Part 5

The mayor motioned to Fanfan to approach; but the little scullion, abashed at the sight of so many people, held the plate forward with a trembling hand, and the fowl rolled on the floor.

The so-called capon made a sound like that of a child’s drum when it falls to the ground.

“Oho! it seems a little dry,” said the mayor, examining it.

“That’s because it was brought here in the sun,” said Bonneau; “that burned it just a bit.”

“Pardieu! I have my friend the notary here, who is a connoisseur in capons, so his wife tells me. I will get him to give me his opinion.”

The mayor opened the door, and called the notary, who was dining with him, to come and pass judgment on the capon. Edouard and his wife were beginning to lose patience; they divined from what the judge had already said to them that they would have to pay the rascally inn-keeper; and that worthy also anticipated a victory; he stared at them insolently, then turned with a smile toward the peasants, who were eagerly awaiting the moment when they could make sport of the fine gentleman and fine ladies from Paris, which is a great source of enjoyment to peasants.

But the notary appeared; he looked at Edouard and his wife, and recognized them as the purchasers of Monsieur Renâré’s house; and instead of looking at the fowl which Bonneau thrust under his nose, he saluted Murville and his companion most humbly.

“What! do you know monsieur and madame?” asked the mayor in amazement.

“I have that honor; monsieur has bought my neighbor Renâré’s estate, and pays cash for it. The deeds are being made in my office.”

The notary’s words changed the whole aspect of the affair. The mayor became extremely polite to Edouard and his wife; he begged them to come into his salon a moment and rest; and then, turning with a stern expression toward Master Bonneau, who did not know which way to turn, he cried angrily:

“You are a scoundrel! You are a knave! You dare to demand payment for a dinner which was not eaten! You serve dried-up fowls, rotten eggs, and ask forty francs for them.”

“But, monsieur le maire----”

“Hold your tongue, or I will make you pay a fine; I know that you mix drugs with your wine, and that you steal all the cats to make rabbit stew; but take care, Master Bonneau,--you will be held responsible for the first plump cat that disappears.”

The inn-keeper retired, covered with confusion, and storming under his breath at the arrival of the notary, who had made the mayor turn about like a weathercock. He drove Fanfan before him, returned to the inn with the wretched fowl in his hand, and in order that everyone might share his ill-humor, he announced that they would have the capon for supper.

The mayor, learning that Edouard and his wife had not dined, absolutely insisted that they should dine with him; he, himself, offered to fetch Madame Germeuil, who had remained in the cabriolet; but the young people declined, declaring that they were expected in Paris early and that they could not delay their departure any longer.

So they separated, the mayor protesting that he should have great pleasure in becoming better acquainted with his constituents, and our young people thanking him for the zeal he had shown in their behalf after the notary’s arrival.

The peasants were still in front of the mayor’s house when Edouard and Adeline came out; they stood aside to let them pass; some even ran to the carriage to tell Madame Germeuil; and one and all bowed most humbly when they drove away. And yet they were the very same persons upon whom the clowns had heaped insolent epithets, and at whom they had been poking fun a moment before; but they did not know then that the mayor would treat them courteously. Men are the same everywhere.

VII

IN WHICH WE SEE THE MAN WITH MOUSTACHES ONCE MORE

They reached Paris famished, as you may imagine. They ordered dinner at once. The servants made all possible haste, jostled one another in order to move faster, and by jostling and colliding with one another, took one thing instead of something else, overturned the sauces, let one dish burn, and served another cold; in a word, they did everything wrong, which often happens when people try to make too much haste.

The servants had ceased to expect their masters to dinner; old Raymond could not understand why they returned hungry; it gave him a very bad impression of the place where they had been, and the cook was very sorry that she had not divined their condition. But our travellers found everything delicious; Master Bonneau’s cooking was still foremost in their thoughts.

On the day following this memorable excursion, Adeline was too tired to accompany Edouard to Villeneuve-Saint-Georges, and as they had given their word to Monsieur Renâré, the young wife was obliged to consent to let her husband go alone.

Murville promised to be absent only a short time; he intended to return to dinner.

