Books: Gerfaut, v3
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Charles de Bernard >> Gerfaut, v3
He had analyzed Madame de Bergenheim's character well enough to perceive
the least variation in her capricious nature. By the young woman's
frightened attitude, her burning cheeks and the flashes which he saw from
her eyes through her long, drooping lashes, he saw that a reaction had
taken place, and he feared the next outburst; for he knew that women,
when overcome with remorse, always smite their lover by way of expiation
for themselves.
"If I let this recovered virtue have the mastery, I am a lost man for a
fortnight at least," he thought.
He quickly abandoned the dangerous ground upon which he had taken
position, and passed, by an adroit transition, from the most passionate
frenzy to the most submissive bearing. When Clemence raised her large
eyes, in which was a threatening gleam, she saw, instead of an audacious
man to be punished, an imploring slave.
There was something so flattering in this attitude of humility that she
was completely disarmed. She approached Octave, and took him by the hand
to raise him, seated herself again and allowed him to resume his position
beside her. She softly pressed his hand, of which she had not let go,
and, looking her lover in the eyes, said in that deep, penetrating voice
that women sometimes have:
"My friend!"
"Friend!" he thought; "yes, certainly. I will raise no dispute as to
the word, provided the fact is recognized. What matters the color of the
flag? Only fools trouble themselves about that. 'Friend' is not the
throne I aspire to, but it is the road that leads to it. So then, let it
be 'friend,' while waiting for better. This word is very pleasant to
hear when spoken in these siren's accents, and when at the same time the
eyes say 'lover!'"
"Will you always love me thus?" Octave asked, whose face beamed with
virtuous pledges.
"Always!" sighed Clemence, without lowering eyes under the burning
glance which met hers.
"You will be the soul of my soul; the angel of my heaven?"
"Your sister," she said, with a sweet smile, as she caressed her lover's
cheek with her hand.
He felt the blood mount to his face at this caress, and turned his eyes
away with a dreamy air.
"I probably am one of the greatest fools that has ever existed since the
days of Joseph and Hippolytus," thought he.
He remained silent and apparently indifferent for several moments.
"Of what are you thinking?" asked Madame de Bergenheim, surprised by
Octave's silence and rather listless air.
He gave a start of surprise at this question.
"May I die if I tell her!" he thought; "she must think me ridiculous
enough as it is."
"Tell me, I wish you to speak out," she continued, in that despotic tone
which a woman assumes when sure of her empire.
Instead of replying, as she demanded, he gave her a long, questioning
glance, and it would have been impossible at that moment for her to keep
a single secret from her lover. Madame de Bergenheim felt the magnetic
influence of his penetrating glance so deeply that it seemed to her these
sharp eyes were fathoming her very heart. She felt intensely disturbed
to be gazed at in that way, and, in order to free herself from this mute
questioning, she leaned her head upon Octave's shoulder, as she said
softly:
"Do not look at me like that or I shall not love your eyes any more."
Her straw hat, whose ribbons were not tied, slipped and fell, dragging
with it the comb which confined her beautiful hair, and it fell in
disorder over her shoulders. Gerfaut passed his hand behind the charming
head which rested upon his breast, in order to carry this silky, perfumed
fleece to his lips. At the same time, he gently pressed the supple form
which, as it bent toward him, seemed to ask for this caress.
Clemence made a sudden effort and arose, fastening her hair at the back
of her head with an almost shamed haste.
"Will you refuse me one lock of your hair as a souvenir of this hour?"
said Octave, stopping her gently as she was about to replace her comb.
"Do you need any souvenir?" she replied, giving him a glance which was
neither a reproach nor a refusal.
"The souvenir is in my heart, the hair will never leave my bosom! We
live in an unworthy age. I can not boast of wearing your colors in
everybody's eyes, and yet I should like to wear a sign of my bondage."
She let her hair fall down her back again, but seemed embarrassed as to
how to execute his wish.
"I can not cut my hair with my teeth," she said, with a smile which
betrayed a double row of pearls.
Octave took a stiletto from his pocket.
"Why do you always carry this stiletto?" asked the young woman, in a
changed voice; "it frightens me to see you armed thus."
"Fear nothing," said Gerfaut, who did not reply to her question, "I will
respect the hair which serves you as a crown. I know where I must cut
it, and, if my ambition is great, my hand shall be discreet."
