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MONSIEUR LECOQ

VOL. II

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF

EMILE GABORIAU

PEARSON'S LIBRARY EDITION

"Monsieur Lecoq" Vol. 1 "Monsieur Lecoq" Vol. 2

"The Gilded Clique" "The Lerouge Case"

"In Peril of His Life"

"File 113"

Illustrated

THE PEARSON PUBLISHING CO.

NEW YORK

MONSIEUR LECOQ.

THE HONOUR OF THE NAME.

The cottage where M. Lacheneur had taken refuge stood on a hill overlooking the river. It was a small and humble dwelling, though scarcely so miserable in its aspect and appointments as most of peasant abodes round about. It comprised a single storey divided into three rooms and roofed with thatch. In front was a tiny garden, where a vine straggling over the walls of the house, a few fruit-trees, and some withered vegetables just managed to exist. Small as was this garden patch, and limited as was its production, still Lacheneur's aunt, to whom the dwelling had formerly belonged, had only succeeded in conquering the natural sterility of the soil after long years of patient perseverance. Day after day, during a lengthy period, she had regularly spread in front of the cottage three or four basketfulls of arable soil brought from a couple of miles distant; and though she had been dead for more than a twelvemonth, one could still detect a narrow pathway across the waste, worn by her patient feet in the performance of this daily task.

This was the path which M. d'Escorval, faithful to his resolution, took the following day, in the hope of obtaining from Marie-Anne's father some explanation of his singular conduct. The baron was so engrossed in his own thoughts that he failed to realise the excessive heat as he climbed the rough hillside in the full glare of the noonday sun. When he reached the summit, however, he paused to take breath; and while wiping the perspiration from his brow, turned to look back on the valley whence he had come. It was the first time he had visited the spot, and he was surprised at the extent of the landscape offered to his view. From this point, the most elevated in the surrounding country, one can survey the course of the Oiselle for many miles; and in the distance a glimpse may be obtained of the ancient citadel of Montaignac, perched on an almost inaccessible rock. A man in the baron's mood could, however, take but little interest in the picturesqueness of the scenery, though, when he turned his back to the valley and prepared to resume his walk, he was certainly struck by the aspect of Lacheneur's new abode. His imagination pictured the sufferings of this unfortunate man, who, only two days before, had relinquished the splendours of the Chateau du Sairmeuse to resume the peasant life of his early youth.

"Come in!" cried a female voice when M. d'Escorval rapped at the door of the cottage. He lifted the latch, and entered a small room with white-washed walls, having no other ceiling than the thatched roof, and no other flooring than the bare ground. A table with a wooden bench on either side stood in the middle of this humble chamber, in one corner of which was an old bedstead. On a stool near the narrow casement sat Marie-Anne, working at a piece of embroidery, and clad in a peasant-girl's usual garb.

At the sight of M. d'Escorval, she rose to her feet, and for a moment they remained standing in front of one another, she apparently calm, he visibly agitated. Lacheneur's daughter was paler than usual, she seemed even thinner, but there was a strange, touching charm about her person; the consciousness of duty nobly fulfilled, of resignation calling for accomplishment, lending, as it were, a new radiance to her beauty.

Remembering his son, M. d'Escorval was surprised at Marie-Anne's tranquillity. "You don't inquire after Maurice," he said, with a touch of reproachfulness in his voice.

"I had news of him this morning, as I have had every day," quietly replied Marie-Anne. "I know that he is getting better, and that he was able to take some food yesterday."

"You have not forgotten him, then?"

She trembled; a faint blush suffused her cheeks and forehead, but it was in a calm voice that she replied: "Maurice knows that it would be impossible for me to forget him, even if I wished to do so."

"And yet you told him that you approved your father's decision!"

"Yes, I told him so; and I shall have the courage to repeat it."

"But you have made Maurice most wretched and unhappy, my dear child; he almost died of grief."

She raised her head proudly, looked M. d'Escorval fully in the face and answered, "Do you think then that I haven't suffered myself?"

M. d'Escorval was abashed for a moment; but speedily recovering himself, he took hold of Marie-Anne's hand and, pressing it affectionately, exclaimed: "So Maurice loves you, and you love him; you are both suffering: he has nearly died of grief and still you reject him!"

"It must be so, sir."

"I can tell you nothing, sir."

"Ah! it is you who are cruel, sir," answered Marie-Anne with tears glittering in her eyes; "it is you who are without pity. Cannot you see what I suffer? No, I have nothing to tell you; there is nothing you can say to my father. Why try to unnerve me when I require all my courage to struggle against my despair? Maurice must forget me; he must never see me again. This is fate; and he must not fight against it. It would be folly. Beseech him to leave the country, and if he refuses, you, who are his father, must command him to do so. And you too, in heaven's name fly from us. We shall bring misfortune upon you. Never return here; our house is accursed. The fate that overshadows us may ruin you as well."

