Books: Gerfaut, v4

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After reading this, the Baron passed the letter to his wife without
saying a word, and resumed his sombre attitude.

"You see what he asks of you?" he said, after a rather long pause, as he
observed the dazed way in which Madame de Bergenheim's eyes wandered over
this letter.

"My head is bewildered," she replied, "I do not understand what he says--
Why does he speak of death?"

Christian's lips curled disdainfully as he answered:

"It does not concern you; one does not kill women."

"They need it not to die," replied Clemence, who gazed at her husband
with wild, haggard eyes.

"Then you are going to fight?" she added, after a moment's pause.

"Really, have you divined as much?" he replied, with an ironical smile;
"it is a wonderful thing how quick is your intelligence! You have spoken
the truth. You see, each of us has his part to play. The wife deceives
her husband; the husband fights with the lover, and the lover in order to
close the comedy in a suitable manner--proposes to run away with the
wife, for that is the meaning of his letter, notwithstanding all his
oratorical precautions."

"You are going to fight!" she exclaimed, with the energy of despair.
"You are going to fight! And for me--unworthy and miserable creature
that I am! What have you done? And is he not free to love? I alone am
the guilty one, I alone have offended you, and I alone deserve
punishment. Do with me what you will; shut me up in a convent or a cell;
bring me poison, I will drink it."

The Baron burst into sardonic laughter.

"So you are afraid that I shall kill, him?" said he, gazing at her
intently, with his arms crossed upon his breast.

"I fear for you, for us all. Do you think that I can live after causing
blood to be shed? If there must be a victim, take me--or, at least,
begin with me. Have pity! tell me that you will not fight."

"But think--there is an even chance that you may be set free!" said he.

"Spare me!" she murmured, shivering with horror.

"It is a pity that blood must be shed, is it not?" said Bergenheim, in a
mocking tone; "adultery would be pleasant but for that. I am sure that
you think me coarse and brutal to look upon your honor as a serious
thing, when you do not do so yourself."

"I entreat you!"

"I am the one who has to entreat you. This astonishes you, does it not?
--While I live, I shall protect your reputation in spite of yourself; but
if I die, try to guard it yourself. Content yourself with having
betrayed me; do not outrage my memory. I am glad now that we have no
children, for I should fear for them, and should feel obliged to deprive
you of their care as much as lay in my power. That is one trouble the
less. But as you bear my name, and I can not take it away from you,
I beg of you do not drag it in the mire when I shall not be here to wash
it for you."

The young woman fell back upon her seat as if every fibre in her body had
been successively torn to pieces.

"You crush me to the earth!" she said, feebly.

"This revolts you," continued the husband, who seemed to choose the most
cutting thrust; "you are young; this is your first error, you are not
made for such adventures. But rest assured, one becomes accustomed to
everything. A lover always knows how to find the most beautiful phrases
with which to console a widow and vanquish her repugnances."

"You are killing me," she murmured, falling back almost unconscious in
her chair.

Christian leaned over her, and, taking her by the arm, said in a low
tone:

"Remember, if I die and he asks you to follow him, you will be an
infamous creature if you obey him. He is a man to glory in you; that is
easy enough to see. He is a man who would drag you after him--"

"Oh! have pity--I shall die--"

Clemence closed her eyes and her lips twitched convulsively.

The first rays of the morning sun fell upon another scene in the opposite
wing of the chateau. Marillac was quietly sleeping the sleep of the just
when he was suddenly awakened by a shaking that nearly threw him out of
his bed.

"Go to the devil!" he said, angrily, when he succeeded in half opening
his heavy eyes, and recognized Gerfaut standing beside his bed.

"Get up!" said the latter, taking him by the arm to give more force to
his command.

The artist covered himself with the clothes up to his chin.

"Are you walking in your sleep or insane?" asked Marillac, "or do you
want me to go to work?" he added, as he saw that his friend had some
papers in his hand. "You know very well I never have any ideas when
fasting, and that I am stupid until noon."

"Get up at once!" said Gerfaut, "I must have a talk with you."

There was something so serious and urgent in Gerfaut's accent as he said
these words, that the artist got up at once and hurriedly dressed
himself.

"What is the matter?" he asked, as he put on his dressing-gown, "you
look as if the affairs of the nation rested upon you."

