«g* '
36
THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS.
fumes a formidable plate of ham and cabbage, and
another plate, not less formidable, of a ragout of mut-
ton and potatoes; finally, a quarter of roast veal,
flanked by two salads, and accompanied by two plates
of potatoes and two cheeses, completed the repast.
Three or four stone pitchers, filled with foaming cider
made on the farm, and as many loaves of bread, as
large as millstones, were at the discretion of the
laborers.
An old shepherd's dog, almost without teeth, owed to"
his great age and former services the permission to re-
main by the fireside. Using modestly and discreetly
this privilege, with his muzzle elongated on his two out-
stretched paws, he followed with an attentive eye the
different culinary evolutions which preceded the sup-
per. This venerable dog answered to the name, some-
what pastoral, of Lysander. Perhaps the ordinary of
the people of this farm will appear somewhat sumptu-
ous; but Madame Georges (in this faithful to the views
of Rodolphe) ameliorated as much as possible the con-
dition of her workmen, exclusively chosen among the
most honest and industrious of the country. They were
well paid; they were made comfortable and happy;
thus, to become a laborer on the farm of Bouqueval
was the aim of all the good workmen of the district; an
innocent ambition, which kept alive a sort of emula-
tion, so much the more to be praised as it turned to the
profit of the masters they served; for no one could pre-
sent himself to obtain a vacant place on a farm unless
he had the best recommendations from his former
employer.
Rodolphe created thus, on a small scale, a kind of
model farm, not only destined to the improvement of
agriculture or the breed of cattle, but, above all, to the
amelioration of men; and he attained this end by.
making it their interest to be honest, active, and intelli-
gent. After having served up the supper, and placed
on the table a jug of old wine, destined to accompany
the dessert, the cook rang the bell. At this joyous
appeal, laborers, boys, milkmaids, girls, to the number
of twelve or fifteen, entered gayly into the kitchen.
The head of the table was occupied by an old laborer
with white hair, with an honest and hardy face, and a
slightly sneering mouth. The pere châtelain (as this
Nestor was called), having never left the farm since his
infancy, was there employed as head laborer when Ro-
dolphe bought the farm; the old "serviteur" was
warmly recommended to him; he kept him, and he was
invested, under the orders or Madame Georges, as a
superintendent o£ the field-labors. All the peasants
seated themselves. After having asked a blessing in a
loud voice, the pere châtelain, after an old and holy
custom, traced a cross on one of the loaves of bread
With the point of his penknife, and cut off a smallpiece,
representing the share of the Holy Virgin, or for the
poor; he poured out a glass of wine afterward, under
the same invocation, and put the whole on a plate,
which was piously placed on the centre of the table.
At this moment the dogs without began to bark; the
old Lysander answered by a sullen growl, drew up his
nap, and showed two or three stumps which were yet
quite respectable.
" There is some one by the walls of the court," said
the pere châtelain. Hardly had he said these words,
when the bell of the large door was rung. "Who can
come so late?" said the old laborer; "everybody has
come in.   Go and see, Jean Rene"."
Jean Rene put back with regret, into his plate, an
enormous spoonful of hot soup, which he had been
blowing like a young Eolus, and went out of the
kitchen.
" This is the first time for a long while that Madame
Georges and Mademoiselle Marie have not taken their
seat in the corner, to assist at our supper," said the
pere châtelain; " I am hungry, but I don't eat with the
same appetite." "Madame Georges has gone up to
the room of Mademoiselle Marie ; for when she returned
from her walk, she was quite unwell, and has gone to
bed," answered Claudine, the robust peasant girl, who
had accompanied Fleur de Marie home. " Our good
Mademoiselle Marie is only indisposed—I hope she is
not sick!" asked the old laborer, anxiously. " No, no I
Dieu merce! pere châtelain; Madame Georges said it
was nothing," answered Claudine; "otherwise she
would have sent to Paris for M. David, this black doc-
tor, who has already taken charge of her when she
was sick. All the same, I know ; but a black doctor is
so surprising 1 For myself, I have no great confidence.
A white doctor, very well; it's Christianlike."
" Hasn't M. David cured Mademoiselle Marie?" "Yes,
pere châtelain." "Well!" "All the same; a black
doctor scares me." " Didn't he put old Mother Anique
on her feet, who, in consequence of a wound in her
legs, had not been able to move from her bed in three
years?" "Yes, yes, pere châtelain; but a black doc-
tor; just think; all black, all black."
" Listen, my girl : what color is your heifer Musette ?"
"White, pere châtelain, white as a swan; and a
famous milker: can say that without making her
blush."
" And your heifer Rosette?" " Black as a crow, pere
châtelain: a famous milker also—must be just to all."
