Part 13
"With this I began to fix certain landmarks in my memory in case I had to make my way back alone. There was no question now in my mind as to the town's character. Half the murders and hold-ups in the large cities are concocted in these villages, and this had rascality stamped all over it. Every corner I turned looked more forbidding than the last--every street seemed to end in a trap--the kind of street a scene-painter tries to produce when he has a murder up a back alley to provide for the third act. And crooked!--well, the tracks of a bunch of fishworms crawling out from under a brick were straight compared to it. When I at last protested--for I was getting ravenous and I must say a trifle uneasy--the beggar bowed low enough for me to see the tail of his jacket over his sombrero, and gave as a reason that any other route would have greatly fatigued the signore, all of which he must have known was a lie. The fact was that if I had known how to get out of the tangle, I would have lifted him by the scruff of his neck and the slack of his trousers and dropped him into the first convenient hole.
"When he did come to a halt I found myself before a low two-story ruin of a house--almost the last house in the village, and on the opposite edge from that which I had entered on my way to the church. It was evidently a common road house, the customary portico covered with grape-vines and a square room on the ground floor, containing one or more tables. In the rear, so I discovered later, was a dreary yard corralling a few scraggly trees--one overhanging a slanting shed under which the cooking was done--and below this tree an assortment of chairs and tables under an arbor, where a bottle of wine and a bit of cheese or bunch of grapes were served when the sun was hot.
"It was now quite dark, and my guide had some difficulty in getting his fingers on the latch of the garden gate. When it swung open I followed up a short path and found myself in a square room which was lighted by a single lamp. Under this sat another oily Italian, in his shirt-sleeves, eating from an earthen bowl. Not a picturesque-looking chap at all, but a fat, swarthy lump of a man with small, restless eyes, stub nose, and flabby lips--one of those fellows you think is fast asleep until you catch him studying you from under his eyebrows, and begin to look out for his knife. The only other occupant of the room was a woman who was filling his glass from a straw-covered flask--a thin, flat-bosomed woman who stooped when she walked, and who sneaked a glance at me now and then from one side of her nose. I might better have slept in the slant and bunked in with the goats.
"My guide bent down and whispered a word in his ear; the man jumped up--looked me all over--a boring, sizing-up look--like a farmer guessing the weight of a steer--bowed grandiloquently, and with an upward flourish of his hand put his house, his fortune, and his future happiness at my feet. There were bread and wine, and cheese and grapes; and there were also eggs, and it might be a slice of pork. As for chicken--he would regret to his dying day that none was within his reach. Would I take my repast in the house at the adjoining table, or would I have a lamp lighted in the arbor and eat under the trees?
"I preferred the lamp, of course, under the trees; picked up the flask of wine, poured out a glass for my guide, which he drank at a gulp, and handed him a franc for his trouble. The woman gave a sidelong glance at the coin and followed him out into the garden; there the two stood whispering. On her return, while she passed close enough to me to graze my arm, she never once raised her eyes, but kept her face averted until she had hidden herself in the kitchen.
"I had selected the garden for two reasons: I wanted the air and I wanted to know something more of my surroundings. What I saw--and I could see now the more clearly, for the moon had risen over the mountain--were two rear windows on the second floor, their sills level with the sloping shed, and a tree with its branches curved over its roof. This meant ventilation and a view of the mountains at sunrise--always a delight to me. It also meant an easy escape out the window, over the roof, and down the tree-trunk to the garden, and so on back to the goatherd if anything unusual should happen. That, however, could take care of itself. The sensible thing to do was to eat my supper, order my coffee to be ready at six o'clock, go to bed in one of these rear rooms, and get back to my work before the heat became intense.
"All this was carried out--that is, the first part of it. I had the rear room, the one I had picked out for myself, not by my choice but by his, the landlord selecting it for me; it would be cooler, he said, and then I could sleep with my window open, free from the dust which sometimes blew in the front windows when the wind rose--and it was rising now, as the signore could hear. Yes, I should be called at six, and my coffee would be ready--and 'may the good God watch over your slumbers, most Distinguished of Excellencies.'
"This comforting information was imparted as I followed him up a break-neck stair and down a long, narrow corridor, ending in a small hall flanked by two bedroom doors. The first was mine--and so was the candle which he now placed in my hand--and 'will your Excellency be careful to see that it is properly blown out before your Excellency falls asleep?' and so I bade him good-night, pushed in the door, held the sputtering candle high above my head, and began to look around.
"It wouldn't have filled your soul with joy. Had I not been tired out with my day's work I would have called him back, read the riot act, and made him move in some comforts. The only things which could be considered furniture were a heavy oaken chest and a solid wooden bed--a box of a bed with a filling of feathers supporting two hard pillows. And that was every blessed thing the room contained except a toy pitcher and basin decorating the top of the chest; a white cotton curtain stretched across the lower sash of the single window; a nail for my towel, a row of wooden pegs for my clothes, and a square of looking-glass which once had the measles. Not a chair of any kind, no table, no wash-stand. This was a place in which to sleep, not sit nor idle in. Off with your clothes and into bed--and no growling.