“Take care,” said Madame Germeuil, “and don’t have any unpleasant experiences.”

“I will wager, mamma, that you are still thinking of that face with the moustaches that we saw at the end of the garden.”

“Yes, I don’t deny it; indeed I will confess, my children, that I dreamed of it all night.”

“That is not surprising; when something has excited us intensely during the day, our imagination sees the same thing in a dream. But that does not mean that we should conceive dismal presentiments from the fact.”

“Really, mamma, you will make me unhappy,” said Adeline; “I begin to wish already that Edouard were home again.”

“And yet one must be very childish to be afraid without any reason! Come, off with you, my dear, and return quickly; above all things, do not dine at the Epée Couronnée!”

Edouard kissed Madame Germeuil’s hand; he embraced his wife, as people embrace on the day after their wedding, when they have found the first night all that they hoped, or when they think that they have found it so, which is the same thing, and which happens to many people who know nothing about it, and who consider themselves very shrewd.

He arrived in Villeneuve-Saint-Georges, and alighted from the carriage in front of the house which was soon to belong to him.

“Is Monsieur Renâré in?” he asked the concierge.

“He is already at the notary’s, monsieur.”

“The deuce! what promptitude! I must not keep him waiting.”

Murville left the cabriolet in the courtyard, and walked to the notary’s. The deeds were ready, and Monsieur Renâré was impatiently awaiting the arrival of the purchaser; for, having learned the night before of the episode at the Epée Couronnée, he had begun to feel some anxiety concerning the bargain; but Edouard’s presence, and especially the sight of a wallet stuffed with good bank notes, restored all his tranquillity.

The deeds were signed, the price paid, and Monsieur Renâré smilingly presented the keys of the house to Edouard.

“You are the owner now, monsieur; from this moment you can do as you please with your house and everything that it contains, as I have sold it to you furnished.”

“I thank you, monsieur, but you may take all the time that you please to make your preparations for departure. I do not wish to embarrass you in any way.”

“Oh! my preparations will very soon be made, monsieur. I simply have a little bundle to pack, and I can carry it under my arm.”

“Then you already have another house in view?”

“Why,” said the notary, “Monsieur Renâré has six houses in Paris, and three more in the suburbs; so he is not likely to be at a loss.”

“Six houses in Paris,” thought Edouard, “and he wears a patched coat and a broken hat! And he is a bachelor, too! and he has no heirs! Does the man think that he is never going to die?”

Our young man bowed to the old miser and left the notary’s office. He returned to his newly-acquired property. The concierge was waiting in the courtyard, and seemed to have some question to ask him. Edouard guessed the cause of his embarrassment.

“This house is now mine,” he said to the peasant; “here is the deed stating that I am the owner of it. However, Monsieur Renâré will soon inform you of it himself.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it, monsieur.”

“Are you attached to Monsieur Renâré?”

“No, monsieur, I ain’t attached to anything but the house, and if monsieur doesn’t keep me, I shall be out of work.”

“Very well, I will keep you! I do not mean to discharge anybody; from this moment you are in my employ.”

“Very good, monsieur, I will try to satisfy you.”

Edouard was not greatly pleased with the peasant. He seemed brusque and rough, and had lived so long with Renâré that he had acquired an air of distrust, that made itself manifest in all his acts. But Edouard did not desire, on returning to occupy the home of his parents, to create a bad impression on the people in the village.

As it was still early, and Edouard had finished his business at the notary’s sooner than he expected, he could not resist the temptation to inspect his property; he ordered the concierge to give him the key of the gate at the end of the garden, and left him beside his cabriolet.

When we know that an estate belongs to us, we are likely to scrutinize every part of it closely. Edouard noticed that Monsieur Renâré had planted cabbages and lettuces in all the beds intended for flowers; he had cut down the beautiful acacias, which, to be sure, produced nothing but shade, and had replaced them by fruit trees. Instead of box as a border for the paths, he had planted parsley and nasturtiums; and as he entered a clump of shrubbery, which formerly was bright with lilacs and roses, Edouard smelled nothing but the odor of chevril and onion.

