Volume 14 / Part 2 — V THE CHERRIES.—THE RAVINE

Edmond very soon put in execution the plan he had formed. On the day after that on which he had dined at Madame Dalmont’s, he returned to Chelles alone. He did not call upon the ladies, because a second visit after so brief an interval would have been indiscreet; but he went all about the neighborhood and succeeded in finding an attractive house to let all furnished, a very short distance from Madame Dalmont’s. The house was large enough for a good-sized family; it was much too large for a single man; but the tenant could have possession at once, and it was only five minutes’ walk from Madame Dalmont’s; so Edmond did not hesitate; he hired it for the balance of the year for one thousand francs, one-half of which he paid in cash to Monsieur Durand, the owner of the property.

Two days later, the young man called at Madame Dalmont’s.

“It is a neighbor of yours,” he said, “who ventures to pay you a visit, and who, if it is not too presumptuous, will ask your permission to come now and then in the evening, to play and sing with you.”

“What! have you hired a house here?” cried Agathe, unable to restrain a joyous movement.

“Yes, mademoiselle, a summer house, belonging to a Monsieur Durand, very near that lady’s house where Freluchon was so coldly received when he went there to ask for me a few days ago.”

“Oh! I know the place,” said Honorine, “but it seems to me to be very large for a single man.”

“Oh! what difference does it make? Besides, Freluchon will come to see me often, and pass the night.”

“I thought that he didn’t like this part of the country.”

“He will get used to it; for my part, the longer I am here, the better I like it.”

As he said this, Edmond’s eyes were fixed on Agathe, and she understood perfectly why the young man liked Chelles so much.

But it was not without considerable disquietude that Honorine saw Edmond Didier take up his abode so near to them; and Agathe, who could read her protectress’s face very easily, said to her after Edmond’s departure:

“How serious you look! Are you sorry that Monsieur Edmond has hired a country house in this vicinity? You frown at me; is it my fault?”

“Your fault? yes, of course it’s your fault; and yet I can’t scold you! Why, you know perfectly well that this young man is in love with you; and that that was the only motive that led him to hire that house, which is large enough for ten persons.”

“My dear friend, I swear to you that Monsieur Edmond has never said a word to me which would lead me to suppose that—that he was thinking of me.”

“I believe you; indeed, he has not been coming here long.”

“Do you mean that you think that that young man is capable of saying unseemly things to me? Do you suppose that I would listen to them?”

“No. Monsieur Edmond seems an honorable man; he has no evil intentions, I believe; but love is a sentiment that one cannot control. If you should love this young man——”

“Well, where would be the harm, since you think that he loves me? He would be my husband.”

“Your husband! My poor girl, before marrying, you must have at least enough to live on. You have nothing, and I fancy that Monsieur Edmond hasn’t very much, either!”

“But he is always very well and fashionably dressed; he hired Monsieur Durand’s house for a thousand francs.”

“That proves that he knows how to spend money, but not that he knows how to earn it.—Come, come, don’t you take your turn at making wry faces at me. I am your second mother; I am thinking of your future, of your welfare; you ought not to be angry with me for that.”

Agathe replied by throwing herself into Honorine’s arms, saying:

“Never fear! I shall not have any secrets from you.”

The two friends had hardly finished their conversation when Poucette’s voice attracted their attention. The girl was talking to someone, in what seemed to be a threatening tone. Her voice came from the garden; the two ladies were there in a moment, and found Poucette clinging to the leg of a small boy who had climbed into a cherry tree, and continued to eat the cherries although she jerked at his leg, trying to pull him down. But when Honorine and Agathe appeared, little Emile concluded to come down from the tree.

“D’ye see, madame,” cried Poucette, “here’s the one that steals our cherries; for some time past I’ve been noticing that the cherries kept disappearing although you ladies don’t pick any; so I began to suspect something; I hid and watched, and I saw this good-for-nothing scamp, the lost child, climbing over the wall right here by the cherry tree, and in a minute he was in the tree.”

“Oh! I recognize him,” said Agathe; “it’s the boy who chased the cow that frightened you so.”

“Pardi! he don’t know to do anything but mischief, the wicked little scamp.—But I’ll teach you!”

And the peasant made ready to strike the boy, who neither stirred nor spoke, and seemed to care little whether he was beaten or not.

But Honorine stopped Poucette with a gesture; then she sat down on a bench and beckoned the boy to her.

He hesitated, but at last decided to go to her, after casting a savage glance at Poucette.

“Why do you come here to take my cherries?” inquired Honorine in a gentle voice, and looking at the little thief with no trace of anger.

