Volume 14 / Part 2 — VI CALUMNY

Several days had passed since the memorable evening of the storm. Honorine and Agathe had promised each other never to breathe a word of what they had seen and heard that evening by the cross in the ravine. There are some subjects with respect to which the slightest indiscretion is a crime, in that it may have the most serious consequences; and the words which the owner of the Tower had uttered when he was on his knees beside the cross, were of those which one regrets having heard, and which one tries to forget.

However, there was no reason why the two friends should not discuss the subject between themselves, and in fact they often did.

Agathe, who always defended Paul, would exclaim:

“No, that man is not an assassin! I am absolutely convinced of it. Indeed, the very emotion that he showed when I said that a stranger had been murdered in the ravine, and the warmth with which he repelled that suggestion prove that it is false.”

“It is a fact that he did seem keenly wounded by your words. But why, then, did he ask the forgiveness of the man who is buried there?—When one has fought a duel, loyally and honorably, it is no crime; the victor may regret his victory, but he does not accuse himself of it as of a criminal act.”

“But how can we tell how it happened—what brought it about?”

“Well, let us say no more about it; that will be the better way.”

“You are right; let us never mention it again.”

But it rarely happened that the following day passed without Honorine herself leading the conversation to the subject of the owner of the Tower. And after talking about him, the young woman would be thoughtful and melancholy for a long while.

Agathe noticed this fact, but she was very careful not to mention it to her friend; women very quickly understand the secrets of the heart, and know when it is advisable not to seem to have divined them.

Edmond had returned to Chelles; he had passed several days in Paris, because he had been led to hope for a very well-paid position in a banking house; but it had been given to another and the young man was not cast down. He still had about twenty thousand francs; with that amount, with love in one’s heart, and with a great hope of its being reciprocated, one has before one a whole future of happiness.

One morning the two ladies were working in the garden and Père Ledrux was raking a path a short distance away, when Honorine suddenly said:

“It’s a long while since we have had a call from Doctor Antoine Beaubichon; I wonder if he can be sick?—Père Ledrux, do you know whether Doctor Antoine is well?”

“Oh, yes!” replied the gardener; “I saw him this very morning going to Madame Droguet’s.—Tutu-turlututu.”

“It’s strange that he hasn’t been to see us for a fortnight.”

“Well! perhaps it’s because he agrees with the rest—that you have enough company without him!”

“What’s that? enough company? I don’t understand. What do you mean by that, Père Ledrux?”

“I—nothing at all; in the first place, you understand it don’t make any difference to me, it ain’t any of my business; you can have whole regiments come to see you for all me; you’re your own mistresses, and I ain’t the one to find fault!—But you know, there’s some folks who do nothing but meddle with what don’t concern ‘em, and talk—why, just for the sake of talking!”

“Do you understand one word of all that he says, Agathe?”

“Not very well; but it seems that people think that we receive a great deal of company. Isn’t that what they say, Père Ledrux?”

“Yes, they say that you receive a good many men; that you’ve had some come from Paris, without counting those from this part of the country, who go to walk with you in the evening.—Tutu—turlututu.”

“You hear, Agathe; what do you think of that?”

“Why, I think that it’s an outrage, and that people in the country are even more unkind than they are in large cities.—Poucette, is it true that many men come here?”

“Oh! my word, mamzelle, I haven’t ever seen anybody come but our neighbor Monsieur Edmond, and then two or three times his friend, Monsieur Freluchon, who’s so full of mischief.—Oh! what a scamp that little man is!”

“Where did you hear all this about us, Père Ledrux?”

“Bless me! a word here and a word there; you hear people jabbering; you may not listen, but you hear all the same. In the first place, when I’m working in Madame Droguet’s garden, she’s always talking about her neighbors, and I heard her say to Madame Jarnouillard the other day—or Madame Remplumé, I don’t just know which; in fact, I think they was all three there—and Madame Droguet, she says:

“‘You know Monsieur Durand has let that nice house of his close by, almost opposite me; but what you don’t know perhaps is that he’s let it to a young dandy from Paris, who’s come there to live all alone, without any servants; Mère Lupot opposite does his housework.’

“‘And what can one man all alone do with that big house, where there’s room enough for two families?’ says Madame Jarnouillard.

“‘Oh! you understand, mesdames, the young dandy has his reasons for going to such an altogether useless expense. He’s settled here because he’s on intimate terms with the two newcomers in the Courtivaux house.’

“When they talk about you, they always say: ‘the ladies in the Courtivaux house,’ as a matter of habit, because, you see, Monsieur Courtivaux lived here a long time.”

“Very well, Père Ledrux; go on.”

“‘Yes,’ says Mame Droguet, ‘he goes there night and morning; he’s always prowling round there. Which of ‘em is he in love with? no one knows; perhaps it’s both.’”

“Oh! my dear love!”

“Hush! let him go on.”

“‘And then,’ says Mame Droguet, ‘he’s got a friend who looks like a regular good-for-nothing; it’s the same fellow who had the face to knock at my door very late one night, to ask if we had seen his friend Edmond Didier; and with such a sly, impertinent air! humming his tra la la!’

“‘Oh! what do such people amount to anyway!’ says La Remplumé; ‘this gives me a very poor opinion of the women in the Courtivaux house.’

“‘But that ain’t all,’ says La Droguet; ‘guess who we saw walking home with ‘em the other night—at quite a late hour?’

“‘The two young men from Paris?’