“We shall have to make many changes,” said Edouard to himself, laughing at the former owner’s parsimony; “but in a week everything will be as it was, with the exception of the acacias, on which I used to have a swing; but I have passed the age when I could enjoy it so much.”

He was then at the end of the garden; he approached the gate, saying to himself:

“It seems that that appalling face which frightened the ladies so does not show itself every day;” and he was on the point of putting the key into the lock, when the face with moustaches appeared above the broken plank, exactly on a level with the eyes.

Edouard stopped; he felt that his heart was beating violently; but he soon recovered himself.

“What do you want?” he asked the stranger; “and why are you continually behind this gate, with your eyes fixed upon the garden?”

“I want nothing,” the stranger replied, in a loud voice and with an abrupt manner. “I am looking at this garden because I choose to, and I look at it through this gate, because they would not permit me to walk about inside.”

“If that is what you wish, you may gratify yourself now. Come in, monsieur; there is nothing now to prevent you.”

As he spoke, Edouard, who was curious to see the whole of the stranger’s face, opened the gate leading into the fields.

The stranger seemed surprised at Edouard’s invitation; however, as soon as the gate was opened, he did not wait to be asked a second time, but entered the garden. Murville was then able to contemplate him at his ease. He saw a man of tall stature, dressed in an old blue frock-coat, buttoned to the chin, who wore black gaiters and a dilapidated three-cornered hat, which he carried in his hand.

As he examined this singular individual, whose pale face, long beard and neglected dress seemed to indicate misfortune and want, Edouard remembered his mother-in-law’s suspicions, and a feeling of distrust entered his mind.

The stranger walked about the garden, pausing from time to time in front of a clump of shrubs or an old tree, and apparently forgetting that there was some one with him.

“Parbleu!” said Edouard to himself, “I propose to have something to show for my good-nature; I must find out who this man is, and why he planted himself behind the little gate. I must take the first step, and as he says nothing, I must begin the conversation; he will have to answer me.”

The stranger had seated himself upon a mound of turf, from which the front of the house could be seen. Edouard approached and sat down beside him.

“Oh! I beg your pardon, monsieur,” said the stranger, as if suddenly arousing himself from his abstraction, “I have not thought yet to thank you for your kindness. But I was in such a hurry to see this place again!”

“Oh! there is no harm done.”

“Are you the son of the owner of this house?”

“No.”

“So much the better for you.”

“Why so?”

“Because he is an old money-lender, an impertinent fellow; and so is his concierge, to whom I was strongly tempted to administer a thrashing, in order to teach him how to behave!”

“What have they done to you?”

“I came to this village for the express purpose of seeing this house. I arrived here yesterday, utterly tired out; I entered the courtyard, and sat down on a stone bench to rest. The concierge came to me, and asked me what I was there for. I told him that I wanted to see the garden. He asked me if I intended to buy the house. That question was an impertinence in itself, for I don’t look like a person with money to invest.”

“That is true,” thought Edouard.

“When he learned that I had come here for another reason, he ordered me to leave; I asked him again to let me walk about this garden for a moment; he called his master; an old Jew appeared, and the two together tried to turn me out! Ten thousand thunders! Turn me out! me--a--But, no! I forgot that I am one no longer! All the same, if it hadn’t been that my memories restrained me, I would have thrashed master and servant. I didn’t do it, however, and as I was able only to look at the place from a distance, I took my stand behind that gate where you saw me yesterday.”

“I am very glad that I have been able to atone for the discourtesy of the concierge, and that I found you again to-day at the same place.”

“Faith! it’s a mere chance! If I were not waiting for a comrade, whom I agreed to meet in this village, I certainly should not have stayed here.”

“Ah! you are waiting for a comrade?”

“Yes, monsieur.”

Edouard was silent for a moment; he seemed to be reflecting upon what the stranger had said; the latter resumed the conversation.

“Excuse me, monsieur, if I question you in my turn; but how does it happen that the old villain of a proprietor has intrusted the keys of his garden to you?”