He seemed astonished to be spoken to otherwise than harshly; he lowered his eyes and answered at last:

“Well! I like cherries, I do.”

“Even so, that is no reason for taking what doesn’t belong to you,—for climbing a wall. Do you know what a risk you run? If the constable had seen you he would have arrested you; he might have taken you to prison, and they would have kept you a long time perhaps, as a vagrant, a bad boy.”

“Oh! I’m too small; they don’t put little boys in prison!”

“You are mistaken! little boys are just the ones they do keep in the houses of correction until they grow up, so that they can’t loiter along the roads doing nothing.”

“Well, then, in prison I’d play with the other little boys, as you say there’s little boys there.”

“No, you wouldn’t play, because they don’t keep little ne’er-do-wells in prison to play and enjoy themselves; they make them work; and those who refuse are punished, kept on bread and water, and not allowed to speak to anyone.—Come now, think and tell me whether the few cherries you have eaten are worth all the punishments that they might bring upon you.”

Little Emile made no reply; he gazed at Honorine, furtively at first, but at last made bold to look her in the face, as if to assure himself that she was not laughing at him, and that she really meant what she had said. Doubtless the young woman’s face inspired confidence, for he seemed to reflect; and after a few moments he muttered:

“What am I to do to get cherries then? there ain’t any cherry tree at our house; and they won’t give me any money to buy any.”

“Why, instead of stealing—which is very, very wrong, even if it’s only cherries—you should just come and ask for some; and I would never refuse to give them to you! Especially if I haven’t heard of your doing any more naughty things, like throwing stones at a cow to make her run through the fields at the risk of hurting people, especially poor little children who might not have time to get out of the way. Oh! it is so wicked to hurt those who are weak and can’t defend themselves; only cowardly hearts do that.”

“Oh! I fight with big boys, I do!”

“Don’t fight at all; that will be much better.”

Then she made a sign to Agathe, who understood her and brought a little basket filled with cherries. Honorine took out two handfuls and handed them to the little boy.

“Here,” she said, “since you are so fond of cherries, take these.”

The child stared at her in surprise, and said in a faltering voice:

“What! are you going to give me some?”

“Yes, I will give you these, on condition that you won’t steal any more; do you promise?”

“Well! as long as you give ‘em to me, I don’t need to climb over the wall any more.”

And the boy, putting his hands together, received the cherries which she gave him and hugged them to his breast. Then he looked all about and asked:

“Can I go now?”

“To be sure—you are free. Go; but don’t be so naughty any more, and instead of making everybody hate you, make them love you, and you will see how much happier that will make you.”

“And will everybody give me cherries?”

“I don’t promise you that; but people will be kind to you when you are kind to them.”

Little Emile said nothing more; but he made a pirouette and scampered away, shouting at Poucette as he passed her:

“The lady’s better ‘n you!”

“Thanks!” said the young peasant; “if madame gives fruit to everybody who comes to steal it, they won’t take the trouble to climb the wall!”

“Well! what would you have had me give the child?”

“It seems to me that he deserved a good licking instead of cherries!”

“He is said to be very naughty; but on the other hand everybody scolds him and treats him harshly.”

“Sometimes they beat him, and hard too!”

“Well, I propose to try another method of reforming him.”

“You are right,” said Agathe; “gentleness is better than violence; I have read that somewhere in La Fontaine’s fables.”

A few days later, Edmond having gone to Paris, the two friends knew that he would not come to see them; and so, immediately after dinner, Agathe proposed to Honorine that they should go for a long walk.

“I don’t want to go in the direction of the Tower,” said Honorine; “it would seem as if we were trying to meet the owner again; and as that gentleman has not thought fit to call to inquire whether my fright had any serious consequences, I should be sorry to have him think that we cared to see him again.”

There was a faint suggestion of irritation in Honorine’s manner as she said this; but Agathe did not notice it.

“Mon Dieu! my dear,” she rejoined, “as the man doesn’t care for society, but avoids it, why should you expect him to come to see us? It doesn’t seem to me that that is any reason why we should deprive ourselves of the pleasure of walking in the direction that is most agreeable to us. For my part, I would like to go toward the Tower, and Noisy-le-Grand; for that is where that ravine is, with the cross erected on the spot where they found a young man dead. To tell the truth, I am very curious to see the place; it will make my flesh creep, but no matter; I am very desirous to see it; I have never forgotten that story that the doctor told us.”

Honorine, whose resolution did not seem very firm, replied:

“Oh, well! if you want to see the ravine and the cross—after all, it isn’t our fault that the gentleman’s estate lies in that direction; and then it would be very strange if we should happen to meet him again.”

