White Lies Part 8

don't give in. Thank Heaven there's no artery there. Oh, dear, it is a terrible cut! Let us get you home, that is the first thing. Can you walk?"

"Lord bless you, no! nor stand neither without help."

Edouard flew to the wheelbarrow, and, reversing it, spun a lot of billet out. "Ye must not do that," said Dard with all the energy he was capable of in his present condition. "Why, that is Jacintha's wood."--"To the devil with Jacintha and her wood too!" cried Edouard, "a man is worth more than a f.a.got. Come, I shall wheel you home: it is only just across the park."

With some difficulty he lifted him into the barrow. Luckily he had his shooting-jacket on with a brandy-flask in it: he administered it with excellent effect.

The ladies, as they walked, saw a man wheeling a barrow across the park, and took no particular notice; but, as Riviere was making for the same point they were, though at another angle, presently the barrow came near enough for them to see Dard's head and arms in it. Rose was the first to notice this. "Look! look! if he is not wheeling Dard in the barrow now."

"Who?"

"Can you ask? Who provides all our excitement?"

Josephine instantly divined there was something amiss. "Consider," said she, "Monsieur Riviere would not wheel Dard all across the park for amus.e.m.e.nt."

Rose a.s.sented; and in another minute, by a strange caprice of fate, those Edouard had come to intercept, quickened their pace to intercept him. As soon as he saw their intention he thrilled all over, but did not slacken his pace. He told Dard to take his coat and throw it over his foot, for here were the young ladies coming.

"What for?" said Dard sulkily. "No! let them see what they have done with their little odd jobs: this is my last for one while. I sha'n't go on two legs again this year."

The ladies came up with them.

"O monsieur!" said Josephine, "what is the matter?"

"We have met with a little accident, mademoiselle, that is all. Dard has hurt his foot; nothing to speak of, but I thought he would be best at home."

Rose raised the coat which Riviere, in spite of Dard, had flung over his foot.

"He is bleeding! Dard is bleeding! Oh, my poor Dard. Oh! oh!"

"Hush, Rose!"

"No, don't put him out of heart, mademoiselle. Take another pull at the flask, Dard. If you please, ladies, I must have him home without delay."

"Oh yes, but I want him to have a surgeon," cried Josephine. "And we have no horses nor people to send off as we used to have."

"But you have me, mademoiselle," said Edouard tenderly. "Me, who would go to the world's end for you." He said this to Josephine, but his eye sought Rose. "I'm a famous runner," he added, a little b.u.mptiously; "I'll be at the town in half an hour, and send a surgeon up full gallop."

"You have a good heart," said Rose simply.

He bowed his blus.h.i.+ng, delighted face, and wheeled Dard to his cottage hard by with almost more than mortal vigor. How softly, how n.o.bly, that frolicsome girl could speak! Those sweet words rang in his ears and ran warm round and round his heart, as he straightened his arms and his back to the work. When they had gone about a hundred yards, a single snivel went off in the wheelbarrow. Five minutes after, Dard was at home in charge of his grandmother, his shoe off, his foot in a wet linen cloth; and Edouard, his coat tied round the neck, squared his shoulders, and ran the two short leagues out. He ran them in forty minutes, found the surgeon at home, told the case, pooh-poohed that worthy's promise to go to the patient presently, darted into his stable, saddled the horse, brought him round, saw the surgeon into the saddle, started him, dined at the restaurateur's, strolled back, and was in time to get a good look at the chateau of Beaurepaire just as the sun set on it.

Jacintha came into Dard's cottage that evening.

"So you have been at it, my man," cried she cheerfully and rather roughly, then sat down and rocked herself, with her ap.r.o.n over her head.

She explained this anomalous proceeding to his grandmother privately. "I thought I would keep his heart up anyway, but you see I was not fit."

Next morning, as Riviere sat writing, he received an unexpected visit from Jacintha. She came in with her finger to her lips, and said, "You prowl about Dard's cottage. They are sure to go and see him every day, and him wounded in their service."

"Oh, you good girl! you dear girl!" cried Edouard.

She did not reply in words, but, after going to the door, returned and gave him a great kiss without ceremony. "Dare say you know what that's for," said she, and went off with a clear conscience and reddish cheeks.

Dard's grandmother had a little house, a little land, a little money, and a little cow. She could just maintain Dard and herself, and her resources enabled Dard to do so many little odd jobs for love, yet keep his main organ tolerably filled.

