THE MASTERPIECES OF
GEORGE SAND

AMANDINE LUCILLE AURORE DUPIN,
BARONESS DUDEVANT

VOLUME X

LES BEAUX
MESSIEURS DE BOIS-DORÉ

BOIS-DORÉ CONFERS WITH THE RECTOR.

The rector, who was unable as yet to leave his easy-chair, he had suffered so intensely with cold, discomfort and fright, attempted to tell him that a fall from his horse had caused his injuries and had detained him twenty-four hours at the house of one of his confrères.

The Masterpieces of George Sand
Amandine Lucille Aurore Dupin, Baroness
Dudevant, NOW FOR THE FIRST
TIME COMPLETELY TRANSLATED
INTO ENGLISH LES
BEAUX MESSIEURS DE BOIS-DORÉ
BY G. BURNHAM IVES

WITH TWELVE PHOTOGRAVURES AFTER PAINTINGS BY
H. ATALAYA.

VOLUME II

PRINTED ONLY FOR SUBSCRIBERS BY
GEORGE BARRIE & SON
PHILADELPHIA

CONTENTS

CHAPTER [XL]
CHAPTER [XLI]
CHAPTER [XLII]
CHAPTER [XLIII]
CHAPTER [XLIV]
CHAPTER [XLV]
CHAPTER [XLVI]
CHAPTER [XLVII]
CHAPTER [XLVIII]
CHAPTER [XLIX]
CHAPTER [L]
CHAPTER [LI]
CHAPTER [LII]
CHAPTER [LIII]
CHAPTER [LIV]
CHAPTER [LV]
CHAPTER [LVI]
CHAPTER [LVII]
CHAPTER [LVIII]
CHAPTER [LIX]
CHAPTER [LX]
CHAPTER [LXI]
CHAPTER [LXII]
CHAPTER [LXIII]
CHAPTER [LXIV]
CHAPTER [LXV]
CHAPTER [LXVI]
CHAPTER [LXVII]
CHAPTER [LXVIII]
CHAPTER [LXIX]
CHAPTER [LXX]
CHAPTER [LXXI]
CHAPTER [LXXII]
CHAPTER [LXXIII]
CHAPTER [LXXIV]

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
LES BEAUX MESSIEURS DE BOIS-DORÉ
VOLUME II

[BOIS-DORÉ CONFERS WITH THE RECTOR]
[THE MARQUIS AT LA CAILLE-BOTTÉE'S]
[MACABRE AND HIS BAND AT THE INN]
[MERCEDES WOUNDED BEFORE THE CHÂTEAU]
[GUILLAUME D'ARS PROPOSES MARRIAGE]
[MARIO FINDS PILAR'S TALISMAN]

LES BEAUX MESSIEURS DE BOIS-DORÉ

(Continued)

[XL]

Since the Moorish woman had taught Adamas divers Eastern secrets for the composition of cosmetic mixtures, the marquis's complexion, his beard and his eyebrows had really improved. They were proof against wind, rain and Mario's frantic caresses; moreover, their perfume was sweeter, and they were more promptly prepared.

At first the old Celadon submitted to the beautifying process in profound secrecy, at the time when the child left his room for his first play. But, as Mario asked no embarrassing or impertinent questions, the old man gradually relaxed his great precautions, and proceeded to his daily rejuvenation with most ingenuous explanations.

The cosmetics were christened cooling perfumes, and the brilliant coloring was called keeping the skin in condition.

Mario seemed not to know what malice was. But children see everything; and he was not duped by Adamas, only he saw no cause for ridicule. His dear father could do nothing ridiculous. He fancied that these artifices were a part of the toilet of all persons of quality.

So it happened that, as he was more or less coquettish himself, he conceived a strong inclination to have his own face made up like a gentleman's. He made that request; and, as he was simply told in reply that at his age such devices were not necessary, he did not look upon it as a positive refusal. So that, one evening, happening to be alone for a moment in his adoptive father's room, and seeing the phials scattered over the table, it occurred to him to perfume himself in white and pink as he had seen Adamas perfume the marquis. That done, he thought that he ought to enlarge and darken his eyebrows, and, finding that that gave him a martial mien which delighted him hugely, he could not resist the temptation to draw two pretty little black hooks above his lips and a lovely royale underneath.

As he had no light except a single candle which had been accidentally left on the table, he used the colors too freely, and could not draw the outlines very sharply.

The supper-bell rang; he hurried to the table, well pleased with his bad-boy aspect, and maintaining his seriousness admirably.

The marquis paid no heed at first; but, Lauriane having uttered a hearty peal of laughter, he raised his eyes and saw that sweet little face so strangely transformed that he could not refrain from laughing with her.

But in the depths of his heart the good marquis was vexed and grieved. Mario certainly had had no idea of making sport of him; but the broad, loud way in which he had daubed himself betrayed a little too frankly, before Lauriane, the existence and use of that palette of beauty which he believed that he had kept so carefully concealed in the drawers of his dressing-table and on his face. He did not even dare ask the child where he had obtained the materials for that coloring; he dreaded a too ingenuous reply. So he contented himself with saying to him that he had disfigured himself, and that he must go and wash his face.

Lauriane realized her old friend's embarrassment and uneasiness, and restrained her merriment; but Mario's whim seemed to her all the more amusing, and throughout the supper she suffered from that mad, girlish longing to laugh which constraint transforms to nervous excitement.

The effect on Mario was magical, until at last the marquis mildly said to them:

"Come, children, laugh your fill, since you have such a longing to laugh!"

But he did not laugh himself, and at night he reproved Mario, who was penitent, and promised never to do it again.

This antic afforded much amusement to Monsieur Clindor, who broke a beautiful piece of porcelain in his uproarious mirth. Being rebuked by the marquis, he lost his head and trod on Fleurial's paw. Adamas could not resist Mario's droll aspect, and he, too, laughed! Bellinde was the only one who kept a serious countenance, and the marquis was grateful to her for it.

"That child is very mischievous," he said that night to Adamas, "and everything that he does indicates a playful and most entertaining wit. But we must not spoil him too much, Adamas!"

The next day there was more trouble: one of the phials of carmine on the dressing-table was found to be broken, and the beautiful lace table-cover was stained. It was laid at Fleurial's door at first, but similar spots were discovered on Mario's white jacket. He was surprised, and stoutly denied having approached the dressing-table.

"I believe you, my son," said the marquis, with a sigh. "If I deemed you capable of lying, I should be too deeply grieved."

But on the next day the cosmetics were found to be mixed; the red with the black and the black with the white.

"Zounds!" ejaculated the marquis, "this devil's work continues! Will it be the same way with it as with the noses of my poor statues?"

He scrutinized Mario without speaking; there were black stains on the ruffles at his wrists. It might have been ink; but the marquis had a horror of spots, and begged him to go and change his linen.

"Adamas," he said to his confidant, "the child is mischievous, that is all right; but if he is a liar and abuses my confidence in his word, it will break my heart, my friend! I believed that he was made of a superior substance, but God does not choose that I shall be too proud of him. He allows the devil to make of him a child like other children."