"Put on your coat and boots," said Octave, "you must go to
La Fauconnerie. They are used to seeing you go out early in
the morning for your appointments with Reine, and therefore--"

"It is to this shepherdess you would send me!" interrupted the artist,
as he began to undress himself; "in that case I will go to bed again.
Enough of that!"

"I am to fight with Bergenheim at nine o'clock!" said Gerfaut, in a low
voice.

"Stupendous!" exclaimed Marillac, as he jumped back a few steps, and
then stood as motionless as a statue. Without wasting any time in
unnecessary explanations, his friend gave him a brief account of the
night's events.

"Now," said he, "I need you; can I count upon your friendship?"

"In life and in death!" exclaimed Marillac, and he pressed his hand with
the emotion that the bravest of men feel at the approach of a danger
which threatens one who is dear to them.

"Here," said Gerfaut, as he handed him the papers in his hand, "is a
letter for you in which you will find my instructions in full; they will
serve you as a guide, according to circumstances. This sealed paper will
be deposited by you in the office of the public prosecutor at Nancy,
under certain circumstances which my note explains. Finally, this is my
will. I have no very near relative; I have made you my heir.

"Listen to me! I do not know a more honest man than you, that is the
reason why I select you. First, this legacy is a trust. I speak to you
now in case of events which probably will never happen, but which I ought
to prepare for. I do not know what effect this may have upon Clemence's
fate; her aunt, who is very austere, may quarrel with her and deprive her
of her rights; her personal fortune is not very large, I believe, and I
know nothing about her marriage settlement. She may thus be entirely at
her husband's mercy, and that is what I will not allow. My fortune is
therefore a trust that you will hold to be placed at her disposal at any
time. I hope that she loves me enough not to refuse this service of me."

"Well and good!" said Marillac; "I will admit that the thought of
inheriting from you choked me like a noose around my neck."

"I beg of you to accept for yourself my copyrights as author. You can
not refuse that," said Gerfaut, with a half smile; "this legacy belongs
to the domain of art. To whom should I leave it if not to you, my
Patroclus, my faithful collaborator?"

The artist took several agitated turns about his room.

"To think," he exclaimed, "that I was the one who saved this Bergenheim's
life! If he kills you, I shall never forgive myself. And yet, I told
you this would end in some tragic manner."

"What business had he there? Is it not so? What can I say? We were
seeking for a drama; here it is. I am not anxious on my own account, but
on hers. Unhappy woman! A duel is a stone that might fall upon a man's
head twenty times a day; it is sufficient for a simpleton if you stare at
him, or for an awkward fellow if you tread upon his toes; but on her
account--poor angel!--I can not think of it. I need the fullest command
of my head and my heart. But it is growing lighter; there is not a
moment to lose. Go to the stable; saddle a horse yourself, if there is
no servant up; go, as I said, to La Fauconnerie; I have often seen a
post-chaise in the tavern courtyard; order it to wait all day at the back
of the Montigny plateau. You will find everything explained in detail in
the note which I have given you. Here is my purse; I need no money."

Marillac put the purse in his pocket and the papers in his memorandum-
book; he then buttoned up his redingote and put on his travelling cap.
His countenance showed a state of exaltation which belied, for the time
being, the pacific theories he had expounded a few days before.

"You can depend upon me as upon yourself," said he with energy.
"If this poor woman calls for my aid, I promise you that I will serve her
faithfully. I will take her wherever she wishes; to China, if she asks
it, and in spite of the whole police force. If Bergenheim kills you and
then follows her up, there will be another duel."

As he said these words, he took his stiletto and a pair of pistols from
the mantel and put them in his pocket, after examining the edge of the
one and the caps of the others.

"Adieu!" said Gerfaut.

"Adieu!" said the artist, whose extreme agitation contrasted strongly
with his friend's calm. "Rest easy! I will look after her--and I will
publish a complete edition--But what an idea--to accept a duel as
irregular as this! Have you ever seen him use a gun? He had no right to
exact this."

"Hurry! you must leave before the servants are up."

"Kiss me, my poor fellow!" said Marillac, with tears in his eyes; "it is
not very manly I know, but I can not help it--Oh! these women! I adore
them, of course; but just now I am like Nero, I wish that they all had
but one head. It is for these little, worthless dolls that we kill each
other!"

