The Wandering Jew Part 227

"Who is there?" said Dagobert. There was no answer, but the person knocked again. Losing patience, the soldier went hastily to open it, and saw the servant's stupid face.

"Why don't you answer, when I ask who knocks!" said the soldier, angrily.

"M. Dagobert, you sent me away just now, and I was afraid of making you cross, if I said I had come again."

"What do you want? Speak then--come in, stupid!" cried the exasperated.

Dagobert, as he pulled him into the room.

"M. Dagobert, don't be angry--I'll tell you all about it--it is a young man."

"Well?"

"He wants to speak to you directly, Mr. Dagobert."

"His name?"

"His name, M. Dagobert?" replied Loony, rolling about and laughing with an idiotic air.

"Yes, his name. Speak, idiot!"

"Oh, M. Dagobert! it's all in joke that you ask me his name!"

"You are determined, fool that you are, to drive me out of my senses!"

cried the soldier, seizing Loony by the collar. "The name of this young man!"

"Don't be angry, M. Dagobert. I didn't tell you the name because you know it."

"Beast!" said Dagobert, shaking his fist at him.

"Yes, you do know it, M. Dagobert, for the young man is your own son. He is downstairs, and wants to speak to you directly--yes, directly."

The stupidity was so well a.s.sumed, that Dagobert was the dupe of it.

Moved to compa.s.sion rather than anger by such imbecility, he looked fixedly at the servant, shrugged his shoulders, and said, as he advanced towards the staircase, "Follow me!"

Loony obeyed; but, before closing the door, he drew a letter secretly from his pocket, and dropped it behind him without turning his head, saying all the while to Dagobert, for the purpose of occupying his attention: "Your son is in the court, M. Dagobert. He would not come up--that's why he is still downstairs!"

Thus talking, he closed the door, believing he had left the letter on the floor of Marshal Simon's room. But he had reckoned without Spoil-sport. Whether he thought it more prudent to bring up the rear, or, from respectful deference for a biped, the worthy dog had been the last to leave the room, and, being a famous carrier, as soon as he saw the letter dropped by Loony, he took it delicately between his teeth, and followed close on the heels of the servant, without the latter perceiving this new proof of the intelligence and sagacity of Spoil-sport.

CHAPTER XLVI. THE ANONYMOUS LETTERS.

We will explain presently what became of the letter, which Spoil-sport held between his teeth, and why he left his master, when the latter ran to meet Agricola. Dagobert had not seen his son for some days. Embracing him cordially, he led him into one of the rooms on the ground floor, which he usually occupied. "And how is your wife?" said the soldier to his son.

"She is well, father, thank you."

Perceiving a great change in Agricola's countenance, Dagobert resumed: "You look sad. Has anything gone wrong since I saw you last?"

"All is over, father. We have lost him," said the smith, in a tone of despair.

"Lost whom?"

"M. Hardy."

"M. Hardy!--why, three days ago, you told me you were going to see him."

"Yes, father, I have seen him--and my dear brother Gabriel saw him and spoke to him--how he speaks! with a voice that comes from the heart!--and he had so revived and encouraged him, that M. Hardy consented to return amongst us. Then I, wild with joy, ran to tell the good news to some of my mates, who were waiting to hear the result of nay interview with M. Hardy. I brought them all with me to thank and bless him. We were within a hundred yards of the house belonging to the black-gowns--"

"Ali, the black-gowns!" said Dagobert, with a gloomy air. "Then some mischief will happen. I know them."

"You are not mistaken, father," answered Agricola, with a sigh. "I was running on with my comrades, when I saw a carriage coming towards us.

Some presentiment told me that they were taking away M. Hardy."

"By force!" said Dagobert, hastily.

"No," answered Agricola, bitterly; "no--the priests are too cunning for that. They know how to make you an accomplice in the evil they do you.

Shall I not always remember how they managed with my good mother?"

"Yes, the worthy woman! there was a poor fly caught in the spider's web.

But this carriage, of which you speak?"

