The Honor of the Name

by Emile Gaboriau

  CHAPTER XVI

  The cottage where M. Lacheneur had taken refuge was situated on a hilloverlooking the water.

  It was, as he had said, a small and humble dwelling, but it was ratherless miserable than the abodes of most of the peasants of the district.

  It was only one story high, but it was divided into three rooms, and theroof was covered with thatch.

  In front was a tiny garden, in which a few fruit-trees, some witheredcabbages, and a vine which covered the cottage to the roof, managed tofind subsistence.

  This garden was a mere nothing, but even this slight conquest overthe sterility of the soil had cost Lacheneur's deceased aunt almostunlimited courage and patience.

  For more than twenty years the poor woman had never, for a single day,failed to throw upon her garden three or four basketfuls of richer soil,which she was obliged to bring more than half a league.

  It had been more than a year since she died; but the little pathwaywhich her patient feet had worn in the performance of this daily taskwas still distinctly visible.

  This was the path which M. d'Escorval, faithful to his resolution, tookthe following day, in the hope of wresting from Marie-Anne's father thesecret of his inexplicable conduct.

  He was so engrossed in his own thoughts that he failed to notice theoverpowering heat as he climbed the rough hill-side in the full glare ofthe noonday sun.

  When he reached the summit, however, he paused to take breath; and whilewiping the perspiration from his brow, he turned to look back on theroad which he had traversed.

  It was the first time he had visited the spot, and he was surprised atthe extent of the landscape which stretched before him.

  From this point, which is the most elevated in the surrounding country,one can survey the entire valley of the Oiselle, and discern, in thedistance, the redoubtable citadel of Montaignac, built upon an almostinaccessible rock.

  This last circumstance, which the baron was afterward doomed to recallin the midst of the most terrible scenes, did not strike him then.Lacheneur's house absorbed all his attention.

  His imagination pictured vividly the sufferings of this unfortunate man,who, only two days before, had relinquished the splendors of the Chateaude Sairmeuse to repair to this wretched abode.

  He rapped at the door of the cottage.

  "Come in!" said a voice.

  The baron lifted the latch and entered.

  The room was small, with un-white-washed walls, but with no other floorthan the ground; no ceiling save the thatch that formed the roof.

  A bed, a table and two wooden benches constituted the entire furniture.

  Seated upon a stool, near the tiny window, sat Marie-Anne, busily atwork upon a piece of embroidery.

  She had abandoned her former mode of dress, and her costume was thatworn by the peasant girls.

  When M. d'Escorval entered she rose, and for a moment they remainedsilently standing, face to face, she apparently calm, he visiblyagitated.

  He was looking at Marie-Anne; and she seemed to him transfigured. Shewas much paler and considerably thinner; but her beauty had a strangeand touching charm--the sublime radiance of heroic resignation and ofduty nobly fulfilled.

  Still, remembering his son, he was astonished to see this tranquillity.

  "You do not ask me for news of Maurice," he said, reproachfully.

  "I had news of him this morning, Monsieur, as I have had every day. Iknow that he is improving; and that, since day before yesterday, he hasbeen allowed to take a little nourishment."

  "You have not forgotten him, then?"

  She trembled; a faint blush suffused throat and forehead, but it was ina calm voice that she replied:

  "Maurice knows that it would be impossible for me to forget him, even ifI wished to do so."

  "And yet you have told him that you approve your father's decision!"

  "I told him so, Monsieur, and I shall have the courage to repeat it."

  "But you have made Maurice wretched, unhappy, child; he has almostdied."

  She raised her head proudly, sought M. d'Escorval's eyes, and when shehad found them:

  "Look at me, Monsieur. Do you think that I, too, do not suffer?"

  M. d'Escorval was abashed for a moment; but recovering himself, he tookMarie-Anne's hand, and pressing it affectionately, he said:

  "So Maurice loves you; you love him; you suffer; he has nearly died, andstill you reject him!"

  "It must be so, Monsieur."

  "You say this, my dear child--you say this, and you undoubtedly believeit. But I, who have sought to discover the necessity of this immensesacrifice, have failed to find it. Explain to me, then, why this must beso, Marie-Anne. Who knows but you are frightened by chimeras, which myexperience can scatter with a breath? Have you no confidence in me? AmI not an old friend? It may be that your father, in his despair,has adopted extreme resolutions. Speak, let us combat them together.Lacheneur knows how devotedly I am attached to him. I will speak to him;he will listen to _me_."