“It isn’t likely.”

“At all events, if we do meet him, we will not speak to him—do you understand? we will simply bow to him, but we will not stop.”

“But suppose he speaks to us?”

“Oh! in that case—but he won’t speak to us, as he cares so little for society.”

“Let us start; this time I trust that we shall not meet any cows to frighten us.”

The two friends left the house. It was seven o’clock in the evening; the weather was fine, but the atmosphere was somewhat heavy and seemed to presage a storm. The young women did not allow themselves to be frightened by some dark clouds which appeared above the horizon. They strolled idly along the road to Gournay, stopping now and then to pluck flowers; and after passing through the little village, Honorine said:

“We must not take the road we took the other time, which leads toward that gentleman’s property. Let us take another road—this one, for instance.”

“But suppose we lose our way?”

“We can always find it again by inquiring. Besides, Noisy-le-Grand is in this direction.”

“But Noisy isn’t where we want to go; we want to find the ravine where the cross is that was set up in memory of the young man who was murdered there.”

“Well! that ravine, they say, is close by the road leading to Noisy.”

“No, it’s near the park belonging to the Tower, and this road takes us away from it.”

“You don’t know any more about it than I. However, we will ask.”

The two friends walked along the road, which was unfamiliar to them; it was shaded in spots by fine walnut trees and venerable acacias.

After having walked for some time, Honorine stopped.

“How dark it is!” she said; “has the night come already?”

“No, it’s the storm coming up! Oh! how black it is! What should we do if the storm should surprise us here? I don’t see any house where we could go for shelter.”

“We will stand under one of these magnificent walnuts.”

“Oh, no! when it lightens, we mustn’t stand under a walnut tree, it’s one of the trees that attract lightning.”

“What! are you afraid, Agathe, you who are always so brave?”

“A storm isn’t very pleasant when you’re in the midst of the fields! Oh! mon Dieu!”

“What is it?”

“I felt a drop of rain, a big drop.”

“Let’s walk faster.”

But they quickened their pace to no purpose: in a moment the storm burst; the rain fell in torrents and forced them to seek shelter under a huge tree whose dense foliage protected them almost entirely from the downpour.

“We are not lucky in our walks!” said Honorine; “I shall not leave our garden any more!”

“Nonsense! when it’s over we forget all about it.”

“Yes, but this one keeps on, and we are a long way from home! What an idea of yours to want to go to a place that is said to be dangerous!”

“Oho! it’s your turn to be afraid now.”

“Not of the thunder, at all events!”

“But the thunder is more dangerous than a cross set up in a ravine.”

“Ah! what a flash! it was superb!”

“It was frightful!”

“I think the rain is subsiding a little.”

“Let us go on.”

“Mon Dieu! here comes the darkness now; suppose it should overtake us before we have found our way!”

“Let us walk, let us walk; we shall certainly meet someone who will tell us which way to go.”

“Oh! how slippery the rain has made the road! We shall fall in a moment; that will be the last straw!”

“Let’s take each other’s arm, and hold on firmly.”

The two friends walked on, laughing when they almost fell, shrieking with terror when the lightning flashes lighted up the surrounding country. The rain had almost ceased, but the night was coming on, and the farther they walked, the less familiar the road seemed to them.

At last they met a peasant woman driving an ass before her; at sight of her they uttered a cry of delight.

“Madame! madame! which way to Chelles, if you please?”

“Why, bless me! you’re turning your backs to it!”

“Which way must we go, then?”

“See, take this path to the left; then turn to the left again and you’ll come to Gournay; then——”

“Oh! we know the way after that, thanks!”

“And the cross in the ravine—are we far from that?”

“The cross in the ravine! Jesus, my Lord! you want to go to the cross in the ravine! at night! What in the world do you want to go there for?”

“From curiosity.”

“The deuce! you must be mighty curious, then!”

“Is it dangerous to go by there?”

“Bless me! this much is sure, that nobody round here would want to go through the ravine at night. As soon as you get near it, you hear groans and complaints.—It’s the dead man come back, for sure.”

“I don’t believe in ghosts myself.”

“It’s plain you don’t belong round here. Well, if you take the road I told you, you’re bound to pass, not through the ravine, but by one end of it. Good-night, mesdames.”

“Will you let us take your ass to return to Chelles? we will pay whatever you choose.”

“No, no; I don’t let my ass to folks who want to go to the dead man’s cross! No, thank you! Besides, Julie wouldn’t go, either; she’d balk. Come, away with you, my poor Julie!”

