CHAPTER XVII
The sergeant’s views on the subject of Toni’s marriage to Denise were very much enlightened that afternoon by Madame Marcel’s requesting an interview with him in her own room. The sergeant arrayed himself in his best uniform, paid a visit to the barber, waxed and dyed his mustaches to the ultimate point, and then presented himself at Madame Marcel’s door. Madame Marcel was the most unsophisticated of women, but this did not mean that she could not play a part, and play it well. Her part was to persuade the sergeant that, after Toni and Denise were married, she herself might become Madame Duval, a thing she had not the slightest idea of doing. So she received the sergeant in the most gracious manner, smiled at him, talked about the happiness of their children, and seemed to think that married life was the only road to real bliss, and that one could not marry too early or too often. The sergeant saw that she had set her heart on the marriage between Toni and Denise and that he would stand no chance whatever of establishing himself in the comfortable back room of Madame Marcel’s shop unless he agreed to the match. So far he was quite correct, but in his further assumption that by agreeing to it he was making good his title to the armed chair which he coveted by the kitchen stove, he was miles out of the way.
The result, however, was the same—that after much running to and fro, and as many legal documents for Denise’s ten thousand francs as for Lucie’s fortune, the matter was arranged; and on the day fortnight that they had made a family party to the Golden Lion and had eaten and drunk in the garden, they made an excursion to the same place to celebrate the betrothal of Toni and Denise. It was too late then to sit out of doors, so they had their little feast in a private room of the Golden Lion with a glowing fire on the hearth. Madame Marcel insisted on being the hostess on this occasion, and ordered a truly gorgeous supper. There was a heart-shaped cake on the table with love birds pecking at orange blossoms, and all the candies were hearts and darts and loves and doves. Everything wore a sort of St. Valentine’s air. Denise, in a beautiful pink silk gown, sat next Toni at the table. There were several of the Duvals’ friends and two or three of Toni’s comrades.
When it was time to drink the bride’s health, Toni went a message out to where Madame Bernard’s carriage stood in the courtyard. Out stepped Paul and Lucie, leaving Madame Bernard in the carriage. When they appeared in the supper-room there was a general commotion. Toni had kept this impending honor a secret from every one, except Denise, and Sergeant Duval was the more impressed by the compliment of Paul Verney’s coming through having it sprung on him as a surprise. Lucie shook hands with Toni, kissed Denise on the cheek, remembered the Sergeant and Mademoiselle Duval and Madame Marcel, bestowed bows and smiles on all present, and, as she always did, brought an atmosphere of kindness and gaiety with her. Paul shook Toni’s hand and pronounced an eulogy upon him, looking gravely into Toni’s eyes at the time, and neither one of them winked. He spoke as if, when Toni’s time was up and he should leave the regiment, he would be as much missed as the colonel himself. Then he proposed the health of the betrothed pair and it was drunk with all honors.
The two pairs of lovers looked at each other—it recalled their childish days at Bienville. How seldom does the course of true love run smooth, and how smoothly had it run for them. Then Lucie and Paul left, having almost persuaded the Duval faction that they had done themselves great honor by securing Toni for Denise.
The next morning it was Paul Verney’s turn at the riding-school, and as he walked along in the crisp autumn air, feeling as if Heaven was around him as well as above him, he came face to face with Toni. Toni’s eyes were wide and dark with terror, his face was pale and he gnawed his mustache furiously. The change since Paul had seen him the night before was enough to shock any one. Toni did not wait to be asked what was the matter, but, coming close to Paul, said in his ear:
“They are here—Pierre and Nicolas—they lay in wait for me when I got back to the barracks last night—they were in the batch of recruits that came in yesterday.”
“What of it?” said Paul, who was not easily shaken.
“They told me that unless I stood by them they would tell all about—those—those things that happened when I was in the circus, and about Count Delorme’s death, and the rest of it. You know, sir, I am as innocent—as innocent—” He pointed upward to a bird that sang and swung upon a bough close by. His speech seemed to fail him. Nicolas and Pierre in a single night had resumed all their old sway over him; he was once more under the dominion of fear.