  "_I_ can tell you nothing, Monsieur."

  "What! you are so cruel as to remain inflexible when a father entreatsyou on his knees--a father who says to you: 'Marie-Anne, you hold inyour hands the happiness, the life, the reason of my son----'"

  Tears glittered in Marie-Anne's eyes, but she drew away her hand.

  "Ah! it is you who are cruel, Monsieur; it is you who are without pity.Do you not see what I suffer, and that it is impossible for me to endurefurther torture? No, I have nothing to tell you; there is nothingyou can say to my father. Why do you seek to impair my courage when Irequire it all to struggle against my despair? Maurice must forget me;he must never see me again. This is fate; and he must not fight againstit. It would be folly. We are parted forever. Beseech Maurice to leavethe country, and if he refuses, you, who are his father, must commandhim to do so. And you, too, Monsieur, in Heaven's name, flee from us.We shall bring misfortune upon you. Never return here; our house isaccursed. The fate that overshadows us will ruin you also."

  She spoke almost wildly. Her voice was so loud that it penetrated anadjoining room.

  The communicating door opened and M. Lacheneur appeared upon thethreshold.

  At the sight of M. d'Escorval he uttered an oath. But there was moresorrow and anxiety than anger in his manner, as he said:

  "You, Monsieur, you here!"

  The consternation into which Marie-Anne's words had thrown M. d'Escorvalwas so intense that it was with great difficulty he stammered out aresponse.

  "You have abandoned us entirely; I was anxious about you. Have youforgotten our old friendship? I come to you----"

  The brow of the former master of Sairmeuse remained overcast.

  "Why did you not inform me of the honor that the baron had done me,Marie-Anne?" he said sternly.

  She tried to speak, but could not; and it was the baron who replied:

  "Why, I have but just come, my dear friend."

  M. Lacheneur looked suspiciously, first at his daughter, then at thebaron.

  "What did they say to each other while they were alone?" he wasevidently wondering.

  But, however great may have been his disquietude, he seemed to masterit; and it was with his old-time affability of manner that he invited M.d'Escorval to follow him into the adjoining room.

  "It is my reception-room and my cabinet combined," he said, smiling.

  This room, which was much larger than the first, was as scantilyfurnished; but it contained several piles of small books and an infinitenumber of tiny packages.

  Two men were engaged in arranging and sorting these articles.

  One was Chanlouineau.

  M. d'Escorval did not remember that he had ever seen the other, who wasa young man.

  "This is my son, Jean, Monsieur," said Lacheneur. "He has changed sinceyou last saw him ten years ago."

  It was true. It had been, at least, ten years since the baron had seenLacheneur's son.

  How time flies! He had left him a boy; he found
him a man.

  Jean was just twenty; but his haggard features and his precocious beardmade him appear much older.

  He was tall and well formed, and his face indicated more than averageintelligence.

  Still he did not impress one favorably. His restless eyes were alwaysinvading yours; and his smile betrayed an unusual degree of shrewdness,amounting almost to cunning.

  As his father presented him, he bowed profoundly; but he was veryevidently out of temper.

  M. Lacheneur resumed:

  "Having no longer the means to maintain Jean in Paris, I have made himreturn. My ruin will, perhaps, be a blessing to him. The air of greatcities is not good for the son of a peasant. Fools that we are, wesend them there to teach them to rise above their fathers. But they donothing of the kind. They think only of degrading themselves."

  "Father," interrupted the young man; "father, wait, at least, until weare alone!"

  "Monsieur d'Escorval is not a stranger." Chanlouineau evidently sidedwith the son, since he made repeated signs to M. Lacheneur to be silent.

  Either he did not see them, or he pretended not to see them, for hecontinued:

  "I must have wearied you, Monsieur, by telling you again and again: 'Iam pleased with my son. He has a commendable ambition; he is workingfaithfully; he will succeed.' Ah! I was a poor, foolish father! Thefriend who carried Jean the order to return has enlightened me, to mysorrow. This model young man you see here left the gaming-house only torun to public balls. He was in love with a wretched little ballet-girlin some low theatre; and to please this creature, he also went upon thestage, with his face painted red and white."

  "To appear upon the stage is not a crime."

  "No; but it is a crime to deceive one's father and to affect virtueswhich one does not possess! Have I ever refused you money? No.Notwithstanding that, you have contracted debts everywhere, and you oweat least twenty thousand francs."

  Jean hung his head; he was evidently angry, but he feared his father.