Adamas took sides with Mario, who had just entered the boudoir adjoining the bedroom.

At that moment they heard Bellinde engaged in a warm dispute with the child. He was pulling her by the skirt, and she resisted by saying that he took liberties above his age.

The marquis rose indignantly.

"Libertine!" he cried in despair; "already a libertine?"

Poor Mario ran forward, weeping bitterly.

"Father," he cried, throwing himself into his arms, "she is a wicked girl. I was trying to bring her to you to show you what she has on her hands. She touched my ruff, saying that it was stained, and it is she who puts the stains on it; she wants to make you feel grieved and prevent you from loving me. She takes advantage of the foolish things I do to put other wicked things on my back. Father, she isn't a good woman; she makes you think I am a liar, and, if you believe her——"

"No, no, my son, I do not believe her!" cried the marquis.—"Adamas!"

But Adamas was no longer there; he had run after Bellinde; he seized her on the staircase, tried to drag her back by force, and received for his pains a hearty cuff which made him relax his grasp.

At the sound of this scuffle, the marquis darted out into the hall. Adamas had received a violent blow; he was dazed and was pressing his cheek.

"That hussy must have used her claws!" he exclaimed, "my face is all—Why, no, monsieur," he cried suddenly, overjoyed, "it isn't blood! Look! it's the beautiful rouge from your phials! It's conclusive evidence! Ah! upon my word! this business is clear enough at last. Now I hope that you will have no further doubt of that red-headed girl's malice!"

"Monsieur le comte," said the marquis to Mario with admirable gravity, "I confess that I have doubted your word on two occasions. If I were not your best friend, you would be entitled to demand satisfaction; but I hope that you will deign to accept your father's apologies."

Mario leaped on his neck, and that same evening Bellinde, being paid and discharged without a word of explanation, left the oasis of Briantes and her fine shepherdess's name, to return to the realities of life under her true name of Guillette Carcat, pending the time when she should assume a more sonorous and mythological one, as we shall see in the sequel.

While these tragical events gradually faded from the memory of our characters, Monsieur Poulain did not fall asleep in his zeal.

It was on the 18th or 19th of December, when the abbé, cold as to the nose and feet, but with his brain warmed by the hope of a triumph at which he had long been aiming, arrived at Saint-Amand, a pretty town of Berry, situated in a verdant valley, between two streams, and overlooked by the gigantic and wonderful castle of Montrond, the residence of the Prince de Condé.

The abbé dismounted at the Capuchin convent, whose vast enclosure, shaped like a cross, lay under the protection of the princely abode. He avoided seeing the prior, whose attentions and good offices he dreaded; he preferred to do his work himself and to travel alone. He simply accepted a frugal repast from one of the monks, his kinsman, shook off the snow with which he was covered, and presented himself at one of the wickets of the castle, where he exhibited a passport in proper form.

"Thanks to the works undertaken by Sully, and especially to the improvements made by Monsieur le Prince," who had purchased that domain from the fallen minister, "the castle of Montrond, which assumed more importance at a later date, in the wars of the Fronde, had become a most luxurious abode as well as an impregnable fortress. It was more than a league in circumference; it comprised numerous buildings, an enormous and magnificent château of three floors, a huge tower or donjon a hundred and twenty feet high, the walls of which were crenellated, and which was surmounted by a platform whereon was a statue of Mercury."[1]

"As for the fortifications, they were so abundant, arranged in the shape of an amphitheatre and in tiers, that even one who had scrutinized and studied them for a long time could hardly understand them."[2]

In that labyrinth of stone, that powerful vassal's lair, that significant mystery, dwelt Henri de Bourbon, second of the name, Prince de Condé, who, after three years of captivity for rebellion against the crown, had become reconciled with the court and resumed his post as governor of Berry.

In addition to that office he held those of lieutenant-general, bailiff of the province, and captain of the great tower of Bourges: that is to say he monopolized the political, civil and military power of the whole centre of France, since he enjoyed the same privileges and held the same offices in the province of the Bourbonnais.

Add to this power an enormous fortune, increased by the sums which, under the form of an indemnity, each rebellion of the Condés cost the crown, that is to say France; by the almost forced purchase of the magnificent estates and châteaux which Sully possessed in Berry, and which he had no choice but to surrender to Monsieur le Prince at a great sacrifice, by reason of the pitilessness of the time and the misfortunes of the province; by the secularisation, that is to say the suppression, to the prince's profit, of the richest abbeys of the province, that of Déols among others; by the gifts which the rich bourgeoisie of the cities were compelled by custom, flattery or cowardice to make; by the heavy bowls of gold and silver filled with Berry sheep in the form of gold and silver coins; by the azure chariots, carved and decorated with silver satyrs, drawn by six beautiful horses with harnesses of Russia leather trimmed with silver; by taxes, exactions and vexations of every sort imposed upon the common people: money under all names, under all forms, under all pretexts—that was the sole motive, the sole aim, the sole grandeur, the sole joy, and the sole talent of Henri, grandson of the great Condé of the Reformation, and father of the great Condé of the Fronde.

Two great Condés, who were most ambitious and most blameworthy for their conduct toward France, God knows! but capable, too, of rendering noble service against the foreigner, when their selfish interests did not lead them astray. Alas! therein we see the frightful 17th century! But they were endowed with courage, grandeur, aye, with heroism; while he who plays a part in our narrative was simply covetous, cunning, prudent, and, people said, something much worse.

His birth was tragic, his youth unhappy.

He first saw the light in prison, born of a widow who was accused of having poisoned her husband.[3] Married himself when very young to the lovely Charlotte de Montmorency, the constable's daughter, he had had for a rival that too lusty and too venerable gallant, Henri IV. The young princess was a flirt. The prince kidnapped his wife. The king was accused of seeking to make war on Belgium for giving her shelter. The charge was at once true and false; the king was madly in love, but Condé, pretending a jealousy of which he was incapable, exploited the king's passion to the advantage of his ambition, and forced the king to take harsh measures against a rebel.

Unlucky in his family relations, in war and in politics, Monsieur le Prince consoled himself for everything by love of wealth, and, when the terrible ministry of Richelieu supervened, he was living very quietly, rich and unhonored, in his good town of Bourges and in his fine château of Saint-Amand-Montrond.

But, at the time when our rector Poulain, after six weeks of manœuvring and intriguing, succeeded in finding his way into his presence, Monsieur le Prince had not renounced all political ambition, and he was still to play his rôle of vulture during the death agony of the Calvinist party and that of the royal power, hoping to rise on the ruins of both.

The rector thought that he was perfectly well aware what sort of man he had to deal with. He judged him by the reputation of a good prince which he had made for himself at Bourges; familiar, condescending, talking to everybody without arrogance, playing with the school children of the town and cheating them, very fond of gifts, gossipy, stingy, whimsical and exceedingly pious.

