CHAPTER XXIX. THE INN AT VALENCE
Preceded by the waiter, who was about to point out the places destined for us at the table, I walked up the room, holding Margot by the hand. The strangers made way for us as we went, not with any of the deferential politeness so usual in France, but in a spirit of insolent astonishment at our presence there. Such, at least, was the impression their behavior produced on me; and I was only anxious that it should not be so felt by my companion.
As I drew back my chair, to seat myself at her side, I felt a hand placed on my arm. I turned, and saw an officer, a man of about six or seven and twenty, with a bushy red beard and moustache, who said,—
“This place is mine, citizen; you must go seek for one elsewhere.”
I appealed to the waiter, who merely shrugged his shoulders, and muttered something unintelligible; to which I replied by asking him to show me another place, while I assisted Margot to rise.
“La petite shall stay where she is,” broke in the officer, bluntly, as he brushed in front of me; and an approving laugh from his comrades at once revealed to me the full meaning of the impertinence.
“This young lady is under my care, sir,” said I, calmly, “and needs no protection from you.”
“The young lady,” cried he, with a burst of coarse laughter at the words, “knows better how to choose! Is it not so, citizen? I look a more responsible guardian than that thin stripling with the pale cheek.”
“I appeal to this company, to the superiors of this officer,—if there be such present,—to know are these the habits of this place, or have I been singled out specially for this insolence?”
“Insolence! insolence!” repeated every voice around me, in accents of astonishment and reprobation; while suddenly above the clamor a deep voice said,—
“Lieutenant Carrier, take a place at the foot of the table!”
“Oui, mon Colonel!” was the reply; and he who accosted me so rudely, now moved away, and I seated myself at Margot's side.
I believe that during this brief scene the poor girl knew little or nothing of what was going forward. The fatigue, from which she had not yet recovered; the novelty of the place in which she found herself; the confusion natural to mixing with a strange company,—all contributed to engage her attention and occupy her thoughts. It was only by the deadly paleness of my features that she at last guessed that something had gone wrong. I tried by every means in my power to reassure her. I affected, as well as I might, to seem easy and unconcerned. I even essayed, by way of showing my self-possession, to engage the person next me in conversation; but a cold stare of surprise arrested the attempt, and I sat abashed and ashamed at the rebuke.
I do not know if in my whole life, I ever passed an hour of greater misery than the time of that dinner. Had I been there alone, I could have confronted manfully whatever threatened me; but the thought of involving Margot in any scene of shame—of exposing her to the rude insolence of which I saw myself the mark—was insupportably painful. I felt, besides, that I had a character to support in her eyes; nor could I yet divine what adverse turn affairs might take. If I looked down the table, it was to meet, on every side, glances of haughty or insolent meaning. It was easy to perceive, too, that the whole company was under the impression of the disagreeable incident which had occurred before sitting down to table, and which none believed was yet concluded. Instead of the noisy chit-chat so usual in such places, there was either a perfect silence, or the low murmuring sounds of a conversation maintained in whispers. At last the colonel and those around him stood up, and gathered in a group at one of the windows. The civilians of the party broke into knots, conversed for a few seconds, and separated; and, taking Margot's hand, I arose, and prepared to withdraw. As I was leaving the room the officer who first accosted me, whispered in my ear,—
“You will come back again, I suppose?”
“Certainly, if you want me,” said I.
He nodded, and I passed out.
“I am glad it is over,” said Margot, pressing my hand; “that dinner was a tiresome affair!”
“So it was,” said I; “and I am well pleased that it is finished. I 'll go down now and look after this calèche they promised me they should have ready for us by this time;” and with this excuse I quitted her, and hastened downstairs again.
I was just making for the door of the salle-à-manger when the hostess overtook me.
“A word with you, monsieur,—one word!” cried she.
“At another moment, madam,” said I, trying to pass on; “I am greatly pressed for time just now.”