  "Twenty thousand francs!" repeated M. Lacheneur. "I had them a fortnightago; now I have nothing. I can hope to obtain this sum only throughthe generosity of the Duc de Sairmeuse and his son." These words fromLacheneur's lips astonished the baron.

  Lacheneur perceived it, and it was with every appearance of sincerityand good faith that he resumed:

  "Does what _I say_ surprise you? I understand why. My anger at firstmade me give utterance to all sorts of absurd threats. But I am calmnow, and I realize my injustice. What could I expect the duke to do? Tomake me a present of Sairmeuse? He was a trifle brusque, I confess, butthat is his way; at heart he is the best of men."

  "Have you seen him again?"

  "No; but I have seen his son. I have even been with him to the chateauto designate the articles which I desire to keep. Oh! he refused menothing. Everything was placed at my disposal--everything. I selectedwhat I wished--furniture, clothing, linen. It is all to be brought here;and I shall be quite a _grand seigneur_."

  "Why not seek another house? This----"

  "This pleases me, Monsieur. Its situation suits me perfectly."

  In fact, why should not the Sairmeuse have regretted their odiousconduct? Was it impossible that Lacheneur, in spite of his indignation,should conclude to accept honorable separation? Such were M.d'Escorval's reflections.

  "To say that the marquis has been kind is saying too little," continuedLacheneur. "He has shown us the most delicate attentions. For example,having noticed how much Marie-Anne regrets the loss of her flowers,he has declared that he is going to send her plants to stock our smallgarden, and that they shall be renewed every month."

  Like all passionate men, M. Lacheneur overdid his part. This last remarkwas too much; it awakened a sinister suspicion in M. d'Escorval's mind.

  "Good God!" he thought, "does this wretched man meditate some crime?"

  He glanced at Chanlouineau, and his anxiety increased. On hearing thenames of the marquis and of Marie-Anne, the robust farmer had turnedlivid. "It is decided," said Lacheneur, with an air of the lostsatisfaction, "that they will give me the ten thousand francs bequeathedto me by Mademoiselle Armande. Moreover, I am to fix upon such a sum asI consider a just recompense for my services. And that is not all; theyhave offered me the position of manager at Sairmeuse; and I was to beallowed to occupy the gamekeeper's cottage, where I lived so long. Buton reflection I refused this offer. After having enjoyed for so longa time a fortune which did not belong to me, I am anxious to amass afortune of my own."

  "Would it be indiscreet in me to inquire what you intend to do?"

  "Not the least in the world. I am going to turn pedler."

  M. d'Escorval could not believe his ears. "Pedler?" he repeated.

  "Yes, Monsieur. Look, there is my pack in that corner."

  "But this is absurd!" exclaimed M. d'Escorval. "People can scarcely earntheir daily bread in this way."

  "You are wrong, Monsieur. I have considered the subject carefully; theprofits are thirty per cent. And if besides, there will be three of usto sell goods, for I shall confide one pack to my son, and another toChanlouineau."

  "What! Chanlouineau?"

  "He has become my partner in the enterprise."

  "And his farm--who will take care of that?"

  "He will employ day-laborers."

  And then, as if wishing to make M. d'Escorval understand that his visithad lasted quite long enough, Lacheneur began arranging the littlepackages which were destined to fill the pack of the travellingmerchant.

  But the baron was not to be gotten rid of so easily, now that hissuspicions had become almost a certainty.

  "_I_ must speak with you," he said, brusquely.

  M. Lacheneur turned.

  "_I_ am very busy," he replied, with a very evident reluctance.

  "_I_ ask only five minutes. But if you have not the time to spareto-day, I will return to-morrow--day after to-morrow--and every dayuntil I can see you in private."

  Lacheneur saw plainly that it would be impossible to escape thisinterview, so, with the gesture of a man who resigns himself to anecessity, addressing his son and Chanlouineau, he said:

  "Go outside for a few moments."

  They obeyed, and as soon as the door had closed behind them, Lacheneursaid:

  "I know very well, Monsieur, the arguments you intend to advance; andthe reason of your coming. You come to ask me again for Marie-Anne.I know that my refusal has nearly killed Maurice. Believe me, I havesuffered cruelly at the thought; but my refusal is none the lessirrevocable. There is no power in the world capable of changing myresolution. Do not ask my motives; I shall not reveal them; but restassured that they are sufficient."

  "Are we not your friends?"

