Kitabı oku: «The Little Old Portrait», sayfa 9
Chapter Twelve
“A few minutes later the two men went away. They paid for the wine they had drunk, but said nothing. Pierre breathed more freely when they were gone, and as both he and his two charges were very tired, they soon after went to bed: that is to say, Edmée went to the room prepared for her, and the boys made the best of their corner of the barn. It was a tumble-down old place, and there were several other out-buildings adjoining it; a disused stable was at one end, separated from it only by a wall which ran up as a partition, though leaving a space between its top and the roof. This Pierre happened to notice before he lay down. He was asleep in five minutes, but after some time, how long he knew not, he awoke with a start, something had wakened him, though he could not remember what. He lay perfectly still, and in a moment a sound from the other side of the partition wall, of which I have spoken, caught his ears. It was that of men’s voices, though speaking so softly that less sharp ears than those of the forester’s boy, trained to distinguish each cry of the wood-creatures, each note of the birds, could have heard nothing.
”‘I tell you,’ said one voice, ‘I am as sure as I can be. I knew that insolent tone at once, and when I looked I was certain. The girl too – though who the third is I cannot make out. That baffled me.’
”‘Then if you were so sure, why give yourself and me all this bother?’ grumbled the other. ‘Why did you not at once seize them? It would be too bad to lose the reward after coming so far, and taking so much trouble.’
”‘I have told you why,’ said the other, speaking more loudly as he got angry. ‘They might have been too much for us; there is no telling whether they have not got friends in the village. They are in their own country now, and that Valmont lot set up to be benevolent, and all that kind of thing. No, I would not risk any scene; let us wait here quietly and watch them off in the morning – we can see which way they go, and easily take them when they are alone. You have the order for the arrest all right?’
”‘Yes, but only for the two.’
”‘Of course; we don’t want the country lad, though, perhaps – ’ But here the voice grew so low that Pierre, strain his ears as he would, could hear no more, till he caught a half-surly ‘Good-night then’ from the second speaker, and all was silent, save the beating of the poor boy’s own heart, which sounded to him so unnaturally loud, that he felt as if it could not but be heard through the partition.
“And all this time Edmond was sleeping soundly; it was too dark to see him, but by listening close, Pierre heard his soft and regular breathing. What could he do? what dared he do? or was it useless to attempt anything? thought poor Pierre, till he began to fear the night would pass in this sort of paralysis of terror. At last his brain began to recover itself a little. He moved himself up into a sitting position, trembling at every rustle in the hay, and at last, getting on to his feet, having slipped off his shoes, he managed to creep out at the door, without its creaking. The fresh cold air did him good, and he rapidly regained his presence of mind. There would be no difficulty in rousing Edmée, he hoped, for he knew her to be the lightest of sleepers, and she was already uneasy from the events of the evening. The little room where she was, opened out of the kitchen where they had supped, and by good chance the house door was only latched. So far, all was easy, and in five minutes the poor child, who had only partly undressed, was standing shivering beside her young protector. She took it all in, in an instant.
”‘Pierrot,’ she said, ‘there is nothing to do; there is no chance of escape for us. There is only one thing to do, save yourself. They may mean to take you too, or to kill you at once,’ and Edmée shuddered, ‘if you make any defence. Go, Pierre – go home to your father and mother, you have no right to throw your life away uselessly.’
“But Pierre did not seem to hear her words.
”‘Edmée,’ he replied, ‘I can save you– we could start off at once, and hide in the woods till they have lost all trace of us – we should be hours in advance of them. But oh, Edmée, it is Edmond! And I promised – I promised the Countess not to desert him.’
”‘No,’ said Edmée, determinedly, ‘we cannot desert him.’
“They then consulted together – how to wake him without being heard by the two men was the terrible question. He was a heavy sleeper, especially when tired, and from his delicate health and nervousness he was always irritable if awakened before his sleep was completed.
”‘He is sure, certain to scream out crossly, and then all will be over,’ said Edmée, her teeth chattering with cold and terror.
”‘Then there is only one thing to be done,’ said Pierre. ‘Have you your bag ready, Edmée?’ The girl nodded as she held it up. ‘You have nothing left in the house? That is right; my bundle and Edmond’s are just as they were – only we must leave some money to pay for our supper and lodging. Here, I will slip in and place it on the table. Now we must both creep back into the barn – you to help me in case of need. I have here a large, strong handkerchief; I will gag Edmond before he has time to make a sound – he is so feeble it will be easily done; then if you can take the baggage I will carry him on my back till we are well out of hearing, and then explain all.’
”‘He will struggle fearfully,’ said Edmée. ‘Perhaps – perhaps, Pierre, if I whisper in his ear that it is we who are doing it to save him, he will be quiet.’
