CHAPTER VII
The demonstrations which had greeted the Duc de Sairmeuse had beencorrectly reported by Chanlouineau.
Chupin had found the secret of kindling to a white heat the enthusiasmof the cold and calculating peasants who were his neighbors.
He was a dangerous rascal, the old robber, shrewd and cautious; bold, asthose who possess nothing can afford to be; as patient as a savage; inshort, one of the most consummate scoundrels that ever existed.
The peasants feared him, and yet they had no conception of his realcharacter.
All his resources of mind had, until now, been expended in evading theprecipice of the rural code.
To save himself from falling into the hands of the gendarmes, and tosteal a few sacks of wheat, he had expended treasures of intrigue whichwould have made the fortunes of twenty diplomats.
Circumstances, as he always said, had been against him.
So he desperately caught at the first and only opportunity worthy of histalent, which had ever presented itself.
Of course, the wily rustic had said nothing of the true circumstanceswhich attended the restoration of Sairmeuse to its former owner.
From him, the peasants learned only the bare fact; and the news spreadrapidly from group to group.
"Monsieur Lacheneur has given up Sairmeuse," said he. "Chateau, forests,vineyards, fields--he surrenders everything."
This was enough, and more than enough to terrify every land-owner in thevillage.
If Lacheneur, this man who was so powerful in their eyes, considered thedanger so threatening that he deemed it necessary or advisable to makea complete surrender, what was to become of them--poor devils--withoutaid, without counsel, without defence?
They were told that the government was about to betray their interests;that a decree was in process of preparation which would render theirtitle-deeds worthless. They could see no hope of salvation, exceptthrough the duke's generosity--that generosity which Chupin painted withthe glowing colors of the rainbow.
When one is not strong enough to weather the gale, one must bow like thereed before it and rise again after the storm has passed; such was theirconclusion.
And they bowed. And their apparent enthusiasm was all the morevociferous on account of the rage and fear that filled their hearts.
A close observer would have detected an undercurrent of anger and menacein their shouts.
Each man also said to himself:
"What do we risk by crying, 'Vive le Duc?' Nothing; absolutelynothing. If he is contented with that as a compensation for his lostproperty--good! If he is not content, we shall have time afterward toadopt other measures."
So they shouted themselves hoarse.
And while the duke was sipping his coffee in the little drawing-roomof the presbytery, he expressed his lively satisfaction at the scenewithout.
He, this _grand seigneur_ of times gone by, this man of absurdprejudices and obstinate illusions; the unconquerable, and theincorrigible--he took these acclamations, "truly spurious coin," asChateaubriand says, for ready money.
"How you have deceived me, cure," he was saying to Abbe Midon. "Howcould you declare that your people were unfavorably disposed toward us?One is compelled to believe that these evil intentions exist only inyour own mind and in your own heart."
Abbe Midon was silent. What could he reply?
He could not understand this sudden revolution in public opinion--thisabrupt change from gloom and discontent to excessive gayety.
There is somebody at the bottom of all this, he thought.
It was not long before it became apparent who that somebody was.
Emboldened by his success without, Chupin ventured to present himself atthe presbytery.
He entered the drawing-room with his back rounded into a circle,scraping and cringing, an obsequious smile upon his lips.
And through the half-open door one could discern, in the shadows of thepassage, the far from reassuring faces of his two sons.
He came as an ambassador, he declared, after an interminable litany ofprotestations--he came to implore monseigneur to show himself upon thepublic square.
"Ah, well--yes," exclaimed the duke, rising; "yes, I will yield to thewishes of these good people. Follow me, Marquis!"
As he appeared at the door of the presbytery, a loud shout rent the air;the rifles were discharged, the guns belched forth their smoke and fire.Never had Sairmeuse heard such a salvo of artillery. Three windows inthe Boeuf Couronne were shattered.
A veritable _grand seigneur_, the Duc de Sairmeuse knew how to preservean appearance of haughtiness and indifference. Any display of emotionwas, in his opinion, vulgar; but, in reality, he was delighted, charmed.
So delighted that he desired to reward his welcomers.
A glance over the deeds handed him by Lacheneur had shown him thatSairmeuse had been restored to him intact.
The portions of the immense domain which had been detached and soldseparately were of relatively minor importance.
The duke thought it would be politic, and, at the same time,inexpensive, to abandon all claim to these few acres, which were nowshared by forty or fifty peasants.
"My friends," he exclaimed, in a loud voice, "I renounce, for myself andfor my descendants, all claim to the lands belonging to my house whichyou have purchased. They are yours--I give them to you!"
By this absurd pretence of a gift, M. de Sairmeuse thought to add thefinishing touch to his popularity. A great mistake! It simply assuredthe popularity of Chupin, the organizer of the farce.
And while the duke was promenading through the crowd with a proud andself-satisfied air, the peasants were secretly laughing and jeering athim.
And if they promptly took sides with him against Chanlouineau, itwas only because his gift was still fresh in their minds; except forthis----
But the duke had not time to think much about this encounter, whichproduced a vivid impression upon his son.
One of his former companions in exile, the Marquis de Courtornieu, whomhe had informed of his arrival, hastened to welcome him, accompanied byhis daughter, Mlle. Blanche.
Martial could do no less than offer his arm to the daughter of hisfather's friend; and they took a leisurely promenade in the shade ofthe lofty trees, while the duke renewed his acquaintance with all thenobility of the neighborhood.
There was not a single nobleman who did not hasten to press the hand ofthe Duc de Sairmeuse. First, he possessed, it was said, a property ofmore than twenty millions in England. Then, he was the friend of theKing, and each neighbor had some favor to ask for himself, for hisrelatives, or for his friends.
Poor king! He should have had entire France to divide like a cakebetween these cormorants, whose voracious appetites it was impossible tosatisfy.
That evening, after a grand banquet at the Chateau de Courtornieu,the duke slept in the Chateau de Sairmeuse, in the room which had beenoccupied by Lacheneur, "like Louis XVIII.," he laughingly said, "in thechamber of Bonaparte."
He was gay, chatty, and full of confidence in the future.
"Ah! it is good to be in one's own house!" he remarked to his son againand again.
But Martial responded only mechanically. His mind was occupied withthoughts of two women who had made a profound impression upon his byno means susceptible heart that day. He was thinking of those two younggirls, so utterly unlike. Blanche de Courtornieu--Marie-Anne Lacheneur.
The Honor of the Name Page 7