"You can curse them on your way," said Gerfaut, who was impatient to see
him leave.

"Oh, good gracious, yes! They can flatter themselves this moment that
they all inspire me with a deadly hatred."

"Do not make any noise," said his friend, as he carefully opened the
door.

Marillac pressed his hand for the last time, and went out. When he
reached the end of the corridor, he stopped a moment, then went back.

"Above all things," said he, as he passed his head through the half-open
door, "no foolish proceedings. Remember that it is necessary that one of
you should fall, and that if you fail; he will not. Take your time--aim
--and fire at him as you would at a rabbit."

After this last piece of advice, he went away; ten minutes after he had
left, Gerfaut saw him riding out of the courtyard as fast as Beverley's
four legs would carry him.

CHAPTER XXV

THE WILD BOAR

The most radiant sun that ever gilded a beautiful September day had
arisen upon the castle. The whole valley was as fresh and laughing as
a young girl who had just left her bath. The rocks seemed to have a band
of silver surrounding them; the woods a mantle of green draped over their
shoulders.

There was an unusual excitement in the courtyard of the chateau. The
servants were coming and going, the dogs were starting a concert of
irregular barks, and the horses were jumping about, sharing their
instinctive presentiment and trying to break away from the bridles which
held them.

The Baron, seated in his saddle with his usual military attitude, and a
cigar in his mouth, went from one to another, speaking in a joking tone
which prevented anybody from suspecting his secret thoughts. Gerfaut had
imposed upon his countenance that impassible serenity which guards the
heart's inner secrets, but had not succeeded so well. His affectation of
gayety betrayed continual restraint; the smile which he forced upon his
lips left the rest of his face cold, and never removed the wrinkle
between his brows. An incident, perhaps sadly longed for, but unhoped
for, increased this gloomy, melancholy expression. Just as the cavalcade
passed before the English garden, which separated the sycamore walk from
the wing of the chateau occupied by Madame de Bergenheim, Octave
slackened the pace of his horse and lingered behind the rest of his
companions; his eyes closely examined each of the windows; the blinds of
her sleeping-room were only half closed; behind the panes he saw the
curtains move and then separate. A pale face appeared for a moment
between the blue folds, like an angel who peeps through the sky to gaze
upon the earth. Gerfaut raised himself on his stirrups so as to drink in
this apparition as long as possible, but he dared not make one gesture of
adieu. As he was still endeavoring to obtain one more glance, he saw
that the Baron was at his side.

"Play your role better," said he to him; "we are surrounded by spies. De
Camier has already made an observation about your preoccupied demeanor."

"You are right," said Octave; "and you join example to advice. I admire
your coolness, but I despair of equalling it."

"You must mingle with my guests and talk with them," Christian replied.

He started off at a trot; Gerfaut followed his example, stifling a sigh
as he darted a last glance toward the chateau. They soon rejoined the
cart which carried several of the hunters, and which Monsieur de Camier
drove with the assurance of a professional coachman.

There was a moment's silence, broken only by the trot of the horses and
the sound of the wheels upon the level ground.

"What the devil ails your dogs?" exclaimed Monsieur de Camier suddenly,
as he turned to the Baron, who was riding behind him. "There they are
all making for the river." Just at this moment the dogs, who could be
seen in the distance, hurried to the water-side, in spite of all that
their leader could do to prevent them. They almost disappeared behind
the willows that bordered the river, and one could hear them barking
furiously; their barks sounded like rage mingled with terror.

"It is some duck that they have scented," observed the prosecutor.

"They wouldn't bark like that," said Monsieur de Camier, with the
sagacity of a professional hunter; "if it were a wolf, they could not
make a greater uproar. Is it by chance some wild boar who is taking a
bath, in order to receive us more ceremoniously?"

He gave the horses a vigorous blow from the whip, and they all rapidly
approached the spot where a scene was taking place which excited to the
highest pitch everybody's curiosity. Before they reached the spot, the
keeper, who had run after the dogs to call them together, came out of a
thicket, waving his hat to stop the hunters, exclaiming:

"A body! a body!"

"A body! a drowned man!" he exclaimed, when the vehicle stopped.

This time it was the public prosecutor who arose and jumped from the cart
with the agility of a deer.

"A drowned man!" said he. "In the name of the law, let nobody touch the
body. Call back the dogs."