She spoke almost wildly, and her voice was so loud that it reached an adjoining room, the door of which suddenly opened, M. Lacheneur appearing upon the threshold. At the sight of M. d'Escorval the whilom lord of Sairmeuse could not restrain an oath; but there was more sorrow and anxiety than anger in his manner, as he said: "What, you here, baron?"

"Why did you not inform me of the honour that the baron had done me, Marie-Anne?" said Lacheneur sternly.

She tried to speak, but could not; and it was the baron who replied; "Why, I have but just arrived, my dear friend."

M. Lacheneur looked suspiciously, first at his daughter and then at the baron. His brow was overcast as he was evidently wondering what M. d'Escorval and Marie-Anne had said to each other whilst they were alone. Still, however great his disguise may have been, he seemed to master it; and it was with his old-time affability of manner that he invited M. d'Escorval to follow him into the adjoining room. "It is my reception room and study combined," he said smilingly.

This room, although much larger than the first, was, however, quite as scantily furnished, but piled up on the floor and table were a number of books and packages, which two men were busy sorting and arranging. One of these men was Chanlouineau, whom M. d'Escorval at once recognized, though he did not remember having ever seen the other one, a young fellow of twenty or thereabouts. With the latter's identity he was, however, soon made acquainted.

"This is my son, Jean," said Lacheneur. "He has changed since you last saw him ten years ago."

It was true. Fully ten years had elapsed since the baron last saw Lacheneur's son. How time flies! He had known Jean as a boy and he now found him a man. Young Lacheneur was just in his twenty-first year, but with his haggard features and precocious beard he looked somewhat older. He was tall and well built, and his face indicated more than average intelligence. Still he did not convey a favorable impression. His restless eyes betokened a prying curiosity of mind, and his smile betrayed an unusual degree of shrewdness, amounting almost to cunning. He made a deep bow when his father introduced him; but he was evidently out of temper.

"Having no longer the means to keep Jean in Paris," resumed M. Lacheneur, "I have made him return as you see. My ruin will, perhaps, prove a blessing to him. The air of great cities is not good for a peasant's son. Fools that we are, we send our children to Paris that they may learn to rise above their fathers. But they do nothing of the kind. They think only of degrading themselves."

"Father," interrupted the young man; "father, wait at least until we are alone!"

"M. d'Escorval is not a stranger," retorted M. Lacheneur, and then turning again to the baron, he continued; "I must have wearied you by telling you again and again; 'I am very pleased with my son. He has a commendable ambition; he is working faithfully and is bound to succeed.' Ah! I was a poor foolish father! The friend whom I commissioned to call on Jean and tell him to return here has enlightened me as to the truth. The model young man you see here only left the gaming-house to run to some public ball. He was in love with a wretched little ballet girl at some low theatre; and to please this creature, he also went on the stage with his face painted red and white."

"It's not a crime to appear on the stage," interrupted Jean with a flushed face.

"No; but it is a crime to deceive one's father and to affect virtues one doesn't possess! Have I ever refused you money? No; and yet you have got into debt on all sides. You owe at least twenty thousand francs!"

Jean hung his head; he was evidently angry, but he feared his father.

"Twenty thousand francs!" repeated M. Lacheneur. "I had them a fortnight ago; now I haven't a halfpenny. I can only hope to obtain this sum through the generosity of the Duke or the Marquis de Sairmeuse."

The baron uttered an exclamation of surprise. He only knew of the scene at the parsonage and believed that there would be no further connection between Lacheneur and the duke's family. Lacheneur perceived M. d'Escorval's amazement, and it was with every token of sincerity and good faith that he resumed: "What I say astonishes you. Ah! I understand why. My anger at first led me to indulge in all sorts of absurd threats. But I am calm now, and realize my injustice. What could I expect the duke to do? To make me a present of Sairmeuse? He was a trifle brusque, I confess, but that is his way; at heart he is the best of men."

"Have you seen him again?"

"No; but I have seen his son. I have even been with him to the chateau to select the articles which I desire to keep. Oh! he refused me nothing. Everything was placed at my disposal--everything. I selected what I wanted, furniture, clothes, linen. Everything is to be brought here; and I shall be quite a great man."

"This pleases me. Its situation suits me perfectly."

In fact, after all, thought M. d'Escorval, why should not the Sairmeuse's have regretted their odious conduct? And if they had done so might not Lacheneur, in spite of indignation, agree to accept honourable conditions?

"To say that the marquis has been kind is saying too little," continued Lacheneur. "He has shown us the most delicate attentions. For example, having noticed how much Marie-Anne regrets the loss of her flowers, he has promised to send her plants to stock our small garden, and they will be renewed every month."

Like all passionate men, M. Lacheneur overdid his part. This last remark was too much; it awakened a terrible suspicion in M. d'Escorval's mind. "Good heavens!" he thought, "does this wretched man meditate some crime?" He glanced at Chanlouineau, and his anxiety increased, for on hearing Lacheneur speak of the marquis and Marie-Anne, the stalwart young farmer had turned livid.

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