And the peasant who gave her jenny the name of Julie went her way, driving the beast before her.

“We know our way now,” said Honorine; “let’s make haste, for it will soon be entirely dark.”

“The thunder is still rumbling.”

“That isn’t what I am afraid of.”

“Do you mean to say that you believe in that peasant woman’s nonsense, and the groans that are heard in the ravine?”

“I’ll tell you this, that when we pass the place, I shall run. Mon Dieu! how dark it is!”

“Here we are on the main road, at all events. We must turn to the left again.”

“I can hardly see, and I am beginning to be very tired.”

“Oh! look, my dear, this narrow path between those two little hills must be the ravine.”

“Well! perhaps you would like to go in there, to delay us still more?”

“Oh! I entreat you, just a minute, to see the cross. I don’t know what is taking place in me, but it seems to me that I must go there, and—and pray for the unhappy man who met his death there.”

“Why, Agathe, you are positively foolish! I am not willing to stop.”

“Ah! listen! did you hear?”

“No, I heard nothing.”

“Nothing? listen again.”

This time a prolonged groan was heard by them very distinctly. Honorine began to tremble. She tried to hasten on, but her legs gave way; she could only cling to Agathe’s arm, saying:

“You see—the peasant did not deceive us. This is a ghastly place! Mon Dieu! I should say that someone was running toward us now.”

“That is true; but it’s no man running so fast as that.”

Agathe had hardly finished speaking when Ami, the noble Newfoundland, was beside her. After running around the two friends several times, as if to see if they were alone, he went to the girl, rubbed his head against her, wagged his tail, and stood on his hind legs, fixing his intelligent eyes upon her as if to express the joy he felt at seeing her.

“It’s Ami! it’s Ami!” cried Agathe, patting the dog. “Oh! now I am not afraid any more; for, if we should be in any danger, he would defend us.”

“It certainly is Monsieur Paul’s dog; if he is here, his master cannot be far away.”

“At this moment, I should not be at all sorry to meet him. See, Honorine, Ami is going into the ravine; now he stops and comes back to us, and now he turns back again. He certainly is urging us to follow him; come.”

“But we can’t see where we are going; and those groans that we heard——”

“The dog is with us, and I am not afraid any more.”

Honorine allowed herself to be led into the ravine by Agathe, who had taken her hand.

The dog trotted before them. It was very dark in that sunken road, but they had taken scarcely twenty steps when a brilliant flash of lightning furrowed the clouds and enabled them to see distinctly everything within thirty yards. They then saw the owner of the Tower on his knees beside a grassy mound at one side of the road, in the centre of which stood a wooden cross.

At that strange apparition the two women halted, grasping each other by the hand; then Agathe murmured very low:

“Do you see that?”

“Yes, it’s Monsieur Paul; and he is kneeling by the cross on that grave.”

“Isn’t it very strange? What can he be doing by that cross?”

“One would think that he was weeping; listen, listen! I believe he is speaking.”

It was true that Ami’s master, believing himself to be alone on that spot which the people round about were careful to avoid, especially at night, uttered these words:

“Forgive me, unfortunate victim of the most dastardly treachery. Ah, me! if only I could have fulfilled your last wishes, it seems to me that you might forgive me for your death. But it was impossible; all my efforts were fruitless!”

“Did you hear?” murmured Honorine to her companion; “he said: ‘You might forgive me for your death.’—So it must have been he who killed the person who is under that cross! Why, this is frightful!”

“It isn’t possible,” said Agathe; “we couldn’t have heard right.”

At that moment, Ami, who had reached his master’s side, looked up in his face and began to yelp, but softly, not angrily. It was his way of informing his master that he was no longer alone.

“What! is there someone here?” cried Paul, springing hastily to his feet; “where, Ami? where, I say?”

The dog ran back to the two friends who stood a short distance away, trembling, afraid to go forward or to retreat, especially since they had heard the words uttered by that mysterious man.

“What! ladies?” cried Paul, stopping in front of them. “Why, this is strange; so far as the darkness permits me to distinguish your features, I seem to recognize the ladies whom I escorted back to Chelles a few weeks ago.”

“Yes, monsieur, it is we,” replied Agathe, who was the first to recover her courage. “It is we again, and sorely embarrassed; for we were surprised by the storm, then by the darkness; we lost our way, and I do not know what would have become of us, but for your dog. He met us and recognized us; and we followed him, having no idea where he was leading us.”

“But you are a long way from Chelles; did you find no protection from the storm?”

“Only some big trees. It is so deserted about here.”

“Is madame indisposed?”

