The Honor of the Name

by Emile Gaboriau

  CHAPTER XVIII

  After his son's confession, M. d'Escorval was prudent enough to make noallusion to the hopes he, himself, entertained.

  "My poor Maurice," he thought, "is heart-broken, but resigned. It isbetter for him to remain without hope than to be exposed to the dangerof another disappointment."

  But passion is not always blind. What the baron concealed, Mauricedivined; and he clung to this faint hope as tenaciously as a drowningman clings to the plank which is his only hope of salvation.

  If he asked his parents no questions it was only because he wasconvinced that they would not tell him the truth.

  But he watched all that went on in the house with that subtleness ofpenetration which fever so often imparts.

  Not one of his father's movements escaped his vigilant eye and ear.

  Consequently, he heard him put on his boots, ask for his hat, and selecta cane from among those standing in the vestibule. He also heard theouter gate grate upon its hinges.

  "My father is going out," he said to himself.

  And weak as he was, he succeeded in dragging himself to the window intime to satisfy himself of the truth of his conjectures.

  "If my father is going out," he thought, "it can only be to visitMonsieur Lacheneur---then he has not relinquished all hope."

  An arm-chair was standing nearby; he sank into it, intending to watchfor his father's return; by doing so, he might know his destiny a fewmoments sooner.

  Three long hours passed before the baron returned.

  By his father's dejected manner he plainly saw that all hope was lost.He was sure of it; as sure as the criminal who reads the fatal verdictin the solemn face of the judge.

  He had need of all his energy to regain his couch. For a moment he feltthat he was dying.

  But he was ashamed of this weakness, which he judged unworthy of him. Hedetermined to know what had passed--to know the details.

  He rang, and told the servant that he wished to speak to his father. M.d'Escorval promptly made his appearance.

  "Well?" cried Maurice.

  M. d'Escorval felt that denial was useless.

  "Lacheneur is deaf to my remonstrances and to my entreaties," hereplied, sadly. "Nothing remains for you but to submit, my son. Ishall not tell you that time will assuage the sorrow that now seemsinsupportable--you would not believe me. But I do say to you, that youare a man, and that you must prove your courage. I say even more:fight against thoughts of Marie-Anne as a traveller on the verge of aprecipice fights against the thought of vertigo."

  "Have you seen Marie-Anne, father? Have you spoken to her?"

  "I found her even more inflexible than Lacheneur."

  "They reject me, and they receive Chanlouineau, perhaps."

  "Chanlouineau is living there."

  "My God! And Martial de Sairmeuse?"

  "He is their familiar guest. I saw him there." That each of theseresponses fell upon Maurice like a thunder-bolt was only too evident.

  But M. d'Escorval had armed himself with the impassable courage ofa surgeon who does not relax his hold on his instruments because thepatient groans and writhes in agony.

  M. d'Escorval wished to extinguish the last ray of hope in the heart ofhis son.

  "It is evident that Monsieur Lacheneur has lost his reason!" exclaimedMaurice.

  The baron shook his head despondently. "I thought so myself, at first,"he murmured.

  "But what does he say in justification of his conduct? He must saysomething."

  "Nothing; _he_ refuses any explanation."

  "And you, father, with all your knowledge of human nature, with all yourwide experience, have not been able to fathom his intentions?"

  "I have my suspicions," M. d'Escorval replied; "but only suspicions.It is possible that Lacheneur, listening to the voice of hatred, isdreaming of a terrible revenge. Who knows if he does not think oforganizing some conspiracy, of which he is to be the leader? Thesesuppositions would explain everything. Chanlouineau is his aider andabettor; and he pretends to be reconciled to the Marquis de Sairmeuse inorder to get information through him----"

  The blood had returned to the pale cheeks of Maurice.

  "Such a conspiracy would not explain Monsieur Lacheneur's obstinaterejection of my suit."

  "Alas! yes, my poor boy. It is through Marie-Anne that Lacheneur exertssuch an influence over Chanlouineau and the Marquis de Sairmeuse. If shebecame your wife to-day, they would desert him tomorrow. Then, too, itis precisely because he loves us that he is determined we shall not bemixed up in an enterprise the success of which is extremely doubtful.But these are mere conjectures."

  "Then I see that it is necessary to submit, to be resigned; forget, Icannot," faltered Maurice.

  He said this because he wished to reassure his father; but he thoughtexactly the opposite.

  "If Lacheneur is organizing a conspiracy," he said, to himself, "hemust need assistance. Why should I not offer mine? If I aid him inhis preparations, if I share his hopes and his dangers, it will beimpossible for him to refuse me the hand of his daughter. Whatever hemay desire to undertake, I can surely be of greater assistance thanChanlouineau."