”‘After he is gagged, if you like,’ said Pierre; ‘but not before. We must run no risk; our lives hang on the thinnest of threads, Edmée. Come, try not to tremble so – oh, my poor little lady, if I could have spared you this!’
“Edmée hesitated.
”‘Dear Pierrot,’ she said, ‘I think perhaps if I were to say a little prayer to the good God to help and save us, it would make me leave off trembling so.’
“Pierre answered by uncovering his head, and then, at a sign from Edmée, he knelt down beside her on the grass, for they had crept back behind the house, and there the two young creatures prayed with earnest and simple words for the help they so sorely needed – ‘or,’ whispered Edmée, ‘if we do not escape, for courage to bear whatever is before us.’
“Then she rose to her feet.
”‘I am not trembling now,’ she said. ‘Pierrot dear, kiss me once before we go; for we don’t know, we may fail.’
“Pierrot kissed her; he could not have spoken had he tried.
“He led the way to the barn. Pierre crept in first to reconnoitre; all was quiet, and as he had left it, he reported, when he crept out again, bringing his own and Edmond’s bundles, which, with her bag, he and Edmée carried a little way into the shelter of the wood hard by, so that the girl’s hands might be free, if need were, to help him with the much more troublesome piece of baggage – Edmond. Then they both made their way in again, Edmée standing a little aside, while Pierre, by the very faint moonlight which came in through the open doorway, satisfied himself as to the exact position in which Edmond lay, before attempting to gag and seize him. How he succeeded he could never himself tell, but succeed he did. Before the sleeping boy had recovered his faculties sufficiently to attempt to scream or to make any resistance, he was safe and fast in Pierre’s strong arms, his mouth so firmly gagged that, though he was scarlet, nay purple, with rage and terror long before he found out the real state of the case, not the faintest sound was audible, as, followed by Edmée, young Germain, with his heavy burden, made his way from the barn by the path behind the house, which they had already discovered led into the woods. More than once Edmée tried to whisper into Edmond’s ear, but blinded and confused as he was she could not catch his attention.
”‘Better wait awhile,’ whispered Pierre, and it was not till after quite a quarter of an hour of this painful progress that he at last stopped, and, after listening in all directions, let Edmond slip to the ground, though still firmly holding him. The boy opened his eyes; he had half lost consciousness, and Pierre began to loosen the handkerchief.
”‘Edmond,’ said Edmée, though still in a whisper, ‘it is we – Pierre and I. Don’t you know us?’ But Edmond shivered convulsively, and it was some minutes – minutes of most precious time – before Edmée and Pierre together could get him to understand all that had passed. Then he burst into tears, blaming himself as the cause of the terrible risk they had run, thanking them both for saving his life, and entreating their forgiveness. It was a great relief that his excitement had taken this form, – Edmée had been secretly terrified that he would perhaps have turned upon Pierre in a rage at him for having employed force, even to save his life, – for it was easy to make him do whatever they wished. He soon recovered himself enough to get on to his feet, and with Pierre on one side and Edmée on the other, to make his way deeper and deeper into the recesses of the forest. It was their best chance. Pierre’s experience served as a guide, even though with these special woods he was unacquainted, and he was able to direct their steps ever towards Valmont, though plunging very much further into the forest than he intended. And for some days they did not venture to leave its friendly shelter. What did they live upon? you will ask, as I have often asked my mother when she has been relating to me the history of these strange days. Very little, it seems to me. Pierre managed, two or three times, to get a loaf from one of the wood-cutters’ cottages they passed at long intervals, but which he never dared approach near, except by himself. He used to hide his companions and then, whistling lightly, as if on an ordinary journey of a few hours, would knock at the cottage door and ask for some bread, as he was hungry and had some distance to go; but not much of the bread fell to his share, you may be sure. Once or twice he got a few eggs, which he cooked on a fire of dry wood, and which Edmée thought delicious, for there is no sauce like hunger! The nights they spent, in part, in walking, when there was light enough to see their way, for it was cold work lying on the beds of dead leaves they collected, with the scanty spare clothing that was all their bundles contained; and had the weather not been exceptionally fine, and even mild for October, my mother has always maintained they would never have got to Valmont alive. It was that thought – the thought that they were near their journey’s end – that kept up their hearts through this, so much the most painful part of the journey. For even when so near home that a few hours in a passing diligence would have safely landed them within a league of Valmont, they dared not venture on the high road.
“It was a forlorn little group which at last, late one evening, – they had purposely concealed themselves till late in the woods hard by, ‘our own woods,’ said Edmée and Pierre joyously, where to the boy every path, every tree almost, had been familiar from infancy, – approached the forester’s cottage at the extreme end of the village. They had not ventured to pass along the main street, but made a round which brought them in by the other side; for since their terrible fright Pierre had grown doubly cautious.
