CHAPTER XVII.

"I wish to speak to you in regard to the mental and physical change which you have noticed in your son, and which is giving you such grave uneasiness."

"Grave indeed, doctor."

"There is a possibility of curing him, I think."

"You really think you can, my dear doctor."

"I? No."

"What do you mean?"

"Have the goodness to read this, madame," said the doctor, drawing a letter from his pocket and handing it to Madame Bastien, who, greatly astonished, took it, and read as follows:

"'MY DEAR PIERRE:--The diligence stops here for an hour and I take advantage of the opportunity thus afforded to write to you.

"'After leaving you last evening the subject of our last conversation engrossed my thoughts to the exclusion of all other subjects, for what I had seen and heard could not fail to make a deep impression upon me.

"'Last night, and this morning as well, I have been unable to drive that poor boy of Madame Bastien's out of my mind. You know, Pierre, that I am rarely deceived in the deductions I draw from certain physiognomies, and what I saw yesterday and what occurred during the passing of the hunting party alike convince me that Madame Bastien's son feels a deadly hatred for the young Marquis de Pont Brillant.'"

Marie, astonished by the justice of this observation, and overcome by her recollection of the terrors of the evening, buried her face in her hands, and began to sob wildly.

"Great Heavens! what is the matter?" cried the doctor.

"Ah, that is only too true. It is hatred, an implacable hatred, that he feels. But who wrote this letter?"

"My best friend, the most generous and noble-hearted man in the world. You remember meeting a stranger at my house on St. Hubert's Day, do you not?"

"The gentleman my son treated so rudely?"

"The same; but pray go on with the letter."

"'I have not endeavoured to discover the cause of this animosity, but daily association with Frederick would undoubtedly enable a patient and sagacious person to make a discovery which is indispensable if he would effect a cure. Confident that an implacable animosity has already taken deep root in Frederick's heart, I ask myself by what strange anomaly he can be a prey to such a deplorable weakness.'"

"But who is this man who seems to know my son better than I do myself,--this man whose penetration frightens me; for it has proved more correct, much more correct than you suppose."

"This man," replied the doctor, sadly, "is a man who has suffered much, seen much, and observed much. That is the secret of his remarkable penetration."

Madame Bastien resumed her reading of the letter.

"'You have told me, my friend, that Frederick has arrived at what you call the transition period, an epoch of life which is often extremely critical and accompanied with grave physical disturbances.

"'Frederick may be strongly affected by these conditions and consequently a prey to feelings which are the more powerful by reason of their very novelty, on account of his mother's close supervision and the salutary influence she has exerted over him up to this time. And how could even Madame Bastien's affection and prudence guard against a danger which neither she nor her son apprehended? She must have been quite as unprepared as her son for the violent passion which seems to have taken possession of him. No, even this judicious and devoted mother has no more cause for regret than if her child had been attacked with measles or some other childish disease.'"

"Don't you entirely agree with my friend in this?" inquired the doctor, "I mean in relation to not blaming yourself for the present state of affairs."

"Yes," replied Madame Bastien, thoughtfully, "I shall show no mock modesty with you, my dear doctor. I am conscious of having performed my duties as a mother to the very best of my ability, and I recognise the fact that it was not within the limits of human possibility for any one to foresee or prevent the misfortune which has overtaken my son."

"One word more, my dear doctor," continued Marie, after a moment's silence. "Your friend saw Frederick for only a few minutes, but long enough, alas! to be treated with inexcusable rudeness. A generous-minded person feels only indulgence and compassion for a poor sick child, I know, but there is a wide difference between this compassion and the profound interest which your friend manifests in Frederick. What has my son done to deserve this interest?"

"The latter part of this letter will explain, I think, but I will say this much by way of explanation. My friend had a brother very much younger than himself, of whom he had entire charge after his father's death. My friend idolised this brother, who was about Frederick's age. Like him, he was extremely handsome; like him, he was passionately loved, not by a mother, but by the tenderest of brothers."

"And what became of him?" inquired Marie, with interest.