  From that moment Maurice thought only of doing everything possible tohasten his convalescence. This was so rapid, so extraordinarily rapid,as to astonish Abbe Midon, who had taken the place of the physician fromMontaignac.

  "I never would have believed that Maurice could have been thusconsoled," said Mme. d'Escorval, delighted to see her son's wonderfulimprovement in health and spirits.

  But the baron made no response. He regarded this almost miraculousrecovery with distrust; he was assailed by a vague suspicion of thetruth.

  He questioned his son, but skilfully as he did it, he could draw nothingfrom him.

  Maurice had decided to say nothing to his parents. What good would it doto trouble them? Besides, he feared remonstrance and opposition, and hewas resolved to carry out his plans, even if he was compelled to leavethe paternal roof.

  In the second week of September the abbe declared that Maurice mightresume his ordinary life, and that, as the weather was pleasant, itwould be well for him to spend much of his time in the open air.

  In his delight, Maurice embraced the worthy priest.

  "What happiness!" he exclaimed; "then I can hunt once more!"

  He really cared but little for the chase; but he deemed it expedientto pretend a great passion for it, since it would furnish him with anexcuse for frequent and protracted absences.

  Never had he felt more happy than on the morning when, with his gun uponhis shoulder, he crossed the Oiselle and started for the abode of M.Lacheneur. On reaching the little grove on the Reche, he paused for amoment at a place which commanded a view of the cottage. While he stoodthere, he saw Jean Lacheneur and Chanlouineau leave the house, eachladen with a pedler's pack.

  Maurice was therefore sure that M. Lacheneur and Marie-Anne were alonein the house.

  He hastened to the cottage and entered without stopping to rap.

  Marie-Anne and her father were kneeling on the hearth, upon which a hugefire was blazing.

  On hearing the door open, they turned; and at the sight of Maurice, theyboth sprang up, blushing and confused.

  "What brings you here?" they exclaimed in the same breath.

  Under other circumstances, Maurice d'Escorval would have been dismayedby such a hostile greeting, but now he scarcely noticed it.

  "You have no business to return here against my wishes, and after what Ihave said to you, Monsieur d'Escorval," said Lacheneur, rudely.

  Maurice smiled, he was perfectly cool, and not a detail of the scenebefore him had escaped his notice. If he had felt any doubts before,they were now dissipated. He saw upon the fire a large kettle ofmelted lead, and several bullet-moulds stood on the hearth, beside theandirons.

  "If I venture to present myself at your house, Monsieur," said Maurice,gravely and impressively, "it is because I know all. I have discoveredyour revengeful project. You are
looking for men to aid you, are younot? Very well! look me in the face, in the eyes, and tell me if I amnot one of those whom a leader is glad to enroll among his followers."

  M. Lacheneur was terribly agitated.

  "I do not know what you mean," he faltered, forgetting his feignedanger; "I have no projects."

  "Would you assert this upon oath? Why are you casting these bullets? Youare clumsy conspirators. You should lock your door; someone else mighthave entered."

  And adding example to precept, he turned and pushed the bolt.

  "This is only an imprudence," he continued; "but to reject a soldier whocomes to you voluntarily would be a fault for which your associate wouldhave a right to call you to account. I have no desire, understand me,to force myself into your confidence. No, I give myself to you blindly,body and soul. Whatever your cause may be, I declare it mine; what youwish, I wish; I adopt your plans; your enemies are my enemies; command,I will obey. I ask only one favor, that of fighting, of triumphing, orof dying by your side."

  "Oh! refuse, father!" exclaimed Marie-Anne; "refuse. To accept thisoffer would be a crime!"

  "A crime! And why, if you please?"

  "Because our cause is not your cause; because its success is doubtful;because dangers surround us on every side."

  A scornful exclamation from Maurice interrupted her.

  "And it is you who think to dissuade me by pointing out the dangers thatthreaten you, the dangers that you are braving----"

  "Maurice!"

  "So if imminent peril menaced me, instead of coming to my aid you woulddesert me? You would hide yourself, saying, 'Let him perish, so that Ibe saved!' Speak! Would you do this?"

  She averted her face and made no reply. She could not force herself toutter an untruth; and she was unwilling to answer: "I would act as youare acting." She waited for her father's decision.