The prince had all those qualities; but he had them in much greater degree than anyone as yet supposed. History declares that he was too fond of the society of children. He cheated from avarice and not simply for amusement; he did not follow the example of Henri IV., who returned the money. He was passionately fond of gifts; was a gossip from envy and evil-mindedness; he was avaricious to frenzy, whimsical to superstition, pious to atheism.

Lenet in his panegyric, says of him most ingenuously, or rather most maliciously:

"He understood religion and knew how to make the most of it, knew every fold of the human heart as thoroughly as any man I ever knew, and could decide in an instant by what motive a man's action was guided in affairs of every sort. He had the art of taking precautions against the artifice of other men, without letting them be apparent. He loved to gain an advantage. He undertook few affairs which he did not succeed in carrying through, by temporizing when he could not gain his object in any other way. He knew how to avoid any danger of losing that which was due to him, and to grasp any opportunities which might benefit him in any way. In short," says Lenet blandly in conclusion, "he seems to me to have been a great man and a very extraordinary one."

So be it!

As for the prince's physical characteristics, they are thus described, in a private letter, by a more illustrious pen than Lenet's:

"A face attractive at first sight; somewhat long, but with regular features; nothing of the power or of the marked peculiarity of feature of his son, the great Condé; smiling eyes; a face possessing no slight charm, with its frame of long hair; moustaches turned up at the ends; a long, heavy royale. Uncertainty in the shape of the forehead, which is of medium height, largely developed in the upper portion; some flabbiness in the cheeks. That smiling glance was one of those in which one can detect, with some attention, the lack of dignity and of serious faith, a petty, selfish disposition and much indifference. But that is the second impression; the first is not disagreeable. The best of his portraits bears the device: Semper prudentia."[4]

The statue of Mercury, the god of sharpers, standing on the summit of the donjon, is even more eloquent.

[1]Raynal, History of Berry.

[2]Memoirs of Monsieur Lenet.

[3]Charlotte de la Trémouille, wife of the first Henri de Condé, was imprisoned eight years, then acquitted, but never exonerated.

[4]Henri Martin. Unpublished letter.

[XLI]

Monsieur Poulain, while not a physiognomist in the highest sense, was a shrewd observer none the less; but he was at first impressed only by the agreeable side of the prince's countenance.

Monsieur de Condé received him alone in his closet, and invited him to sit. He displayed the greatest consideration for any man who wore a cassock.

"Monsieur l'abbé," he said, "I am ready to listen to you. Pardon me if important duties have compelled me to keep you waiting a long while for this appointment. You know that I have had to go to Paris to fetch Monsieur le Duc d'Enghien; then I was obliged to find another nurse for him, she whom his mother had selected having no more milk than a stone; and then—But let us speak of yourself, who seem to me to be a man of resolution. Resolution is a fine thing; but I am surprised to find you so persistent in appealing to me concerning such a trivial affair. Your clodhopper of—What do you call the place?"

"Briantes," replied the rector, respectfully.

The prince glanced furtively at him, and saw, beneath his humility, an air of assurance which disturbed him.

It is a peculiarity of great minds to seek to fathom and make use of the forces with which they come in contact. The prince was too suspicious not to be timid. His first impulse was not so much to make use of people as to refrain from doing so.

He affected indifference.

"Very good," he said; "your clodhopper of Briantes has killed in single combat, or rather in a singular combat and in a suspicious way, a certain—What is the dead man's name?"

"Sciarra d'Alvimar."

"Ah! yes, I know! I have inquired about him; he was a man of no consequence, and one who fought unfairly himself. The fellows must have been evenly matched. What does it matter to you, after all?"

"I love my duty," replied the rector, "and my duty bade me not to allow a crime to go unpunished. Monsieur Sciarra was a good Catholic, Monsieur de Bois-Doré is a Huguenot."

"Has he not abjured?"

"Where and when, monseigneur?"

"I neither know nor care. He is an old man, he is unmarried. He will soon die a natural death. When the beast dies, the poison dies! I do not see that there is much occasion to worry about him."

"Then your highness refuses to cause this affair to be investigated?"

"Investigate it yourself, monsieur l'abbé. I do not prevent you. Apply to the proper authorities. This comes within the province of the magistracy; I do not give my attention to the offences of the common herd: I should never be done with them."

Monsieur Poulain rose, bowed low and walked to the door. He was humiliated and deeply offended.

"Oh! stay, monsieur l'abbé," said the prince, who was desirous to fathom him without seeming to do so; "if I am not interested in your Monsieur d'Alvimar, I am deeply interested in you, who write an exceedingly well-turned letter, furnish valuable information, and seem to me to be a man of courage and spirit. Come, speak frankly to me. Perhaps I may be able to assist you in some way. Tell me why you desired to see me, instead of applying to your natural superiors, the higher clergy?"

"Monseigneur," replied the rector, "such an affair was not within the jurisdiction of the church."

"What affair?"

"The murder of Monsieur d'Alvimar; I have no other motive. Your highness insults me by thinking that I have made use of that circumstance as a pretext to gain access to you, in order that I may address some personal petition to you; such is not the case. I am impelled solely by the dissatisfaction which every sincere Catholic feels to see the pretenders begin anew their thieving and murdering in this province."

"You said nothing of theft," rejoined the prince. "Had this D'Alvimar any property which was taken from him."

"I do not know, nor is that what I mean. I had the honor to write to monsieur le prince that this Bois-Doré had enriched himself by pillaging churches."

"True, I remember," said the prince. "Did you not give me to understand that he had some sort of hidden treasure in his house?"

"I gave monseigneur most precise and accurate details. A part of the treasure of the Abbey of Fontgombaud is still there."

"And it is your opinion that we should make him disgorge? That would be difficult, unless by employing officers of the law; and the tardiness of legal procedure would enable the old fox to put the corpus delicti out of sight. Do not you think so?"

"Perhaps Monsieur d'Aloigny de Rochefort, whom your highness has appointed fiduciary abbé of Fontgombaud, might take measures——"

"No," said the prince, with some vehemence, "I forbid you—I beg you to let him know nothing of this. I have already incurred sufficient blame for the favors with which I have rewarded Monsieur de Rochefort's valuable services; people would never cease saying that I enrich my creatures with the spoils of the vanquished. Moreover, Rochefort is accused of being too greedy, and, in truth, perhaps he is so to some extent. I would not take my oath that he would confiscate these things for the benefit of the religion."

"I have touched the tender spot," thought the rector; "the treasure makes him prick up his ears. I must manage it so that monseigneur will be my debtor."

The prince noticed the slightly disdainful inward satisfaction of his visitor. The rector was not thirsty for money and jewels. He was thirsty for influence and power. Condé realized it and kept a closer watch upon himself.

"Moreover," he added, "it would be inadvisable to make a commotion over a trifle. This treasure, hidden in an old chest in a country-house garret, is not worth, I fancy, the trouble that would be necessary to obtain possession of it."

"But it is a living spring which supplies the old marquis's magnificence."

"He has been drawing upon it for a long time," rejoined the prince; "it must be drained dry! I used to know your clodhopper slightly; he was a burlesque marquis, of the King of Navarre's making. He was admitted to my dear uncle's intimate circle!"

