Part 10

Rose, the deputy, went to the mayor and explained the affair to him; he obtained an order for the culprit’s arrest. On his side, the advocate assembled all the notables of the town; they shared his wrath and considered that the scoundrel who gave one of the long robe the colic could not be punished too severely. Madame Dubelair and Madame Rose stirred up all the women; Madame Dubelair especially had to say no more than this: “A man who can make the nose red and the complexion lead-color is a villain who deserves the halter!”--As for the philter of which Monsieur Rose had drunk, all the ladies begged for a few drops of it for their private use, thinking that, when thus divided, it could not fail to produce very pleasant results.

These events had taken time; it was daybreak when they started for our lodgings to arrest us. I say us, for I am quite sure that I should have shared my companion’s fate. But since the preceding day I had been on the alert, walking about the town, watching all that took place, listening to what people said; in short, I learned that they were coming to arrest us, and I did not deem it prudent to wait until that time. While my companion was asleep, I made a little bundle of everything belonging to me, and of the money I had earned with him, being careful to take no more than was really mine; then, wishing my little hunchback much good fortune, I left our lodgings, leaving him to get out of the scrape as he could.

I have no idea what happened to him, for I never saw him again; but as sorcerers are no longer hanged, since it has been discovered that there are no such things, I am very sure that my poor charlatan got off with a few months in prison.

XIV

END OF JACQUES’S ADVENTURES

I had about thirty louis in my purse; for selling pills made of bread is a very good business; you make few advances and never sell on credit, which proves that there is nothing that has not some value. You can imagine, my dear Sans-Souci, that my only idea was to enjoy myself thoroughly, and that is what I did in several towns where I stopped; but the adventure that happened to me in Brussels put an end to my enjoyment.

I had been living at an inn two days, and I passed my time like all idlers or strangers, eating much, drinking a great deal, and walking about without any definite object, but going into all the public places, and visiting everything that seemed likely to be at all interesting to me.

On the second day, having gone to the theatre, I found myself beside a young man of respectable exterior. He seemed to be three or four years older than myself and to be thoroughly acquainted with society. We talked together, and he told me at once that he was from Lyon, and was travelling for pleasure and to escape from a marriage which his parents wished to force upon him. His confidence invited mine; so I in my turn told him all my adventures, the narrative of which seemed to interest him greatly.

In a word, by virtue of this similarity of tastes and of temperament, we became friends. Bréville--that was my new acquaintance’s name--invited me to dine with him on the following day, at one of the best restaurants, and I accepted very gladly; for it is a great pleasure, when one arrives in a town, to find some one with whom one can form an intimacy.

My new friend entertained me handsomely; we lived on the fat of the land; we walked and drove, and went to the theatre and to all the cafés. Bréville seemed to know the city very well for a stranger; he took me to all the tap-rooms and public places; I commented upon it laughingly to him and complimented him on the facility with which he remembered the way to all the places of amusement. To make a long story short, after doing the city one night, visiting cafés and frail ladies, we found ourselves at one o’clock one morning in the street, drunk with punch, liqueurs, porter, whiskey and faro.

I could hardly hold myself erect, and I was most desirous to be in my bed, to which I would have liked to be transported by some kind genie, for I felt that my legs were but a feeble support to me. Bréville seemed less affected than myself, but he too complained of fatigue. The street lamps gave a very dim light. For an hour I had been urging my companion to take me home; but in vain did we walk through streets and squares, I could not discover my inn.

At last my guide admitted that he had lost the way and that we were very far from my lodging; but by way of compensation we were very near his, where he offered me a bed. As you may imagine, I accepted without hesitation. I was no longer able to walk, I could hardly see where I was going,--the inevitable result of the numerous forms of dissipation in which we had indulged.

Bréville knocked at a door leading into a dark passageway. An old woman admitted us. I hastened, or rather was carried, up a dirty winding staircase, and at last I found myself in an almost unfurnished chamber, which at any other time would not have given me a very brilliant idea of the situation of my new acquaintance; but at that time I thought of nothing but sleep, and in two minutes I was lying on a wretched bed and sleeping soundly.