  "You, Monsieur!" exclaimed Lacheneur, in tones of the most livelyaffection, "you! ah! you know it well! You are the best, the onlyfriends, I have here below. I should be the basest and the mostmiserable of men if I did not guard the recollection of all yourkindnesses until my eyes close in death. Yes, you are my friends; yes, Iam devoted to you--and it is for that very reason that I answer: no, no,never!"

  There could no longer be any doubt. M. d'Escorval seized Lacheneur'shands, and almost crushing them in his grasp:

  "Unfortunate man!" he exclaimed, hoarsely, "what do you intend to do? Ofwhat terrible vengeance are you dreaming?"

  "I swear to you----"

  "Oh! do not swear. You cannot deceive a man of my age and of myexperience. I divine your intentions--you hate the Sairmeuse family moremortally than ever."

  "I?"

  "Yes, you; and if you pretend to forget it, it is only that they mayforget it. These people have offended you too cruelly not to fear you;you understand this, and you are doing all in your power to reassurethem. You accept their advances--you kneel before them--why? Becausethey will be more completely in your power when you have lulled theirsuspicions to rest, and then you can strike them more surely----"

  He paused; the communicating door opened, and Marie-Anne appeared
uponthe threshold.

  "Father," said she, "here is the Marquis de Sairmeuse."

  This name, which Marie-Anne uttered in a voice of such perfectcomposure, in the midst of this excited discussion, possessed such apowerful significance, that M. d'Escorval stood as if petrified.

  "He dares to come here!" he thought. "How can it be that he does notfear the walls will fall and crush him?"

  M. Lacheneur cast a withering glance at his daughter. He suspected herof a ruse which would force him to reveal his secret. For a second, themost furious passion contracted his features.

  But, by a prodigious effort of will, he succeeded in regaining hiscomposure. He sprang to the door, pushed Marie-Anne aside, and leaningout, he said:

  "Deign to excuse me, Monsieur, if I take the liberty of asking you towait a moment; I am just finishing some business, and I will be with youin a moment."

  Neither agitation nor anger could be detected in his voice; but, rather,a respectful deference, and a feeling of profound gratitude.

  Having said this, he closed the door and turned to M. d'Escorval.

  The baron, still standing with folded arms, had witnessed this scenewith the air of a man who distrusts the evidence of his own senses; andyet he understood the meaning of it only too well.

  "So this young man comes here?" he said to Lacheneur.

  "Almost every day--not at this hour, usually, but a trifle later."

  "And you receive him? you welcome him?"

  "Certainly, Monsieur. How can I be insensible to the honor he confersupon me? Moreover, we have subjects of mutual interest to discuss. Weare now occupied in legalizing the restitution of Sairmeuse. I can,also, give him much useful information, and many hints regarding themanagement of the property."

  "And do you expect to make me, your old friend, believe that a man ofyour superior intelligence is deceived by the excuses the marquis makesfor these frequent visits? Look me in the eye, and then tell me, if youdare, that you believe these visits are addressed to you!"

  Lacheneur's eye did not waver.

  "To whom else could they be addressed?" he inquired.

  This obstinate serenity disappointed the baron's expectations. He couldnot have received a heavier blow.

  "Take care, Lacheneur," he said, sternly. "Think of the situation inwhich you place your daughter, between Chanlouineau, who wishes to makeher his wife, and Monsieur de Sairmeuse, who desires to make her----"

  "Who desires to make her his mistress--is that what you mean? Oh, saythe word. But what does that matter? I am sure of Marie-Anne."

  M. d'Escorval shuddered.

  "In other words," said he, in bitter indignation, "you make yourdaughter's honor and reputation your stake in the game you are playing."

  This was too much. Lacheneur could restrain his furious passion nolonger.

  "Well, yes!" he exclaimed, with a frightful oath, "yes, you have spokenthe truth. Marie-Anne must be, and will be, the instrument of my plans.A man situated as I am is free from the considerations that restrainother men. Fortune, friends, life, honor--I have been forced tosacrifice all. Perish my daughter's virtue--perish my daughterherself--what do they matter, if I can but succeed?"

  He was terrible in his fanaticism; and in his mad excitement he clinchedhis hands as if he were threatening some invisible enemy; his eyes werewild and bloodshot.

  The baron seized him by the coat as if to prevent his escape.

  "You admit it, then?" he said. "You wish to revenge yourself on theSairmeuse family, and you have made Chanlouineau your accomplice?"

  But Lacheneur, with a sudden movement, freed himself.