Condé never spoke of Henri IV. except in an ironical tone overflowing with aversion. Monsieur Poulain observed the bitterness of his tone and smiled in a way to gratify the prince.

"The marquisate of Bois-Doré," he said, "is a jest which the old man takes very seriously, and he persists in forcing upon everybody his absurd passion for the late king."

"The late king had some good qualities," rejoined Condé, who considered that the rector went too far, "and this old creature of whom we are talking was not one of his worst creatures. He squandered all his property in absurd finery; he cannot have anything left. He never goes to Paris now, he never appears at Bourges, he lives in a hole. He has an old chariot of the time of the League and a castle wherein I should be ashamed to quarter my dogs. He has laid out gardens where all the statues are of plaster; all this smells of mediocrity."

"These are details with which I did not supply monseigneur," said the rector to himself. "He has been making inquiries, he has nibbled at the bait.—It is true," he said aloud, "that our man is only a petty provincial nobleman. He is known to have about twenty-five thousand crowns of visible income, and people are justly surprised that he spends sixty thousand without running into debt and without leaving his estate."

"Can it be that the Abbey of Fontgombaud still holds out?" said the prince with a smile. "But how do you know, monsieur l'abbé, that this horn of plenty exists at the manor of Briantes?"

"I know it from a very devout young woman who has seen reliquaries and chapel ornaments of great value there. A certain child's bed, all of carved ivory, is a chef-d'œuvre, surmounted by a canopy——"

"Bah! bah!" said the prince, "some old woman's tale! We will look into this matter if you insist, for the honor and welfare of the church, monsieur l'abbé; but it is not a matter of great urgency. I must leave you; but I would like first to know if I cannot serve you in any way. Your archbishop is a very good friend of nine; it was I who procured his translation. Do you desire a better living? I can speak to him of you."

"I desire none of the advantages of this world," the rector replied as he took his leave. "I consider myself well placed wherever I can labor for my salvation and pray for your highness's happiness."

"That is to say," thought the prince as soon as he was alone, "the Bois-Doré's coffers are still full; otherwise this ambitious fellow would have asked me first for his reward. He knows that I shall be satisfied with the result, and he will ask me for more than I have offered him. We shall see."

And the prince issued his orders.

On the evening of that same day, the dwellers at Briantes had just wished one another good-night, and were about to separate, when Aristandre, who was gatekeeper, sent word that a nobleman and his retinue desired shelter and an opportunity to rest for a couple of hours. It was raining and was very dark.

The marquis called for a light, and, wrapping himself in his cloak, went out in person to order the portcullis raised.

"We are——" began an unfamiliar voice.

"Enter, enter, messieurs," replied the marquis, ever a slave to the laws of chivalrous hospitality. "Come in out of the rain. You may tell your names, if you please, when you have rested."

The horsemen rode in; there was two or three of them, and one, who seemed to be in authority over the others, acted as if he would dismount. Bois-Doré prevented him, as the pavement was very wet.

He walked ahead with Adamas, who carried the torch, and returned to the courtyard, followed by his guest, without noticing an escort of twenty armed men, who, having crossed the drawbridge one by one, entered the courtyard after their master, while he was ascending the stairs with his host.

This large escort surprised Aristandre, who, as his functions included that of receiving the servants of visitors and opening the stables, came forward to offer his services. But they refused to unsaddle, and remained with their horses, some around a fire which was lighted in the courtyard, others at the very threshold of the château.

When the marquis entered the salon with the stranger, he saw a man of some thirty years of age, of medium stature and poorly dressed. His face was almost entirely shaded by the flapping brim of his hat and the wet plumes that fell about it on all sides. Little by little he made out the face, but did not recognize it, or, at all events, could not remember where he had seen it.

"You do not seem to remember me?" said the stranger. "To be sure, it is a very long time since we met, and we have both changed greatly."

The marquis artlessly put his hand to his forehead, apologizing for his failure of memory.

"I will not amuse myself by making you cudgel your brains," rejoined the traveller. "My name is Lenet. I was little more than a boy when I saw you in Paris at the Marquise de Rambouillet's, and it may very well be that you paid no attention to such an unimportant personage as I then was. Even now I am only a councillor, awaiting something better."

"You deserve to be all that you desire," replied Bois-Doré, graciously.—"But, deuce take me," he said to himself, "if I remember the name of Lenet, or if I know to whom I am talking, although his manner recalls a thousand vague ideas."

"Order nothing for me," rejoined Monsieur Lenet, when he saw that the marquis was issuing orders for his supper. "I go on to another château, where I am expected. I have been delayed by the wretched roads, and I beg to excuse my calling upon you at this hour. But I am entrusted with a delicate commission for you, which I must execute."

Lauriane and Mario, who were in the boudoir, rose when they heard that business was to be discussed, and passed through the salon to retire.

"Are those your children, Monsieur de Bois-Doré!" said the traveller, returning the courtesy which they made him as they passed.

"Neither of them," replied the marquis, "and yet I am a father. This is my nephew, who is my son by adoption."

"Now, this is my errand," continued the councillor, with a benignant air and in a conciliatory tone, when the children had left the room, "I am instructed by Monsieur le Prince, who is your lord and my own, and to whom my family, from father to son, is closely attached, to inquire into an unpleasant affair in which you are involved. I will go straight to the fact. You have caused the disappearance of a certain Monsieur Sciarra d'Alvimar, who was your guest as I am, with the difference that he had no escort with him as I have, to protect my person and my commission; for I must inform you that, under yonder window, are twenty men, well armed, and in your village twenty others, ready to come to their assistance, if you do not receive in a becoming manner the messenger of the governor and grand bailiff of the province."

"This warning is unnecessary, Monsieur Lenet," replied Bois-Doré, with much tranquillity and courtesy. "If you were alone in my house, you would be the safer therein. It is enough that you are my guest, and by so much the more are you protected by the commission of Monsieur le Prince, to whose authority I am in nowise rebellious. Am I to accompany you and account to him for my conduct? I am quite prepared, and entirely undisturbed, as you see."

"That is not necessary, Monsieur de Bois-Doré. I have full power to question you and deal with you according as I find you innocent or guilty. Be good enough to tell me what has become of Monsieur d'Alvimar?"

"I killed him in a fair duel," replied the marquis, confidently.

"But without witnesses?" rejoined the councillor with an ironical smile.

"There was one, monsieur, and the most honorable of men. If you wish to hear the story——"

"Will it be long?" queried the councillor, who seemed distraught.

"No, monsieur; although it seems to me that I am entitled to explain my conduct fully in a matter which concerns my life and my honor, I will take as little of your time as possible."

[XLII]

Bois-Doré told the whole story succinctly, and exhibited his proofs.

Still the councillor seemed impatient and distraught. But his attention seemed to be caught by one point. That point was the incident of La Flèche's predictions at La Motte-Seuilly.