As he said these words he hastened to the spot which the servant pointed
out to him. Everybody dismounted and followed him. Octave and
Bergenheim had exchanged strange glances when they heard the servant's
words.

It was, as the servant had announced, the battered body of a man, thrown
by the current against the trunk of the tree, and there caught between
two branches of the willow as if in a vise.

"It is the carpenter!" exclaimed Monsieur de Camier as he parted the
foliage, which had prevented the head from being seen until then, for he
recognized the workman's livid, swollen features. "It is that poor devil
of a Lambernier, is it not, Bergenheim?"

"It is true!" stammered Christian, who, in spite of his boldness, could
not help turning away his eyes.

"The carpenter!--drowned!--this is frightful!--I never should have
recognized him--how disfigured he is!" exclaimed the others, as they
pressed forward to gaze at this horrible spectacle.

"This is a sad way to escape justice," observed the notary, in a
philosophical tone.

The Baron seized this opening with avidity.

"He must have crossed the river to escape," said he, "and in his haste he
made a misstep and fell."

The public prosecutor shook his head with an air of doubt.

"That is not probable," said he; "I know the place. If he tried to cross
the river a little above or a little below the rock--it doesn't matter
which--the current would have carried him into the little bay above the
rock and not here. It is evident that he must have drowned himself or
been drowned farther down. I say, been drowned, for you can see that he
has a wound upon the left side of his forehead, as if he had received a
violent blow, or his head had, hit against a hard substance. Now, if he
had been drowned accidentally while crossing the river, he would not have
been wounded in this manner."

This remark silenced the Baron; and while the others exhausted
conjectures to explain the way in which this tragic event had taken
place, he stood motionless, with his eyes fastened upon the river and
avoiding a glance at the dead body. During this time the public
prosecutor had taken from his pocket some paper and a pen, which he
usually carried with him.

"Gentlemen," said he, seating himself upon the trunk of a tree opposite
the drowned man, "two of you will do me the favor to act as witnesses
while I draw up my official report. If any of you have a statement to
make in regard to this affair, I beg of him to remain here, so that I may
receive his deposition."

Nobody stirred, but Gerfaut threw such a penetrating glance at the Baron
that the latter turned away his eyes.

"Gentlemen," continued the magistrate, "I do not wish any of you to
renounce the sport on account of this untoward incident. There is
nothing attractive about this spectacle, and I assure you that if my duty
did not keep me here, I should be the first to withdraw. Baron, I beg of
you to send me two men and a stretcher in order to have the body carried
away; I will have it taken to one of your farms, so as not to frighten
the ladies."

"The prosecutor is right," said Christian, whom these words delivered
from a terrible anxiety.

After a deliberation, presided over by Monsieur de Camier, the
'tragueurs' and the dogs left in silence to surround the thickets where
the animal had been found to be hidden. At the same time the hunters
turned their steps in the opposite direction in order to take their
positions. They soon reached the ditch alongside of which they were to
place themselves. From time to time, as they advanced, one of them left
the party and remained mute and motionless like a sentinel at his post.
This manoeuvre gradually reduced their numbers, and at last there were
only three remaining.

"You remain here, Camier," said the Baron, when they were about sixty
steps from the last position.

That gentleman, who knew the ground, was hardly flattered by this
proposition.

"By Jove!" said he, "you are on your own grounds; you ought at least to
do the honors of your woods and let us choose our own positions. I think
you wish to place yourself upon the outskirts, because it is always about
that region that the animal first appears; but there will be two of us,
for I shall go also."

This determination annoyed Christian considerably, since it threatened to
ruin the plan so prudently laid out.

"I am going to put our friend Gerfaut at this post," said he, whispering
to the refractory hunter; "I shall be very much pleased if he has an
opportunity to fire. What difference does one boar more or less make to
an old hunter like you?"

"Well and good; just as you like," retorted Monsieur de Carrier, striking
the ground with the butt-end of his gun, and beginning to whistle in
order to cool off his anger.

When the adversaries found themselves side by side and alone,
Bergenheim's countenance changed suddenly; the smiling look he had
assumed, in order to convince the old hunter of his cheerful disposition,
gave place to deep gravity.

"You remember our agreement," he said, as they walked along; "I feel sure
that the boar will come in our direction. At the moment when I call out,
'Take care!' I shall expect you to fire; if, at the end of twenty
seconds, you have not done so, I warn you that I shall fire myself."

