In a short time, Louis sat down to a table laden with the best of everything on the farm, waited upon by Joseph and his wife, who watched him with respectful interest and awe.
The children came running in from school, smeared with the juice of berries. After Louis had embraced them they stood off in a corner, and gazed at him with eyes wide open, as if he were a rare curiosity.
The important news had spread, and a number of villagers and countrymen appeared at the open door, to speak to the Marquis of Clameran.
“I am such a one, M. the marquis; don’t you remember me?” “Ah! I should have recognized you anywhere.” “The late marquis was very good to me.” Another would say, “Don’t you remember the time when you lent me your gun to go hunting?”
Louis welcomed with secret delight all these protestations and proofs of devotion which had not chilled with time.
The kindly voices of these honest people recalled many pleasant moments of the past, and made him feel once more the fresh sensations of his youth.
Here, at least, no echoes of his stormy life had been heard; no suspicions of his shameful career were entertained by these humble villagers on the borders of the Rhone.
He, the adventurer, the bully, the base accomplice of London swindlers, delighted in these marks of respect and veneration, bestowed upon him as the representative of the house of Clameran; it seemed to make him once more feel a little self-respect, as if the future were not utterly hopeless.
Ah, had he possessed only a quarter of his squandered inheritance, how happy he would be to peacefully end his days in this his native village!
But this rest after so many vain excitements, this haven after so many storms and shipwrecks, was denied him. He was penniless; how could he live here when he had nothing to live upon?