Chapter XXVII: The Farewells at the Château

Alfred led his friend into the first road that they came to; his only thought was to take him away from the White House, and from Isaure’s dwelling. The two young men walked a long while at random and without speaking; their hearts were too heavily burdened for them to be able to exchange their thoughts. But, after walking for a considerable distance, with no other object than to escape from the little valley, they stopped, worn out with fatigue and excitement, in a large field. Edouard dropped upon the turf, saying:

"Let us rest here; I feel that I must breathe for a moment."

Alfred seated himself beside his friend. They were both silent again for some time, until at last Edouard said in a trembling voice:

"Are you perfectly sure that that man was your father?"

"My friend, can a son’s eyes be mistaken? Yes, it was certainly he; he was coming toward me, and the moon shone brightly upon his face. I had plenty of time to look at him, to recognize him. Thunderstruck, I stood perfectly motionless, I did not leave the trees which hid me from him; and I thank heaven for it! A son should never compel the author of his days to blush before him. I must no longer seek to discover the motives of my father’s conduct, or the sentiment which he feels for Isaure. Is he not master of his actions? And if he has some weak points, does he not redeem them by a thousand noble qualities? Ah! my dear Edouard, when I think of the ghastly things that might have happened had I not recognized my father,--if the darkness had concealed his features from us both,--I still shudder, my heart stands still! My father, who is so kind, so indulgent to me, whose sole aim is to make me happy, who is a most affectionate friend to me, would be dead by your hands, perhaps, and in his son’s presence!--Ah! believe me, my dear friend, all the griefs of love, all the torments that a woman causes us, will never approach the agony that tears the heart of a son at the thought that he might unconsciously have acted as a second to his father’s murderer!"

"I trust, Alfred, that your mind is at ease now?"

"Yes, I am convinced that you will respect my father; and besides, my dear friend, let us be fair--it is not he who has betrayed you; Isaure alone is guilty; she should not have responded to your love, she should not have given you any hope; but women always yield to their desire to please, without thinking of all that may result from it. In your jealous rage, you wish to fight him who forbids Isaure to see you, to listen to you again! And yet, had he not the right to do it? He has undoubtedly known this girl for a long while.--So this was the motive of those frequent journeys, in which he never proposed that I should accompany him! Yes! oh, yes! he must have been coming to the White House for a long while, a very long while. But a love-affair! I confess that that astonishes me, and I still have difficulty in believing it. Since the death of his second wife, of that Adèle whom he loved so dearly, I have heard him say a hundred times that no woman could touch his heart again. I know very well that men say that, and that that does not prevent it; but I say again that it surprises me. His only mistake was not taking me into his confidence, not saying a word to me of this affair. Am I not his friend, as well as his son? Then we should not have walked in the direction of the White House and made love to the girl, and I should not have been exposed to the risk of becoming my father’s rival! But, since he wishes to conceal this intrigue, let us respect his secret. He has no idea that we are in this neighborhood; I have never had time to write to him, and certainly, if the girl has mentioned an Edouard to him, he will never have suspected that she referred to his son’s friend."

Edouard listened calmly to what Alfred said; he seemed to approve of it all; he was much calmer, for his common sense had made itself heard. The pure, cool night air, the rest which they had taken, had also produced their due effect; their blood circulated more freely, their hearts were less oppressed. The man who abandons himself to all the transports of a jealous frenzy, and dreams of nothing but vengeance, would be much less frantic if he would only walk in the open air for a quarter of an hour. The physical and the mental condition are always dependent upon each other.

After a further silence of a few moments, Edouard said to his friend:

"I do not propose to remain in this country any longer. On the contrary, I am anxious to go away. I shall bid the people at the château adieu to-morrow, and leave Auvergne, where, for the sake of my peace of mind, I ought never to have come!"

"I will go away with you. Indeed, I am beginning to tire of the Château of La Roche-Noire, and of all the original characters it contains. Yes, to-morrow we will make our adieu. We will return to Paris in search of distraction; or, if you prefer, we will take a trip to Switzerland or Italy. I will go with you anywhere. Time and my affection will succeed in banishing painful memories from your mind. Come, give me your hand, Edouard. Believe me, one is never entirely wretched when one has a veritable friend."

The two young men held each other’s hands for a long while, and Edouard promised Alfred to do everything that was in his power to forget Isaure.

"Where are we?" said he, after a moment.

"Faith, I have no idea; we have walked a long while, and I have not paid any attention to the road. I do not recognize the surroundings, and the moon is hidden. As we might very well go astray in these mountains, I think that we shall do better to remain here until daylight; as soon as it is light, we will go back to the château."