Whether it was the effect of the punch, or of the strong liqueurs, I passed a very restless night; I did not wake however and it was not until late in the morning that a violent shaking made me open my eyes.

“I say, my friend! wake up! You have been sleeping a long time, and it ain’t good for you!”

Such were the words that first fell upon my ears. I opened my eyes to their fullest extent, looked about me, and made no reply, for the picture before me left me uncertain as to whether I was really wide awake.

Imagine my surprise, my dear Sans-Souci; instead of finding myself in a bedroom and in the bed on which I had lain down the night before, I found myself stretched out on a stone bench, in a sort of square, without coat or hat, and with nothing on but my shirt, trousers and waistcoat, and surrounded by a number of messengers who were gazing at me with curiosity.

“Come, come, comrade,” said one of them; “come to yourself; you must have had a good supper last night, and drunk a great deal! That makes you sleep sound; I know how it is! And the morning after, you are as stupid as a fool; you don’t know where the deuce your memory has gone to! But it comes back little by little!”

The fellow’s words recalled all my folly of the night before. An impulse as swift as thought led me to feel my pockets and my fob. Alas! they were empty; and like most young men, I had been ass enough to carry all that I possessed about me. I was the dupe of a swindler. In vain did I ask the men about me where Bréville lived; no one knew him. I looked to see if I could recognize the house to which the traitor had taken me; I saw nothing that resembled it.

I rose, with rage and shame in my heart; if at that moment I had caught sight of the scoundrel who had swindled me, I don’t know what I might have done! But, as you may imagine, he did not show himself. I asked the way to my inn, and returned thither sadly enough. But what was I to do? What would become of me? I had not a sou, and I was dressed like a beggar. After playing the grand seigneur, after gratifying one’s every wish, to be reduced to ask alms! What a horrible comedown! How bitterly I then regretted my little hunchback and our séances in magnetism! If only I had been able to begin that trade alone, I should have felt better. But I had not even the means to buy what was required to make pills, and I realized that a somnambulist who had neither coat nor stockings could never put anybody to sleep.

However, I was fully decided to die rather than to beg my living, and it was in that frame of mind that I reached the inn, which I had left the night before in such a different plight. I entered the room where the guests were breakfasting. No one recognized me and the waiters were about to turn me out, when I told them of my melancholy adventures.

The inn-keeper expressed sympathy for me, but did not invite me to return to my room, where I had left a few effects which were hardly sufficient to pay my bill. I stood motionless in the midst of the guests; I said nothing more, but tears rolled down my cheeks and my very silence must have been eloquent.

“Well, young man, what are you going to do now?” asked a voice, which at that moment went straight to my heart. I turned my head and saw two soldiers breakfasting at a table near me.

“Alas! monsieur,” I answered, addressing the one who seemed to look at me with interest, “I have no idea. I have nothing left.”

“Nothing left! a man always has something left when he is a stout-hearted fellow and has done nothing disgraceful. Come, sit down here and breakfast with us and pluck up your courage, morbleu! No one ought to despair at your age.”

These words restored all my good humor; I did not wait to be asked again, and I ate my full share of a slice of ham and a piece of cheese, which composed the breakfast of the two soldiers. When my hunger was somewhat abated, the one who seemed superior in rank addressed me again:

“My boy, you left your parents to make a fool of yourself; the first mistake. You formed intimacies with villains; second mistake. And you allowed yourself to be robbed; third mistake. However, your mistakes are excusable; but look out--after being a dupe, one sometimes becomes a knave. That is what happens only too often to the reckless youngsters, who, like yourself, find themselves without money on the day after a debauch. Then they give way to their passions, to their inclinations for dissipation and idleness; then they resort to low tricks to obtain their living; and at last they become guilty, although they began by simply being reckless. You are on the way, young man, and you must take a stand; you won’t get a dinner by walking about with your arms folded, nor a pair of breeches by looking at the stars, when there are any. Have you a trade?”

