After seven long years of severe privation, content and even happiness came back to the D'Habervilles. It is true that the great manor house had been replaced by a somewhat humble dwelling; but it was a palace compared to the mill they had just left. The D'Habervilles had, moreover, suffered less than many others in the same position. Loved and respected by their tenants, they had suffered none of those humiliations which the vulgar often inflict upon their betters in distress. The D'Habervilles had never forgotten that it is the privilege of the upper classes to treat their inferiors with respect. They were besieged with offers of service. When it was decided to rebuild the manor, the whole parish volunteered its assistance to help along the work. Every man labored with as much zeal as if it were his own house he was building. With the delicate tact of the Frenchman, they never entered, except as invited guests, the poor chambers which the family had set apart in the mill. If they had been affectionate toward their seigneur in his prosperity, when the iron hand of adversity was laid upon him they became his devoted disciples.
Only they who have known great reverses, who have suffered long and cruelly, can appreciate the blissful content of them who again see better days. Hitherto all had respected Captain D'Haberville's grief, and in his presence had scarcely spoken above their breath; but now the natural gayety of the French heart reasserted itself, and all was changed as by enchantment.
The captain laughed and joked as he used to before the war, the ladies sang as they busied themselves about the house, and again the sonorous voice of Uncle Raoul was heard on fine evenings arousing the echoes of the cape. The faithful José was everywhere at once, and tales of the experiences of his "late father, now dead" flowed incessantly from his lips.
One morning toward the end of August, that same year, Captain D'Haberville was returning from the river Port-Joli, his gun on one shoulder and a well-filled game-bag slung over the other, when he saw a small boat put off from a ship which was anchored a little way out. The boat made directly for the D'Habervilles' landing. The captain sat on a rock to wait for it, imagining that it contained some sailors in quest of milk and fresh victuals. As they landed he was hastening forward to meet them, when he saw with surprise that one of them, who was dressed as a gentleman, was handing a packet to one of the sailors and directing him to take it to the manor house. At the sight of Captain D'Haberville this gentleman seemed to change his mind suddenly, for he stepped forward and handed him the packet with these words:
"I have hardly dared hand you this packet myself, Captain D'Haberville, although it contains news at which you will rejoice."
"Why, sir," replied the captain, searching his memory for the name of this person, whose face seemed half familiar, "why should you have hesitated to hand me the packet yourself if chance had not thrown me in your way?"
"Because, sir," said the other, hesitating, "I might have feared that it would be disagreeable to you to receive it at my hands. I know that Captain D'Haberville never forgets either a benefit or an injury."
Captain D'Haberville stared at the stranger; then, frowning heavily, he shut his eyes and was silent for some moments. The stranger, watching him intently, could see that a violent struggle was raging in his breast. Presently Captain D'Haberville recovered his self-possession and said, with scrupulous politeness:
"Let us leave to each man's own conscience the remembrance of past wrongs. You are here, Captain de Lochiel, and as the bearer of letters from my son you are entitled to every welcome on my part. The family will be glad to see you. You will receive at my house—a cordial hospitality." He was going to say bitterly a princely hospitality, but the reproach died upon his lips. The lion was as yet but half appeased.