  "I admit nothing," he replied. "And yet I wish to reassure you----"

  He raised his hand as if to take an oath, and in a solemn voice, hesaid:

  "Before God, who hears my words, by all that I hold sacred in thisworld, by the memory of my sainted wife who lies beneath the sod, Iswear that I am plotting nothing against the Sairmeuse family; thatI had no thought of touching a hair of their heads. I use them onlybecause they are absolutely indispensable to me. They will aid mewithout injuring themselves."

  Lacheneur, this time, spoke the truth. His hearer felt it; still hepretended to doubt. He thought by retaining his own self-possession,and exciting the anger of this unfortunate man still more, he might,perhaps, discover his real intentions. So it was with an air ofsuspicion that he said:

  "How can one believe this assurance after the avowal you have justmade?"

  Lacheneur saw the snare; he regained his self-possession as if by magic.

  "So be it, Monsieur, refuse to believe me. But you will wring from meonly one more word on this subject. I have said too much already. I knowthat you are guided solely by friendship for me; my gratitude is great,but I cannot reply to your question. The events of the past few dayshave dug a deep abyss between you and me. Do not endeavor to pass it.Why should we ever meet again? I must say to you, what I said onlyyesterday to Abbe Midon. If you are my friend, you will never come hereagain--never--by night or by day, or under any pretext whatever. Even ifthey tell you that I am dying, do not come. This house is fatal. And ifyou meet me, turn away; shun me as you would a pestilence whose touch isdeadly!"

  The baron was silent. This was in substance what Marie-Anne had said tohim, only under another form.

  "But there is still a wiser course that you might pursue. Everythinghere is certain to augment the sorrow and despair which afflicts yourson. There is not a path, nor a tree, nor a flower which does notcruelly remind him of his former happiness. Leave this place; take himwith you, and go far away."

  "Ah! how can I do this? Fouche has virtually imprisoned me here."

  "All the more reason why you should listen to my advice. You were afriend of the Emperor, hence you are regarded with suspicion; you aresurrounded by spies. Your enemies are watching for an opportunityto ruin you. The slightest pretext would suffice to throw you intoprison--a letter, a word, an act capable of being misconstrued. Thefrontier is not far off; go, and wait in a foreign land for happiertimes."

  "That is something which I will not do," said M. d'Escorval, proudly.

  His words and accent showed the folly of further discussion. Lacheneurunderstood this only too well, and seemed to despair.

  "Ah! you are like Abbe Midon," he said, sadly; "you will not believe.Who knows how much your coming here this morning will cost you? It issaid that no one can escape his destiny. But if some day the hand of theexecutioner is laid upon your shoulder, remember that I warned you, anddo not curse me."

  He paused, and seeing that even this sinister prophecy produced noimpression upon the baron, he pressed his hand as if to bid him aneternal farewell, and opened the door to admit the Marquis de Sairmeuse.

  Martial was, perhaps, annoyed at meeting M. d'Escorval; but henevertheless bowed with studied politeness, and began a livelyconversation with M. Lacheneur, telling him that the articles he hadselected at the chateau were on their way.

  M. d'Escorval could do no more. To speak with Marie-Anne was impossible:Chanlouineau and Jean would not let him go out of their sight.

  He reluctantly departed, and oppressed by cruel forebodings, hedescended the hill which he had climbed an hour before so full of hope.

  What should he say to Maurice?

  He had reached the little grove of pines when a hurried footstep behindhim made him turn.

  The Marquis de Sairmeuse was following him, and motioned him tostop. The baron paused, greatly surprised; Martial, with that air ofingenuousness which he knew so well how to assume, and in an almostbrusque tone, said:

  "I hope, Monsieur, that you will excuse me for having followed you, whenyou hear what I have to say. I am not of your party; I loathe what youadore; but I have none of the passion nor the malice of your enemies.For this reason I tell you that if I were in your place I would takea journey. The frontier is but a few miles away; a good horse, a shortgallop, and you have crossed it. A word to the wise is--salvation!"

  And w
ithout waiting for any response, he turned and retraced his steps.

  M. d'Escorval was amazed and confounded.

  "One might suppose there was a conspiracy to drive me away!" hemurmured. "But I have good reason to distrust the disinterestedness ofthis young man."

  Martial was already far off. Had he been less preoccupied, he wouldhave perceived two figures in the wood. Mlle. Blanche de Courtornieu,followed by the inevitable Aunt Medea, had come to play the spy.