Of a sudden, indeed, she fell upon him, attacking him with thumps and reproaches, but in a half-hearted fashion, with little bursts of laughter, which robbed the chastisement of its sting.
“Wretch and rogue! You’ve been stealing again, have you? You’re no longer satisfied with your salary as acrobat, aren’t you, my fine fellow? You must still prig money or jewels to keep yourself in high hats, must you? What have you got, looter? Eh? Tell me!”
By dint of striking and laughing she had soothed her righteous indignation. She set out again and Saint-Quentin, thoroughly abashed, stammered: “Tell you? What’s the good of telling you? You’ve guessed everything, as usual.... As a matter of fact I did get in through that window, last evening.... It was a pantry at the end of a corridor which led to the ground-floor rooms.. . Not a soul about.... The family was at dinner.. A servant’s staircase led me up into another passage, which ran round the house, with the doors of all the rooms opening into it. I went through them all. Nothing — that is to say, pictures and other things too big to carry away. Then I hid myself in a closet, from which I could see into a little sittingroom next to the prettiest bedroom. They danced till late; then came upstairs... fashionable people.... I saw them through a peep-hole in the door... the ladies décolletées, the gentlemen in evening dress.... At last one of the ladies went into the boudoir. She put her jewels into a jewel-box and the jewel-box into a small safe, saying out loud as she opened it the three letters of the combination of the lock, R.O.B.... So that, when she went to bed, all I had to do was to make use of them... After that... I waited for daylight... I wasn’t going to chance stumbling about in the dark.”’ “Let’s see what you’ve got,” she commanded.
He opened his hand and disclosed on the palm of it two earrings, set with sapphires. She took them and looked at them. Her face changed; her eyes sparkled; she murmured in quite a different voice: “How lovely they are, sapphires!... The sky is sometimes like that — at night... that dark blue, full of light..
At the moment they were crossing a piece of land on which stood a large scarecrow, simply clad in a pair of trousers. On one of the cross-sticks which served it for arms hung a jacket. It was the jacket of Saint-Quentin. He had hung it there the evening before, and in order to render himself unrecognizable, had borrowed the scarecrow’s long coat and high hat. He took off that long coat, buttoned it over the plaster bosom of the scarecrow, and replaced the hat. Then he slipped on his jacket and rejoined Dorothy.
She was still looking at the sapphires with an air of admiration.
He bent over them and said: “Keep them, Dorothy. You know quite well that I’m not really a thief and that I only got them for you... that you might have the pleasure of looking at them and touching them... It often goes to my heart to see you running about in that beggarly get-up!... To think of you dancing on the tight-rope! You who ought to live in luxury!... Ah, to think of all I’d do for you, if you’d let me!”
She raised her head, looked into his eyes, and said: “Would you really do anything for me?”
“Anything, Dorothy.”
“Well, then, be honest, Saint-Quentin.”
They set out again; and the young girl continued: “Be honest, Saint-Quentin. That’s all I ask of you. You and the other boys of the caravan, I’ve adopted you because, like me, you’re war-orphans, and for the last two years we have wandered together along the high roads, happy rather than miserable, getting our fun, and on the whole, eating when we’re hungry. But we must come to an understanding. I only like what is clean and straight and as clear as a ray of sunlight. Are you like me? This is the third time you’ve stolen to give me pleasure. Is this the last time? If it is, I pardon it. If it isn’t, it’s ‘good-bye.’”
She spoke very seriously, emphasizing each phrase by a toss of the head which made the two wings of her hair flap.
Overwhelmed, Saint-Quentin said imploringly: “Don’t you want to have anything more to do with me?”
“Yes. But swear you won’t do it again.”
“I swear I won’t.”
“Then we won’t say anything more about it. I feel that you mean what you say. Take back these jewels. You can hide them in the big basket under the caravan. Next week you will send them back by post. It’s the Château de Chagny, isn’t it?”
“Yes, and I saw the lady’s name on one of her band-boxes. She’s the Comtesse de Chagny.”