"I walked to the open window, pushed aside the cotton curtain, and looked out on the sloping shed and overhanging tree, and the garden below, all clear and distinct in the light of the moon. I could see now that the tree had either prematurely lost its leaves or was stone dead. The branches, too, were bent as if in pain.
"The correct drawing of trees, especially of their limbs and twig ends, has always been a fad of mine, and the twistings of this old scrag were so unusual, and the tree itself so gnarled and ugly, that I let my imagination loose, wondering whether, like the villagers, it was suffering from some unconfessed sin, and whether fear of the future and the final bonfire, which overtakes most of us sooner or later, was not the cause of its writhings. With this I blew out the candle and crawled into bed, where I lay thinking over the events of the evening and laughing at myself for being such a first-class ass until I fell asleep.
"How long I slept I do not know, but when I woke it was with a start, all my faculties about me. What I heard was the sound of steps on the shed outside my window--creaking, stealthy steps as of a man's weight bending the supports of the flimsy shed. I raised myself cautiously on my elbow and looked about me. The square of moonlight which had patterned the floor when I first entered the room was gone, although the moon was still shining. This showed me that I had slept some time. I noticed, too, that the wind had risen, although very little seemed to penetrate the apartment, the curtains only flopping gently in the draught.
"I lay motionless, hardly breathing. Had I heard aright--or was it a dream? Again came the stealthy tread, and then _the shadow of a hand_ crept across the curtain. This sent me sitting bolt upright in bed. There was no question now--some deviltry was in the air.
"I slid from under the cover, dropped to the floor, flattened myself to the matting, worked my body to the window-sill, and stood listening. He must have heard me, for there came a sudden halt and a quick retreat. Then all was silent.
"I waited for some minutes, reached up with one hand and gently lowered the sash a foot or more, leaving room enough for me to throw it up and spring out, but not room enough for him to slide in without giving me warning. If the brute tried it again I would paste myself to the wall next the sash where I could see him, and he not see me, and as he ducked his head to crawl in I'd hit him with all my might; that would put him to sleep long enough for me to dress, catch up my traps, and get away.
"Again the step and the shadow. This time he stopped before he reached the window-sill. He had evidently noticed the difference in the height of the sash. Then followed a hurried retreating footstep on the roof. I craned my head an inch or more to see how big he was, but I was too late--he had evidently dropped to the garden below.
"I remained glued to the window-jamb and waited. I'd watch now for his head when he pulled himself up on the roof. If it were the lumpy landlord, the best plan was to plant the flat of my boot in the pit of his stomach--that would double him up like a bent pillow. If it was the brigand with the rosaries, or some of his cut-throat friends, I would try something else. I had no question now that I had been enticed here for the express purpose of doing me up while I was asleep. The mysterious way in which I had been piloted proved it; so did my guide's evident anxiety to avoid being seen by any of the inhabitants. Then there bobbed up in my mind the cool, sizing-up glance of the landlord as he looked me over. This clinched my suspicions. I was in for a scrap and a lively one. If there were two of them, I'd give them both barrels straight from the shoulder; if there were three or more, I'd fight my way out with a chair, as I had done at Perugia.
"With this I came to a sudden halt and moved to the middle of the room. There I stood, straining my eyes in the dim light, hoping to find something with which to brain the gang should they come in a bunch. I took hold of the bed and shook it--the posts and back were as solid as a cart body. The chest was worse--neither of them could be whirled around my head as a club, as I had used the chair at Perugia. Next I tried the door, and found it without lock or bolt--in fact it swung open as noiselessly and easily as if it had been greased. The toy pitcher and basin came next--too small even to throw at a cat. It was a case, then, of bare fists and the devil take the hindmost.
"With this clear in my mind, I laid the pitcher on the floor within an inch of the door, so that the edge would strike it if opened, and again raised the window high enough for me to jump through. I could, of course, have dragged the chest across the door, as a girl would have done, put the basin and pitcher on top, and shoved the head-board of the bed against the window-sash--but this I was ashamed to do; and then, again, the whole thing might be a blooming farce--one I would laugh over in the morning.
"The question now arose whether I should get into my clothes, walk boldly down the corridor, and make a break through the kitchen and square room, with the risk of being stabbed in the garden, or whether I should stick it out until morning. Inside, I could choose my fighting ground; outside was a different thing. Then, again, daylight was not far off.