Edouard agreed with Alfred; they stretched themselves out on the grass, to seek repose; but sleep did not approach the eyelids of Isaure’s lover, who had always in his thoughts the lovely features of her whom it had become a pleasant habit to love and to see every day.

As soon as the day began to break, the young men rose, and some peasants on their way to work pointed out the way to the château. They arrived there about eight in the morning and met in the courtyard Monsieur Férulus, who had his big steel buttons on his coat, and who carried under his arm a large bundle of books, as on the day that he had come to establish himself at La Roche-Noire.

The scholar had halted in the middle of the courtyard, and was casting a last glance at the window of the room which he had occupied, exclaiming:

"Adieu, Rome! I go!"

On turning about, he saw the two young men, and went toward them with a melancholy expression, then made them a low reverence.

"Where are you going so early in the morning, Monsieur Férulus?" said Alfred.

"I am going away, messieurs; I am leaving this spot forever; I am discharged, deprived of my office! And why? because I taught a young woman to use the warming pan that nature has given her. It was not my fault that there was not any other kind in the château."

"What! has that trouble not been arranged?--But Robineau is a good fellow."

"Since he has married, he has become an absolute nullity. Poor, dear man! He will see some cruel moments! I have not the good fortune to please his excellent wife. She did not consider my verses pretty, or rather, she refused to listen to them.--Messieurs, it is useless to hope for anything from one who does not respect learning! After boring myself to death, playing whist every evening with that insolent La Pincerie and his idiotic brother, this is the way that I am rewarded! _Saturus sum opprobriis!_--and thrown out of doors without even a month’s salary as librarian. But let them find another like me! Madame says that her Uncle Mignon can do perfectly well all that I do here. What blasphemy! But it seems that all the places which the dear uncle was to hold will be reduced to that of servant to his niece.--However, I am carrying the library away under my arm; it belongs to me, it is all my property. I am going to try to start another little school, or to find another Mæcenas, who desires a Virgil to procure him immortality for three hundred francs a year. It seems to me that that is not worth haggling about.--As for this château, you will see, messieurs, that it will soon be pillaged, sold, abandoned; it will crumble to dust, and no one will remember the name of its last owner, and people will seek for La Roche-Noire as they now seek for Babylon, Thebes and Nineveh!"

"We shall not see that, my dear Monsieur Férulus, for we too are about to leave the château."

"You are going to leave, messieurs," said Férulus with a joyous air; "I am delighted to hear it! These people are not worthy of having you for guests! When you and I are gone, I ask you what clever people will remain at the château?--Are you going back to Paris?"

"Perhaps so; we intend to travel a little."

"You do not need an interpreter, do you, in the countries which you propose to visit?"

"No, we know enough to make ourselves known where we shall go."

"You don’t happen to have any children whose education needs to be attended to?"

"No, Monsieur Férulus, not at the moment."

"In that case, messieurs, I will bid you farewell; _vale et me ama._"

The scholar walked sadly away; the young men would have been glad to induce him to accept their purses, in order to keep from dying of starvation a man who sought only to exalt his fellowmen to immortality; but they did not know how to go about it, for fear of wounding his self-esteem. Meanwhile Férulus, as he moved slowly and regretfully away, dropped a volume from the bundle which he held, and kept on, without noticing the loss he had sustained. Alfred picked up the volume, concealed his purse underneath it, called to the scholar, who instantly stopped, and running after him, placed the book and the purse in his hand, saying:

"Monsieur Férulus, you dropped this book."

"Jehovah! it is Seneca’s treatise on Contempt of Wealth."

"Perhaps you might have missed it."

The ex-librarian instantly closed the hand into which the two articles had been slipped, smiled agreeably at Alfred, then hurried away as if he were afraid that he might wish to take back what he had just given him.

Alfred and Edouard returned to their apartments and remained there until the hour for breakfast. Then they went to the salon, where the family had assembled. Although he had passed the night with his wife, Robineau seemed no less timid than before with her; but Cornélie hardly took pains to reply to her husband; she scolded each servant in turn, and had already informed her husband that Jeannette, the groom and Monsieur Cunette would speedily follow Monsieur Férulus. Robineau had no time to approve his wife’s resolution, because, whenever he attempted to speak, his father-in-law cut him short by saying:

"Son-in-law, allow your wife to do as she pleases, and never thwart her, or by heaven! you will have to deal with me."

The young men informed the company that they were going to leave the château, and Eudoxie said in an undertone:

"It will be very amusing here now! I certainly shall not stay long!"

Madame de la Roche-Noire received this news very coolly; the young men had not seemed sufficiently dazzled by her charms for her to regret them. But Robineau, who was beginning to discover that since he had been married he did not enjoy himself as much as he hoped, exclaimed:

"What! you mean to leave us already? to go away? When, for heaven’s sake?"