Madame de Bergenheim had no confidence in his moderation, and, fearing to
leave her beautiful hair to her lover's mercy, she took the stiletto and
cut off a little lock which she drew through her fingers and then offered
to him, with a loving gesture that doubled the value of the gift. At
this moment, hunting-horns resounded in the distance.
"I must leave you now!" exclaimed Clemence, "I must. My dear love, let
me go now; say good-by to me."
She leaned toward him and presented her forehead to receive this adieu.
It was her lips which met Octave's, but this kiss was rapid and fleeting
as a flash of light. Withdrawing from the arms which would yet retain
her, she darted out of the grotto, and in a moment had disappeared in one
of the shady paths.
For some time, plunged in deep reflection, Gerfaut stood on the same
spot; but at last arousing himself from this dreamy languor, he climbed
the rock so as to reach the top of the cliff. After taking a few steps
he stopped with a frightened look, as if he had espied some venomous
reptile in his path. He could see, through the bushes which bordered the
crest of the plateau at the top of the ladder cut in the rock,
Bergenheim, motionless, and in the attitude of a man who is trying to
conceal himself in order that he may watch somebody. The Baron's eyes
not being turned in Gerfaut's direction, he could not tell whether he was
the object of this espionage, or whether the lay of the land allowed him
to see Madame de Bergenheim, who must be under the sycamores by this
time. Uncertain as to what he should do, he remained motionless, half
crouched down upon the rock, behind the ledge of which, thanks to his
position, he could hide from the Baron.
CHAPTER XIX
THE REVELATION
A few moments before the castle clock struck four, a man leaped across
the ditch which served as enclosure to the park. Lambernier, for it was
he who showed himself so prompt at keeping his promise, directed his
steps through the thickets toward the corner of the Corne woods which he
had designated to Marillac; but, after walking for some time, he was
forced to slacken his steps. The hunting-party were coming in his
direction, and Lambernier knew that to continue in the path he had first
chosen would take him directly among the hunters; and, in spite of his
insolence, he feared the Baron too much to wish to expose himself to the
danger of another chastisement. He therefore retraced his steps and took
a roundabout way through the thickets, whose paths were all familiar to
him; he descended to the banks of the river ready to ascend to the place
appointed for the rendezvous as soon as the hunting party had passed.
He had hardly reached the plateau covered with trees, which extended
above the rocks, when, as he entered a clearing which had been recently
made, he saw two men coming toward him who were walking very fast, and
whom to meet in this place caused him a very disagreeable sensation. The
first man was Mademoiselle de Corandeuil's coachman, as large a fellow as
ever crushed the seats of landau or brougham with his rotundity. He was
advancing with hands in the pockets of his green jacket and his broad
shoulders thrown back, as if he had taken it upon himself to replace
Atlas. His cap, placed in military fashion upon his head, his scowling
brows, and his bombastic air, announced that he was upon the point of
accomplishing some important deed which greatly interested him. Leonard
Rousselet, walking by his side, moved his spider legs with equal
activity, carefully holding up the skirts of his long coat as if they
were petticoats.
Lambernier, at sight of them, turned to enter the woods again, but he was
stopped in his retreat by a threatening shout.
"Stop, you vagabond!" exclaimed the coachman; "halt! If you take a
trot, I shall take a gallop."
"What do you want? I have no business with you," replied the workman, in
a surly tone.
"But I have business with you," replied the big domestic, placing himself
in front of him and balancing himself first on his toes then on his
heels, with a motion like the wooden rocking-horses children play with.
"Come here, Rousselet; are you wheezy or foundered?"
"I have not as good legs as your horses," replied the old man, who
reached them at last, breathless, and took off his hat to wipe his
forehead.
"What does this mean, jumping out upon one from a corner in the woods
like two assassins?" asked Lambernier, foreseeing that this beginning
might lead to some scene in which he was threatened to be forced to play
a not very agreeable role.
"It means," said the coachman: "first, that Rousselet has nothing to do
with it; I do not need anybody's help to punish an insignificant fellow
like you; second, that you are going to receive your quietus in a trice."
At these words he pushed his cap down over his ears and rolled up his
sleeves, in order to give freer action to his large, broad hands.