"I decided to hold the fort; slipped into my clothes--all but my coat--packed my knapsack, laid the basin within striking distance of the pitcher, placed the candle and matches close to my hand, stretched myself on the bed, and, strange as it may seem to you, again dropped off to sleep; only to find myself again sitting bolt upright in bed, my heart pounding away like a trip-hammer, my ears wide open.
"More footsteps!--this time in the corridor. I slid out of bed, crept to the door, and pulled myself together. When the pitcher and basin came together with a clink, he would get it behind the ear--all at once--ker-chunk! He was so close now that I heard his fingers feeling around in the dark for the knob. A steady, gentle push with his hand near the key-hole, and he could then steal in without waking me. Whether he smelt me or not I do not know, for I made no sound--not even with my breath--but he came to a dead halt, backed away, rose to his feet and tiptoed down the corridor.
"That settled all sleep for the night, and it was just as well, for the day was breaking--first the gray, pallid light, then the yellow, and then the rose tint. Nothing like a sunrise to put a fellow's ghosts to flight. So I picked up the basin and pitcher, unhooked my towel, had a wash, finished dressing, leaned out of the window for a while watching the rising sun warm up the little snow peaks one after another, and, shouldering my trap, started along the corridor and so on downstairs.
"The pot-bellied lump of a scoundrel was waiting for me in the square room. He gave me the same keen, scrutinizing look with which he had welcomed me the night before. This time it began with my hair and ended at my boots, which were still muddy from the tramp of the previous evening.
"'I am sorry, your Excellency,' he said, 'but if you had left your shoes outside your door I could have polished them; I was afraid of disturbing you or I should have hunted for them inside.'"
Louis, as he finished, settled his big shoulders back in the chair until it creaked with his weight, and ran his eye around the table waiting for the explosion which he knew would follow. All we could do was to stare helplessly in his face. Le Blanc, who hadn't drawn a full breath since the painter began, found his voice first.
"And he didn't intend cutting your throat?" he roared indignantly.
"No, of course not--I never said he did. I said I was scared blue, and I was--real indigo. Oh!--an awful night--hardly got an hour's sleep."
"But what about the fellow on the shed, and his footsteps, and the shadow of the hand?" demanded Brierley, wholly disappointed at the outcome of the yarn.
"There was no fellow, Brierley, and no footsteps." This came in mild, gentle tones, as if the hunter's credulity were something surprising. "I thought you understood. It was the scraping of the dead tree against the roof of the shed that made the creaking noise; the hand was the shadow cast by the end of a bunched-up branch swaying in the wind. The same thing occurred the next night and on every moonlight night for a week after--as long as I stayed."
"And what became of the soap-suddy brigand with the rosaries?" inquired The Engineer calmly, looking at Louis over the bowl of his pipe, a queer smile playing around his lips.
"Oh, a ripping good fellow," returned Louis in the same innocent, childlike tone--"a real comfort; best in the village outside the landlord and his wife, with whom I stayed two weeks. Brought me my luncheon every day and crawled up a breakneck hill to do it, and then kept on two miles to mail my letters."
"Well, but Louis," I exclaimed, "what a mean, thin, fake of a yarn; no point, no plot--no nothing but a string of----"
"Yes, High-Muck, quite true--no plot, no nothing; but it is as good as your bogus ghosts and shivering bishops. And then I always had my doubts about that bishop, High-Muck. I've heard you tell that story before, and it has always struck me as highly improper. I don't wonder the girl was scared to death and skipped the next morning. And the gay old bishop! Felt cold, did he?" and Louis threw back his head and laughed until the tears rolled down his cheeks.
XII
WHY MIGNON WENT TO MARKET
It is market day at Dives. This means that it is Saturday. On Friday the market is at Cabourg, on Wednesday at Buezval, and on the other days at the several small towns within a radius of twenty miles.
It means, too, that the street fronting the Inn is blocked up with a line of carts, little and big, their shafts in the gutter, the horses eating from troughs tied to the hind axle; that another line stretches its length along the narrow street on the kitchen side of the Inn which leads to the quaint Norman church, squeezing itself through a yet narrower street into a small open square, where it comes bump up against a huge hulk of a building, choked up on these market days with piles of vegetables, crates of chickens, boxes of apples, unruly pigs alive and squealing; patient, tired, little calves; geese, ducks--all squawking; chrysanthemums in pots spread out on the sidewalk; old brass, old iron; everything that goes to supply the needs of the white-capped women and wide-hatted men who crowd every square foot of standing room.