"My friend lost this brother six years ago."

"Ah, now I understand," cried Marie, deeply moved. Then even more thoughtfully she resumed the reading of the letter:

"'I am almost positive that Frederick has never evinced any lack of confidence in his mother up to this time because he has had nothing to hide from her, but the more reprehensible the secret he is concealing from his mother is now at this present time, the more impenetrable he is likely to be.

"'But now the malady is known to us, what are the best means or the chances of a cure?

"'The first thing to be done is to discover the cause of Frederick's animosity. How is this discovery to be effected? Frederick loves his mother devotedly, nevertheless he has remained deaf to her entreaties, so it is almost certain that he will never tell her his unhappy secret now, partly from a fear of forfeiting the respect of his friends, partly from a fear of imperilling his prospect of vengeance, the inevitable consequence of hatred when it is as energetic and intense as Frederick's seems to be.'"

Madame Bastien trembled violently as she read this prophecy which the scene she had lately witnessed in the forest verified but too well, and it was in a voice full of emotion she continued:

"'Consequently it seems almost certain that Madame Bastien must renounce all hope of gaining her son's confidence. That being the case, shall she resort to penetration, that compound of watchfulness, dissimulation, and trickery? for to ferret out a secret, at least a jealously guarded secret, one must employ all sorts of cunning expedients.

"'Can a woman like Madame Bastien play such a difficult rôle even if she desire to do so, a rôle which requires so much cool calculation and dissimulation?

"'No, the poor mother would blush and pale by turn, and in spite of her resolution she would hesitate at every step, even though she felt such a course might effect her son's salvation.'"

Madame Bastien's head drooped, two big tears rolled slowly down her cheeks, her hands fell inertly upon her knees, and she murmured, with a deep sigh:

"What he says is only too true. I recognise my utter powerlessness."

"Don't despair, I beseech you," cried the doctor, earnestly. "Do you suppose I would ever have brought you this letter, or that my friend would ever have written it, if he had not felt sure he had found a means of remedying this evil? Go on, I beg of you."

"'In my opinion,'" Marie continued, "'Frederick has reached an age when the most devoted and intelligent maternal tenderness will no longer suffice for his guidance.

"'Some knowledge of and experience in a man's life is needed to arm him against the many temptations of which a woman is entirely ignorant, and against which it is consequently well-nigh impossible for her to protect her son.

"'An intelligent and devoted father might accomplish this difficult task successfully, but as M. Bastien's business keeps him so much from home, Frederick needs a man of feeling, honour, integrity, and experience,--a man who understands the full importance of the task of fashioning a youth into a man.

"'Such a person, aided by the information Madame Bastien could give him, and, above all, by the influence she must still possess over her son, such a person could, I feel sure, by patient study and observation eventually discover Frederick's secret, and assist his mother in combating and finally destroying this animosity in the heart of this unfortunate youth, and then continue the education which Madame Bastien has so admirably begun.'"

"This is only too true," commented Madame Bastien. "I have felt the necessity of providing a tutor for my son for some time, as you know, my dear doctor. The tutor I engaged did not fulfil all my requirements by any means, but he was fairly competent, and endowed with an unusual amount of patience and amiability. Unfortunately, my son's irascibility of temper drove him away. Now, in the seclusion in which I live, and for the very limited amount of money my husband has consented to expend for this purpose, how can I hope to find such a tutor as your friend describes? Besides, how can I induce Frederick to accept a tutor in his present irritated state of mind? Besides, the more conscious a tutor is of his value, his devotion, and his dignity, the less inclined he will be to submit to my son's violence. Alas! you see I shall be obliged to renounce this means, valuable as I know it to be."

The young mother resumed her reading.

"'If Madame Bastien for any special reason does not desire to employ a tutor, there is another course which may not prove equally beneficial, but which will at least serve to divert his mind from the idea which seems to be dominating it,--that is for his mother to start with him on a long journey.'"