The three men were standing upon a plot of ground where charcoal had been
burned the year before. The ground was black and slippery, but being
rather level, it was a very favorable place for a duel with fists or any
other weapons. When Lambernier saw the lackey's warlike preparations,
he placed his cap and coat upon an old stump and stationed himself in
front of his adversary. But, before the hostilities had begun, Rousselet
advanced, stretching his long arms out between them, and said, in a voice
whose solemnity seemed to be increased by the gravity of the occasion:
"I do not suppose that you both wish to kill each other; only uneducated
people conduct themselves in this vulgar manner; you ought to have a
friendly explanation, and see if the matter is not susceptible of
arrangement. That was the way such things were done when I was in the
twenty-fifth demi-brigade."
"The explanation is," said the coachman, in his gruff voice, "that here
is a low fellow who takes every opportunity to undervalue me and my
horses, and I have sworn to give him a good drubbing the first time I
could lay my hands upon him. So, Pere Rousselet, step aside. He will
see if I am a pickle; he will find out that the pickle is peppery!"
"If you made use of such a vulgar expression as that," observed
Rousselet, turning to Lambernier, "you were at fault, and should beg his
pardon as is the custom among educated people."
"It is false!" exclaimed Lambernier; "and besides, everybody calls the
Corandeuils that, on account of the color of their livery."
"Did you not say Sunday, at the 'Femme-sans-Tete', and in the presence of
Thiedot, that all the servants of the chateau were idlers and good-for-
nothings, and that if you met one of them who tried to annoy you, you
would level him with your plane?"
"If you used the word 'level,' it was very uncivil," observed Rousselet.
"Thiedot had better keep in his own house," growled the carpenter,
clenching his fists.
"It looks well for a tramp like you to insult gentlemen like us,"
continued the lackey, in an imposing tone. "And did you not say that
when I took Mademoiselle to mass I looked like a green toad upon the box,
..thus trying to dishonor my physique and my clothes? Did you not say
that?"
"Only a joke about the color of your livery. They call the others
measles and lobsters."
"Lobsters are lobsters," replied the coachman, in an imperative tone; "if
that vexes them, they can take care of themselves. But I will not allow
any one to attack my honor or that of my beasts by calling them screws--
and that is what you did, you vagabond! And did you not say that I sent
bags of oats to Remiremont to be sold, and that, for a month, my team had
steadily been getting thin? Did you ever hear anything so scandalous,
Pere Rousselet? to dare to say that I endanger the lives of my horses?
Did you not say that, you rascal? And did you not say that Mademoiselle
Marianne and I had little private feasts in her room, and that was why I
could not eat more at the table? Here is Rousselet, who has been a
doctor and knows that I am on a diet on account of my weak stomach." At
these words, the servant, carried away by his anger, gave his stomach a
blow with his fist.
"Lambernier," said Rousselet, turning up his lips with a look of
contempt, "I must admit that, for a man well brought up, you have made
most disgusting remarks."
"To say that I eat the horses' oats!" roared the coachman.
"I ought to have said that you drank them," replied Lambernier, with his
usual sneer.
"Rousselet, out of the way!" exclaimed the burly lackey at this new
insult; the old peasant not moving as quickly as he desired, he seized
him by the arm and sent him whirling ten steps away.
At this moment, a new person completed the scene, joining in it, if not
as actor at least as interested spectator. If the two champions had
suspected his presence they would have probably postponed their fight
until a more opportune moment, for this spectator was no other than the
Baron himself. As he saw from a distance the trio gesticulating in a
very animated manner, he judged that a disorderly scene was in
preparation, and as he had wished for a long time to put an end to the
quarrelsome ways of the chateau servants, he was not sorry to catch them
in the very act, so as to make an example of them. At first, he stooped
and concealed himself in the thickets, ready to appear for the
denouement.
As Lambernier saw the giant's fist coming down upon him, be darted to one
side and the blow only struck the air, making the coachman stumble from
the force of his impetuosity. Lambernier profited by this position to
gather all his strength, and threw himself upon his adversary, whom he
seized by the flank and gave such a severe blow as to bring him down upon
his knees. He then gave him a dozen more blows upon the head, and
succeeded in overthrowing him completely.
If the coachman had not had a cranium as hard as iron, he probably could
not have received such a storm of fisticuffs without giving up the ghost.