" And the milk of this black heifer, what color is it?"
"Why, white, to be sure; it is very simple, white as
snow," " As white and good as that of Musette's?"
"Why, yes, pere châtelain." "Although Rosette is
black?" " Although Rosette is black^what difference
does it make in the milk, whether the cow is black, red,
or white?" "None." "Absolutely none, pere châte-
lain." "Well, then! my girl, why cannot a black doc-
tor be asgood asawhite one?" "Marry! perechate-
lain; it was on account of the skin," said the girl, after
a moment's hesitation. " But, in truth, since Rosette
the black has as good milk as Musette the white, the
skin can make no difference." These physiognomic
reflections of Claudine on the difference between the
races of the blacks and whites were interrupted by the
return of Jean Rene, who blew on his fingers with as
much vigor as he had blown on his soup. " Oh 1 how
cold! how cold it is to-night! it freezes as hard as a
stone," said he, coining in; "better be within, doors
than without such weather: how cold!"
" A frost commencing with an east wind will be hard
and long; you ought to know that. boy. But who rang
the bell?" asked the old laborer. " A poor blind man*
and a child who conducts him, pere châtelain."
Chapter VII.—Hospitality.
"And what does he want, this blind man?" asked
the pere châtelain of Jean Rente. "The poor man and
his son have got lost in going from Louvres • by the
cross-road. As it is so cold and the night so dark, for
the sky is now overcast, the blind man and his boy ask
permission to sleep in the stable. Madame Georges is
so good.that she never refuses hospitality to au unfor-
tunate; she will certainly consent to give a lodging to
these poor people; but we must ask her. Go and see,
Claudine."
"And where is he waiting, this poor man?" asked le
pere châtelain.
" In the little granary." " Why did you put him in
the granary?"
" If he had remained in the court, the dogs would
have torn him to pieces, he and the boy. Yes, pere
châtelain, I had as much as I could do—be quiet, Turkl
here, Medorl down, Sultan! I have never seen them
so much enraged. And yet on this farm 'they are never
set on beggars, as they are.in some places." " Ma foi,
my children, the poor's portion has been reserved for
some purpose. Sit closet—sol Put two more covers
on, one for the blind man, the other for his son; for
surely Madame Georges will let. them pass the night
here."
"It is very astonishing that the dogs should have
been so furious,'.' said Jean Rene to himself; " there
was Turk, above all, that Claudine took with her to-
night to the parsonage; he was like a possessed. When
I patted him to appease him, his hair stood up like a
porcupine. What do you say to that, heiu ! pere châte-
lain, you who know everything?" "I say, mon gareon 1
I who know everything, that the dumb beasts know
some things better than I do. During the hurricane
this autumn, which changed the little river into a tor-
rent, when I returned at dark night,, with my farm
horses, seated on the old roan, may the devil take me, if
I should have known how to pass the ford, for I couldn't
see my hand before my face 1 Weill I laid the bridle on
the neck of the old roan, and he found all alone what
none of us could have found. Who taught him that?"
" Yes, pere châtelain; who taught him iliat, the old
roan horse?" " He who teaches the swallows to build
their nests under the eaves, and humming-birds in the
midst of the rosebushes, mon gareon. Weill Claudine,"
said the old oracle to the dairy-maid, who entered car-
rying on her arm two pair of white sheets, diffusing an
odor of sage and vervaive,"heiu! Madame Georges has
ordered the blind man and his boy to be kept here to-
night, hasn't she?"
" Here art the sheets to make their beds in the little
room at the end of the corridor," said Claudine. "Go,
and bring them in, Jean Rene. You, my girl, place two
chairs by the fire; they must warm themselves ajlittle
before tney can eat: they must be very cold."
The noise of the dogs was again heard, and the voice
of Jean Rene trying to appease them. The door of the
kitchen was pushed open; the Maitre d'Eeole and Tor-
tillard entered with precipitation, as if they had been
pursued. " Take care of your dogsl" cried'the Maitre
d'Ecole in affright.   "They came near biting us."
"They have torn a piece of my blouse, ' said Tor-
tillard, still pale with fear. " Don't be afraid, my good
man," said Jean Rene, shutting the door; "butljiave
never seen our dogs so wicked: sure it is the cold
makes them cross. The beasts, perhaps, have reason ;
they wish, perhaps, to bite, by way of getting warm 1"
"Now, your turn!" said the laborer, stopping old Ly-
sander just at the moment, as, growling, he was about
to spring on the new-comers. "He has heard the
other dogs bark, and thinks he must do as they do.
Will you go to sleep at once, old savage? will you?"