Market day means, too, that Pierre is unusually busy; and so is Lemois, and so are Leà and our little Mignon. Long before any one of us were out of bed this morning, the court-yard was crowded with big red-faced Norman farmers and their fat wives, all talking at once over their coffee, each with half a glass of Calvados (Norman apple-jack) dumped into their cups. At noon, the market over, they were back again for their midday breakfast, and Pierre, who had been working since daylight without a mouthful to eat, then placed on a big table in one of the open kiosks a huge earthen crock, sizzling-hot, filled with tripe, bits of pork, and chicken--the whole seasoned with onions and giving out a most seductive and inviting smell when its earthenware cover was lifted. There were great loaves of brown bread, too, which Lemois himself cut and served to the guests, besides cold pork in slices and cabbage chopped into shreds. When each plate was full, and the knives and forks had begun to rattle, he went indoors for his most precious heirloom--the square cut-glass decanter with its stopper made of silver buttons cut from a peasant's jacket and soldered together--and after brimming each glass, seated himself and took his meal with the others, bowing them out when breakfast was over--hat in hand--as if they were ambassadors of a foreign court--gentleman and peasant, as he is--while they, full to their eyelids, stumbled up into their several carts, their women climbing in after.
And a great day it was for an out-door meal or for anything else one's soul longed for--and they have these days in Normandy in October, when the fire is out in the Marmouset, the air a caress, and a hunger for the vanished summer comes over you. So soothing was the touch of the autumn air, and so lovely the tones of the autumn sky, that Louis hauled out a sketch-box from beneath a pile of canvases, and tucking one of them under his arm, disappeared through the big gate in the direction of the old church. Brierley took down his gun, and, calling Peter, strolled out of the court-yard promising to be back at luncheon, while Herbert, who had risen at dawn and walked to Houlgate to bid The Engineer good-by, dragged out an easy-chair from the "Gallerie," backed it up against the statue of the Great Louis, and under pretence of resting his legs, buried himself in a book, the warm sunshine full on the page.
I, being left to my own devices, waited until the last cart with its well-fed load of Norman farmers had turned the corner of the Inn and quiet reigned again; and remembering that I was host, sought out our landlord and put the question squarely as to what objections, if any, he, the lord of the manor, had to our lunching out of doors too, and at the same table on which Pierre had placed the big crock and its attendant trimmings.
"Of course, my dear Monsieur High-Muck, you shall all lunch in the court, but the menu shall be better adapted to your more gentle appetites than the one prepared for our departed guests. I am at this moment paying the penalty for my share of the indigestible mess--but then I could not hurt their feelings by refusing--and so I have a queer feeling here"--and he ironed his waistcoat with the flat of his hand, his eyes upraised as if in pain. "But let me think--what shall it be to-day? I have a fish which Mignon, who has just gone to the market, will bring back, because I could not go myself nor spare Leà. Those big-eating people came so early and stayed so late. After the fish we will have Poulet Vallèe D'auge, with stewed celery, and at last a Pêche Flambée--and it will be the last time, for the late peaches are about over. And now about the wine--will you pick it out or shall I? Ah!--I remember--only yesterday I found a few bottles of Moncontour Vouvray at the bottom of a shelf in my old wine-cellar. It will bring fresh courage to your hearts. When it does not do that, and you have only dull despair or thick headaches, it should be poured out on the ground"--having delivered which homily, the old man, with his eye on Coco asleep on his perch, sauntered slowly up the court in the direction of the wine-cellar, from which he emerged a few minutes later bearing two dust-encrusted bottles topped with yellow wax--a distinguishing mark which he himself had placed there some twenty years before and had forgotten.
So while Herbert read on, only looking up now and then from his book, Leà and I set the table, stripping it of its rough, heavy dishes, swabbing it off with a clean, water-soaked towel--I did the swabbing and Leà held the basin--bringing from the Marmouset our linen and china, then dragging up the big wooden chairs, which were rain-proof and never housed.
We missed Mignon, of course. Buying a fish, and the market but half a dozen blocks away, should not require a whole hour for its completion, especially since she had been told to hurry--more especially still, since Pierre's pot was on the boil awaiting its arrival, Louis and Brierley having returned hungry as bears. Indeed I had already started in to ask Lemois the plump question as to what detained our Bunch of Roses, when Leà's thin, sharp, fingers clutched my coat-sleeve, her eyes on Lemois. What she meant I dared not ask, but there was no doubt in my mind that it had to do with the love affair in which every man of us was mixed up as coconspirator--a conclusion which was instantly confirmed when I looked into her shrivelled face and caught the joyous, lantern flare behind her eyes.
Waiting until we were out of hearing, Lemois having gone to the kitchen, she answered with a shake of her old head:
"Mignon loiters because Gaston is well again."
"But he has never been ill. That crack on his head did him a lot of good--hurt Monsieur Lemois, I fancy, more than it did Gaston--set him to thinking--maybe now it will come out all right."
"No; it only made him the more obstinate; he has forbidden the boy the place."
"And is that why you are so happy?"
The shrewd, kindly eyes of the old woman looked into mine and then a sudden smile flung a myriad of wrinkles across her face.