”‘They may have come here and be waiting to take them,’ he thought, though he did not say so to his two poor tired charges. And even when within a stone’s throw of the cottage he made Edmée and her cousin wait in a little copse while he went forward to reconnoitre. And these few minutes’ waiting, my mother has often said, seemed to her the most trying part of the whole journey.
“With what joy did she hear Pierre’s footsteps in return, and his voice exclaiming eagerly, ‘It is all right! come quickly. Ah, here is my mother behind me.’
“And so it was. Poor Madame Germain had found it impossible to wait in the cottage – here she was, crying and sobbing, and yet smiling through her tears.
”‘My children! my children! whom I had given up hoping ever to see again!’ she exclaimed, clasping Edmée to her arms, forgetful of everything except that she had again her precious nursling, her little lady, whose life she had so many years ago saved by her devotion!
“But to poor Edmée the loving clasp of those motherly arms brought an agonising remembrance.
”‘Dear, dear mamma Germain,’ she said. ‘Do you know – has Pierrot told you all – about my sweet mother?’
”‘I know – he told me. Oh, my darling, how I grieve for you! But she is happy – and thank heaven her death was as it was. And now she will rejoice to see you safe – at last, my Edmée – after all your weary journeying. And Monsieur Edmond too,’ she added, turning to the poor boy. ‘Welcome, a thousand times welcome, to the best we can give you.’
“And the last vestige of his foolish pride melted out of the poor boy’s heart, as he impulsively threw himself into the kind motherly arms. ‘Kiss me too,’ he said, ‘for Pierre’s sake – Pierre, who has saved my life.’
“You may be sure Madame Germain did not need twice asking to do so. ‘Poor boy, poor boy, the most desolate of all,’ she said to herself; ‘for he has not even a happy past to look back to.’
“How thankful they all were to sit down to a comfortable supper in the cottage – and, even more, to rest their poor tired limbs in Madame Germain’s nice clean beds, where the sheets, though not of the finest, were sweet with country bleaching, and scented with lavender! That night Germain said nothing to distress the poor children, but the next day direful news had to be told. Edmée was indeed homeless, for the Château of Valmont no longer existed, except in crumbling ruins. It had been burnt down during Pierre’s absence. Poor old Ludovic happily for himself perhaps, had not lived to see this. He had died a few days after Pierre’s departure for Paris. No special ill-will to the family had been the reason of this destruction, but one of the wild mobs which in these dreadful times laid waste so much of the country had found their way to the peaceful village, and joined by some of the malcontents who would not believe that the recent exactions of money had not been the Countess’s doing, had set fire to the home of the innocent lady and her child.
”‘After all she was a Sarinet,’ was muttered as a sort of excuse for the shameful deed. But when the villagers recovered from the shock and horror, they had united to drive the doers of it from among them, and were now, father Germain had good reason to think, ready to defend the orphaned Edmée to the utmost.
“So after much consultation, the Germains determined to remain at Valmont, though they had at first hesitated whether it would be safe for their charges to do so. It would, however, as was soon seen, have been difficult, almost impossible, to move Edmond. His strength, once he felt himself in safety, rapidly failed; he took to his bed, where he lay in peaceful weakness for some months, suffering little, thankful and grateful, and clinging with touching affection to Pierre’s kind mother, till at last, when the first spring blossoms began to peep out again, he gently died. And though the change in him had endeared him to them all, they felt it was better thus. Life would have been a hard struggle to the poor boy, and he was devoid of the strength required to face his completely altered circumstances, for even had there been no Revolution the Sarinet family was completely ruined.
“Before his death Edmée’s kind protectors had began to breathe rather more freely with regard to her safety. The state of things in Paris was growing worse and worse; the ‘Reign of terror,’ so called, was beginning. But less attention was now given to the upper classes – if, indeed, any of them still remained in the country! The fury of the various Republican parties, every one fighting for the mastery, was now turning against each other – in the end to be the ruin of all; and the motives and causes of the first revolt were forgotten in the general chaos of selfishness, and wild ambition.
“So the months passed on, till they grew into years, and still Edmée was living like a simple country maiden with her kind friends. They did all in their power to prevent her feeling the change in her position. The good curé gave her daily lessons, such as her mother would have wished her to have, and the Germains managed to turn an outhouse which had been used for storing apples and such things into a pretty little sitting-room for her, where they collected the very few pieces of furniture that had been saved from the château, several of which are now in the room where I am writing – the best room at Belle Prairie Farm. And Edmée gradually recovered some of her old brightness; she felt that she was where her mother would have wished her to be, and she was by nature of a wise and unworldly spirit. Even the destruction of her old home she learned to view in a way that was very different from the feelings of most of her class.
”‘We ourselves – we Valmonts – may not have sinned as others,’ she said one day to the curé, when he had been explaining to her some of the causes of this dreadful Revolution which had so changed the face of the country, ‘but our class was guilty. And we have suffered for their sins. Is it not so, dear Monsieur?’