Bois-Doré, having to produce his brother's seal as the final proof of his identity with D'Alvimar's victim, felt that he ought to mention that circumstance; but, before he had time to explain definitely how little real sorcery there was in Master La Flèche's prophecies, he was interrupted by the councillor.

"Stay," said he, "I recall one charge against you which I had forgotten. You are suspected of being addicted to magic, Monsieur de Bois-Doré. And upon that charge I acquit you in advance, for I have no faith in the soothsayer's art, and see nothing in it but a mental pastime. Will you tell me if it happened that these gypsies predicted anything true?"

"Their predictions were fulfilled in every respect, Monsieur Lenet! They declared that within three days I should be a father and avenged. They informed my brother's murderer that he would be punished within three days, and these things came to pass as they said; but——"

"Tell me where these gypsies are?"

"I do not know. I have not seen them since. But it remains for me to tell you——"

"No. This is enough," said Monsieur Lenet, still maintaining his honeyed tone and smiling expression; "the cause has been heard. I believe you to be innocent; but you were ill-advised to conceal the fact. Suspicions will not easily be effaced; people will wonder as I do, why, instead of making public the chastisement of your brother's assassin as an act which did you honor, you concealed it as you would have done an ambuscade. I shall not be able to make Monsieur le Prince understand."

At that point Bois-Doré was sorely tempted to interrupt the councillor by an indignant exclamation; for it was evident to him that that man, after claiming to have full powers in order to induce him to speak, pretended to be unable to absolve him himself, in order to sell him his influence.

"I agree," he said, "that in concealing D'Alvimar's death I followed bad advice, which was entirely opposed to my own inclination. It was urged upon me that Monsieur le Prince was a devout Catholic and that I was accused of heresy——"

"And that is true enough, my dear monsieur. You are considered to be a great heretic, and I do not deny that Monsieur le Prince is ill disposed toward you."

"But you, monsieur, who seem to me to be less rigid in your ideas, and who declare that you have confidence in my words—may I not rely upon you to plead my cause and to bear witness in my behalf?"

"I will do my utmost, but I will not answer for the result, so far as the prince is concerned."

"What must I do, pray, to dispose him favorably toward me?" said the marquis, resolved to learn the terms of the bargain.

"I cannot say," replied the councillor. "He has been told that you have in your household an Italian, a heretic of the worst sort, who, so it seems, may well be a certain Lucilio Giovellino, condemned at Rome as a believer in Giordano Bruno's detestable doctrines."

The marquis turned pale: he had maintained his tranquillity in face of danger to himself; his friend's danger terrified him.

"Do you admit it?" said the councillor, carelessly. "For my own part, I think that the poor devil was punished enough, and I wish him no other harm than what has already been inflicted on him. You can tell me everything. I will try to divert the prince's suspicions."

"Monsieur Lenet," rejoined Bois-Doré, obeying a sudden inspiration, "the man to whom you refer is not a heretic, he is an astrologer of the most marvellous learning. He has recourse to no magic arts, but reads human destinies in the stars with such extraordinary skill that the events of life seem to abide by decrees written on the skies. There is nothing in his operations inconsistent with the duty of an honorable man and a good Christian; and you know as well as I that Monsieur le Prince, who is the most orthodox Catholic in the kingdom, constantly consults astrologers, as the most illustrious persons in all times, even crowned heads, have done."

"I do not know where you have learned what you say, monsieur," rejoined the councillor, shrugging his shoulders; "I have long lived and still live in the prince's confidence, and I have never known him to resort to such practices."

"And yet, monsieur," replied the marquis with assurance, "I am certain that he would in nowise censure my friend's practices, and I beg you to say to him, that if he will deign to test his skill, he will be highly gratified."

"The prince will laugh at your confidence; but I do not refuse to mention the subject to him. Let us return to the most urgent question, which is to extricate you from this difficulty. I do not conceal from you that I have orders to make a search of your house."

"A search?" echoed the marquis in amazement; "a search for what purpose, monsieur?"

"For the sole purpose of making sure that you have no cabalistic books and instruments; for you are accused of practising magic, not so much for the amusement of reckoning numbers and watching the stars, as for suspicious objects and by virtue of a sort of worship of the spirit of evil."

"Really, monsieur le conseiller, you have kept this for a bonne bouche! Is this all of which I am accused? shall I not be required to defend myself against anything worse?"

"Do not blame me," said the councillor rising. "I do not believe that you are guilty of such heinous deeds; that is why I urge you to show me every corner of your house, so that I may be able to state and to take my oath that I found nothing here which was not honest and becoming. Remember that I can force you to obey me; but, as I desire to treat you courteously, I beg you to take a torch and light me yourself, without calling any of your people; for, if you do, I shall be compelled to call all of mine, and it is my present purpose to take only five or six, who are at the door of this room."

A ray of light flashed through the marquis's mind; it was his treasure that was wanted.

He made up his mind at once. Although he loved all those sumptuous toys which he regarded as legitimate trophies and pleasant memories of his exploits of long ago, there was no avarice in his fondness for them, and, however much he might regret being unable to resort to them any longer to the profit of his beloved Mario's magnificence, he did not hesitate between that sacrifice and the welfare of Lucilio, concerning which he was much more anxious than concerning his own.

"Let it be as you wish, monsieur!" he said, with a magnanimous smile. "Where is it your pleasure that we begin?"

The councillor glanced about the salon.

"You have many beautiful and costly things here," he said carelessly; "but I see nothing reprehensible, and I know that you would not conceal your instruments of deviltry in rooms that are open to every comer. I have heard of a closed chamber which you call your storeroom, and to which you do not admit everybody. That is where I should like to go, and I desire you to lead me thither without remonstrance or deception; for not only have I a plan of your house, which is not large, but I have the means to turn everything topsy-turvy, and I should be distressed to have to proceed to that extremity."

"It will not be necessary," rejoined the marquis, taking a torch; "I am ready to satisfy you.—Ah! by the way," he added, stopping at the door, "I have not the keys of that room, and I cannot admit you without the aid of my old servant. Is it your pleasure that I call him?"

"I will send for him," said the councillor opening the door. And he said to his men, who were on the landing:

"One of you obey Monsieur de Bois-Doré.—Give your orders, marquis. What is your servant's name?"

The marquis, seeing that he was entirely in his guest's power and was to be kept in sight, resigned himself to the inevitable, and he was about to name Adamas, without any display of useless anger, when that worthy's face appeared behind those of the pikemen who were guarding the door.

"Adamas," he said, "bring me the keys of the storeroom.

"Yes, monsieur," was the reply "I have them about me, here they are; but——"

"Come in," said the councillor to Adamas.

And, when he had obeyed, he added:

"Give me the keys, and remain in this room."

Adamas seemed overwhelmed. He felt in the pocket of his doublet, and replied to the councillor, with a surprising lack of self-possession:

"Yes, sire."

At that word, the councillor, as if attacked by vertigo, laid aside his suave manner, rushed across the room, and hurriedly closed the door between himself and his men, which had been left open.

"To whom do you think you are speaking?" he cried, "and why do you address me so?"

