“I’ll wager you’ve had no more than you earned; and see here, if you talk about it, you’ll come in for another dose. Ay, you’d best look out. Let me catch you venturing to be insolent to Madame Léon or her father!” And as Jean went off in wholesome dread of threats which he knew his father too well to doubt would be carried out, Jacques remained looking doubtfully at the ground and scratching his head. “There’s trouble in the air, and I’m fearful it has to do with Monsieur Léon,” he reflected. “Madame has eaten next to nothing these two days, and as for Madame Léon, she is a ghost. It must be serious, for I’ve seen nothing like it since Monsieur Léon married; and if it’s an old story wakening up, why, all the worse! Monsieur Bourget, too; he will have been put out about something to give Jean a thrashing, and to go without so much as seeing Monsieur Raoul. A bad sign—a very bad sign.”
And Jacques went off mournfully to the gardens.
Chapter Nineteen.
The Bishop’s Visit.
Félicie’s untiring energy had really provided a very pretty welcome for the bishop. She had collected all the children far and near, given them flags and garlands of vine to carry, and grouped them at the entrance of the château. Raoul was there, kept quiet by the fond belief that he was acting as colonel, and, much to his aunt’s distress, steadily persistent in refusing to carry anything except his sword. The sight, with the old grey château behind, and the gayly coloured swarm of little creatures in front, was charming, and so the bishop said to his chaplain as he drove up, and set all the aprons and hats waving. Then Léon with the abbé and two neighbouring vicaires advanced to the door of the carriage to welcome him, and, smiling and blessing his little flock with uplifted hand, monseigneur passed into the house to be received by the ladies of the family.
To Nathalie the prospect of a guest, in a time of such perplexity and trouble, had seemed a terrible ordeal, but Mme. de Beaudrillart thought that to put off the bishop’s visit would be at once to excite surprise in the neighbourhood, and Léon had taken the same view. They had curtailed their intended hospitalities, however, and only some half a dozen of the principal people of the neighbourhood, with the clergy already at the château, were invited to dinner.
Nathalie had once beheld the bishop in the cathedral at Tours, immediately after he was installed, but it was at a distance, and she had only been aware of a large man, who wore his gorgeous vestments with a magnificent air. Now that she saw him close at hand, she was immediately attracted by the strength and charm of his expression, and by a breadth of kindliness which she had not anticipated. He, on his part, was a sympathetic reader of faces, and he had not been five minutes in the house before he had convinced himself that the shadow of sorrow rested upon the family. Mme. de Beaudrillart’s usual rigid dignity was shaken by an emotion which looked like that of fear, and the sadness of sleepless nights hung heavy on Nathalie’s eyes, while Léon was white and nervous, talking hastily and restlessly, and unable to keep still for many consecutive minutes. Félicie was the only one who had forgotten their troubles in delight at the achievement of her purpose, and it must be owned that her respectful colourless chatter bored the bishop frightfully, the more so because he took himself to task for his impatience. He was much more interested in the others with their evident impending trouble, even in Mlle. Claire’s sharp, bitter speeches. Raoul attracted his notice at once, and he praised him warmly to his grandmother, but Mme. de Beaudrillart’s face did not lighten; he even fancied that he had unconsciously touched the wound, whatever it was. With the young wife he had no opportunity of speaking, and, indeed, she had learned silence when strangers were present; he noticed, however, that her eyes rested constantly on her husband, and that when he left the room she immediately slipped out after him. The evening was not gay, though Mme. Lemballe vied with Félicie in devoted homage, and M. and Mme. de la Ferraye did their best in a languishing conversation.
That night a tremendous thunder-storm broke over the province, and torrents of rain fell to the north of Poissy. That only the fringe of the storm reached Poissy, Félicie always ascribed to a miraculous interposition on behalf of her cherished decorations, but the proof of its violence elsewhere was to be found in the swift rising of the river. It ran with wintry force, and from its darkened colour, and the vegetation it brought down, had evidently overflowed its banks higher up, and caused considerable damage. This, however, was the only grave result of the storm at Poissy. There the rain had merely been sufficient to freshen everything, and to give an indescribable brilliancy to the foliage. The great walnut-tree to the left of the château glistened in the morning sun, a fresh little breeze fluttered the poplars, and the lizards stole out again, and darted here and there in the crannies of the old stones.