NUMA ROUMESTAN,
11
native air, sang at the top of his voice as the
carriage rolled on :
' Beau soleil de la Provence,
Gai compère du mistral."
Then suddenly pausing, he exclaimed :
"Ménicle; eh, Ménicle!"
" Monsieur Numa?"
"What is that building over there?
"That, Monsieur Numa, is Queen Jeanne s
d°"3Ah,  yes,  that   is true.    I recollect   now.
Poor donjon, its name is  as demoralized as
itself "
He then proceeded to give Hortense a history
of the royal donjon, for he was familiar with
the Provençal legend connected with it. I hat
moss-covered tower up there dated from he
Saracen invasions, though less ancient than the
abbey close bv it, one crumbling wall of which
was pierced by long, narrow windows and an
arched doorway. He pointed out the footpath
hewn in the rock on the precipitous mountain
side, to enable the monks to descend to the sil-
very lake from which they obtained the carp
and eels that graced the abbot's table, and casu-
ally remarked that the epicurean and exclusive
convent life had installed itself upon every
beautiful and elevated site, but did not scorn to
descend to the valleys below to levy tithes from
nature and the, surrounding villages. Ah, the
middle ages in Provence, the charming age of
troubadours and tournaments. Now briers dis-
figure the dales through which the stephanettes
and azaleas once trailed their snowy robes, and
owls make night hideous where the troubadours
once sang, but does there not still linger over
the landscape an air of coquettish elegance, the
glamour of romance?
And so Numa talked on, forgetting that he
had only his sister-in-law and Ménicle for an
audience, and wandering off into one of those
brilliant and ingenious improvisations that
proved him beyond question a descendant of the
Provençal troubadours.
"There is Valmajour," the coachman said
suddenly, turning and pointing with his whip
to a dwelling, the pointed roofs of which had
just become visible. It stood at the base of a
ruined tower, upon a plateau, about half-way
up the mountain. It was there the Valmajours
had lived, father and son, for years and years,
there, by the ruins of the old château, now
called by their names. And who knows? Per-
haps these peasants were descendants of the
Princes of Valmajour, so closely allied, to the
Counts of Provence and the House of Baux.
This imprudent suggestion was by no means
unpleasing to Hortense, who was thus enabled
to satisfactorily explain the really distinguished
bearing of the tambourinist.
As this conversation went on in the carriage,
Ménicle listened in a state of mind verging on
stupefaction. The name of Valmajour wa3 a
very common one in that region, and the only
distinction made in referring to them was that-
some lived on the mountain and others in the
valley. " Hence they must, all be of noble de-
scent," was his conclusion, which he was
shrewd enough to keep to himself, however; but
Hortense, in whose eyes everything had been in-
vested with a tinge of romance by Roumestan's
animated descriptions, on perceiving a young
girl seated on a rock at the foot of the tower,
shading her eyes with her hand the better to
see who was coming, fancied her some prin-
cess gazing out from her ancestral home.
This illusion was only partially dispelled
when they alighted from the carriage and
found themselves in the presence of the tam-
bourinist's sister. She did not rise, and though
Ménicle had shouted to her from a distance :
"Here are some persons to see your brother,
Audiberte," her beautiful face expressed
neither joy nor surprise, but retained that ex-
pression of concentrated thought which brought
her heavy black brows close together. Rou-
mestan, a trifle surprised at this reserve, intro-
duced himself as "Numa Roumestan, the
deputy."
"Oh, I know you very well," she said,
gravely. "Come into the house; my brother
will soon be back."
Standing, the hostess lost much of her air of
distinction.
Short and unusually stout,'she walked with an
ungraceful jerking movement that ill accorded
pretty face whose charm was height
over the door, from which htung a large piece of
canvas to keep out th» mosquitoes; and the
hall, with its vaulted ceiling, white-washed
walls, and high antique mantel, was illumined
only by the Sight that forced its way through
the portière at the entrance.
