Volume 14 / Part 2 — XXIV THE BOATMAN

Paul Duronceray was true to his promise and appeared at Edmond Didier’s not long after the latter and Freluchon had left the Tower.

“No one has come yet,” said Edmond.

“Pardieu! I was certain that no one would have come,” said Freluchon; “we have time to breakfast at our leisure.”

“And while you are breakfasting,” said Paul, after bidding his dog lie at his feet, “I will tell you something which will be of great interest to you; for it concerns this Thélénie, this woman who, I doubt not, is the original instigator of your duel to-day. And what I have to tell you also assures the happiness and the future welfare of that lovely girl, Agathe, who is to be your wife, Monsieur Edmond.”

“What! it concerns Agathe, monsieur? Oh! speak! pray, speak!”

Paul thereupon told the two young men what he had told Honorine the night before. The reader may imagine the surprise and joy of Edmond when he learned that the girl whom he loved would be recognized at last by her father’s family.

But suddenly his face clouded.

“Agathe is wealthy now,” he said, “and I am no longer a suitable match for her!”

“Now you’re beginning to talk nonsense!” exclaimed Freluchon. “When you determined to marry her, she had nothing, neither money nor a name; so she will know well enough now that it isn’t her money you marry her for.—But, look you, the story monsieur has just told us proves this: that when women set about being wicked, they are ten times wickeder than men, because they put a refinement in it of which we are not capable. In my opinion, Madame Sainte-Suzanne has played her rôle very prettily in all this business.”

“But Agathe must have learned all before this, from Madame Dalmont.”

“I think so,” said Paul, “but I have not yet dared to face her.—You must go with me, Monsieur Edmond; your presence will dispose her to indulgence, to forgiveness.”

“Oh! don’t be afraid, monsieur; there cannot be any resentment in her heart. Besides, you have told us that she saw you weep over her father’s grave, and it must be that she still remembers that.”

Twelve o’clock had struck, and no one had appeared on behalf of Monsieur Luminot. One hour, two hours more passed. Edmond was beside himself with impatience, for that business kept him from going to Agathe. Paul Duronceray was no less impatient than he.

At last, Messieurs Chamoureau and Remplumé appeared and announced themselves as Monsieur Luminot’s seconds.

At sight of the little, lame man, who tried to give an imposing expression to his sour face, Freluchon could not restrain a burst of laughter, which greatly disconcerted the two gentlemen. Chamoureau did not know which way to turn, and Remplumé began to cough as if he proposed to tear his throat to tatters. Edmond stood aside, and Paul waited for the visitors to speak.

At last the little, lame man stopped coughing and began thus:

“Messieurs! we come here as Monsieur Luminot’s seconds, entrusted with full powers by him. It is a serious matter—very serious; nothing less than——”

“It’s entirely useless to tell us what it’s all about, for we know,” said Freluchon; “I was present, I believe, and we have fully informed Monsieur Duronceray here.”

“Yes,” said Paul, “we know that Monsieur Luminot gratuitously slandered and insulted two ladies who deserve the respect and esteem of the whole world.—We assume that he was urged on to utter those abominable calumnies by certain persons, who desired to cause this quarrel.”

“That is my opinion also!” said Chamoureau.

“It is mine—hum! hum!—mine also—hum! hum!—I will say more: I agree with you.”

“In that case, messieurs, we are all agreed.”

“That being so, we can go away!” observed Chamoureau.

“Oh, no! Wait a moment, Chamoureau.—Your Monsieur Luminot has received a blow; he richly deserved it, but he wants to fight and he is entitled to.—So you are his second, are you, Chamoureau?”

“They insisted on it. I didn’t want to be. I hope you don’t take it ill of me.”

“Oh! not at all.”

“It was my wife who insisted on it.”

“She’s a very nice person, is your wife; she does things well. But how does it happen that the other second isn’t your intimate friend, the famous Baron von Schtapelmerg, who fought against the Turks?”

“And who won two hundred francs from me last night at écarté!”

“He cheated you, my dear boy; I would stake my head on it!”