Fortunately for him, he had one of those excellent Breton heads that
break the sticks which beat them. Save for a certain giddiness, he came
out of the scramble safe and sound. Far from losing his presence of mind
by the disadvantageous position in which he found himself, he supported
himself upon the ground with his left hand, and, passing his other arm
behind him, he wound it around the workman's legs, who thus found himself
reaped down, so to speak, and a moment later was lying on his back in
front of his adversary. The latter, holding him fast with his strong
hands, placed a knee, as large as a plate, upon his chest and then pulled
off the cap that his enemy had pushed down over his eyes, and proceeded
to administer full justice to him.
"Ah! you thought you'd attack me treacherously, did you?" said he, with
a derisive chuckle as if to slacken the speed of his horses. "You know
short reckonings make good friends. Oh! what a fine thrashing you are
going to receive, my friend! Take care! if you try to bite my hand,
I'll choke you with my two fingers, do you hear! Now, then, take this
for the green toad; this, for my horses' sake; this, for Mademoiselle
Marianne!"
He followed each "this" with a heavy blow from his fist. At the third
blow the blood poured out of the mouth of the carpenter, who writhed
under the pressure of his adversary's knee like a buffalo stifled by a
boa-constrictor; he succeeded at last in freeing one hand, which he
thrust into his trousers' pocket.
"Ah! you rascal! I am killed!" howled the coachman, giving a bound
backward. Lambernier, profiting by his freedom, jumped upon his feet,
and, without troubling himself as to his adversary, who had fallen on his
knees and was pressing his hand to his left thigh; he picked up his cap
and vest and started off through the clearing. Rousselet, who until then
had prudently kept aside, tried to stop the workman, at a cry from his
companion, but the scoundrel brandished his iron compass before his eyes
with such an ugly look that the peasant promptly left the way open for
him.
At this tragic and unexpected denouement, Bergenheim, who was getting
ready to make his appearance from behind the trees and to interpose his
authority, started in full pursuit of the would-be murderer. From the
direction he took, he judged that he would try to reach the river by
passing over the rock. He walked in this direction, with his gun over
his shoulder, until he reached the foot of the steps which descended into
the grotto. Christian crouched behind some bushes to wait for
Lambernier, who must pass this way, and it was at this moment that
Gerfaut, who was forty feet below him, saw him without suspecting the
reason for his attitude.
Bergenheim soon found out that he had calculated correctly when he heard
a sound like that made by a wild boar when he rushes through the thickets
and breaks the small branches in his path, as if they were no more than
blades of grass. Soon Lambernier appeared with a haggard, wild look and
a face bleeding from the blows he had received. He stopped for a moment
to catch his breath and to wipe off his compass with a handful of grass;
he then staunched the blood streaming from his nose and mouth, and after
putting on his coat started rapidly in the direction of the river.
"Halt!" exclaimed the Baron, suddenly, rising before him and barring his
passage.
The workman jumped back in terror; then he drew out his compass a second
time and made a movement as if to throw himself upon this new adversary,
out of sheer desperation. Christian, at this threatening pantomime,
raised his gun to his cheek with as much coolness and precision as he
would have shown at firing into a body of soldiers.
"Down with your weapon!" he exclaimed, in his commanding voice, "or I
will shoot you down like a rabbit."
The carpenter uttered a hoarse cry as he saw the muzzle of the gun within
an inch of his head, ready to blow his brains out. Feeling assured that
there was no escape for him, he closed his compass and threw it with an
angry gesture at the Baron's feet.
"Now," said the latter, "you will walk straight ahead of me as far as the
chateau, and if you turn one step to the right or left, I will send the
contents of my gun into you. So right about march!"
As he said these words, he stooped, without losing sight of the workman,
and picked up the compass, which he put in his pocket.
"Monsieur le Baron, it was the coachman who attacked me first; I had to
defend myself," stammered Lambernier.
"All right, we will see about that later. March on!"
"You will deliver me up to the police--I am a ruined man!"
"That will make one rascal the less," exclaimed Christian, repelling with
disgust the workman, who had thrown himself on his knees before him.
"I have three children, Monsieur, three children," he repeated, in a
supplicating tone.
"Will you march!" replied Bergenheim imperiously, as he made a gesture
with his gun as if to shoot him.