“‘No. Oh! they’ve made other acquaintances here. They came home arm-in-arm with Monsieur Paul and his dog!’

“‘Is it possible?’

“‘Did they have the dog’s arm too?’

“‘I didn’t say they had the dog’s arm! I said the dog was in the party. And it was very lately, the night of the storm—don’t you remember?’

“‘Perfectly! I’m afraid of the thunder, and I stuffed my head in a butter crock so as not to see the flashes! I put it in so far that I couldn’t get it out again, and I says to my husband: “Break the crock, Jarnouillard, I can’t move my head;” and he replied, as calmly as you please: “That would be a pity; it’s almost new!” So I was obliged to break it myself by banging my head against a wall.’

“‘Never mind about your crock!’ says Mame Droguet impatiently; ‘we’re talking about these newcomers. How does it happen that after living in this part of the country such a short time, they’re already on intimate terms with the owner of the Tower—that disgusting man, that ogre, who won’t speak to anybody? It seems to me more than extraordinary.’

“‘It is very mysterious, that’s so.’

“‘I should say that it was suspicious even.’

“‘Well! birds of a feather flock together, as the proverb says. The bear of the Tower must have found these ladies to his taste!’

“‘As for me,’ says Mame Droguet, ‘I have a very bad opinion of the persons in the Courtivaux house.’

“‘It isn’t Monsieur Courtivaux’s, since he has sold it.’

“‘That don’t make any difference. Besides, we don’t know whether these fine ladies have paid for the house; there’s so many people who buy and then don’t pay.’

“At that, you see, I couldn’t help putting in my word.

“‘So far as that goes,’ says I, ‘I’m very sure that Madame Dalmont has paid for the house. I had a letter from the notary telling me to give ’em the keys and everything.’”

“Thanks, Père Ledrux, thanks for defending us on that point; but pray understand that the remarks, the insults of those ladies affect us very little! When one knows that one has no reason for self-reproach, one should hold oneself above the sneers of calumny! But we congratulate ourselves now that we have not called on that woman, that we have not made a friend of her.”

“It’s just that thing that’s vexed her most, I tell you! And she only says all these nasty things about you from spite because you haven’t been to see her. But what I can’t understand is how there’s anybody who’ll allow himself to be taken in by all that tittle-tattle. It’s just because Mame Droguet invites ‘em to dinner. She says to Monsieur Luminot: ‘You must choose between the society at the Courtivaux house and mine, monsieur. My husband and I are determined not to receive people who go to see those ladies.’—She puts her husband forward, the poor dear man! but he doesn’t meddle in such things; so long as he can dance in the evening in front of a mirror, with himself for his vis-à-vis, he’s satisfied! But Monsieur Luminot—you see, he thinks a lot of Mame Droguet’s dinners.”

“And as we do not give dinners, the gentleman is very wise to choose her society. But Madame Droguet has no suspicion that she gratifies us exceedingly by ridding us of Monsieur Luminot’s visits—eh, Agathe?”

“Oh! yes, my dear; and we must hope that Monsieur Jarnouillard will follow Monsieur Luminot’s example.”

“Oh! that won’t stop him! he ain’t pleasant very often, Monsieur Jarnouillard; and then, I don’t like money-lenders, I don’t.—I’ll go and take a look at the hens; I’m sure the black one beats the others; if she does, we ought not to leave her in the coop.”

The gardener went away and Agathe looked at Honorine, with a sigh.

“Oh! my love! how cruel the world is!”

“Yes, even more so in small villages than in the large cities. That is easy to understand: these people here have nothing to do most of the time, and their principal occupation is to attend to their neighbors’ affairs. In a small place everybody is everybody else’s neighbor.”

“The idea of saying that we receive men!”

“Oh! I suspected that Monsieur Edmond’s appearance in this village, a short time after we settled here, and his frequent visits to us, would give occasion for gossip.”

“And I am the cause of it, my love! You are going to be angry with me.”

“No, indeed! That young man is honorable, his company is agreeable; and we will not deprive ourselves of the only society we have here, just because Madame Droguet is displeased.”

“Oh! how right you are! how good you are!”

“As for this gentleman—from the Tower, he is not an acquaintance. We have met him twice, and both times his assistance was quite necessary to us; he escorted us as far as our gate, but he has never entered the house, and probably never will.”

“Ah! my dear friend, suppose Madame Droguet had heard that strange man’s words in the ravine, beside the cross! what fine tales she would have to tell!”

“Hush, Agathe, hush, for heaven’s sake! I shudder in spite of myself when I think of that. I feel that it would distress me to be compelled to have a bad opinion of that man.”

“Especially as he has very refined manners, and a very comme il faut air, has this Monsieur Paul. I am sure that he would be very fine-looking, if he hadn’t so much hair on his face.”

“Oh! I didn’t notice that; I hardly looked at him. He has black eyes, hasn’t he?”

“Not exactly—brown; but very soft.”

“Do you think so? And a scornful mouth?”

“Oh, no! his smile is very agreeable.”

“What! did he smile while he was talking to us?”

“When I slipped and almost fell, I clung to him, and that made him smile.”

“It’s strange; I remember nothing of all that.”

“Oh! the storm was so violent!—Well, I am sure, for my part, that it makes Madame Droguet furious to see we already know that gentleman, who has refused to have anything to do with anyone in the neighborhood! Just for that reason, I am delighted that she saw him bringing us home.”

The conversation of the two friends was interrupted by sobs from Poucette, who tried in vain to check them. They rose at once to inquire the cause of their servant’s grief.