They went on hand in hand. Twice they hid themselves to avoid meeting peasants, and at last, after several detours, they reached the neighborhood of the caravan.
“Listen,” said Saint-Quentin, pausing to listen himself. “Yes. That’s what it is — Castor and Pollux fighting as usual, the rascals!”
He dashed towards the sound.
“Saint-Quentin!” cried the young girl, “I forbid you to hit them!”
“You hit them often enough!”
“Yes. But they like me to hit them.”
At the approach of Saint-Quentin, the two boys, who were fighting a duel with wooden swords, turned from one another to face the common enemy, howling:
“Dorothy! Mummy Dorothy! Stop Saint-Quentin! He’s a beast! Help!”
There followed a distribution of cuffs, bursts of laughter, and hugs.
“Dorothy, it’s my turn to be hugged!”
“Dorothy, it’s my turn to be smacked!”
But the young girl said in a scolding voice:
“And the Captain? I’m sure you’ve gone and woke him up!”
“The Captain? He’s sleeping like a sapper,” declared Pollux. “Just listen to his snoring!”
By the side of the road the two urchins had lit a fire of wood. The pot, suspended from an iron tripod, was boiling. The four of them ate a steaming thick soup, bread and cheese, and drank a cup of coffee.
Dorothy did not budge from her stool. Her three companions would not have permitted it. It was rather which of the three should rise to serve her, all of them attentive to her wants, eager, jealous of one another, even aggressive towards one another. The battles of Castor and Pollux were always started by the fact that she had shown favor to one or the other. The two urchins, stout and chubby, dressed alike in pants, a shirt, and jacket, when one least expected it and for all that they were as fond of one another as brothers, fell upon one another with ferocious violence, because the young girl had spoken too kindly to one, or delighted the other with a too affectionate look.
As for Saint-Quentin, he cordially detested them. When Dorothy fondled them, he could have cheerfully wrung their necks. Never would she hug him. He had to content himself with good comradeship, trusting and affectionate, which only showed itself in a friendly hand-shake or a pleasant smile. The stripling delighted in them as the only reward which a poor devil like him could possibly deserve. Saint-Quentin was one of those who love with selfless devotion.
“The arithmetic lesson now,” was Dorothy’s order. “And you, Saint-Quentin, go to sleep for an hour on the box.”
Castor brought his arithmetic. Pollux displayed his copy-book. The arithmetic lesson was followed by a lecture delivered by Dorothy on the Merovingian kings, then by a lecture on astronomy.
The two children listened with almost impassioned attention; and Saint-Quentin on the box took good care not to go to sleep. In teaching, Dorothy gave full play to her lively fancy in a fashion which diverted her pupils and never allowed them to grow weary. She had an air of learning herself whatever she chanced to be teaching. And her discourse, delivered in a very gentle voice, revealed a considerable knowledge and understanding and the suppleness of a practical intelligence.
At ten o’clock the young girl gave the order to harness the horse. The journey to the next town was a long one; and they had to arrive in time to secure the best place in front of the town-hall.
“And the Captain? He hasn’t had breakfast!” cried Castor.
“All the better,” said she. “The Captain always eats too much. It will give his stomach a rest. Besides if any one w
akes him he’s always in a frightful temper. Let him sleep on.”
They set out. The caravan moved along at the gentle pace of One-eyed Magpie, a lean old mare, but still strong and willing. They called her “One eyed Magpie” because she had a piebald coat and had lost an eye. Heavy, perched on two high wheels, rocking, jingling like old iron, loaded with boxes, pots and pans, steps, barrels, and ropes, the caravan had recently been repainted. On both sides it bore the pompous inscription, “Dorothy’s Circus, Manager’s Carriage,” which led one to believe that a file of wagons and vehicles was following at some distance with the staff, the properties, the baggage, and the wild beasts.