“No, monsieur.”

“In that case, enlist. Take the musket and carry it with honor. You are young, tall and well-built; be brave, obedient to your superiors, and I will guarantee that you will make your way.”

This proposition gave me so much pleasure that I leaped for joy on my chair, and in trying to embrace my protector, I overturned the table, upon which luckily there was nothing left.

My eagerness pleased the sergeant and his comrade. They led me away instantly and took me to their captain, who, after eyeing me from head to foot with a glance, received me into his company, where I always did my duty with honor, I venture to say.

Now, my dear Sans-Souci, you know all my adventures; I will not mention those which happened to me in the regiment, and which you shared with me. Indeed, they are common to all brave soldiers: love-affairs, battles, disputes, reconciliations, feasting, starving, victories, and defeats.--Those are what always make up a soldier’s history.

Years passed; but I had not forgotten my family; I confess, however, that I did not want to return to them except with an honorable rank; I had the hope of obtaining it, and this decoration already made my heart beat more peaceably, when suddenly events changed their aspect. Relegated to the civilian class, I thought that an honorable and gallant soldier could not make his parents blush, and I went to Paris to find them. There I learned of their death! That was a cruel blow! But the icy welcome, the cold and contemptuous tone of my brother, put the finishing touch to the laceration of my heart! It is all over, Sans-Souci, he will never see me again, the ingrate; he will never hear my name again!

Thus did Jacques bring to a close the story of his adventures, and a tear glistened in his eye during the last portion of his narrative; that tear was for his brother, whom he still loved, despite the way in which he had received him.

It was dark; Jacques’s story had taken longer than he had at first supposed it would, and Sans-Souci had listened to it with so much interest that he had not realized that the dinner hour had long since passed. But when his comrade had finished, he rose, shook his head, and tapped his stomach, as he glanced at his companion.

“Have you told me the whole, comrade?”

“Yes.”

“Well then, forward!”

“What for? Where do you mean to go?”

“No matter where, so long as it is some place where there is something to eat.”

“Ah! you’re hungry, are you?”

“Yes, ten thousand cartridges! And terribly hungry too! My stomach doesn’t thrive on adventures. Still, yours have amused me very much; but since you stopped talking, I feel that I need something solid.”

“Do you want me to begin again?”

“No, no! I want you to come with me.”

“But where shall we go?”

“Come on; forward!”

Jacques and his comrade started across the fields. They could not see very clearly and they did not know which direction to take. Jacques did not say a word, Sans-Souci sang and swore alternately, frequently cursing the hedges and bushes which barred their path. At last, after walking for an hour, they spied a light.

“Forward toward the light!” said Sans-Souci, doubling his pace; “they must give us some supper.”

“Have you any money, Sans-Souci?”

“Not a sou; and you?”

“No more than you.”

“No matter, let us go on all the same.”

They approached the building from which the light came; it seemed to be large enough for a farm-house, but it was too dark to distinguish objects plainly. Sans-Souci felt his way forward and began to knock with all the strength of his feet and hands at the first door that he found. In vain did Jacques urge him to make less noise; Sans-Souci was dying of hunger, and he listened to nothing but his stomach, which shouted as loud as himself.

At last two dogs that were prowling about the yard answered the uproar that he made; their barking awoke the cows, which began to low, and the donkeys, which began to bray; there was an infernal hurly-burly, in the midst of which the voice of a woman, who had come to a window, had difficulty in making itself heard.

“Who’s that? What do you want? answer!”

“Ah! ten thousand cannonades! I am not mistaken; it’s her, it’s my brunette!--Didn’t I tell you, Jacques, that we should get a supper; we are at her farm. Open, my duck, open quick! Love and hunger bring me back to you!”

“What? can it be him?”