"On seeing it start from the house of the black-gowns," replied Agricola, "my heart sank within me; and, by an impulse stronger than myself, I rushed to the horses' heads, calling on my comrades to help me. But the postilion knocked me down and stunned me with a blow from his whip. When I recovered my senses, the carriage was already far away."

"You were not hurt?" cried Dagobert, anxiously, as he examined his son from top to toe.

"No, father; a mere scratch."

"What did you next, my boy?"

"I hastened to our good angel, Mdlle. de Cardoville, and told her all.

'You must follow M. Hardy on the instant,' said she to me. 'Take my carriage and post-horses. Dupont will accompany you; follow M. Hardy from stage to stage; should you succeed in overtaking him your presence and your prayers may perhaps conquer the fatal influence that these priests have acquired over him.'"

"It was the best advice she could give you. That excellent young lady is always right."

"An hour after, we were upon our way, for we learned by the returned postilions, that M. Hardy had taken the Orleans road. We followed him as far as Etampes. There we heard that he had taken a cross-road, to reach a solitary house in a valley about four leagues from the highway. They told us that this house called the Val-de-St. Herem, belonged to certain priests, and that, as the night was so dark, and the road so bad, we had better sleep at the inn, and start early in the morning. We followed this advice, and set out at dawn. In a quarter of an hour, we quitted the high-road for a mountainous and desert track. We saw nothing but brown rocks, and a few birch trees. As we advanced, the scene became wilder and wilder. We might have fancied ourselves a hundred leagues from Paris. At last we stopped in front of a large, old, black-looking house with only a few small windows in it, and built at the foot of a high, rocky mountain. In my whole life I have never seen anything so deserted and sad. We got out of the carriage, and I rang the bell. A man opened the door. 'Did not the Abbe d'Aigrigny arrive here last night with a gentleman?' said I to this man, with a confidential air. 'Inform the gentleman directly, that I come on business of importance, and that I must see him forthwith.'--The man, believing me an accomplice, showed us in immediately; a moment after, the Abbe d'Aigrigny opened the door, saw me, and drew back; yet, in five minutes more, I was in presence of M. Hardy."

"Well!" said Dagobert, with interest.

Agricola shook his head sorrowfully, and replied: "I knew by the very countenance of M. Hardy, that all was over. Addressing me in a mild but firm voice, he said to me: 'I understand, I can even excuse, the motives that bring you hither. But I am quite determined to live henceforth in solitude and prayer. I take this resolution freely and voluntarily, because I would fain provide for the salvation of my soul. Tell your fellows that my arrangements will be such as to leave them a good remembrance of me.'--And as I was about to speak, M. Hardy interrupted me, saying: 'It is useless, my friend. My determination is unalterable.

Do not write to me, for your letters would remain unanswered. Prayer will henceforth be my only occupation. Excuse me for leaving you, but I am fatigued from my journey!'--He spoke the truth for he was as pale as a spectre, with a kind of wildness about the eyes, and so changed since the day before, as to be hardly the same man. His hand, when he offered it on parting from me, was dry and burning. The Abbe d'Aigrigny soon came in. 'Father,' said M. Hardy to him, 'have the goodness to see M.

Baudoin to the door.'--So saying, he waved his hand to me in token of farewell, and retired to the next chamber. All was over; he is lost to us forever."

"Yes," said Dagobert, "those black-gowns have enchanted him, like so many others."

"In despair," resumed Agricola, "I returned hither with M. Dupont. This, then, is what the priests have made of M. Hardy--of that generous man, who supported nearly three hundred industrious workmen in order and happiness, increasing their knowledge, improving their hearts, and earning the benediction of that little people, of which he was the providence. Instead of all this, M. Hardy is now forever reduced to a gloomy and unavailing life of contemplation."

"Oh, the black-gowns!" said Dagobert, shuddering, and unable to conceal a vague sense of fear. "The longer I live, the more I am afraid of them.

You have seen what those people did to your poor mother; you see what they have just done to M. Hardy; you know their plots against my two poor orphans, and against that generous young lady. Oh, these people are very powerful! I would rather face a battalion of Russian grenadiers, than a dozen of these ca.s.socks. But don't let's talk of it. I have causes enough beside for grief and fear."