Lambernier arose suddenly, and the expression of terror upon his
countenance gave place to one of resolution mingled with hatred and
scorn.
"Very well," he exclaimed, "let us go on! but remember what I tell you;
if you have me arrested, you will be the first to repent of it, Baron
though you are. If I appear before a judge, I will tell something that
you would pay a good price for."
Bergenheim looked fixedly at Lambernier.
"What do you mean by such insolence?" said he.
"I will tell you what I mean, if you will promise to let me go; if you
give me into the hands of the police, I repeat it, you will repent not
having listened to me to-day."
"This is some idle yarn, made to gain time; no matter, speak; I will
listen."
The workman darted a defiant glance at Christian.
"Give me your word of honor to let me go afterward."
"If I do not do so, are you not at liberty to repeat your story?"
replied the Baron, who, in spite of his curiosity, would not give his
word to a scoundrel whose only aim probably was to escape justice.
This observation impressed Lambernier, who, after a moment's reflection,
assumed a strange attitude of cool assurance, considering the position in
which he found himself. Not a sound was to be heard; even the barking of
the dogs in the distance had ceased. The deepest silence surrounded
them; even Gerfaut, in the place where he was concealed, could no longer
see them, now that Bergenheim had left the edge of the cliff; from time
to time their voices reached him, but he could not distinguish the
meaning of their words.
Leaning with one hand upon his gun, Christian waited for the carpenter to
begin his story, gazing at him with his clear, piercing eyes. Lambernier
bore this glance without flinching, returning it in his insolent way.
"You know, Monsieur, that when the alterations were made in Madame's
apartment, I had charge of the carving for her chamber. When I took away
the old woodwork, I saw that the wall between the windows was constructed
out of square, and I asked Madame if she wished that the panel should be
fastened like the other or if she preferred it to open so that it would
make a closet. She said to have it open by means of a secret spring. So
I made the panel with concealed hinges and a little button hidden in the
lower part of the woodwork; it only needs to be pressed, after turning it
to the right, and the woodwork will open like a door."
Christian had now become extremely attentive.
"Monsieur will remember that he was in Nancy at the time, and that
Madame's chamber was completed during his absence. As I was the only one
who worked in this room, the other workmen not being capable of carving
the wood as Madame wished, I was the only person who knew that the panel
was not nailed down the length of the wall."
"Well?" asked the Baron, impatiently.
"Well," Lambernier replied, in a careless tone, "if, on account of the
blow which I gave the coachman, it is necessary for me to appear in
court, I shall be obliged to tell, in order to revenge myself, what I saw
in that closet not more than a month ago."
"Finish your story," exclaimed Bergenheim, as he clenched the handle of
his gun.
"Mademoiselle Justine took me into this room in order to hang some
curtains; as I needed some nails, she went out to get them. While I was
examining the woodwork, which I had not seen since it had been put in
place, I saw that the oak had warped in one place because it was not dry
enough when it was used. I wished to see if the same thing had happened
between the windows, and if the panel could open. I pressed the spring,
and when the door opened I saw a small package of letters upon the little
shelf; it seemed very singular to me that Madame should choose this place
to keep her letters, and the thought came to me that she wished to
conceal them from Monsieur."
Bergenheim gave the workman a withering glance, and made a sign for him
to continue.
"They were already talking about discharging me from the chateau's
employ; I do not know how it happened, but the thought entered my head
that perhaps one of these letters would be of use to me, and I took the
first one in the package; I had only time to close the panel when
Mademoiselle Justine returned."
"Very well! what is there in common between these letters and the
criminal court that awaits you?" asked Christian, in an altered voice,
although he tried to appear indifferent.
"Oh! nothing at all," replied the carpenter, with an air of
indifference; "but I thought that you would not like people to know that
Madame had a lover."
Bergenheim shivered as if he were taken with a chill, and his gun dropped
from his hand to the ground.
As quick as thought Lambernier stooped over to seize the gun, but he did
not have time to carry out his intention, for he was seized by the throat
and half choked by an iron hand.
"That letter! that letter!" said Christian to him, in a low, trembling
voice, and he put his face down close to the carpenter's, as if he feared
that a breath of wind might carry away his words and repeat them.
"Let me alone first, I can not breathe--" stammered the workman, whose
face, was becoming purple and his eyes starting out of his head, as if
his adversary's fingers had been a rope.