“Yes, yes! It is him, it’s me, it’s us, in fact! Come, Louise, put on the necessary skirt, and come and let us in. But try to make your beasts quiet, for we can’t hear ourselves talk here!”

The farmer’s wife left the window to come down to admit them, and thereupon Sans-Souci informed Jacques that they were at the abode of the unfaithful sweetheart of whom he had spoken that morning, and who was at heart very kind, very sentimental,--she had given him proofs of it that morning,--very obliging, and that she made her husband a cuckold solely because of her temperament.

“But this husband,” said Jacques; “he is the master in his own house, and----”

“No; in the first place, Louise is the mistress; in the second place, he’s a good fellow. Oh! she told me all about it this morning; she wanted me then to pass some time at the farm, as a distant relative of hers, just back from the army. I didn’t accept, because I had promised to join you, and your friendship goes ahead of everything; but so long as you are here, and we are our own masters, faith! it’s a good wind that blows us to my old flame’s house--Hush! here’s the lady herself!”

Louise did in fact open the door at that moment; she seemed surprised at sight of Jacques.

“This is my friend, let me introduce him to you,” said Sans-Souci; “he is a fine fellow, a good comrade, whom I don’t ever mean to leave.”

“Oh, well, then it’s all right, he’s our friend too. By the way, my husband’s asleep, but it don’t make any difference,--don’t forget that you’re my cousin, Sans-Souci.”

“All right, that’s agreed; now let’s be off to the kitchen.”

“I will make you an omelet with pork.”

“That will be fine! But are you alone?”

“Our farm boy’s to be married the day after to-morrow, and bless my soul! he is sleeping all he can beforehand.”

“That’s a good idea.--Give me the frying-pan.”

In a short time the supper was prepared, and Sans-Souci and Jacques did full honor to it; Louise watched them, and laughed at the thought of her husband’s surprise when he should find that two strangers had slept in his house.

“I am going to put you into the little cheese room. It is close by, and you can go into it without going through our room and waking up my man. We will tell him all about it to-morrow.”

Louise was very particular that they should not wake her husband; she guided the two newcomers to a small room where the cheeses which they made were placed on boards along the wall. They did not diffuse a very pleasant odor through the room, but two soldiers are not particular. Jacques threw himself on the bed and slept soundly; Sans-Souci complained that the cheeses disturbed him, and he went out to take the air or for some other purpose; but the night passed very comfortably, and the farmer did not wake inopportunely.

The next day everybody was up early. Farmer Guillot opened his eyes at his wife’s story, when she told him about a cousin of hers having arrived during the night with one of his comrades. Guillot made haste to embrace his cousin and his friend; he welcomed them cordially, drank with them, found them exceedingly pleasant companions, and took them to see his farm, his hens, his oxen, his wheat and his hay. Our soldiers declared everything first-class and splendidly kept up; they complimented the farmer, and they were soon the best friends in the world.

Jacques loved the country, the meadows, the woods, and work in the fields. Sans-Souci loved the farmer’s wife and her cooking. In the evening, Jacques told Guillot about his battles, his sieges and his adventures. The farmer opened his eyes and held his breath; even Sans-Souci kept quiet and shared the pleasure of the peasants, which he prolonged by adding the story of his own experiences. Their adventures entertained the peasants to such a degree that they went more cheerfully to the fields in the morning, when the two soldiers had promised them a story for the evening.

The people of the village requested as a favor to be allowed to come and listen to Louise’s cousin and his comrade; and as formality and ceremony are unknown in the country, the great living-room of the farm-house was crowded with villagers as soon as the work of the day was finished. The old woman brought her flax and her spinning-wheel, the housekeeper plied her needle, the maiden bound up the sheaves; in one corner a young peasant sifted his horse’s grain; in another, the old man drank his ale, while the laborer smoked his pipe, leaning on a barrel; the children crawled about on the floor or played with Sans-Souci’s moustache, while Louise prepared the soup, Guillot sorted out grains, and one and all had their eyes fixed upon Jacques, listening attentively to his description of a battle. When the affair became hot and Jacques grew animated, the faces of the listeners expressed anxiety, dread, terror; the old woman stopped her spinning-wheel, the laborer took his pipe from his mouth, the old man forgot his glass, the young man ceased to shake his sifter, and everyone, with head stretched forward and mouth wide open, awaited the result of the battle before resuming his former occupation.

