it will kill my child!” exclaimed the baroness.
M. Lacheneur shook his head.
“Monsieur Maurice,” said he, “is young; he will console himself—he will forget.”
“Never!” interrupted the unhappy lover—“never!”
“And your daughter?” inquired the baroness.
Ah! this was the weak spot in his armor; the instinct of a mother was not mistaken. M. Lacheneur hesitated a moment; but he finally conquered the weakness that had threatened to master him.
“Marie-Anne,” he replied, slowly, “knows her duty too well not to obey when I command. When I tell her the motive that governs my conduct, she will become resigned; and if she suffers, she will know how to conceal her sufferings.”
He paused suddenly. They heard in the distance a firing of musketry, the discharge of rifles, whose sharp ring overpowered even the sullen roar of cannon.
Every face grew pale. Circumstances imparted to these sounds an ominous significance.
With the same anguish clutching the hearts of both, M. d’Escorval and Lacheneur sprang out upon the terrace.
But all was still again. Extended as was the horizon, the eye could discern nothing unusual. The sky was blue; not a particle of smoke hung over the trees.
“It is the enemy,” muttered M. Lacheneur, in a tone which told how gladly he would have shouldered his gun, and, with five hundred others, marched against the united allies.
He paused. The explosions were repeated with still greater violence, and for a period of five minutes succeeded each other without cessation.
M. d’Escorval listened with knitted brows.
“That is not the fire of an engagement,” he murmured.
To remain long in such a state of uncertainty was out of the question.
“If you will permit me, father,” ventured Maurice, “I will go and ascertain——”
“Go,” replied the baron, quietly; “but if it is anything, which I doubt, do not expose yourself to danger; return.”
“Oh! be prudent!” insisted Mme. d’Escorval, who already saw her son exposed to the most frightful peril.
“Be prudent!” entreated Marie-Anne, who alone understood what attractions danger might have for a despairing and unhappy man.
These precautions were unnecessary. As Maurice was rushing to the door, his father stopped him.
“Wait,” said he; “here is someone who can probably give us information.”
A man had just appeared around a turn of the road leading to Sairmeuse.
He was advancing bareheaded in the middle of the dusty road, with hurried strides, and occasionally brandishing his stick, as if threatening an enemy visible to himself alone.
Soon they were able to distinguish his features.
“It is Chanlouineau!” exclaimed M. Lacheneur.
“The owner of the vineyards on the Borderie?”
“The same! The handsomest young farmer in the country, and the best also. Ah! he has good blood in his veins; we may well be proud of him.”
“Ask him to stop,” said M. d’Escorval.
Lacheneur leaned over the balustrade, and, forming a trumpet out of his two hands, he called:
“Oh! Chanlouineau!”
The robust young farmer raised his head.
“Come up,” shouted Lacheneur; “the baron wishes to speak with you.”
Chanlouineau responded by a gesture of assent. They saw him enter the gate, cross the garden, and at last appear at the door of the drawing-room.
His features were distorted with fury, his disordered clothing gave evidence of a serious conflict. His cravat was gone, and his torn shirt-collar revealed his muscular throat.
“Where is this fighting?” demanded Lacheneur eagerly; “and with whom?”
Chanlouineau gave a nervous laugh which resembled a roar of rage.
“They are not fighting,” he replied; “they are amusing themselves. This firing which you hear is in honor of Monsieur le Duc de Sairmeuse.”
“Impossible!”
“I know it very well; and yet, what I have told you is the truth. It is the work of that miserable wretch and thief, Chupin. Ah, canaille! If I ever find him within reach of my arm he will never steal again.”
M. Lacheneur was confounded.
“Tell us what has happened,” he said, excitedly.
“Oh, it is as clear as daylight. When the duke arrived at Sairmeuse, Chupin, the old scoundrel, with his two rascally boys, and that old hag, his wife, ran after the carriage like beggars after a diligence, crying, ‘Vive Monsieur le Duc!’ The duke was enchanted, for he doubtless expected a volley of stones, and he placed a six-franc piece in the hand of each of the wretches. This money gave Chupin an appetite for more, so he took it into his head to give this old noble a reception like that which was given to the Emperor. Having learned through Bibiaine, whose tongue is as long as a viper’s, all that has passed at the presbytery, between you, Monsieur Lacheneur, and the duke, he came and proclaimed it in the market-place. When they heard it, all who had purchased national lands were frightened. Chupin had counted on this, and soon he began telling the poor fools that they must burn powder under the duke’s nose if they wished him to confirm their titles to their property.”
“And did they believe him?”
“Implicitly. It did not take them long to make their preparations. They went to the town hall and took the firemen’s rifles, and the guns used for firing a salute on fete days; the mayor gave them the powder, and you heard——
“When I left Sairmeuse there were more than two hundred idiots before the presbytery, shouting:
“Vive Monseigneur! Vive le Duc de Sairmeuse!”
It was as d’Escorval had thought.
“The same pitiful farce that was played in Paris, only on a smaller scale,” he murmured. “Avarice and human cowardice are the same the world over!”
Meanwhile, Chanlouineau was going on with his recital.
“To make the fete complete, the devil must have warned all the nobility in the neighborhood, for they all came running. They say that Monsieur de Sairmeuse is a favorite with the King, and that he can get anything he wishes. So you can imagine how they all greeted him! I am only a poor peasant, but never would I lie down in the dust before any man