In this dim light, one could distinguish a
wooden kneading trough in the form of a
sarcophagus, adorned with beautifully carved
flowers and bunches of maize, while above it
stood the panière in which bread is kept fresh
in all Provençal farm-houses. Two or three
religious statues, a small red copper lamp of
ancient form in a handsome stand of carved
wood, and a salt and meal box, one on either
side of the fireplace, were the only adornments
of the spacious apartment, with the exception of
a large conch-shell, to call the cattle, which lay
on the mantel. A long table stood in the mid-
dle of the room surrounded by benches and
stools, and long strings of onions hung from
the ceiling, black with flies that began to buzz
noisily whenever the curtain at the entrance was
lifted.
" Take a seat, monsieur and madame; you
must have grand-boire with us."
Grand-boire is tlie luncheon of Provençal peas-
ants. They partake of it anywhere—in the
open field, under a tree if one is to be found, in
the shade of a haystack, in the depths of a
ditch; but, as Valmajour and his father were
working near by, they took theirs in the house.
The table was even now awaiting them, spread
with a few yellow earthenware plates, a dish
of olives, and a salad swimming in oil. A bot-
and  some glasses stood in an osier stand.
to
was
tie
Supposing thaUhiscontained wine, Roumestan,
with a desire to ingratiate himself into the favor
of the shy young hostess, affably remarked:
" So you still make wine here."
But on hearing the word wine, the girl started
as if an asp had stung her, and her voice sud-
denly   assumed   a   tone   of   intense   acerbity.
"Wine! oh, yes, an immense quantity!    Out of
five vineyards they had but one left, and that
was the smallest one, and it cost them far more
cultivate it than it was worth.    And this
the  fault  of  whom?    The  fault  of   the
liberal  monsters  and  their  godless   republic,
which had unloosed all the  abominations   of
hell over the country."
Her eyes became "blacker and blacker as she
spoke, her features more and more distorted,
and her brows contracted ominously; but the
most ludicrous thing of all was, that she con-
tinued her preparations for the repast all the
while she thus gave vent to her anger, adding
fresh fuel to the fire, making coffee for the
men, brandishing now the bellows, now the
coffee pot, as if it were the torch of one of the
Furies. Then suddenly she calmed down.
"Here is my brother."
The curtain was lifted, admitting a flood of
light, and the tall form of Valmajour, followed
by a short, smoothly shaven old man, whose
face was as dark and distorted as the stem of a
stunted grape-vine. Neither father nor son
evinced any more surprise at the sight of the
visitors than Audiberte had manifested, and
after the first greetings were exchanged the
whole party gathered around the lunch table,
this having been re-enforced by all the viands
which had been taken from the carriage, and at
the sight of which old Valmajour's eyes sparkled
greedily. Roumestan, who could not realize
how little impression he made upon these peas-
ants, soon referred to young Valmajour's suc-
cess on the previous Sunday. This certainly
could not fail to please the old man!
"Of course, of course," was the response;
" but I too, won prizes in my day," and in his
half-sneering smile one recognized the same
twist of the mouth his daughter had indulged
in in her fit of anger, just before. At that
moment the young peasant girl was sitting very
quietly on a low seat by the fireplace, with her
plate upon her lap, for though absolute mistress
of the house, she followed the Provençal eus-
torn, which forbade women to seat themselves
at the table with the men of the family ; but in
this humble position she listened attentively to
all that was said, and shook her head when al-
lusion was made to the fete held in the amphi-
theater.
Fhe did not like the tambourine, not she. It
had cost her mother her life, worrying her into
her grave. All these frivolous pursuits, which
interfere with   steady  work,  cost   one   more
Seeing their incredulity, he tried to explain
how capricious Paris was, and how lavishly it
was willing to pay for its caprices. He described
the success of Mathurin, the great cornet-
player. And what a difference there was be-
tween that loud, coarse instrument, fit only to
lead the dance of the Esquimaux on tlie shores
of the Arctic Seas, and the delicate, elegant
tambourine! In other words, all Paris would
go wild with a desire to dance the farandole.