  "If I should comply with your request, Maurice," said M. Lacheneur, "inless than three days you would curse me, and ruin us by some outburstof anger. You love Marie-Anne. Could you see, unmoved, the frightfulposition in which she is placed? Remember, she must not discourage theaddresses either of Chanlouineau or of the Marquis de Sairmeuse. Youregard me--oh, I know as well as you do that it is a shameful and odiousrole that I impose upon her--that she is compelled to play a partin which she will lose a young girl's most precious possession--herreputation."

  Maurice did not wince. "So be it," he said, calmly. "Marie-Anne's fatewill be that of all women who have devoted themselves to the politicaladvancement of the man whom they love, be he father, brother, or lover.She will be slandered, insulted, calumniated. What does it matter? Shemay continue her task. I consent to it, for I shall never doubt her, andI shall know how to hold my peace. If we succeed, she shall be my wife;if we fail----"

  The gesture which concluded the sentence said more strongly than anyprotestations, that he was ready, resigned to anything.

  M. Lacheneur was greatly moved.

  "At least give me time for reflection," said he.

  "There is no necessity for further reflection, Monsieur."

  "But you are only a child, Maurice; and your father is my friend."

  "What of that?"

  "Rash boy! do you not understand that by compromising yourself you alsocompromise Baron d'Escorval? You think you are risking only your ownhead; you are endangering your father's life----"

  But Maurice violently interrupted him.

  "There has been too much parleying already!" he exclaimed; "there havebeen too many remonstrances. Answer me in a word! Only understand this:if you reject me, I will return to my father's house, and with this gunwhich I hold in my hand I will blow out my brains."

  This was no idle threat. It was evident that what he said, that would hedo. His listeners were so convinced of this, that Marie-Anne turned toher father with clasped hands and a look of entreaty.

  "You are one of us, then," said M. Lacheneur, sternly; "but do notforget that you forced me to consent by threats; and whatever may happento you or yours, remember that you would have it so."

  But these gloomy words produced no impression upon Maurice; he was wildwith joy.

  "Now," continued M. Lacheneur, "I must tell you my hopes, and acquaintyou with the cause for which I am laboring----"

  "What does that matter to me?" Maurice exclaimed, gayly; and, springingtoward Marie-Anne, he seized her hand and raised it to his lips, crying,with the joyous laugh of youth:

  "My cause--here it is!"

  Lacheneur turned away. Perhaps he recollected that a sacrifice of hispride was all that was necessary to assure the happiness of these poorchildren.

  But if a feeling of remorse entered his mind, he drove it away, and withincreased sternness, he said:

  "Still, Monsieur d'Escorval, it is necessary for you to understand ouragreement."

  "Make known your conditions, sir."

  "First, your visits here--after certain rumors that I have put incirculation--would arouse suspicion. You must come here only at night,and then only at hours that have been agreed upon in advance--never whenyou are not expected."

  The attitude of Maurice expressed his entire consent.

  "Moreover, you must find some way to cross the river without havingrecourse to the ferryman, who is a dangerous fellow."

  "We have an old skiff. I will persuade my father to have it repaired."

  "Very well. Will you also promise me to avoid the Marquis de Sairmeuse?"

  "I will."

  "Wait a moment; we must be prepared for any emergency. It may bethat, in spite of our precautions, you will meet him here. Monsieur deSairmeuse is arrogance itself; and he hates you. You detest him, and youare very hasty. Swear to me that if he provokes you, you will ignore hisinsults."

  "But I should be considered a coward, Monsieur!"

  "Probably. Will you swear?"

  Maurice hesitated, but an imploring look from Marie-Anne decided him.

  "I swear!" he said, gravely.

  "As far as Chanlouineau is concerned, it would be better not to let himknow of our agreement--but I will take care of this matter."

  M. Lacheneur paused and reflected for a moment, as if striving todiscover if he had forgotten anything.

  "Nothing remains, Maurice," he resumed, "but to give you a last and veryimportant piece of advice. Do you know my son?"

  "Certainly; we were formerly the best of comrades during our vacations."

  "Very well. When you know my secret--for I shall confide it to youwithout reserve--beware of Jean."

  "What, sir?"

  "Beware of Jean. I repeat it."

  And he blushed deeply, as he added:

  "Ah! it is a painful avowal for a father; but I have no confidence in myown son. He knows no more in regard to my plans than I told him on theday of his arrival. I deceive him, because I fear he might betray us.Perhaps it would be wise to send him away; but in that case, what wouldpeople say? Most assuredly they would say that I was very avaricious ofmy own blood, while I was very ready to risk the lives of others. StillI may be mistaken; I may misjudge him."

  He sighed, and added:

  "Beware!"