“Oh! messieurs!” cried Chamoureau, “can it be that you suspect that worthy Bavarian of being a Greek?”

“I suspect it because I am certain that that unprepossessing person, who claims to be a German baron and can’t speak German, is simply your wife’s brother!”

“What! the brother of—then my wife is a baroness——”

“No more than he’s a baron; he gave himself away several times when he had drunk too much. However, I hope to see him again, and to find out just what to think. Where is he now?”

“Gone to Paris, on urgent business, so my wife said.”

“Messieurs,” interposed Edmond, “it seems to me that you are forgetting what brings you together; be good enough to complete your arrangements for the duel.”

“Well, messieurs, what do you propose? we are waiting to hear from you.”

“To-morrow morning, at eight o’clock——”

“Why not finish it up to-day?”

“Presumably because that would not suit Monsieur Luminot. If you interrupt us so soon—hum! hum!—we shall never finish.”

“True; go on, monsieur.”

“To-morrow morning, at eight o’clock, in the little wood behind what used to be the keeper’s house, as you go down the hill toward Raincy.”

“Very good,” said Paul, “I know the place.”

“Monsieur Luminot chooses pistols.”

“Agreed.”

“And he will fire first.”

“That may be open to discussion,” said Freluchon; “for your man began the attack by his slurring remarks.”

“No, no discussion!” exclaimed Edmond; “let him fire first—I agree.”

“Then, messieurs, as everything is arranged,—hum! hum!—we have only to salute you.”

“I beg pardon, monsieur,” said Paul, addressing himself to Monsieur Remplumé, who strove to maintain a surly expression; “if your opinion concerning the ladies insulted by Monsieur Luminot agrees with his, you too will have to deal with us; for you understand, messieurs, that no one may hereafter repeat those slanders, under pain of being chastised by us!”

The little, lame man turned green; Chamoureau sank upon a chair and put his handkerchief to his eyes, stammering:

“How can you believe me capable of speaking unkindly of those ladies, for whom I bought Monsieur Courtivaux’s house! I carry their images in my heart. I give no thought now to anything except the age of trees——”

“Enough! enough! we believe you!” said Freluchon.

Monsieur Remplumé made the same protestations as Chamoureau.

“That is all very well, messieurs,” said Paul; “but you will simply have the kindness to repeat this profession of faith in public, when we request you to do so.”

Luminot’s two seconds promised all that they were asked to promise, and hastened to take their leave.

“Now,” said Edmond, “as the rest of the day is ours, let us go at once to those ladies, who, I am sure, are surprised not to have seen us yet. But not a syllable concerning the duel!”

“Very good,” said Freluchon; “provided that some infernal gossip hasn’t told them of it already.”

“Let us go; look, messieurs, see how Ami gazes at us and runs to the door! Ah! he divines that we are going to see the persons to whom he is so attached; he is showing us the way.”

After her conversation with Paul, Honorine had hardly been able to sleep at all. Happiness frequently causes insomnia; it often keeps us wider awake than grief.

As soon as day broke, Honorine watched for Agathe to wake; it seemed to her that she slept much longer than usual. At last the girl opened her eyes; and she instantly read on her friend’s face that something extraordinary had happened. Having nothing in her head but her love, her first impulse was to cry:

“What has happened to Edmond?”

“To Edmond? Why, nothing new, I imagine. He went to that party, and probably passed the night there. As you may imagine, I haven’t seen him to-day; it isn’t seven o’clock.”

“Then why do you look at me so, my dear love? You certainly have something to tell me!”

“Yes, my dear child, I have to speak to you of your father—to tell you at last why your poor mother never saw him again.”

“Mon Dieu! can it be possible? You know that? Who can have told you?”

“Monsieur Paul Duronceray.”

“He knew my father?”

“Yes.”

“He has seen him, and spoken to him?”

“Yes.”

“My poor father! he is dead, of course; otherwise he would not have abandoned us.”

“He is dead!”

“Oh! my dear love, tell me quickly everything that happened to him!—Speak! speak! I long to hear!”

“I shall have to say much of Monsieur Paul.”