At these words of the pere châtelain, accompanied
by a significant kick, Lysander retired, still growling,
to his usual place at the fire. The Maitre d'Eeole and
Tortillard had remained at the door of the kitchen, not
daring to advance.
Wrapped in a blue cloak with a fur collar, his hat
drawn over his black cap, which almost concealed his
face, the brigand held the hand of Tortillard, who
leaned against him, looking at the peasant with defi-
ance.
The features of the Maitre d'Eeole were so hideous,
that the inhabitants of the farm remained for a mo-
ment stupefied, some with disgust, the others with af-
fright; this impression did not escape Tortillard; the
fear of the peasants reassured him: he was proud of
the feelings his companion inspired. This first move-
ment over, the pere châtelain, only thinking of ful-
filling the duties of hospitality, said to the Maitre
d'Eeole, "My good man, draw near to the fire; you
will first warm yourself. Afterward you will sup with
us, for we were about to sit down when you came.
There, sit there. But what a head I have 1 it is not to
you, but to your son, I must speak, since you are, un-
fortunately, blind. Here, my child; conduct your
father to the fire."
"Yes, my good Sir," answered Tortillard, in a nasal
and liypocrital voice ; " may the ' bon Dieu ' return
your charity! Follow me! take care," added he to the
brigand, guiding him to the fireplace. At first Lysan-
der howled in a low tone; but, having scented for a
moment the Maitre d'Eeole, he uttered that kind of
mortal cry which is commonly called the death-howl.
"Hell!" said the Maitte d'Eeole to himself, "is it,
then, blood that these cursed animals scent? I wore
these pantaloons the night of the assassination of the
cattle-merchant."   "I declare, it is astonishing," whis-
Eered Jean Rene: " old Lysander has set up the death-
owl at the strangers."
The cries of Lysander were so piercing, so plaintive,
that the other dogs heard it, and, according to the
habits of the canine race, they repeated or answered
these horrible howlings. Although but little super-
stitions, the laborers looked at one another with
affright. And, truly, what was passing seemed very
singular. A man they could not look at without hor-
ror entered the house ; then the dogs, until then very
quiet, became furious, and uttered those plaintive
cries wliich, according to the popular belief, indicated
the approach of death.
The brigand himself, notwithstanding his infernal
audacity, shuddered for a moment on hearing the
funeral cries which burst forth on his arrival — he—an
assassin.
Tortillard, skeptical, brazen, like a boy of Paris, cor-
rupted, as we may say, at his mother's breast, alone
remained indifferent at the moral effect of this scene.
No longer afraid of being bitten, this miserable abor-
tion laughed at that which alarmed the people of the
farm, and made the Maitre d'Eeole shudder. The first
surprise being over, Jean Rene went out, and the cracks
of his whip could soon be heard, dissipating the mourn-
ful forebodings of Turk. Sultan, and Medor. At the
end of a few moments the frightful ugliness of the
Maitre d'Eeole inspired them more with pity than hor-
ror ; they pitied the lamness of the little boy, and began
to find his cunning face quite interesting, and praised
much the great attention he showed to his papa.
The appetite of the people, for a moment forgotten,
was awakened with new energy, and for some mo-
ments nothing was heard but the noise of the knivee
and lorks. They could not, however, help remarking
the tender care the child took of the blind man. Tor-
tillard prepared everything for him, cut his bread, and
Çoured out his drink with an attention quite filial,
his was the fine side of the picture, now mark the re-
verse: as much from cruelty as by the spirit of imita-
tion, natural at his age, Tortillard experienced a crue?
enjoyment in tormenting the Maitre d'Eeole, from the1
example of La Chouette, whom be was proud thus to
copy, and whom he loved with a kind of devotion.
How, this perverse child, did he feel the need of being,
beloved? How, did he feel happy from the sem-
blance of affection shown him by La Choutte? How,
could he finally have been affected at the faint re-
membrance of the caresses of his mother? It was once
more one of those frequent anomalies, which, from
time to time, happily protest against unity in vice. We
have said that feeling, like La Chouette, great pleasure
in having (he a poor little boy) for a bete de souf-
france a muzzled tiger, Tortillard, seated at the table,
had the wickedness to refine his pleasures by forcing
the Maitre d'Ecole to bear his ill-treatment without
winking. He compensated, therefore, each of his os-
tensible attentions to his supposed father by a kick un-
der the table, particularly addressed to the old wound
in the leg, of which the Maitre d'Eeole had spoken.
It needed all his fortitude to conceal his sufferings at
each kick of Tortillard, as the little wretch always
took care to commence his attacks when the brigand
was about to drink or speak. Nevertheless, he main-
tained his impassibility of expression, concealing his
rage and feelings, thinking (and the son of Bras-Rogue
reckoned on it) that it would be very dangerous for the
success of his designs, if they found out what was pass-
ing under the table. " Here, poor papa, here is a nut.
nicely picked," said Tortilliard, placing on his plate a
wainut plucked from its shell.