Adamas stood as if dazed, and his confusion was amusing to the last degree.

The marquis had seen the king too often in his childhood, and the portraits that had been made of him since, to believe for an instant that the personage before him was the young Louis XIII. He thought that his poor Adamas was going mad.

"Answer, I tell you!" continued the councillor impatiently. "Why do you give me the name applied to majesty?"

"I do not know, monsieur," replied the crafty Adamas. "I do not know what I am saying nor where I am. My head is in a whirl with some surprising news which I have just learned, and which I ask your permission to tell my master."

"Tell it! speak! say on!" cried the councillor in an extraordinarily authoritative tone.

"Well, master," said Adamas, addressing the marquis, and apparently not observing the councillor's agitation, "the king is dead!"

"The king is dead?" cried Monsieur Lenet, rushing toward the door, as if to go out without taking leave of anyone.

But he paused, suddenly suspicious.

"From whom did you learn this news?" he said, scrutinizing Adamas with gleaming eyes.

"I learned it from the decrees of destiny. I learned it from heaven itself," said Adamas with an inspired air.

"What does this man mean?" demanded Monsieur Lenet. "Bid him explain himself, Monsieur de Bois-Doré; I insist upon it, do you understand? and if this news of his is false, woe to him and to you!"

"True or false, monsieur," replied the marquis, observant of his guest's excitement, "the news surprises and disturbs me no less than yourself. Explain yourself, Adamas; how do you know that the king is dead?"

"I know it by astrology, monsieur! He showed me the figures, and I know them. I saw, I understood, I read as plainly as possible that the most powerful individual in the realm had just died."

"The most powerful individual in the realm!" said the councillor thoughtfully; "perhaps that is not the king!"

"You are right, monsieur," said Adamas ingenuously; "perhaps it is monsieur le connétable. I do not know the signs well enough. I may have made a mistake; but at all events it is either the king or Monsieur de Luynes; I will answer for it with my life!"

"Where is this astrologer?" said the councillor hastily; "let him come here, I wish to see him!"

"Yes, sire," replied Adamas, still bewildered and absorbed, hurrying toward the door.

"Stay," said Lenet, detaining him. "I insist upon knowing why you call me so. Tell me, or I will break your head!"

"Break nothing, monsieur!" replied Adamas; "I have lost my head; can you not see that? That word comes to my lips, I know not how; as truly as God is in heaven, this is the first time that I ever saw your face. Shall I go to find the astrologer?"

"Yes, hasten! and woe to you all, if there is any trick or snare in all this! I will put the torch to your hovel!"

Bois-Doré could do no more than protest his absolute ignorance of this new episode. He did not in the least understand Adamas's conduct, indeed he was somewhat disturbed by it.

He saw clearly enough that the faithful servant had overheard his conversation with the councillor, and that, to save Lucilio, he was making use of the idea that had occurred to him, of passing off the Italian as an astrologer, knowing, as everybody knew, the respect which the Prince de Condé entertained for the art of divination. But would the serious-minded Lucilio give his assent to that stratagem? Would he know how to play his part?

"However," thought Bois-Doré, "we must rely on Providence and on Adamas's genius! It is simply a matter of getting rid of the enemy without his taking possession of my friend's person and mine; after that we will look to our safety in the future."

[XLIII]

After a few moments Lucilio appeared with Adamas. He was calm and smiling as usual. He bowed slightly to the councillor, very low to the marquis, and handed the latter a paper covered with hieroglyphics.

"Alas! my friend," said Bois-Doré, "I know nothing about it."

"Speak!" cried Lenet to the mute, who motioned that that was impossible. "Then write!"

Lucilio sat down and wrote:

"I obey no orders here save those of the Marquis de Bois-Doré; I do not know you. Leave this room; I will not write before you."

"Mordieu! yes you will!" cried the councillor, beside himself. "I propose to know everything, and you shall answer me."

"Forgive him, monsieur," said Adamas; "like all great scholars, he is very odd and capricious. If you wish him to reveal his secrets, speak to him gently."

"Does he want money?" said the councillor; "he shall have it; let him speak!"

Lucilio shook his head by way of refusal.

The councillor seemed to be on burning coals.

"Come," said he, after a moment of agitated silence, "I will find out whether you are a learned man or a fool! Look at my hand and tell me something."

Lucilio looked at the councillor's hand, rose, turned to Adamas and, pointing to his scrawl, motioned to him to speak in his place.

"Yes! I see," said Adamas. "These symbols say that there is a man, a prince, who wishes to place the crown of France on his head. But where is the man who has that sign in his hand? I do not know him."

Lucilio pointed to the councillor's hand.

"Who am I, pray tell me?" said that personage, exceedingly surprised.

Lucilio wrote three words which the councillor alone read, and he with evident emotion. His face changed and his tone became gentler.

"And the king is dead?" he said, trembling in every limb, with terror or with joy. "You see that you must answer me, now!"

Lucilio wrote:

"The king is well; but Monsieur de Luynes died by the light of the flames on the 15th of this month, at eleven o'clock at night."

The pretended Councillor Lenet had no sooner read these words than, without the slightest sign of doubt, he pulled his hat over his eyes, hurried into the hall, and without speaking except to order his men to follow him, remounted and rode away at full speed with his whole escort, addressing no word of thanks or apology, no promise or threat to his hosts at Briantes.

Adamas, the marquis and Lucilio, who had escorted them in silence as far as the outermost gate, in order to make sure that no suspicious personage was left behind in the château or in the village, returned to the salon, where they found Mario.

They were all so deeply moved that they sat for some moments without speaking.

At last the marquis broke the silence.

"So it was Monsieur le Prince?" he said.

"Yes," said Lauriane. "I saw him at Bourges three months ago, and I recognized him at once when I passed through this room and saluted him. Did you never see him, my dear marquis?"

"Once or twice, when he was very young, at Paris, but never since. However, when he mentioned the Prince de Condé, saying that he was in his personal service, that name fastened itself to the face of the false Councillor Lenet, and I became more and more convinced every moment that I was dealing with the master in person. That is why I was so very patient; and I thank God that I was! But how did it happen that you thought——"

"Monsieur de Luynes did actually die, of scarlet fever, on the 15th of this month, while the king's troops were pillaging and burning unlucky Monheur, on the Garonne. Here is a letter from my father, telling me the news, which one of his retainers, who arrived just after the prince and his suite, succeeded in sending to me secretly by Clindor."

"This is great news, my children, and the whole policy of the government will be turned topsy-turvy once more. But which of you had the idea——"

"I, monsieur," said Adamas, triumphantly; "as soon as Madame Lauriane said: 'That stranger who is closeted with monsieur le marquis is the prince and no other,' we all four hid in the little passage that you know of."

"We were worried about you," said Mario, "on account of that big escort of men who had a suspicious, threatening sort of look. Adamas suddenly thought of what he afterwards did and said."