This question was addressed to Honorine, who, pale as a statue, had not yet uttered a word, because she recalled too distinctly those uttered by their companion when he believed himself to be alone before the cross on the grave.

But, feeling that her companion was nudging her, Madame Dalmont said in a faltering tone:

“No, monsieur, no; I am not ill; but I had a fright, and——”

“She was afraid of the storm,” interposed Agathe hastily; “and just now she admitted to me that she could not walk.”

“Oh! that’s all over, and I can walk very well now.”

“Since chance has placed me in your path again, mesdames, you will allow me to act as your guide once more, and to take you home.”

“Oh! I thank you, monsieur, but if you will be kind enough to take us as far as the bridge at Gournay, that will be sufficient. Really, you might well conceive a strange idea of us, when you constantly find us wandering about the country at night, and always obliged to call upon you for assistance!”

“When I am able to render a trifling service, madame, my thoughts do not go beyond it, and I do not try to guess by what circumstances the occasion was brought about. I am simply doing my duty, and you owe me no gratitude.”

“Oh, dear! I believe it is beginning to rain again!” cried Agathe; “for my part, monsieur may think what he pleases, but I am very glad that we met him, and I accept his arm with pleasure.”

And the girl took Monsieur Paul’s arm without more ado. He looked at Honorine, who, after a moment’s indecision, decided at last to take his other arm, and they started off at a rapid pace, escorted by the faithful Ami.

But Honorine’s arm trembled so in her cavalier’s that he finally said:

“How you tremble, madame! is it with cold, or with fear of the storm? It is passing over, and you will reach home safely.”

“Yes, monsieur, it’s the thunder; it has upset me completely.”

“Pray lean on me, madame; one would think that you were afraid of tiring me, and I can hardly feel you.”

“Thanks, monsieur, thanks; I am leaning on you as much as I need.”

“We were altogether lost when we saw you, thanks to your dog,” said Agathe; “that is a very lonely spot where you were, monsieur!”

“Yes, mademoiselle; yet it is quite near my house.”

“That road, monsieur, is the ravine where there is a cross, is it not?”

If Honorine had been next to Agathe, she would have pinched her viciously, to make her regret her question, but their escort separated them; so that she could only make a convulsive movement, which she instantly checked, pretending that she had made a misstep.

“Yes, mademoiselle,” replied Paul curtly, “that is the ravine of the cross.”

“We have been told a very sad story about that cross—that a young man was found dead on that spot, nine or ten years ago, I believe. Is it true, monsieur?”

Honorine would have beaten Agathe with the greatest satisfaction; she began to cough as if she would tear her throat to tatters.

“I too have heard of that occurrence, mademoiselle,” replied their companion in a gloomy tone.

“And the unfortunate man’s assassins have never been discovered?”

“Assassins!” exclaimed Paul in a loud voice, raising his head proudly. “Who told you, mademoiselle, that the person found dead on that spot had been assassinated?”

“Oh! mon Dieu! no one, monsieur, no one. I said that, because the people who tell the story——”

“The world almost always judges falsely; it never knows the true inwardness of things; and as it is more disposed to believe evil than good, as soon as a stranger is found dead by the roadside, it says: ‘He was murdered!’—You are still very young, mademoiselle! Distrust the judgments of the world; you will often have occasion to realize their injustice.”

“Here is Gournay bridge,” said Honorine; “will monsieur leave us now?”

“No, madame; unless you bid me to do so, I shall not leave you, trembling as you are, out in the country, at night. I shall escort you to your home.”

Honorine bowed and they walked on. But they were silent, for Agathe dared not speak since their guide had almost lost his temper in answering her last question.

They reached Honorine’s house, and Paul bowed to the ladies, saying:

“You are at home now, I believe?”

“Yes, monsieur. I do not know how to thank you——”

“For what, madame, pray? I have simply done my duty.”

“Adieu, Ami; adieu, my good dog!”

The dog and his master took their leave.

“Oh! I could have beaten you!” said Honorine, “when you questioned that man about the story of the cross!”

“Why so? You heard him answer that the young man who was found there was not murdered.”

“But since he was the one who killed him, could you expect him to admit it?”

“That man an assassin! Nonsense! it’s impossible. Do you believe it, my dear love?”

“I believe—Mon Dieu! I don’t know what to believe; but this much is certain, that I will not walk in that direction again. Let’s go to bed; what with the fright, excitement, fatigue and the storm, I am completely exhausted; and you?”

“I? Oh! I regret that we didn’t go as far as the cross in the ravine. I would have liked to pray for him who lies there!”