baron was raging, but could find nothing to say. He finally burst forth and, stamping his foot, exclaimed: “Think of what you are saying; it is disgusting. Whose fault was it if we had to give this girl-mother a dowry? Whose child is it? You would like to abandon it now!”
Julien, amazed at the baron’s violence, looked at him fixedly. He then resumed in a calmer tone: “But fifteen hundred francs would be quite enough. They all have children before they are legally married. It makes no difference whose child it is, in any case. Instead of giving one of your farms, to the value of twenty thousand francs, in addition to making the world aware of what has happened, you should, to say the least, have had some regard for our name and our position.”
He spoke in a severe tone like a man who stood on his rights and was convinced of the logic of his argument. The baron, disturbed at this unexpected discussion, stood there gaping at him. Julien then, seeing his advantage, concluded: “Happily, nothing has yet been settled. I know the young fellow who is going to marry her. He is an honest chap and we can make a satisfactory arrangement with him. I will take charge of the matter.”
And he went out immediately, fearing no doubt to continue the discussion, and pleased that he had had the last word, a proof, he thought, that they acquiesced in his views.
As soon as he had left the room, however, the baron exclaimed: “Oh, that is going too far, much too far!”
But Jeanne, happening to look up at her father’s bewildered face, began to laugh with her clear, ringing laugh of former days, when anything amused her. She said: “Father, father, did you hear the tone in which he said: ‘Twenty thousand francs?’”
Little mother, whose mirth was as ready as her tears, as she recalled her son-in-law’s angry expression, his indignant exclamations and his refusal to allow the girl whom he had led astray to be given money that did not belong to him, delighted also at Jeanne’s mirth, gave way to little bursts of laughter till the tears came to her eyes. The baron caught the contagion, and all three laughed to kill themselves as they used to do in the good old days.
As soon as they quieted down a little Jeanne said: “How strange it is that all this does not affect me. I look upon him now as a stranger. I cannot believe that I am his wife. You see how I can laugh at his — his — want of delicacy.”
And without knowing why they all three embraced each other, smiling and happy.
Two days later, after breakfast, just as Julien had started away from the house on horseback, a strapping young fellow from twenty-one to twenty-five years old, clad in a brand-new blue blouse with wide sleeves buttoning at the wrist, slyly jumped over the gate, as though he had been there awaiting his opportunity all the morning, crept along the Couillards’ ditch, came round the château, and cautiously approached the baron and his wife, who were still sitting under the plane-tree.
He took off his cap and advanced, bowing in an awkward manner. As soon as he was close to them he said: “Your servant, Monsieur le Baron, madame and the company.” Then, as no one replied, he said: “It is I, I am Desiré Lecocq.”
As the name conveyed nothing to them, the baron asked, “What do you want?”
Then, altogether upset at the necessity of explaining himself, the young fellow stuttered out as he gazed alternately at his cap, which he held in his hands, and at the roof of the château: “It was M’sieu le Curé who said something to me about this matter — — “ And then he stopped, fearing he might say too much and compromise his own interests.
The other, lowering his voice, blurted out: “That matter of your maid — Rosalie — — “
Jeanne, who had guessed what was coming, had risen and moved away with her infant in her arms.
“Come nearer,” said the baron, pointing to the chair his daughter had just left. The peasant sat down, murmuring: “You are very good.” Then he waited as though he had no more to say. After a long silence, he screwed up courage, and looking up at the sky, remarked: “There’s fine weather for the time of year. But the earth will be none the better for it, as the seed is already sown.” And then he was silent again.
The baron was growing impatient. He plunged right into the subject and said drily: “Then it is you who are going to marry Rosalie?”
The man at once became uneasy, his Norman caution being on the alert. He replied with more animation, but with a tinge of defiance: “That depends; perhaps yes, perhaps no; it depends.”
The baron, annoyed at this hedging, exclaimed angrily: “Answer frankly, damn it! Was this what you came here for? Yes or no! Will you marry her? Yes or no!”
The bewildered man looked steadfastly at his feet: “If it is as M’sieu le Curé said, I will take her, but if it is as M’sieu Julien said, I will not take her.”
“What did M. Julien tell you?”
“M’sieu Julien told me fifteen hundred francs and M’sieu le Curé told me that I should have twenty thousand. I will do it for twenty thousand, but I will not do it for fifteen hundred.”
The baroness, who was buried in her easy chair, began to giggle at the anxious expression of the peasant, who, not understanding this frivolity, glanced at her angrily out of the corner of his eye and waited in silence.
The baron, who was embarrassed at this bargaining, cut it short by saying: “I told M. le Curé that you should have the Barville farm during your lifetime and that then it would revert to the child. It is worth twenty thousand francs. I do not go back on my word. Is it settled? Yes or no!”
The man smiled with a humble and satisfied expression, and suddenly becoming loquacious, said: “Oh, in that case, I will not say no. That was all that stood in my way. When M’sieu le Curé spoke to me, I was ready at once, by gosh! and I was very pleased to accommodate the baron who was giving me that. I said to myself, ‘Is it not true that when people are willing to do each other favors, they can always find a way and can make it worth while?’ But M’sieu Julien came to see me, and it was only fifteen hundred francs. I said to myself: ‘I must see about that,’ and so I came here. That is not to say that I did not trust you, but I wanted to know. Short accounts make long friends. Is not that true, M’sieu le Baron?”
The baron interrupted him by asking, “When do you wish to get married?”
The man became timid again, very much embarrassed, and finally said, hesitatingly: “I will not do it until I get a little paper.”
This time the baron got angry: “Doggone it! you will have the marriage contract. That is the best kind of paper.”
But the peasant was stubborn: “Meanwhile I might take a little turn; it will not be dark for a while.”
The baron rose to make an end of the matter: “Answer yes or no at once. If you do not wish her, say so; I have another suitor.”
The fear of a rival terrified the crafty Norman. He suddenly made up his mind and held out his hand, as after buying a cow, saying: “Put it there, M’sieu le Baron; it is a bargain. Whoever draws back is a skunk!”
The baron shook his hand, then called out: “Ludivine!” The cook appeared at the window. “Bring us a bottle of wine.” They clinked glasses to seal the matter and the young peasant went off with a light tread.
Nothing was said to Julien about