Saint-Quentin, whip in hand, walked at the head of the caravan. Dorothy, with the two small boys at her side, gathered flowers from the banks, sang choruses of marching songs with them, or told them stories. But at the end of half an hour, in the middle of some cross-roads, she gave the order: “Haiti.”
“What is it?” asked Saint-Quentin, seeing that she was reading the directions on a sign-post.
“Look,” she said.
“There’s no need to look. It’s straight on. I looked it up on our map.”
“Look,” she repeated. “Chagny. A mile and a half.”
“Quite so. It’s the village of our château of yesterday. Only to get to it we made a short cut through the woods.”
“Chagny. A mile and a half. Château de Roborey.”
She appeared to be troubled and in a low voice she murmured again:
“Roborey — Roborey.”
“Doubtless that’s the proper name of the château,” hazarded Saint-Quentin. “What difference can it make to you?”
“None — none.”
“But you look as if it made no end of a difference.”
“No. It’s just a coincidence.”
“In what way?”
“With regard to the name of Roborey—”
“Well?”
“Well, it’s a word which was impressed on my memory... a word which was uttered in circumstances—”
“What circumstances, Dorothy?”
She explained slowly with a thoughtful air:
“Think a minute, Saint-Quentin. I told you that my father died of his wounds, at the beginning of the war, in a hospital near Chartres. I had been summoned; but I did not arrive in time.... But two wounded men, who occupied the beds next to his in the ward, told me that during his last hours he never stopped repeating the same word again and again: ‘Roborey... Roborey.’ It came like a litany, unceasingly, and as if it weighed on his mind. Even when he was dying he still uttered the word: ‘Roborey... Roborey.’”
“Yes,” said Saint-Quentin. “I remember.... You did tell me about it.”
“Ever since then I have been asking myself what it meant and by what memory my poor father was obsessed at the time of his death. It was, apparently, more than an obsession... it was a terror... a dread. Why? I have never been able to find the explanation of it. So now you understand, Saint-Quentin, on seeing this name... written there, staring me in the face... on learning that there was a chateau of that name...” Saint-Quentin was frightened:
“You never mean to go there, do you?”
“Why not?”
“It’s madness, Dorothy!”
The young girl was silent, considering. But Saint-Quentin felt sure that she had not abandoned this unprecedented design. He was seeking for arguments to dissuade her when Castor and Pollux came running up:
“Three caravans are coming along!”
They issued on the instant, one after the other in single file, from a sunken lane, which opened on to the cross-roads, and took the road to Roborey. They were an Aunt Sally, a Rifle-Range, and a Tortoise Merry-go-round. As he passed in front of Dorothy and Saint-Quentin, one of the men of the Rifle-Range called to them:
“Are you coming along too?”
“Where to?” said Dorothy.
“To the château. There’s a village fête in the grounds. Shall I keep a pitch for you?”
“Right. And thanks very much,” replied the young girl.
The caravans went on their way.
“What’s the matter, Saint-Quentin?” said Dorothy.
He was looking paler than usual.
“What’s the matter with you?” she repeated. “Your lips are twitching and you are turning green!” He stammered:
“The p-p-police!”
From the same sunken lane two horsemen came into the cross-roads, they rode on in front of the little party.
“You see,” said Dorothy, smiling, “they’re not taking any notice of us.”
“No; but they’re going to the château.”
“Of course they are. There’s a fête there; and two policemen have to be present.”
“Always supposing that they haven’t discovered the disappearance of the earrings and telephoned to the nearest police-station,” he groaned.
“It isn’t likely. The lady will only discover it tonight, when she dresses for dinner.”
“All the same, don’t let’s go there,” implored the unhappy stripling. “It’s simply walking into the trap..,. Besides, there’s that man.,. the man in the hole.”
“Oh, he dug his own grave,” she said and laughed. “Suppose he’s there.... Suppose he recognizes me?”
“You were disguised. All they could do would be to arrest the scarecrow in the tall hat!”
“And suppose they’ve already laid an information against me? If they searched us they’d find the earrings.”