“And the old man’s own eyes filled with tears, as he looked at her earnest ones upraised to his.
”‘It is even so, my child.’
”‘Then I pray God to accept the sacrifice!’ said the child. ‘But, Monsieur le Curé, I do not wish to be an aristocrat any more. I will belong to my own people.’
“And to this, through all the years that followed, she remained firm. Even when distant relations, hearing of her escape, wrote from England, begging her to join them there, with good hope of before long returning to their own home in France, promising, poor as she now was, to adopt her as their own child, Edmée wrote decidedly, though gratefully, refusing. She had made her choice. Some years later, thanks to the efforts of all the most esteemed among the inhabitants of Valmont, a small portion of her forefathers’ possessions, which had been divided and sold, like scores of other properties, was restored to Edmée, and as the owner of the Belle Prairie Farm, she was able to do something in return for the kind friends who had sheltered her in her desolation. The whole family removed there, and you can fancy that it was a happy day for Edmée when she received her kind foster-parents under her own roof.
“I have now come to a point at which I earnestly wish my mother would herself take up the pen. Not that there remain many facts or events to relate, but the crowning one – that of her marriage to my dear father – I could wish her to describe. At present – so shortly after his death – she says she could hardly bear to recall the details of those happy days, in which she gradually learnt to love her faithful Pierrot, with the trusting affection of a woman for the man she would choose for her husband. But in the future, I have good hopes she may be persuaded to do so, and also to relate how Pierre, frightened at first at his own audacity, could scarcely believe it possible that his beautiful Edmée, his ‘little lady,’ could think herself honoured by his deep and fervent love. I cannot altogether sympathise in this great humility on the part of my dear father; but then I have known him, and the rare beauty of his character; then, too, I am quite as proud of my Germain ancestry as of the long lines of Valmont and Sarinet. And nothing gratifies my mother so much as when I say so.
“In the meantime I may give a few particulars that may be of interest to those who will read these pages. Pierre and Edmée never saw poor Marguerite Ribou again; but years after they had news of her death – she died peacefully – from the kind priest in Paris, who had never lost sight of her, and who restored to Edmée the jewels and money the poor girl had so honestly kept for her. And thanks to him – for neither my father or mother ever entered Paris again – the little portrait, which had been the means of Pierre’s finding Edmée and her mother, was recovered from the old dealer in antiquities, and placed, with the other relics of her child-life, in the best parlour at Belle Prairie Farm, where I trust it may be admired and loved by many generations of the descendants of Pierre and Edmée Germain. And now – ”
Madame Marceau stopped suddenly, and looked up.
“What is it, mother dear? Go on, please – that is if you are not tired,” said several voices.
“No, dears, I am not tired. I have not read as much to-day as the two last times.” (For though I have not interrupted the course of the story to say so, it will be readily understood that the reading of the old manuscript had occupied several holiday or Sunday evenings). “But,” she went on, “I have stopped simply because there is no more to read! Those two words, ‘and now,’ are the last of the manuscript.”
“Oh dear!” – “What a pity!” – “Did our great-grandmother never write any more to it, as our grandmother hoped she would?” exclaimed the children.
“No, my dears. She often intended to do so, but she did not live many years after her husband’s death. She lived to see my mother happily married to my good father and then she died. I think the world seemed a strange place to her without her Pierre. She spoke of the manuscript not long before her death. ‘After all,’ she said, ‘no words of mine could have done justice to his goodness. Teach your children to honour the memory of their grandfather, and to know that a long line of ancestry is not the only thing to be proud of.’”
“But mother,” said Pierre Marceau, half-timidly, “if one’s ancestors have been good people?”
“Ah yes, my boy. In such case be not so much proud of them as grateful to the good God for having come of such a stock, be they noblemen or farmers, high in the world’s esteem, or working with their hands for their daily bread,” said Farmer Marceau, as he rose from the arm-chair where he had been sitting to listen to his wife’s reading.
“And the Valmonts were good,” whispered Pierre to his sister Edmée; “so we may be a little proud of them, you see, after all.”
But when he went to say good-night to Madame Marceau, he added gently, “You are right, dear little mother. I am very glad that you called me Pierre, after my good great-grandfather, Pierre Germain – ”
My readers may be sure that from the time of the reading of the manuscript, the little old portrait was dusted with even greater care than before, and that on holidays and fête days it was decorated with wreaths of the loveliest flowers to be found in all the country-side. And there, I hope, in the best room of the old farmhouse, it will smile down for many and many, a day on the dwellers therein, reminding them that riches and greatness are not the best or most enduring possessions, that sorrows come alike to all, that trust in God and reverence for His laws are the only sure pilots through this life – that faithful, unselfish love is the most beautiful thing on earth, and, may we not say, in Heaven also?