“This house no longer belongs to Monsieur Renâré; he has sold it to me this very day.”

“Sold it! Pardieu! I am delighted to hear that. I was distressed to see this house in the clutches of that Arab!”

“You seem to be very fond of this house?”

“I well may be, as I passed a large part of my youth here.”

“You?”

“I.”

Edouard looked more closely at the stranger; vague suspicions, a secret presentiment made his heart leap. He observed that the stranger was young and that it seemed to be fatigue simply that had wasted his sun-burned features; he desired, yet dreaded to learn more.

“Yes, monsieur,” continued the stranger after a moment’s silence, “I have lived in this house. Indeed I was partly brought up here. At that time I was with my parents, and the future looked very bright to me. I had a kind father, I had a brother! I left them all! And I well deserve what is happening to me now!”

“Are your parents dead?” asked Edouard in a broken voice, gazing at the man whom he already feared that he recognized.

“Yes, monsieur, they are dead,--perhaps of the sorrow that I caused them! My mother did not love me very much; but my father was devoted to me! And I shall never see him again! Oh! this accursed temper of mine, that has made me do so many foolish things!”

“And your brother?”

“My brother is still alive, so I learned at Paris; he has just married, I was told. The person who told me was not then able to give me his address, but is to give it to me to-morrow; then I shall go to see him. Poor Edouard, he will be greatly surprised to see me! I will bet that he thinks that I am dead!”

Edouard did not reply; he lowered his eyes, uncertain as to what course he ought to adopt, and not daring to admit to himself that it was his brother whom he had found.

Jacques,--for it was he in very truth,--Jacques had relapsed into meditation; with one hand he fondled his long moustaches, and with the other rubbed his forehead as if he wished to clear up his ideas. Edouard stood motionless and silent; his eyes turned sometimes upon the friend of his childhood, but the shabby coat, the old gaiters, and above all, the long beard, checked the impulse of his heart which bade him throw himself into his brother’s arms without stopping to consider his dress, or without wondering what his position might be.

Suddenly an idea seemed to strike Jacques’s mind, and he turned to Edouard, and said abruptly:

“It isn’t impossible that you may know my brother; you seem to belong to fashionable society, and you usually live in Paris, do you not?”

“I do.”

“Perhaps you may have heard of Edouard Murville?”

“Yes--I--I know him.”

“You know my brother?”

“I am Edouard Murville.”

Edouard said these words in such a low tone that no one but Jacques could have heard them; but he was listening closely, and before his brother had finished his sentence, he had thrown himself on his neck, and pressed him in his arms.

Edouard submitted to the embrace with very good grace; but the infernal moustaches still disturbed him; he did not feel at his ease, and he did not know whether he ought to rejoice or to be sorry that he had found his brother.

“I say, why didn’t you tell me your name sooner?” said Jacques, after embracing Edouard again; “didn’t you guess who I was?”

“Yes, but I wanted to be certain.”

“And you--you seem to be rich and happy?”

“I--yes.”

“You are married; and where is your wife? I shall be delighted to know her.”

“My wife----”

Edouard paused; the thought of Adeline, of Madame Germeuil, the suspicions which the latter had conceived the night before, when she saw the face with moustaches; the brusque manners, and the more than careless garb of Jacques, which was in such striking contrast to his own, all this tormented the spirit of the young bridegroom, who, at the best weak and irresolute, tried in vain to harmonize his self-esteem and the sentiments which the sight of his brother awoke in him.

“What the devil are you thinking about?” asked Jacques, taking Edouard’s arm.

“Oh! I was reflecting; it is late, and I must go back to Paris. Important business demands my presence there.”

Jacques made no reply, but his brow darkened, and he walked a few steps away from his brother.

“What are you doing now, Jacques?”

“Nothing,” said Jacques, as he scrutinized Edouard with more attention.

“Nothing? Then what are your means of existence?”

“Up to this time I have never asked anyone for anything.”

“However, you do not seem to be very well off.”

“I am not, that is a fact!”

“What an idea, to wear such moustaches! You don’t expect to see my wife, with those on your face, I fancy?”

