Madame Dupré on her side was equally incapable of understanding how any one could be ignorant on the subject of the conscription. It did not require a very strong inducement to make her talk. And she launched forthwith into an eloquent denunciation of the evils of the system. “A low number is a good number,” she said; “but figure to yourself, mademoiselle, what will happen to me if it comes otherwise. Either my Baptiste marched away to the life of the caserne,—such a life, such a life, mon Dieu! and though he is a good son, he is idle, I do not deny it—he loves to wander; it would be his destruction,—or all that we have taken from us to buy a substitute. Often it is a thousand francs, no less. Think of that, mademoiselle, a thousand francs! and I but a poor widow with four children. When I think of it in the night my sleep goes from me. Certainly M. Goudron has reason. Children are the chief pleasures in our existence, but it is true that they are at the same time our torment—they are our cross that we must bear.”
She lifted up the corner of her apron to her eye, but seeing under its shadow the first person of the crowd coming into sight, she returned at once to her business.
“Quick, Jeanne!” she said—“the soup! they come.” And sure enough, the one figure was soon followed by others. Madame Dupré lost not another moment. She took the long rolls out of the basket and put them by every plate. She set upon the table, at equal distances, the vin du pays, which was given with the meal. Her long ear-rings swung in her ears with the vehemence of her movements, her cap-strings floated in the air. She sent little Auguste, the waiter, in three directions at once, and, wonderful to relate, he went. Auguste was ubiquitous; he could carry any number of plates, full or empty, and a laden tray on four fingers of his extended hand. His feet, in their low shoes, twinkled over the floor like lightning. He was never still for a moment. The two girls stood looking on at all these arrangements till Madame Dupré ran against them. “Pardon me, mes demoiselles,” she said, “you will be better up-stairs. When monsieur your father comes back he will like to find you in your own apartment. The Lion d’Or is very well regulated, but there are mauvais sujets that will take more wine than is good for them. When the bustle is over, Auguste shall mount up-stairs with the young ladies’ breakfast.”
This speech, delivered without one pause for breath, was very puzzling to Helen, who had only understood approximately. But she understood enough to lead Janey, very reluctant, up-stairs. And here they watched the return of the buyers, which went on for the next two hours, one group and another coming in till the whole village was overflowing. The most important among them had maps of the property, to which they referred, perpetually pointing out to one another the different lots, and quarrelling about the position of their bits of timber. Mr Goulburn returned as he had gone away, with young Baptiste and Antoine discoursing to him on either side. He had the air, radiant and satisfied, of a man who had done a good morning’s work. He listened to all they said to him with a smile, but he did not accept Antoine’s offers of guidance in the matter of cutting up the wood he had bought, or getting the best price for it. “We will talk of that afterwards, my good friends,” he said. He was willing to hear what they said to him, but he did not pledge himself to follow either. Meanwhile it was quite a gay scene from the windows of the Lion d’Or. The old man still stood at his door, exchanging a word here and there, and asking eager questions about the buyers. He had nothing to do with the old Count’s wood, but to have something happening was a godsend to him. As for little Janey, the bustle in the street was delightful to her. She leaned out of the window, keeping Helen in terror. She called “Papa,” making a pretty babyish grimace as she looked down upon him, watching her opportunity to drop something upon his head or his plate. However impatient of others, he was always tolerant of Janey’s freaks. Her countenance was as gay as that of the happiest child in Christendom; and his was bright with satisfaction and pleasure. It was not possible to Helen to change so easily. She gazed upon the happiness in both their faces with an envy that perhaps had a little disdain in it. How easily they threw over their burdens, while she—— And once more it became apparent to Helen that they were very likely to remain a long time at Latour.
CHAPTER VII.
“I have bought a corner of the wood; I could not resist the temptation. So far as I can see, I must be able to make my own out of it. Well, perhaps it was foolish; but I must do something, and there is no likelihood of loss at least.”
Thus he explained himself somewhat lamely, with a consciousness that what he was saying must sound very strange to her. What did Helen know about his plans, or whether it was foolish or not, and why should he have explained it to her? It alarmed her as much as everything else in the strange and terrible imbroglio through which she could see no light.
“Papa, I—— You said you were poor——”
“Poor! And you think it is inconsistent with poverty that I should buy a few miserable bits of wood? You have made great progress lately, Helen, to permit yourself to sit in judgment on your father.”
She looked at him piteously, with an appeal in her face. “I don’t know about it, papa; how can I know, or how can I sit in judgment? Will you please not tell me anything? Because I don’t understand, and then it looks as if I understood.”