"Go to bed, my little son, since you have got hashed," said she.--"Bed be hanged," cried he. "What good is bed? That's a silly old custom wants doing away with. It weakens you: it turns you into train oil: it is the doctor's friend, and the sick man's bane. Many a one dies through taking to bed, that could have kept his life if he had kept his feet like a man. If I had cut myself in two I would not go to bed,--till I go to the bed with a spade in it. No! sit up like Julius Caesar; and die as you lived, in your clothes: don't strip yourself: let the old women strip you; that is their delight laying out a chap; that is the time they brighten up, the old sorceresses." He concluded this amiable rhapsody, the latter part of which was levelled at a lugubrious weakness of his grandmother's for the superfluous embellishment of the dead, by telling her it was bad enough to be tied by the foot like an a.s.s, without settling down on his back like a cast sheep. "Give me the armchair. I'll sit in it, and, if I have any friends, they will show it now: they will come and tell me what is going on in the village, for I can't get out to see it and hear it, they must know that."

Seated in state in his granny's easy-chair, the loss of which after thirty years' use made her miserable, she couldn't tell why, le Sieur Dard awaited his friends.

They did not come.

The rain did, and poured all the afternoon. Night succeeded, and solitude. Dard boiled over with bitterness. "They are a lot of pigs then, all those fellows I have drunk with at Bigot's and Simmet's. Down with all fair-weather friends."

The next day the sun shone, the air was clear, and the sky blue. "Ah!

let us see now," cried Dard.

Alas! no fellow-drinkers, no fellow-smokers, came to console their hurt fellow. And Dard, who had boiled with anger yesterday, was now sad and despondent. "Down with egotists," he groaned.

About three in the afternoon came a tap at the door.

"Ah! at last," cried Dard: "come in!"

The door was slowly opened, and two lovely faces appeared at the threshold. The demoiselles De Beaurepaire wore a tender look of interest and pity when they caught sight of Dard, and on the old woman courtesying to them they courtesied to her and Dard. The next moment they were close to him, one a little to his right, the other to his left, and two pair of sapphire eyes with the mild l.u.s.tre of sympathy playing down incessantly upon him. How was he? How had he slept? Was he in pain? Was he in much pain? tell the truth now. Was there anything to eat or drink he could fancy? Jacintha should make it and bring it, if it was within their means. A prince could not have had more solicitous attendants, nor a fairy king lovelier and less earthly ones.

He looked in heavy amazement from one to the other. Rose bent, and was by some supple process on one knee, taking the measure of the wounded foot. When she first approached it he winced: but the next moment he smiled. He had never been touched like this--it was contact and no contact--she treated his foot as the zephyr the violets--she handled it as if it had been some sacred thing. By the help of his eye he could just know she was touching him. Presently she informed him he was measured for a list shoe: and she would run home for the materials.

During her absence came a timid tap to the door; and Edouard Riviere entered. He was delighted to see Josephine, and made sure Rose was not far off. It was Dard who let out that she was gone to Beaurepaire for some cloth to make him a shoe. This information set Edouard fidgeting on his chair. He saw such a chance as was not likely to occur again. He rose with feigned nonchalance, and saying, "I leave you in good hands; angel visitors are best enjoyed alone," slowly retired, with a deep obeisance. Once outside the door, dignity vanished in alacrity; he flew off into the park, and ran as hard as he could towards the chateau.

He was within fifty yards of the little gate, when sure enough Rose emerged. They met; his heart beat violently. "Mademoiselle," he faltered.

"Ah! it is Monsieur Riviere, I declare," said Rose, coolly; all over blushes though.

"Yes, mademoiselle, and I am so out of breath. Mademoiselle Josephine awaits you at Dard's house."

"She sent you for me?" inquired Rose, demurely.

"Not positively. But I could see I should please her by coming for you; there is, I believe, a bull or so about."

"A bull or two! don't talk in that reckless way about such things. She has done well to send you; let us make haste."

"But I am a little out of breath."

"Oh, never mind that! I abhor bulls."

"But, mademoiselle, we are not come to them yet, and the faster we go now the sooner we shall."

"Yes; but I always like to get a disagreeable thing over as soon as possible," said Rose, slyly.

"Ah," replied Edouard, mournfully, "in that case let us make haste."

After a little spurt, mademoiselle relaxed the pace of her own accord, and even went slower than before. There was an awkward silence. Edouard eyed the park boundary, and thought, "Now what I have to say I must say before we get to you;" and being thus impressed with the necessity of immediate action, he turned to lead.