“My moustaches will stay where they are; if your wife is a prude and the sight of me frightens her, never fear! she won’t see me very often!”

“You misunderstand me, that isn’t what I meant. But I must leave you; I am expected in Paris; I do not ask you to come with me now--indeed you are expecting to meet someone in this village, I believe.”

“Yes, I am expecting a comrade, a _friend_.”

Jacques emphasized the last word and cast a meaning glance at his brother.

“Well, I must leave you,” said Edouard, after a moment’s hesitation; “we shall meet again soon, I hope. Meanwhile, here, take this.”

As he spoke, Edouard drew from his pocket his purse, which contained about ten louis, and offered it with a trembling hand to his brother; but Jacques proudly pushed Edouard’s hand away, pulled his hat over his eyes, put his hand quickly to the collar of his coat, and seemed to contemplate baring his breast; but he checked himself and said to Edouard in a cold tone:

“Keep your money; I didn’t come here to ask alms of you, and I do not propose to become an object of your compassion; I thought that I had found a brother, but I made a mistake. I do not seem to you worthy to be received into your house; my dress and my face frighten you; that is enough; adieu, you will see me no more.”

Jacques cast an angry glance at his brother, and strode from the garden through the little barred gate, that had remained open.

Edouard, like all irresolute people, stood for a moment without moving, with his eyes fixed upon the gate through which his brother had left the garden. At last his natural feelings carried the day, he ran to the gate, went into the fields, and shouted at the top of his voice:

“Jacques, Brother Jacques!”

But it was too late; Jacques had disappeared, he was already far away, and his brother’s shouts did not reach his ears.

Edouard returned sadly to the garden; he paused in the gateway, and looked out into the fields once more, and as he could see no one, decided at last to close the gate.

“Oh! he will come again,” he said to himself; “he is a hot-headed fellow, who loses his temper in an instant. However, I didn’t mean to insult him; I offered him money, because he seemed in great need of it, and I don’t see why he took offence at that. I gave him to understand that his dress, his aspect, would be out of place in a salon. Was I so very wrong? Can I conscientiously present to my wife and my mother-in-law a man who looks like an escaped convict, at the best? It would be enough to make a man die of shame--and that too on the very morrow of my marriage! With the money I offered him he might have dressed decently; but no! he will not shave his moustaches! Faith, he may do as he pleases; I did what it was my duty to do.”

Edouard strove to convince himself that he had not done wrong; he did not admit that his cold and constrained manner might well have humiliated his brother; but a secret voice arose in the depths of his heart and reproached him for his unkindness. Dissatisfied with himself and disturbed concerning the outcome of that adventure, Edouard returned to his cabriolet and drove away from the village, without giving the concierge any orders.

When he entered Paris, he was still uncertain as to what he should do. At last he decided not to mention the encounter to his wife and his mother-in-law, thinking that it would be time enough to introduce them to his brother when he should call. When he arrived, his Adeline ran to meet him, scolded him fondly because he had been away so long, and asked him about his journey.

“It is all finished,” said Edouard; “the deeds are passed and the pretty house is ours now.”

“And you had no unpleasant meetings?” asked Adeline with a smile.

“I--no--as you see.”

“And you did not see that terrible face with the moustaches again?” asked Madame Germeuil.

“No, I did not see him again.”

“I am glad of it, for that man really looked like the leader of a band of robbers, and for my part I have no sort of desire to see him again, I assure you.”

Edouard blushed; his brother had the appearance of a highwayman! That thought troubled him; he believed that they would guess his secret, and he dared not raise his eyes. But his wife’s caresses dispelled his disquietude to some extent.

“What on earth is the matter, my dear?” asked Adeline; “you seem very pensive and preoccupied to-night.”

“Nothing is the matter, my dear love; the bore of being away from you so long has been my only unhappiness.”

“Dear Edouard! May you always think the same, for then you will never leave me.--By the way, when do we start for our country house?”

“Oh! in a week.”

“A week! That is a very long while!”

“We must give the former owner time to pack up.”

“Ah, yes! that is true, my dear.”