"Master Jovelin was none too anxious to lend a hand," added Adamas; "but we had to save you, there was no time to reflect, and he played his part cleverly enough, didn't he, monsieur? Now he has his fortune in his own hands, and if he chooses to replace, or at least to equal in favor the prince's famous astrologer, who has predicted that he would be King of France at thirty-four——"

"I noticed," said the marquis to Jovelin, "that you could not make up your mind to give him that promise. You simply told him that he had that ambition. But what shall we do now, my friends? for, as you say, we are basely betrayed, and we are exposed to many perils of which we have never thought."

"We must do nothing, keep perfectly quiet," said Lauriane with decision. "The prince is galloping south at this moment and will not think of us again for some time."

"That is true," said the marquis; "he is off at full speed, in order to reach the king's side first, and to grasp the power that Monsieur de Luynes enjoyed, if not the favor. He will have to fight hard for it! Retz, Schomberg and Puisieux will want their share of the cake, to say nothing of the fact that madame the queen-mother and her little Bishop of Luçon will give them some thread to wind! Bah! our petty affairs have already gone out of our good prince's head, and will never enter it again perhaps. If only he did not issue any orders against us before he came hither!"

"No, monsieur, there is no danger!" said Adamas. "He had his eye on your treasure, the amount of which must have been grossly exaggerated to him, since so great a prince does us the honor to call upon us for so small a matter. Now we are warned; we can easily hide our little hoard and leave trunks filled with débris for the satisfaction of the curious. The secret exit from the château will be kept in good condition, and we will be on our guard against people who ask for shelter from the rain. But be assured that, if the prince does not come here again in person, nobody else will think of doing it; for if he has given any orders at all, they are that no one shall come and put his hand on the dish upon which he has placed his powerful paw."

Adamas's reasoning was very sound. He concluded by calling down a thousand maledictions on Bellinde, who alone could have discovered and divulged Master Jovelin's real name, the death of D'Alvimar and the existence of the treasure.

It was decided that they should consult with Guillaume d'Ars as to the propriety of announcing D'Alvimar's death or continuing to keep it secret; and to that end the marquis called upon him the following day, in the afternoon.

Guillaume was absent and was not to return until evening.

The marquis sent a messenger to Briantes to bid them not be anxious if he returned late, and went to pay a visit to Monsieur Robin de Coulogne, who was then making a brief sojourn at his estate of Coudray, a pretty château on the heights of Verneuil, about a league from the château of Ars.

Robin, Vicomte de Coulogne, receiver-general of taxes in Berry and farmer-general of the salt tax, was one of the natural enemies of the ex-salt-smuggler Bois-Doré; and yet they had been the closest of friends since the affair of Florimond Dupuy, lord of Vatan.

Those who know the history of Berry will remember that in 1611, Florimond Dupuy, a fervent Huguenot and a great smuggler, had, to show his detestation of the salt tax, kidnapped one of Monsieur Robin's children. The marquis generously exerted himself to restore the child to its father, at the risk of a rupture with Florimond, who was, according to both friends and enemies, "a very uncomfortable bedfellow."

After this incident, the rebellion assumed such serious proportions, that it was found necessary to send twelve hundred infantry, a company of Swiss and twelve guns, to bring Monsieur Dupuy to terms in his château.

Twenty-nine of his people were hanged on the spot, to convenient trees, and his own head was cut off on Place de Grève. Young Robin was afterward Abbé of Sorrèze. The elder Robin was a grateful and devoted debtor of Monsieur de Bois-Doré, and we may well believe that the marquis owed it to that friendship that he was never molested for his former acts of complicity in the crime of salt-smuggling.

So Bois-Doré opened his heart to that faithful friend concerning a part of the embarrassment with which he was threatened by the prince's visit, and confessed that he was particularly disturbed concerning worthy Lucilio, whose presence in his house the hypocritical zealots of the province regarded with an evil eye.

"Your fears seem to me exaggerated," said the viscount. "Monsieur de Groot, whom scholars call Grotius, and who was sentenced to life imprisonment in his own country, succeeded in escaping, did he not, concealed in a chest, thanks to the courage and adroitness of his wife, and took refuge in Paris, where he is neither tormented nor even annoyed by anyone? Why should not your Italian enjoy the same privileges in France?"

"Because the government of France, which is not at all anxious to offend the Gomarists of Holland and Maurice of Nassau, will be most eager to please the pope by persecuting one of his victims. Twenty years Campanella has been in prison, and although he is esteemed and pitied in France, nothing is done to release him from the hands of his executioners; God knows whether they would give him shelter at this moment, openly!"

"Perhaps you are right," said Monsieur de Coulogne. "Very good; I approve your idea of effecting your friend's escape, at the slightest danger that may threaten your château; but I think that you should select a place of refuge to which he can go at once in case of alarm. Have you thought about it?"

"Yes, indeed," the marquis replied, "and I wish to consult you on that point. You own an old manor-house near by, which seems to be quite inhabitable, although I have never entered it. It is so near my house that a man pressed for time can reach there in an hour. It is also near a small farm-house of yours, and if you should give orders to the farmers to that effect, they would be ready, if anything should happen, to conceal and care for my poor fugitive. Will you do me this service?"

"Ask me for my life if you will, marquis; it is yours. So much the more are my servants, my property, my houses at your service. But let me reflect concerning the suitability of the place you have in mind: you refer to my old manor of Brilbault, do you not?"

"Precisely."

"Very well, let us see: it stands quite alone in its grounds, and the roads leading to it are detestable; so far so good. It is not upon the road to any town or village; another point in its favor. The place belongs to me, and the provost's people would never dare to cross the threshold. Moreover, the house is supposed to be haunted by the most uproarious and discontented spirits in the world, the result being that no marauding peasant is tempted to enter, no passer-by to stop there. This is better and better. Yes, I see that your choice, is a good one, and I will go thither with you to-night, to give the farmer the necessary orders."

Bois-Doré, having reflected in his turn, concluded that it would be better for him to go alone, in order not to arouse suspicion.

"Your farmers are no strangers to me," he said. "They were formerly associates of mine in—you know what!"

"Yes, yes, you villain," laughed the viscount; "they procured their salt cheap through you! Very well, take that road when you return; the streams are not full yet, and you can pass without danger. You can tell Jean Faraudet, the farmer, as if I had taken advantage of your passing to send him the message, to come to see me early to-morrow morning. You can cast a glance at the house and examine the surroundings, so that you will be able to direct your friend; indeed, it will be well for him to go there secretly to-morrow night, in order to become familiar with the roads and the entrances. In that way, if he should be obliged to take refuge there, he could do so without losing his way or making any mistake."

"Agreed," said the marquis, "and pray accept a thousand thanks for setting my mind at rest."

The viscount kept the marquis to supper; after which he entered his carriage just at nightfall, and took once more the road to Ars, which was little better than that leading to Brilbault. His reason for taking that direction was that he did not wish his chariot, which always created a sensation, to be seen in the neighborhood of the ruined manor.