" Very good, my child, " said the pere châtelain ; then
addressiug the brigand, "you are very much to be
pitied, my good man; but you have such a fine son, it
must be a great consolation to you !" " Yes, yes, my
misfortune is great, but without tlie tenderness of thi*
dear child,-----"   The Maitre d'Eeole could not repress
a piercing cry.
The son of Bras-Rogue'had this time hit the centre of
the wound; the pain was excruciating.
"MonDeiu! what is the matter, poor dear papa?"
cried Tortillard, in a fearful voice, and, getting up from
his seat, he threw both his arms around his neck.
At the first movement of rage and anger, the brigand-
had a mind to crush the child in his Herculean arms,
and pressed him so closely to his breast, that the child,
losing his breath, made a slight groan. But instantly-
reflecting that he could not do without his services,
he let him go, and pushed him on his chair. In alt
this the peasant only saw an interchange of pa-
ternal and filial tenderness; the pallor and suffocation
of Tortillard appeared to them to be caused by the
emotion of this good son. "What is the matter, my
good man?" asked the pere châtelain. " Your cry just
now has made your child pale. Poor little fellow ! look,
he can hardly breathe." "It is nothing," answered,
the Maitre d'Eeole, recovering his sang froid, "I am
by trade a locksmith. Some time since, in working
with the hammer a bar of iron, I let it fall on my legs,
and it made such a deep burn that it is not yet healed.
Just now I hit it against the leg of the table, and ï
could not keep from screaming out." "Poor papa!"
said Tortillard, recovering from his emotion, and cast-
ing a diabolical look at the Maitre d'Eeole; "poor
papal Yet it is true, my good gentlemen, they could
never cure his leg. Alas! no, never; oh! I'd willing
have it—so that he should no longer suffer, poor deaê
papa.'-' The women looked at Tortillard with much
affection. "Well, my good man," answered the. pere
châtelain, " it is unfortunate for you that you did not
come to the farm three weeks since, instead of to-
night." "Why so?" " Because we had here for some
days a doctor from Paris, who has a sovereign remedy
for diseases of the leg. A good old woman of the vil-
lage, who hadn't walked for three years—the doctor
applied some ointment—now she runs about like a, Bis-
cayan, and she means soon to walk to Paris to thank
her savior. Allée des Veuves, at Paris. You know it's
a long road. But what is the matter? does the wound
hurt you again?"
Thèse words, Allée des Veuves, awakened such ter-
rible recollections, that he could not refrain from shud-
dering and contracting his hideous features. "Yes,"
he answered, endeavoring to recover himself, "another
spasm."
" Dear papa, be quiet, I'll rub your leg carefully to-
night," said Tortillard. "Poor little fellow," said
Claudine. " how he loves his father!" " It is really a
pity," continued the pere Châtelain, addressing the
Maitre d'Eeole, "that this worthy doctor is not here;
but I know he is as charitable as he is learned; in re-
turning to Paris, let your son conduct you there, he
will cure you, I am sure of it; his address is not diffi-
cult to remember, Allée des Veuves, No. 17. If you
forget the number, no matter; there are not many doc-
tors in that quarter, above all black doctors—for you.
must know he is black, this excellent Dr. David,"
The features of the Maitre d'Eeole were so dreadfully
scarred, that his paleness could not be perceived.
Nevertheless, he turned pale, frightfully pale, first at
hearing the number of the house, and then the name
of David, the black physician.
Of this black, who, by orders of Rodolphe, had in-
flicted on him a terrible punishment, of which at each
moment he suffered the horrid consequences. This
was a fatal day for the Maitre d'Eeole. The morning
he had endured the tortures of La Chouette and the
son of Tjras-Rouge; he arrives at the farm, the dogs
raised the death-howl at his appearance, and wish to
devour him; finally, chance conducts him to a bouse-
where some days sooner he would have met his execu-
tioner. Separately, these circumstances would have
been enough to excite both the rage and fear of the
brigand, but coming all at once, the blow was too vio-
lent. For the first time in his life he experienced a.
kind of superstitious terror—he asked himself if chance
alone could have brought about incidents so strange.
The pere châtelain, not perceiving the agitation of
the Maitre d'Eeole, continued: "Besides, my good
man, when you go, we will give the address of the doc-
tor to your son, it will oblige M. David to put him in
the way of serving any one; he is so good, so goodl it
is a pity he always looks so sad. But come—let us
drink a glass to the health of your future savior."
"Thank you—I am notthristy."
"Drink, then, dear good papa, drink, it will do you