Hortense too, became eager, and put in a word
now and then, while the musician smiled faintly
as he stroked his brown mustache with a com-
placent air.
" But how much do you really think he could
make by his music?" inquired the girl.
Roumestan reflected a little. He could not
say exactly,—probably from one hundred and
fifty to two hundred francs------
" A month?" asked the father eagerly.
" Oh no, a day of course."
The three peasants started, then exchanged
glances. Coming from any oue but " Moussu
Numa," a deputy and nember of the General
Council, they would have thought the assertion
merely a joke; but with him, the matter became
serious. Two hundred francs a day! The
musician was more than willing to start at once.
Tin sister, more prudent, wished Roumestan
to sign some contract; and with eyes downcast,
to conceal the avaricious light that gleamed in
them, she discussed the subject in a hypocritical
voice. Valmajour was so much needed at home.
Her father was growing old, and no longer had
strength to labor in the fields. What should
they do if her brother left them? And he, alone
in Paris would certainly pine and perhaps die.
And his mone—ythe two hundred francs a day
that he was to make, what would he do with it
in that great city?
Her voice became hard in speaking of this
money of which she would not have charge,
and which she could not lock up in the deepest
of her drawers.
"Then come to Paris with him," suggested
Roumestan.
" And the house?"
" Rent or sell it. You can buy a better one
on your return."
A rather anxious glance from Hortense
checked him, and seized with sudden remorse
for making any attempt to disturb the peaceful
life of these worthy people, he added: "But
after all, there is something besides money to
be thought of, in life.    You are happy as you
are------"
"Happy!" interrupted Audiberte quickly.
"Life is hard; it is not as it used to be years
ago." Then she again began to recount their trials
and grievances. The soil was exhausted, and
they were obliged to toil like slaves. It is true
that there was a little prospect of inheriting some-
thing from Cousin Puyfourcat, who had been
living in Algiers for thirty years, but Algiers is
so far away. Then the astute little creature, to
rekindle Monsieur Numa's enthusiasm, which
seemed to be flagging a little, suddenly said to
her brother, in a wheedling tone:
" Come, Valmajour, why not play a little
air to amuse the young lady?"
Ahl the slv creature knew what she was
doing. The first silvery trill sent Roumestan
off into ecstasies again, and Hortense listened
and admired in speechless delight, while all
sorts of romantic fancies flitted through her
little head. She saw the old castle as it was
centuries ago, before time had laid its destroy-
ing finger upon it, its stately rooms peopled
with beauties in long, pointed bodices, and with
the clear colorless skin which even the most
intense heat has no power to mar. She, her-
self, was the Princess des Baux, with a pretty,
saintly name; and the musician, playing before
her, was also of princely rank, the last of the
Valmajours, in spite of the peasant's garb he
wore. So, the music ending, as they say in
the Chronicles of the tournaments, she broke a
purple blossom from the luxuriant vine above
her head, and offered it, in payment for her
serenade, to the handsome musician, who
gallantly fastened it to the cords of his tam-
bourine.
with  the r,
ened  by   a    little   Artesian   cap    and   large | money than they bring in,
muslin fichu.    They entered.    The abode had I     " Let him come to Pans, then
' said Roumes-
CHAPTER VI.
Three,months have passed since that excur-
sion to Mount Cordoue.
Parliament had just convened at Versailles in
a November rain, which enveloped the cham-
bers in dampness and gloom, but failed to cool
The session promised to

quite an  imposing" air, supported by a ruined | tan.    " I will guarantee that this tambourine | political^~ioDS.     -                   &^d     ^
tower, and bearing a coat-of-arms on the stone  will yield him a fortune there."                             be a most agitated one.    nains loaueo. wuu