With even more forethought than Monsieur Robin had advised, he alighted about a fourth of a league from the place which he proposed to inspect, ordered his servants to go quietly to Ars, and, taking one of the innumerable little paths in which Monsieur de Coulogne had probably never set his foot, but which were as familiar to the old smuggler as the paths in his rabbit warren, he disappeared in the damp underbrush, after pulling his boots up above his knees.

[XLIV]

It was a mild night and not very dark, despite the heavy black clouds which the wind drove across the sky, opening long furrows filled with stars, which suddenly closed to open anew in another place.

It is said that our noble or bourgeois ancestors were unquestionably more robust than we are to-day, while, on the contrary, our workmen and peasant ancestors were less so.

Such is the belief of the old men of my province, and it seems to me to be well-founded; well-to-do people were accustomed to an abundance of fresh air and exercise of which modern life deprives us, or which it makes unnecessary. The poorer classes were more poorly housed and not so well fed as in our day, to say nothing of the immense number of unfortunate wretches who were not housed or fed at all. The gentleman, with his régime of fighting and hunting, retained his health and strength to a very advanced age.

Bois-Doré, despite his sixty-nine years and the comparative effeminacy of his habits, still had strong sight, lungs impervious to the cold, and was sure-footed on the bare ground or on wet grass.

He slipped once or twice as he skirted the bushes, but he saved himself by clinging to the branches, like a man who knows how to take care of himself in a locality where the irregularities of the ground vary little over a large extent of territory.

Thanks to the short cut he had taken, he reached the farm of Brilbault in ten minutes.

Knowing the timid and superstitious character of the peasants, he coughed and spoke before knocking; then, as he knocked, he gave his name, and was received without alarm, at all events, if not without surprise.

Although the condition of the farming class was still very wretched, it was much less so, morally speaking, in Berry, which had long been a province of freeholds, than in those provinces where serfdom still existed. Moreover, in that region which is called the Black Valley, material resources have always assured the farmer, whether proprietor or tenant, a relative well-being which has saved him from great disasters and great epidemics.

At this period the leprosy hospitals were already empty; the pest, still so frequent in La Brenne and the neighborhood of Bourges, rarely scourged Fromental. The dwelling-houses, which were filthy and pestilential in the Marche and the Bourbonnais, were, at least in our neighborhood, stoutly built and healthy, as is proved by a large number of old country houses of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, which are still standing and easily recognizable by their vast tiled roofs, their windows framed with stone cut in the shape of prisms, and their attic windows surmounted by great sheaves of grain moulded in terra cotta.[5]

The marquis felt no repugnance, therefore, to entering the farmer's house, taking his seat by the fireplace, and chatting for a few moments there.

As everybody loved him, the good monsieur could safely entrust to Jean Faraudet and his wife, if necessary, the care of a friend of his who was being prosecuted, he said, for an offence against the game laws; and when he informed them that their master, Monsieur Robin, wished to see them the next morning, to give them orders to that effect, they seemed overjoyed and eager to obey, answering him with the sacramental phrase expressive of zeal and willingness in that country:—"Il y a bien moyen!"

Madame Faraudet, however, who was called La Grand' Cateline, could not refrain from pitying the man who should be condemned to pass even a single night at the château of Brilbault.

She firmly believed that it was haunted, and her husband, after laughing at her as a sop to the marquis's scepticism, eventually admitted that he would rather die than put foot inside the building after sunset.

"My friend's presence," said the marquis, "will give you courage, I trust, for I promise you that it will drive away the evil spirits; but, since you are not afraid to enter the house by daylight, I beg you to put some wood on the hearth and prepare a bed in the best room that there is."

"We will carry everything there that is necessary, my dear monsieur," replied La Grand' Cateline; "but the poor Christian who goes there won't sleep a wink. He will hear a terrible uproar and hurly-burly all night, just as we do, may the good Lord preserve us! and as you will hear them yourself if you choose to wait till after twelve o'clock."

"I cannot wait," said the marquis, "and besides, the spirits wouldn't stir, knowing that I was there. I know what cowards they are, for I never have succeeded in hearing the voices that shout at the top of the donjon at Briantes, on Christmas night, nor the doors that open themselves at La Motte-Seuilly, nor the white lady who pulls aside the bed-curtains at the château of Ars."

"It's a curious thing, Monsieur Sylvain," said the farmer with a knowing air, "that there should be apparitions in our old château. We all know that there may be such things in other châteaux, because there aren't any of them where some great wrong hasn't been done or suffered; and that's the reason why the poor Christians who have been tortured or heartbroken in those houses return to them afterward to complain, as souls asking for prayers or justice. But in the château of Brilbault, which was never occupied, there never has been any good or evil done so far as I know."

"We must believe," said the woman, who plied her distaff busily as she talked, "that the former lord died in a distant land, by violence and in sin; for you know the legend of Brilbault, don't you? It isn't long. A noble had built this château as far as the roof, when he started for the Holy Land with his seven sons. The château was sold again and again, but no one ever fancied it. People thought that it brought families ill-luck; that is why it has never been used except to store crops. They put on a roof which is good for nothing now; but there are still two fine rooms and such a hall! So big that two people can hardly recognize each other from one end to the other."

"Can you let me have the keys?" said the marquis; "I would like to see the interior."

"Here are the keys; but my dear Monsieur Sylvain of the good Lord, don't go there! It is just the time for the deviltry to begin."

"What deviltry, my good friends?" said the marquis laughingly; "what sort of creatures are these wicked devils?"

"I have never seen them, monsieur, nor wanted to see them," said the farmer; "but I hear them well enough, I hear them too well! Some groan and others sing. There's laughter, then yelling and swearing and weeping till daybreak, when they all fly away through the air; for it is securely locked, and no human being can enter without leave or help from me."

"May it not be that your farm-hands go there to amuse themselves, or some thief to prevent you detecting his thievery?"

"No, monsieur, no! Our workmen and servants are so frightened that with all your money you couldn't hire them to go within two gunshots of the château after sunset; indeed, you see they no longer sleep in our house, because they say it's too near that infernal building. They all sleep in the barn yonder at the end of the yard."

"So much the better for the little secret we have together to-night," said the marquis; "but so much the better too, perhaps, for those who play the part of ghosts for the sole purpose of robbing you!"

"What could they steal, pray, Monsieur Sylvain? There's nothing in the château. When I saw that the devil used torches there, I was afraid of a fire, and I took out my whole crop, except a few little fagots and a dozen bundles of hay and straw, which I left in order not to make them too angry, for they say that imps like to play about in the hay and the branches; and, to tell the truth, I found it all tossed about and trampled; it was as if fifty living men had walked over it."

The marquis knew Faraudet to be very truthful and incapable of inventing anything whatsoever to avoid doing him a service.

He began to think therefore that, if lights were seen in the old manor, if voices were heard there, and above all, if feet or bodies trampled and disturbed the straw, there was more reality than deviltry in that state of affairs, and that the château, which the farmer and his wife confessed that they had not dared to enter for more than six weeks, might very well be used already as a refuge by fugitives.

"Whether they be maleficent or congenial, I propose to see them," he said to himself.