“It is exactly for that reason I must speak with you,” said she, firmly; and at the same instant she seized my arm and drew me into a room, of which she closed the door at once. “I suspect the object you have in view, young man,” said she, boldly, to me. “You are eager for a quarrel. The waiters have told me all that has occurred at table; and I can guess what is likely to follow. But surely it is not for one in her position that you will risk your life, or rather sell it; for Carrier would surely kill you!”
“In her position!” said I. “What do you mean? You cannot dare to throw an imputation on one who is little more than a child!”
“True; but a child of shame and infamy,” said she, sternly.
“It is a falsehood,—a damnable falsehood!” cried I. “I knew both her parents: her father died almost in my arms.”
“It is as likely that you never saw her father in your life,” rejoined she, calmly. “I see that you know little of her history; but she comes from the village of Linange, and we Auvergnats are well acquainted with her.”
“Yes, Linange is her native village,—that is true,” cried I, in a vague terror of some dreadful tidings. “Tell me, I beseech you, whatever you know of her story.”
“It is soon told, though the tale be sad enough,” said she, after a pause. “Her mother was a Mademoiselle Nipernois. She called herself De Nipernois, and not without reason; for the family had been of rank, and were Grand Seigneurs once on a time. Her father had, however, fallen into poverty, and for a livelihood was obliged to become a pharmacien in the little village of Linange, every house of which had once belonged to his family. They said he was a great chemist, which he had become for his own amusement in his prosperous days; and fortunately he could now practise the art for his support. At all events, the Blues wrecked his château, burned his books, melted down his plate, and left him penniless; so that he was fain to seek shelter amidst what once he would have styled his own 'vilains,' but who were now, thanks to the glorious fruits of the Revolution, his equals. That was not to be his only humiliation, however. A young noble that was betrothed to his eldest daughter, Hortense, and was to have married her just before 'the troubles,' joined the mildest party of the anarchists, and actually assisted at the sack of the château. Some said that he had had a dreadful altercation and quarrel with the father; some averred that he had met a contemptuous refusal from the daughter: either, or both, may have been the truth. What is certain is, that he exacted a vengeance far heavier than any injury he could have received. On the pretence of seeking for some concealed royalist, a party of the Blues, headed by the count, in disguise, broke into the old man's house in the village, and carried off his eldest daughter,—indeed, the only child that remained to him; for his second girl was an admitted nun of the Chaise Dieu, which had hitherto escaped pillage and destruction. From that hour no trace of her could ever be obtained; but on the same day twelvemonths, as morning broke, she was found on the steps of her father's door, with a baby in her arms. I have heard, for I have often spoken with those who discovered her, that her reason was shattered, and her memory so completely lost that she did not know her own name. An unbroken apathy settled down on her from that time.
“She cared for nothing, not even her child; and though Margot was very beautiful, and so engaging that all the neighbors loved and caressed her, her mother saw her without the slightest touch of interest or affection! After the lapse of thirteen, or almost fourteen years, a young man of the village named Bernois, who had just returned from studying at Paris, proposed to marry her. Some are of opinion that he had never heard her real history, nor knew of the relationship between her and Margot; others think differently, and say that he was aware of all, and acquitted her of everything save the misfortune that had befallen her. By what persuasion she was induced to accept him I never knew, but she did so, and accompanied him to Paris; for, strangely enough, they who had hitherto treated her with all the respect due to undeserved calamity, no sooner beheld her as a married woman, and lifted into a position of equality with them, than they vented a hundred calumnies upon her, and affected to think her beneath their condition. This persecution it was which drove Bernois to seek his fortune in Paris, where he has now met his death! The conducteur who arrived here last night told who had accompanied him from Paris, and the officers, who are all familiar with her mother's story, were curious to see the girl. They induced me to advise you to dine at the public table, and unhappily I yielded to their solicitations, not suspecting what might ensue. The only reparation in my power now is to tell you this whole story; for of course, having heard it, you will perceive how fruitless and vain it would be for you to oppose yourself to the entire force of public opinion.
“And is it the custom of the world to insult those situated as she is?” asked I, in a voice that plainly showed I put the question in all sincerity and ignorance.
