"Why, Jean, for one," replied Emile. "You know very well that he has no reason to dread his presence as he does, and that excellent man is entirely at sea as to any possible cause of ill-will the marquis can have toward him."
"He has no reason to reproach him, nor anyone else; but I know very well what he imagines. Go on! if Jean is the only other one, the marquis is not mad in the least degree, he is simply unjust or mistaken as to our friend the carpenter. But it is as impossible to convince him of his mistake as to close the wound that is bleeding in his heart. Poor Boisguilbault! Ah! Gilberte, I would gladly sacrifice my life to enable him to forget the past. Let us say no more about it."
"One word more," said Gilberte, "for that word will enlighten you, father. Jean Jappeloup is not the only one whom the marquis detests so bitterly; he has the same feeling against me, whom he has hardly seen, who have never spoken to him, and of whom he most assuredly can have no reason to complain. Upon mentioning my name, with the purpose of calming him, Monsieur Cardonnet, who will tell you so himself, found that his anger sprang up afresh, and he slammed the door, shouting, as if he had heard the name of a mortal enemy:
"'Woe to you if you ever mention that demoiselle to me!'"
Monsieur de Châteaubrun hung his head and sat for some moments without speaking. Several times he wiped the perspiration from his broad brow with his coarse blue and white handkerchief. Then he took Gilberte's hand and Emile's in his, unconsciously placing them so that they touched, so engrossed was he by every other subject except the possibility of their love.
"My children," he said, "you thought that you were doing me good, and you have added to my grief. I thank you none the less for your kind intentions, but I wish you both to give me your word not to refer to this subject again with me, nor with each other, nor in Janille's presence or Jean's, nor you, Emile, with Monsieur de Boisguilbault. Never, never—do you understand?" he added, in the most solemn and impressive tone of which he was capable. Then, addressing Emile more particularly, and pressing his hand against Gilberte's with less consciousness than before of his acts:
"My dear Monsieur Emile," he said, with emotion, "you have been led by your friendship for me to do a very imprudent thing. Remember that the first time you went to Boisguilbault I said to you: 'Do not mention my name in that house, if you do not wish to injure my friend Jean!' And now you have injured me myself by forgetting my injunction. All that I can tell you is that Monsieur de Boisguilbault is no more insane than any of us three, and that, if he is unjust to Jean or my daughter, who are both innocent of my wrong-doing, it is because one naturally includes an enemy's friends and kindred in the hatred which he inspires. Monsieur de Boisguilbault would be very cruel not to forgive me if he could read my heart; but his suffering is too great to allow him to do it. Respect his grief, therefore, Emile, and do not call a man insane whose misfortunes deserve the consolation of your friendship and all the consideration of which you are capable. Come! promise me that you will not conspire together for my repose any more, for whatever you do will really be conspiring against it."
Emile and Gilberte promised, trembling with excitement; whereupon Antoine said to them: "That is well, my children; there are incurable diseases and griefs that one must learn to submit to in silence. Now let us go to see if Janille has found her goat. I have in my basket some apricots I have been picking for you two; for I saw Emile coming up the path, and I was determined to regale him with the first ripe fruit from my old trees."
After divers efforts, Antoine recovered his cheerful humor—with greater ease than Gilberte and Emile. The latter dared make no further comments or investigations; for whatever concerned Gilberte was sacred to him, and Antoine's earnest injunction to give no more thought to the matter was sufficient inducement for him to try and put it out of his mind. But there were many other subjects of anxiety in his heart, and love had taken such deep root there that he fell into fits of abstraction more complete than Monsieur Antoine's.
When he found himself on the road to Gargilesse, at the point where the road to Boisguilbault branches off, his horse, which was equally attached to both places, turned toward Boisguilbault. Emile did not notice it at first, and, when he did notice it, he said to himself that Providence willed it so; that he had left the melancholy old man, whom he had promised to love as his father, all alone for three days; and that, at the risk of being coldly received, he must go at once and obtain his pardon.