“Speak—I will not lose a word!”

Honorine seated herself on Agathe’s bed and told her the story of the fatal liaison between Paul and Thélénie, which resulted in the duel and in her father’s death. She concluded thus:

“You have witnessed the regret, the remorse of the man who was the victor in that duel. From that day to this he has never ceased to try to find out what had become of you.—Will not you forgive him, as your father did?”

Agathe wept bitterly.

“My heart has no hatred,” she murmured; “it has nothing but regret.—So that cross in the ravine—that is the place.—Ah! that explains the inexplicable emotion that I felt. Poor father!—Oh! my dear, come, come quickly! You know where, don’t you?”

In a very few minutes, the two young women were ready to go out. Agathe went into the garden and gathered a bunch of flowers; then, with the bouquet in her hand, she took Honorine’s arm and they walked hastily, in silence and meditation, toward the ravine near the park of the Tower.

They reached the cross erected in that solitary place. Agathe knelt in front of it and prayed a long while; then, as she laid her nosegay on the grave, she spied, at the foot of the cross, some faded flowers, the remains of other bouquets laid there before her own. She picked up some of those flowers and placed them in her bosom. Then, leaning on Honorine’s arm, she took, more slowly now, the road leading back to Chelles.

The two friends had returned from that pious pilgrimage when Paul, Edmond and Freluchon made their appearance. Edmond ran forward and kissed the girl’s hands, crying:

“I know all! I am very happy in your happiness!”

Paul remained in the background; he dared not go forward. But Agathe went to meet him. He bent his knee before her; whereupon she held out the flowers she had taken from her father’s grave and said:

“These have told me that you too mourn for him; is it not equivalent to telling me to forgive you?”

The time passes very quickly with those who love one another, and who are engaged in forming the most delicious plans of happiness for the future.

Freluchon passed his time caressing the noble dog, of whom he too had made a friend.

For one moment, however, Agathe’s felicity was disturbed; it was when a chance remark informed her that Madame de Belleville was the very woman who had caused her father’s death.

The color fled from her cheeks and she murmured:

“Ah! now I understand the feeling of repulsion that that woman aroused in me. You won’t go to her house any more, Edmond, will you?”

“I will not, indeed; I give you my word, dear Agathe; and if I had known this distressing story sooner, I certainly would not have gone to her party last night.”

“Nor would I,” said Freluchon.

“And nothing unpleasant happened to you there?”

The three men exchanged rapid glances, and Edmond replied:

“What could have happened to us?”

“Mon Dieu! I don’t know—but I was terribly depressed last night, knowing that you were there.”

“A single word from you, and I would not have gone!”

“But I should not have dared to say it.”

“That is a pity!” thought Freluchon.

While the hours seemed so short in Honorine’s modest abode, the wealthy proprietress of Goldfish Villa waited impatiently, with her eyes fastened on a clock, for the moment when she was to meet her brother.

At last the clock struck six, and Thélénie, hastening across the garden and the little park, opened a gate leading into a lonely path, where she had arranged to meet Croque.

She soon saw approaching her a man in a canvas jacket and full duck trousers, with his face half-hidden by a sort of coal-burner’s hat, and blackened and reddened in spots. But she recognized Croque by the scar on his cheek.

“This is excellent; you are unrecognizable,” said Thélénie; “besides, there is no one hereabout who knows you very well. But how did you manage to obtain these clothes?”

“Parbleu! with plenty of blunt you can get whatever you want; the peasants are as fond of money as city folk! I should say, more so.”

“Tell me what you have done.”

“I easily found the widow Tourniquoi’s house; and there I recognized the Jacqueline I saw yesterday; the little boy was playing in the yard.”

“Well?”

“I presented myself in my best clothes; a fine outside inspires more confidence.”

“You did well.”

“And yet, when I told that woman that I came from the Baronne de Mortagne, who wanted her to bring her son to her, she wouldn’t believe me; she was suspicious. But the three hundred francs in gold soon scattered all her doubts. When I told her further that the baroness would pay her in full for all the time she had kept the child, and that at three hundred and sixty francs a year for eight years she’d get near three thousand francs—Gad! then it was not joy, it was delirium!—I told her that she must go to Dieppe right away with young Emile. She would have started for China to get her three thousand francs! I gave her the address that you gave me, and she began to pack up at once.”