"Very well, Monsieur," said Gerfaut, looking at him fixedly; "you also
doubtless remember my words; the discovery of this body will give them
still more weight. The public prosecutor has already begun his
preliminary proceedings; remember that it depends on me how they shall be
completed. The deposition which I spoke to you about is in the hands of
a safe person, who is fully instructed to make use of it if necessary."

"Marillac, I suppose," said Christian, in an evil tone; "he is your
confidant. It is a fatal secret that you have confided to him, Monsieur.
If I survive today, I shall have to secure his silence. May all this
blood, past, present, and future, be on your head!"

Deeply affected by this reproach, the Vicomte bowed his head in silence.

"Here is my place," said the Baron, stopping before the trunk of an old
oak, "and there is the elm where you are to station yourself."

Gerfaut stopped, and said, in a trembling voice:

"Monsieur, one of us will not leave these woods alive. In the presence
of death, one tells the truth. I hope for your peace of mind, and my
own, that you will believe my last words. I swear to you, upon my honor
and by all that is sacred, that Madame de Bergenheim is innocent."

He bowed, and withdrew from Christian without waiting for a response.

Bergenheim and Gerfaut were out of sight of the others, and stood at
their posts with eyes fastened upon each other. The ditch was wide
enough to prevent the branches of the trees from troubling them; at the
distance of sixty feet, which separated them, each could see his
adversary standing motionless, framed by the green foliage. Suddenly,
barking was heard in the distance, partially drowned by the firing of a
gun. A few seconds later, two feeble reports were heard, followed by an
imprecation from Monsieur de Camier, whose caps flashed in the pan. The
Baron, who had just leaned forward that he might see better through the
thicket, raised his hand to warn Octave to hold himself in readiness.
He then placed himself in position. An extreme indecision marked
Gerfaut's attitude. After raising his gun, he dropped it to the ground
with a despondent gesture, as if his resolution to fire had suddenly
abandoned him; the pallor of death could not be more terrible than that
which overspread his features. The howling of the dogs and shouts of the
hunters increased. Suddenly another sound was heard. Low, deep growls,
followed by the crackling of branches, came from the woods opposite our
adversaries. The whole thicket seemed to tremble as if agitated by a
storm.

"Take care!" exclaimed Bergenheim, in a firm voice.

At the same moment an enormous head appeared, and the report of a gun was
heard. When Gerfaut looked through the smoke caused by his gun, at the
farther end of the ditch, nothing was to be seen but the foliage.

The boar, after crossing the clearing, vanished like a flash, leaving
behind him a trail of broken branches--and Bergenheim lay behind the
trunk of the old oak, upon which large drops of blood had already fallen.

CHAPTER XXVI

BERGENHEIM'S REVENGE

On the same morning the drawing-room of the Bergenheim castle was the
theatre of a quiet home scene very much like the one we described at the
beginning of this story. Mademoiselle de Corandeuil was seated in her
armchair reading the periodicals which had just arrived; Aline was
practising upon the piano, and her sister-in-law was seated before one of
the windows embroidering. By the calm attitude of these three ladies,
and the interest they seemed to show in their several occupations, one
would have supposed that they were all equally peaceful at heart. Madame
de Bergenheim, upon rising, had resumed her usual habits; she managed to
find the proper words to reply when spoken to, her dejection did not
differ from her usual melancholy enough for it to become the subject of
remark. A rather bright color in her cheeks heightened her beauty; her
eyes never had sparkled with more brilliancy; but if a hand had been
placed upon her forehead, one would have soon discovered by its burning
the secret of all this unwonted color. In fact, in the midst of this
sumptuous room, surrounded by her friends, and bending over her
embroidery with most exquisite grace, Madame de Bergenheim was slowly
dying. A wasting fever was circulating like poison through her veins.
She felt that an unheard-of sorrow was hanging over her head, and that no
effort of hers could prevent it.

At this very moment, either the man she belonged to or the one she loved
was about to die; whatever her widowhood might be, she felt that her
mourning would be brief; young, beautiful, surrounded by all the
privileges of rank and fortune, life was closing around her, and left but
one pathway open, which was full of blood; she would have to bathe her
feet in it in order to pass through.

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