"I had made up my mind to do that very thing," said Marie. "This very evening I wrote to my husband informing him of my decision. I cannot be wrong this time, as I agree with your friend on this point, so--"

"Yes, but in my friend's opinion, as you will see if you read on a little further, this journey is only a palliative measure."

Madame Bastien read as follows:

"'I do not doubt the beneficial effects of such a journey on Frederick's mind, but unhappily it will only divert his mind from this unfortunate idea, not destroy it. A journey may, I repeat, serve to ameliorate Frederick's mental condition and enable his mother to gain time, a very important consideration, for I know there will necessarily be considerable difficulty in immediately finding a person capable of undertaking this mission. In fact, I am so conscious of the many difficulties that, if I thought my offer would be acceptable and above all seemly, I should be glad to offer myself to Madame Bastien as Frederick's tutor.'"

Marie's astonishment was so intense that she paused suddenly, and thinking she could not have read the letter aright, she read the line over again aloud in order to satisfy herself that her eyes had not played her false.

"'_I should be glad to offer myself to Madame Bastien as Frederick's tutor._'"

"Yes," said the doctor, "and if he says it he means it."

"Pardon me, doctor," stammered the young mother, overwhelmed with astonishment, "but the amazement this--this unexpected, incomprehensible offer causes me--"

"Incomprehensible, no. When you know the person who makes this offer better, you are the very person to understand and appreciate the feeling that prompted it."

"But without knowing me, doctor--"

"In the first place he does know you, for I admitted, did I not? that I had been very indiscreet; besides, would any other tutor that offered himself be any better acquainted with you?"

"But--but your friend has never been a tutor?"

"No; yet from his letter can you not see that he is a just, generous, and judicious person? As to his capabilities, I can vouch for them. But read on, please."

"'This proposition will doubtless astonish you, my dear friend, as I left you last evening for Nantes, from which place I was to embark for a long voyage. Moreover, I have never been a tutor, the modest fortune at my disposal preventing the necessity of following any regular avocation; last but not least, Madame Bastien does not know me, though I ask her to give me the greatest proof of confidence that it is in her power to grant, that is, to allow me to share the oversight of Frederick with her.

"'The first moment of surprise over, my friend, you will recollect that, though I have endeavoured to impart a useful aim to my travels, I adopted this roving life in the hope of finding distraction from the intense grief the loss of my poor brother caused me. Now after several hours of reflection, I am not only willing but anxious to attempt Frederick's cure. A very extraordinary desire this will doubtless appear to those who do not know me, but perfectly natural to those who do know me intimately. Since Fernand's death all boys of his age inspire me with a profound interest; and since I have reflected long and carefully upon the seriousness of Frederick's mental condition and his mother's increasing anxiety, as well as the obstacles she must overcome in order to ensure her son's recovery, I think I have devised a way of effecting a cure. It seems to me, too, that I should be paying the greatest possible tribute of affection and respect to my poor Fernand's memory by doing for Frederick precisely what I had hoped to do for my own brother, and that this would not only be a wholesome distraction, but the only possible consolation in my grief.

"'Now you have heard my reasons I feel sure my decision will no longer astonish you; and if my offer is accepted I shall fulfil my duties conscientiously.

"'From what I know of Madame Bastien, I feel sure that she will understand my motives perfectly; so, on reflection, I think it would be advisable for you to show her this letter, though it was really written for your eye alone. You are in a position to answer any inquiries Madame Bastien may desire to make concerning me. You know me and my life; so say whatever you think you are justified in saying to satisfy Madame Bastien that I am worthy of her confidence.

"'Write me at Nantes. It is absolutely necessary that I should have an answer this day week, as the _Endymion_, on which I have engaged passage, sails on the fourteenth, wind permitting; so desiring to give Madame Bastien the longest possible time for reflection, I seize this opportunity to write so my letter may reach you twenty-four hours earlier.

"'If my offer is refused I shall take my intended journey.

"'The diligence is about to start, so I must bid you a hasty farewell, my dear Pierre. I have only time to address this letter and assure you once more of my devoted affection.

"'HENRI DAVID.'"