“When does she start?”

“To-night, on the eight o’clock train. She goes to Paris, and from there to Dieppe at the double quick; she’ll be there to-morrow.”

“That is good—very good! Now my mind is at rest in that direction.”

“It seems to me that I managed the affair rather well.”

“Yes; but there’s another affair, which you must manage as well.”

“Tell us about it; while my hand is in, it won’t cost any more!”

“Monsieur Luminot and Edmond are to fight at eight o’clock to-morrow morning.”

“Ah! the famous duel is to come off! Well?”

“It is to be in a little wood, some distance from here, at the other side of the village. I am confident that Edmond will not have mentioned the duel to the two women at the little house yonder.”

“Probably not; he wouldn’t want to frighten them.”

“Now listen: can you swim?”

“Like a gudgeon. Why?”

“To-morrow morning, at eight o’clock—or a little before eight—you will be on the shore of the Marne, near the bridge that crosses to Gournay.”

“I know the place, for I have gone in that direction on my promenades.”

“Then you know how deserted that neighborhood is. One often walks there a whole day without meeting a living soul.”

“Well? let us come to the point!”

“You will have a small boat in readiness; you say yourself that with money one can obtain whatever one wants.”

“You give me money enough and I will have a boat; that doesn’t embarrass me.”

“No one with you, you understand.”

“No one but the boat.”

“You will stay on the bank of the river, like a boatman taking a rest. You will see two women coming.”

“The ladies from the little house! Do you think that they’ll come?”

“I tell you that they will come, in the utmost distress, looking for a boat to take them to one of the little islands that lie just above the mill.”

“Where the obstructions are, and the rapids. Fichtre! it’s no sport handling a boat there! The Marne is dangerous enough anyway; but in that place, it wouldn’t take long to upset a boat!”

“They will see yours and they will beg you to take them to the nearest island.”

“I begin to understand.”

“You will accept; you will row them as near as possible to the obstructions you speak of; then you will lose your oars in the river, and in order to recover them you will jump into the water.”

“Fichtre! that’s rather dangerous!”

“Not for you, who know how to swim; you can select a spot where you can jump in without danger. Then you will swim ashore, paying no attention to the shrieks of those women, who will be left in the boat without oars to guide it, and who, I am glad to believe——”

“Will turn upside down with their boat! Oh! as to that, there isn’t the slightest doubt of it; especially if no one comes to their help.”

“Who do you suppose will risk his life for them? In the first place, the banks are always deserted just there, and it often happens that not a boat of any sort passes along that part of the river for half a day at a time.”

“But what about the fellows who fight those women’s battles? I shouldn’t like to meet that young Freluchon, who played ball with Luminot. Bigre! he’d play something else with me!”

“Don’t be afraid; the duel will be fought in the opposite direction, and those men will not be in that neighborhood.”

“All right!”

“Well! is it agreed? will you do exactly as I have told you? do you understand me perfectly?”

“Unless I am an idiot, I should say that you have made it plain enough. You want to drown those two——”

“Hush! hold your tongue! there are things one must never say.”

“To be sure, it’s quite enough to do them.”

“Can I rely on you?”

“Hum! it will cost a great deal. I take a big risk.”

“Here, this roll contains a thousand francs in gold.”

“Ah! that’s very pretty! But it’s only a payment on account, eh?”

“To-morrow, here, at this same hour, I will give you twice as much more, if all has gone as I desire.”

“In that case, it’s a bargain.”

“You swear?”

“Is there any need of swearing between us? Get your yellow boys ready for to-morrow.”

“Until then avoid showing yourself in the village.”

“Never fear; I will keep out of sight in some wine-shop, at a little distance. It will soon be dark; to-morrow morning will soon be here.”

“I may rely on you?”

“Of course, as it’s a bargain. Adieu!”