"This very day," said Alfred.

"To-day! Oh! On my word, I won’t--we won’t allow it, it will cause my wife much distress. Just a few days more,--it isn’t right to go away so abruptly."

"Very well, we won’t go until to-morrow," replied Edouard, who had seemed lost in profound thought for some minutes.

"To-morrow it is then," said Alfred, who was surprised, however, that Edouard consented to defer their departure.

The guests soon separated, each to do what pleased him best. Eudoxie doubtless wished that Alfred should pay his last farewells to her, for she asked him for his arm for a walk in the garden; and Cornélie, left alone with Robineau, said to him:

"Why do you presume to keep these gentlemen at the château without finding out whether I would like it?"

"My love, I thought that----"

"Your friends are very agreeable, are they not, to pass all their time travelling about no one knows where, and coming here only to eat? Hereafter, monsieur, I will invite the persons whom I wish to receive."

"Very well, my dear love, if you wish, I will go and tell Alfred and Edouard that they can go at once, that we don’t care."

"Another absurd remark! No, monsieur, say nothing, do nothing, meddle in nothing,--that is all I ask of you."

And with that, Cornélie left Robineau, who, when he was alone, stamped the floor viciously, saying:

"I will not thwart her, because this is our honeymoon; but I know that I am master, and that is enough for me."

After walking for a sufficiently long time with Eudoxie, Alfred returned to the château; he arranged everything for his approaching departure and then joined Edouard.

"What was your reason for consenting to defer our departure?" said Alfred; "I supposed that you were in a hurry to leave this region and these mountains."

"Yes, yes, of course," replied Edouard, with some embarrassment; "but before leaving Auvergne, to which I shall never come again, I would like,--you will scold me, Alfred!"

"No; tell me frankly what hope you have."

"I have no hope at all, but I cannot resist the longing to see Isaure once more, to bid her a last farewell!"

"I suspected as much."

"I left her so abruptly, and yet I did not then know all her treachery; but never fear, it is not for the purpose of reproaching her uselessly, that I wish to see her--far from it. I will tell her that I forgive her all the pain that she has caused me, that I hope that she may be happy, that her image will never--Oh, no! I will not tell her that, and yet--Ah! blame me for my weakness, my friend, but I believe that I love her more dearly than ever."

"You mean to go to see Isaure again? Why, how can you think of such a thing? Suppose you should find--suppose you should meet the baron there?"

"I will watch for a moment when she is alone, you know very well that she passes only a little time at the White House; I must see her again, even though I may be able to speak to her but a moment. Remember, Alfred, that it will be the last time."

"Very well, I will go with you. Yes, I will go with you; at all events, I shall be more certain that you will commit no imprudence, and I shall be able to see to it that no one surprises you with her."

"Dear Alfred! how kind you are!"

"I must needs become wise when you make a fool of yourself; each in his turn. I will go and tell the groom to have the horses ready for us to-night, for I do not see the necessity of going on foot again. We will start at the hour when the others go to bed, having alleged our departure to-morrow as an excuse for retiring early.--Edouard, you will take no weapons, I trust?"

"What an idea! Oh, no! I only want to see her, I only want to bid her farewell before leaving this place forever!"

Everything having been agreed upon, the young men returned to the guests. As Férulus had predicted, the dinner was much less merry than usual. Alfred and Edouard had too much to think about to try to keep up the conversation. Eudoxie seemed bored; Monsieur de la Pincerie was in bad humor, because he foresaw that there would no longer be anybody to play whist with him in the evening; Cornélie maintained her haughty air, and hardly spoke; even Mignon himself did not seem very well pleased, because his niece had given him a thousand things to do in the château; lastly, Robineau treated his two friends with extreme coolness, hoping thereby to please his wife.

In the evening, the young men made their farewells.

"It is possible," said Alfred, "that we shall start to-morrow before you ladies have risen."

"As you please, messieurs," said Robineau; "indeed, if it will give you pleasure to go this evening, you may----"

Monsieur de la Roche-Noire did not finish his sentence, because his wife pulled his coat-tail so that she almost tore it. Alfred and Edouard glanced at each other with a smile; and after several hours’ conversation, interrupted by frequent yawns on the part of the marquis and by the stifled sighs of Madame de Hautmont, they bade one another farewell and separated.

The young men gave their hosts time to shut themselves up in their rooms; then they went down into the courtyard, found the horses saddled, and bade the concierge open the gate for them, saying to him:

"We shall return in two hours."

"You can return when you please, you will find the gate open," replied Cunette, who was drunk as usual. "The mistress has told me that I could look for another place. So you see I don’t propose to bother my head about her gate. I am going to bed, and I will leave everything open; what is planted may come up; I don’t care a fig; I don’t propose to put myself out."