“It is assuredly the habit of young men, and more especially soldiers, to treat them with less deference than the daughters of honest women; and you must have seen but little of life, or you had not asked the question.”
I sat silent for some seconds, revolving in my mind the sad history I had just listened to, and comparing the events with what I had myself witnessed of her who had been their victim. The hostess cut short my musing by saying,—
“There, I see the calèche has just driven into the cour: lose no time in getting away at once. The officers are now at coffee in the garden, and you can escape unobserved.”
So engrossed was I by thoughts of Margot, and the necessity of shielding her from insult, that I forgot totally all about myself, and what bore reference to my own feelings exclusively. I therefore hastened from the room to make the preparations for our departure. While I was thus engaged, and occupied with seeing our luggage tied on, a young officer, touching his cap in salute, asked if I was not the stranger who dined that day at the table-d'hôte, in company with a young lady; and on my replying, “Yes,” added,—
“Are you not aware, sir, that we have been expecting the pleasure of your society in the garden for some time back?”
I answered that I was totally ignorant of their polite intentions respecting me; that I was anxious to reach my destination, still twelve leagues away, and unable to accept of their hospitality.
He gave a faint smile as I said this, and then rejoined:
“But you can surely spare a few moments to make your apologies to our colonel?”
“They must be, then, of the very briefest,” said I. “Will you kindly guide me to where he is?”
With a slight bow he walked on, and, crossing the courtyard, entered a garden; on traversing a considerable portion of which, we came out upon a kind of terrace, where a large party of officers were seated around a table, smoking, and drinking coffee. Some, too, were engaged playing at chess or dominoes, some reading, and some apparently asleep; but, however occupied, no sooner had I made my appearance than all, forgetting everything but my presence, turned their eyes upon me.
“The citizen,” cried out my guide, as we came up, “the citizen tells me that he was quite unconscious of our polite intentions in his behalf; and I can fully believe him, for he was on the eve of departure when I caught him!”
“What does he think a French soldier is made of?” shouted out the colonel, with a blow of his closed fist on the table. “He dares to make use of an expression insulting to every officer of my regiment, and then says he is unaware of any claim we have upon him!”
A new light broke upon me at these words, and, for a moment, the sense of shame at my mistake nearly overcame me. I rallied, however, enough to say,—
“It is quite as you say, Monsieur le Colonel; I was really unaware that you or your officers had any claim upon me! I had been the subject of a rudeness to-day, at the table-d'hôte, which, in my little knowledge of the world, I attributed to the underbred habits of a coarse school of manners. I now perceive that I was too lenient in my judgment.”
“Are we to listen to any more of this, messieurs?” said the colonel, rising; “or is it from me that chastisement is to come?”
“No; I have the right, I claim the place, I am the youngest subaltern, I am the 'cadet of the corps,'” cried half-a-dozen in a breath; but Carrier's voice overbore the others, saying,—
“Comrades, you seem to forget that this is my quarrel; I will not yield my right to any one!”
“Yes, yes,” exclaimed several voices together; “Carrier says truly. The affair is his. We fight with the sabre, citizen, in the Chasseurs-à-Cheval. Is the weapon to your liking?”
“One arm is the same to me as another,” replied I; and unfortunately this was too literally the case, since I was equally inexpert in all!
“You can claim the pistol, if you wish it,” whispered an old captain, with a snow-white moustache. “The challenged chooses his weapons.”
“The sabre be it, then,” exclaimed Carrier, catching me up at once.
“Not if the citizen prefer the pistol,” interposed the captain.
“He has already made his choice: he said all weapons were alike to him.”
“Quite true,” said I; “I did say so!”
“The greater fool you, then!” murmured the captain, between his teeth. “You might just as well have given yourself your chance. Carrier won't be so generous to you!”
“Will you be my second?” asked I of him.
“Ma foi! if you wish it,” said he, with a shrug of the shoulders and a glance of such tender pity that could not be mistaken. “Let us follow them!”