“Drop them in some bushes in the park when we get there. I’ll tell the people of the château their fortunes; and thanks to me, the lady will recover her earrings. Our fortunes are made.”
“But if by any chance—”
“Rubbish! It would amuse me to go and see what is going on at the château which is named Roborey. So I’m going.”
“Yes; but I’m afraid... afraid for you as well.”
“Then stay away.”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“We’ll chance it!” he said, and cracked his whip.
CHAPTER II
DOROTHY’S CIRCUS
THE CHTEAU, SITUATED at no great distance from Domfront, in the most rugged district of the picturesque department of the Orne, only received the name of Roborey in the course of the eighteenth century. Earlier it took its name of the Château de Chagny from the village which was grouped round it. The village green is in fact only a prolongation of the court-yard of the château. When the iron gates are open the two form an esplanade, constructed over the ancient moat, from which one descends on the right and left by steep slopes. The inner court-yard, circular and enclosed by two battlemented walls which run to the buildings of the château, is adorned by a fine old fountain of dolphins and sirens and a sun-dial set up on a rockery in the worst taste.
Dorothy’s Circus passed through the village, preceded by its band, that is to say that Castor and Pollux did their best to wreck their lungs in the effort to extract the largest possible number of false notes from two trumpets. Saint-Quentin had arrayed himself in a black satin doublet and carried over his shoulder the trident which so awes wild beasts, and a placard which announced that the performance would take place at three o’clock.
Dorothy, standing upright on the roof of the caravan, directed One-eyed Magpie with four reins, wearing the majestic air of one driving a royal coach.
Already a dozen vehicles stood on the esplanade; and round them the showmen were busily setting up their canvas tents and swings and wooden horses, etc. Dorothy’s Circus made no such preparations. Its directress went to the mayor’s office to have her license viséd, while Saint-Quentin unharnessed One-eyed Magpie, and the two musicians changed their profession and set about cooking the dinner.
The Captain slept on.
Towards noon the crowd began to flock in from all the neighboring villages. After the meal Saint-Quentin, Castor, and Pollux took a siesta beside the caravan. Dorothy again went off. Sh
e went down into the ravine, examined the slab over the excavation, went up out of it again, moved among the groups of peasants and strolled about the gardens, round the château, and everywhere else that one was allowed to go.
“Well, how’s your search getting on?” said Saint-Quentin when she returned to the caravan.
She appeared thoughtful, and slowly she explained:
“The château, which has been empty for a long while, belongs to the family of Chagny-Roborey, of which the last representative, Count Octave, a man about forty, married, twelve years ago, a very rich woman. After the war the Count and Countess restored and modernized the château. Yesterday evening they had a house-warming to which they invited a large party of guests who went away at the end of the evening. To-day they’re having a kind of popular house-warming for the villagers.”
“And as regards this name of Roborey, have you learned anything?”
“Nothing. I’m still quite ignorant why my father uttered it.”
“So that we can get away directly after the performance,” said Saint-Quentin who was very eager to depart.
“I don’t know.... We’ll see.... I’ve found out some rather queer things.”
“Have they anything to do with your father?”
“No,” she said with some hesitation. “Nothing to do with him. Nevertheless I should like to look more closely into the matter. When there is darkness anywhere, there’s no knowing what it may hide.... I should like...”
She remained silent for a long time. At last she went on in a serious tone, looking straight into Saint-Quentin’s face:
“Listen: you have confidence in me, haven’t you? You know that I’m quite sensible at bottom... and very prudent. You know that I have a certain amount of intuition... and good eyes that see a little more than most people see.... Well, I’ve got a strong feeling that I ought to remain here.”
“Because of the name of Roborey?”
“Because of that, and for other reasons, which will compel me perhaps, according to circumstances, to undertake unexpected enterprises... dangerous ones. At that moment, Saint-Quentin, you must follow me — boldly.”
Delphi Collected Works of Maurice Leblanc (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Nine Book 17) Page 285