A week passed thus with great rapidity. Our two companions, who did not choose to pay for the farmer’s hospitality with stories alone, went out in the morning to assist the peasants in their work. Jacques went with Guillot to the fields, and plowed and dug with great strength and good-will. At first the farmer had set his face against his working, but Jacques had insisted, and in a very short time had become very skilful. As for Sans-Souci, he preferred to remain in the house. Louise undertook to supply him with work and she kept him busy. She was a very capable woman, and a hand never lacked work with her; whether it was in the attic, or in the cellar, or in the garden, or in the kitchen, she found some way to employ him always.

After some time, the farm-hand who had married went to live in his cottage with his wife. Guillot was in need of some one to take his place; the farm was an extensive one, and its dependencies considerable, and the farmer felt that Jacques and Sans-Souci would be none too many to help him work it. He dared not make the proposition to the two men, but Louise, who was anxious to keep them, undertook to arrange the affair. At the first words which she said, Jacques joyfully embraced the farmer’s wife.

“I was afraid,” he said, “of being a burden to you, but you offer me the means of earning my living honorably and I accept with gratitude. I will be a farm-hand, and I promise you that Sans-Souci will follow my example. We have both been soldiers, but whether one carries the musket or guides the plough, he is still serving his country, is he not?”

Thus everything was arranged to the perfect satisfaction of everyone. Jacques devoted himself completely to his new occupation; sometimes, in the midst of his toil, the thought of his brother came to his mind, and then his features would become clouded, his hand rest on the spade, and his eyes turn toward the road to Villeneuve-Saint-Georges. But he instantly banished his melancholy thoughts, and resumed his work with renewed zeal, striving to banish Edouard’s image from his heart.

XV

FOUR MONTHS OF MARRIED LIFE.--NEW PLANS

Edouard, his wife and Mamma Germeuil were settled in the pretty house at Villeneuve-Saint-Georges. Edouard, who had not mentioned his brother, had trembled with apprehension as he drew near the village, and he was even more agitated when he stepped inside his parents’ former abode. He thought every instant that he should meet his brother, and on the day of his arrival he absolutely refused to walk in the garden. However, he had fully decided to welcome Jacques cordially and to present him to his wife’s family; but while forming this resolution, he was conscious of an embarrassment, a vague dread, which aroused a secret dissatisfaction in his heart.

On the second day after his arrival in the country, he privately questioned the concierge of his house:

“Has anybody been here in my absence? Have you seen that stranger again, that man who was forever standing at the foot of the garden?”

“No, monsieur, no, I haven’t seen him again, and no one has been here to see you.”

Edouard began to breathe more freely, and became more cheerful with the ladies. Time passed, and the face with moustaches did not reappear. Madame Germeuil sometimes referred to it, laughingly, with no suspicion of the distress which she caused her son-in-law; but they finally forgot the episode altogether, and Edouard recovered his tranquillity.

Adeline’s heart had not changed; still sentimental and emotional, she loved her husband with idolatry, she was happy so long as he was with her, and so long as she could read in his eyes the same sentiments, the same love, the same happiness. She carried in her bosom a pledge of Edouard’s love; that was a new subject of delight, of hopes, of projects for the future. Engrossed by that happiness, Adeline was less thoughtless, less vivacious.

They had little company in the country, but Edouard was still in love with his wife, and he was not at all bored. Sometimes, however, the evenings seemed rather long to him; Madame Germeuil’s game of piquet was endless, and the excursions about the neighborhood impressed him as being slightly monotonous. But Adeline’s caresses were still pleasant to him, and her kisses as sweet as ever.