alfred, gazing at the vagabond in surprise, "you have principles which I should never have expected to find in an old soldier."

"Soldier! Who told you that I was ever a soldier?" retorted the stranger proudly.

"You yourself, the other morning, after speaking of my father, whose name made such an impression upon you."

The stranger frowned, and was silent for some moments; at last he continued:

"Well, that isn’t the question now; do you propose to allow this girl to be whisked away from you by your rival, when it is entirely in your power to possess her? I confess that that surprises me on the part of the young Baron de Marcey."

"Thoughtless and enterprising as I am, or as I have been, I have always respected the happiness of my friends. I may have tried to triumph over Edouard when it was a question simply of a caprice, of a mere amourette! But since this girl has turned his head to the point that he proposes to make her his wife----"

"To make her his wife!" cried the stranger, with an outburst of sarcastic laughter. "Oh! that would be too much, upon my word! If you love Monsieur Edouard, you will confer a genuine service upon him by preventing him from doing such a foolish thing."

"You speak with much assurance. What makes you think so ill of this girl, pray?"

"I have eyes and experience; and you, who know women, how can you fail to see that this one with her simple, sweet manner is a little minx who knows a great deal? What do you think of a girl whose parents no one knows, and to whom they who adopt her leave all their property? Who entertains generously all those who seek hospitality at her hands? Who lives alone in these mountains, and talks as correctly as a woman brought up in the city? But that is not all; there are other mysterious circumstances, and I shall discover them."

Alfred reflected upon what he had heard; he could not help thinking that Isaure’s conduct was in fact calculated to arouse strange suspicions.

The man who had stopped in front of Alfred watched him closely while he reflected; one could see that he was trying to read his eyes, to divine what was taking place in the depths of his heart. After a rather long silence he continued at last:

"Upon my word, you hesitate a long while; a lot of time and sighs wasted upon a girl who amounts to nothing; and who asks nothing better than to be seduced! If she were the heiress of a great name, or a noble châtelaine, you could not treat her with more respect! In heaven’s name, have we gone back to the time of the Renauds and the Amadises? I am tempted to believe it. You ought to give tournaments for this young beauty; to break a lance or two to demonstrate her virtue, and to shatter a few helmets in favor of her innocence! Happy times those were when, in order to be recognized as the loveliest and the most virtuous of women, a maid had only to choose the bravest and strongest champion."

Alfred listened closely to the speaker’s last words. He scrutinized him with more attention than before, and said to him:

"Who on earth are you, who presume to give me advice for which I do not ask you? I see that I am mistaken about you. No, you are not an ex-soldier. Edouard guessed the truth more nearly, I see, when he said that you must have held some position in society; in truth, your language, although you often affect a vulgar tone and manners, your language betrays education and knowledge. What misfortunes have reduced you to the melancholy situation in which I find you now?"

"What is there so surprising, young man, in my having once been rich and highly considered, and being so no longer? That is seen every day! Is not a man subject to a thousand and one reverses? And is not one especially in danger of falling when one occupies a lofty position? Whether those reverses were due to others or to my own fault, I do not need to tell you. I had ardent passions, I admit, and I loved to gratify them; that is the history of practically all men."

"You will agree," said Alfred with a smile, "that your present situation is hardly calculated to arouse a desire to imitate you."

"Oh! How many men, who have done worse than I, are still on the pinnacle? After all, what is there so unfortunate in my position? I am free, I am my own master, I can do whatever I please from morning until night. I wear a costume which is not fashionable, but it covers me, and that is enough for me; I do not envy the wealth of other men, because I have been sated with pleasure; when a man has often made himself drunk on exquisite wines, he is not sorry to drink water."

"But I have fancied that I noticed from your remarks that you had a decidedly bad opinion of women; have they treated you so very badly, that you bear them such a grudge?"

"Treated me badly! Not at all! On the contrary I was their favorite, their Benjamin; they have more reason to complain of me. There was one, however, whom I loved more sincerely than the others; she alone, I think, might have been able to subdue my character, to master my passions; with her, in short, I might perhaps have become virtuous and orderly; and I should not now be wandering about these mountains!"

"In that case, why did you not marry her?"

"Why?" replied the stranger, and his eyes gleamed with rage, as he raised them to Alfred’s face; "because another, more fortunate than I, stole her from me, and that other----"

"Well, that other?"

"I was never able to find an opportunity to be revenged upon him; but I hope to find one before long, and you may well believe that I shall not let it escape me."

"I have never appreciated the pleasure of revenge!"

"Ah! you are young still! However, you know love, and you allow the woman who attracts you to be stolen from you, when it rests only with you----"

"When it rests only with me! Upon my honor, you speak very coolly. Isaure is more cruel than you think."

"She was not yesterday with your friend."

"She has with her a guardian whom it is very difficult to bribe."

"But might one not remove that faithful guardian?"

"What?"

"To be sure; could you not lure her away from her home, and then take her somewhere else, to a place where you could do whatever you chose with her, with the alternative of taking her back to her cottage if she absolutely refused to listen to your suit?"

"But who would undertake such an enterprise?"

"Who! parbleu! I would."

"You?"

"Yes, I, whenever you choose; say the word, and I promise you that your rival will not find the little one at her house to-morrow."

Alfred gazed at the vagabond for some moments, and then exclaimed:

"You are a miserable villain! Leave me, say nothing more to me! I blush to think that I have listened to such propositions!"

The stranger replied with a sneering laugh:

"What! just a little abduction of a girl who asks nothing better! A mere trick frightens you! Oh! I thought that you were farther advanced than that, monsieur le baron; but just as you please. Let your friend enjoy himself at your expense, let the girl laugh in her sleeve at your respect! After all, what difference does it make to me? But I will wager that before long you will see that my advice was good; then, if you need me, you will find me still, for I do not bear a grudge for a word.--Au revoir!"

The stranger turned his back on Alfred and disappeared by a narrow path among the cliffs, and young De Marcey, after a moment’s reflection, turned and rode back to the château, instead of pursuing his journey.