And so saying, we strolled leisurely on after the others, who, now passing through a small wicket, entered a little wood that adjoined the garden. A few minutes more brought us to an open space, which I rightly guessed had been often before the scene of similar affairs.
I had never witnessed a duel in my life. I knew nothing of the formalities which were observed in its arrangement; and the questions which I asked the captain so palpably betrayed my ignorance that he stared at me with mute astonishment.
“Have you any friends, boy,” asked he, after a pause, “to whom I can write for you?”
“Not one,” said I.
“All the better!” rejoined he, tersely.
I nodded an assent; and from that moment we understood each other perfectly. No lengthy explanation could more plainly have declared that he thought I was doomed, and that I concurred in the foreboding.
“My sabre will be too heavy for you, boy,” said he; “I 'll see and borrow a lighter one from one of my comrades. Chasteler, will you lend me yours?”
“Parbleu! that will I not. I'd never wear it again if used in such a quarrel.”
“Right, Chasteler,” cried another; “I hope there is only one amongst us could forget an insult offered to the whole regiment.”
“I wore my epaulette when you were in the cradle, Lieutenant Hautmain,” said the old captain; “so don't pretend to teach me the feelings that become a soldier. There, boy,” he added, drawing his sabre as he spoke, “take mine.”
By this time my antagonist had divested himself of coat and neckcloth, and stood, with open shirt-breast and the sleeve of his sword-arm rolled up to the shoulder, before me.
He was as much an overmatch for me in strength and vigor as in skill, and I felt an acute sense of shame in pitting myself against him. As he swung his sabre jauntily to and fro with the dexterous facility of a practised swordsman, I could read the confidence with which he entered upon the encounter.
“It is the first time you ever handled a sword, I think?” said the captain, as he assisted me off with my coat.
“The very first,” said I, endeavoring, I know not how successfully, to smile.
“Parbleu!” cried he, aloud. “This is no better than a murder! The boy knows nothing of fencing; he never had a sabre in his hands till now.”
“He should have thought of that before he uttered an insult,” said Carrier, placing himself en garde. “Come on, boy!”
The offensive look and manner in which he spoke so carried me away that I rushed in, and aimed a cut at his head. He parried it, and came down with a sharp stroke on my shoulder, exclaiming, “Ça!” as he did it. The same word followed every time that he touched me; nor did it require the easy impertinence of the glances he gave towards his comrades to show that he was merely amusing himself; as, at one moment, he covered my face with blood, and at another disarmed me by a severe wound on the wrist.
“Enough of this,—too much of it!” cried the captain, as the blood streamed down my cheeks from a cut on the forehead, and almost blinded me.
“When he says so, it will be time to stop,—not till then,” said Carrier, as he gave me a sharp cut on the neck.
My rage so overpowered me at this that I lost all control over myself; and, resolving to finish the struggle at once, I sprang at him, and, with both hands on my sword, made a cut at his head. The force was such that the blow broke down his guard and felled him to the earth, with a tremendous wound of the scalp; and there he lay, stunned and senseless, while, scarcely more conscious, I stood over him. Passion had up to that sustained me; but loss of blood and exhaustion now succeeded together, and I reeled back and fainted.
Though terribly hacked and sorely treated, none of my wounds were dangerous; and after being bandaged, and stitched, and plastered in various ways, I was able—or at least insisted that I was able—to pursue my journey that evening; and away we drove, with no very grateful recollection of Valence, except, indeed, towards the old captain, who saw us off, and took a most affectionate leave of us at parting.
Margot had heard from the hostess enough to show her that I had been her champion and defender, though in what cause she could not possibly divine. Whatever her anxiety to learn the facts, she never put a single question to me as we went along, her sole care being to do whatever might assuage my pain and alleviate my suffering. Thanks to this kindness, and the cool air of an autumn night, I travelled with comparatively little uneasiness; and as day was breaking we entered the quiet street of the little village.
“There, yonder is our house,—the porch with the jasmine over it. Oh, how the rose-trees have grown!”
Such was Margot's exclamation, as we drew up at the door.