Autumn Glory Part 19

Toussaint Lumineau foresaw danger.

"It is bad enough that your brother should be going to La Seuliere,"

said he. "But for you, my poor boy, on no account would it do to go to their dance. It is cold out of doors. Do not go further than the duck meadow, and come back quickly." He followed with his eyes the cripple, who, in great haste, with the unnatural energy given him by emotion, raised himself on his crutches, hobbled the length of the table, down the steps, and following Andre, was lost in the night.

His sons had gone; an icy wind blew in at the wide open door. Alas!

how difficult it had become to govern the household! Sitting on the bench, his head on his arm, looking out into the dark farmyard, the old man pondered the things he had heard that night, and his powerlessness, despite his great love and long experience, to make himself obeyed, now that interest was lessening in the work of the old farmstead.

But it was not long before he called to his daughter, busy at her work of was.h.i.+ng up; the least word was such a relief in the empty rooms!

"Rousille!"

The girl opened the connecting door, and came, drying the plate in her hands without looking at him.

"I am afraid that Mathurin may go back to see her----"

"Oh, father, he would not do that. Besides, he cannot have his shoes, and he dare not appear at La Seuliere" ... stooping, she searched under Mathurin's bed, then in the chest, then said as she rose:

"Yes. He has taken them ... he must have put them on beforehand ...

the first sound of the horn came at six o'clock."

The old father began pacing the room with great strides, stopping uneasily from minute to minute to listen for the sound of crutches on the gravel that should announce Mathurin's return.

CHAPTER XI.

THE DANCE AT LA SEULIeRE.

Toussaint Lumineau's uneasiness was well founded. His two sons had gone down to the meadow, where the d.y.k.e, widening, served as a drinking place for the animals on the farm, and as a harbour for the two punts belonging to it.

There Andre had offered no resistance when Mathurin had said:

"Take me. I want to see Felicite." Venturesome, imprudent in things concerning himself, soldier of but yesterday, still impregnated with barrack maxims, he had merely said:

"There's not a shadow of sense in it; but if it amuses you!"

And he had chosen the best of the boats, and helped the cripple to stretch himself in the prow; then, standing on the raised part in the stern, and taking up the pole, had begun to punt, now pressing the iron point into the bed of the d.y.k.e, now into the bank on either side.

Soon they were far out in the middle of the Marais, the night intensely cold with no moon. Clouds were chasing each other towards the sea; and yet it was not one unbroken darkness; up above in the grey firmament were lighter trails, clear patches constantly broken and effaced by s.h.i.+fting clouds reflected in their pa.s.sage on the surface of the waters, not only of the d.y.k.es, but of the submerged meadows which had been changed into a series of lakes by winter rains, and above which the sloping embankments were scarcely perceptible.

Every light was multiplied. The darkness had eddies of light, which enabled Andre to keep a right course.

The punt followed the ca.n.a.ls, cut at right angles; progress was slow, impeded by ice needles, that formed by the cold cl.u.s.tered on the sedges of the bank. Did the wind not rise, the whole Marais would be one sheet of ice before morning; Andre knew this, and tried to reach La Seuliere as quickly as possible. He began to realise the imprudence he had committed in taking Mathurin with him on such a night and so far. The cripple neither moved nor spoke, anxious not to attract his brother's attention to himself, lest he should straightway turn back.

But when he saw that they were more than two thousand yards from La Fromentiere, sure of reaching their destination, he broke the silence.

Lying on his back, his face hidden by the side of the boat, he asked:

"Driot, when you were speaking to-night of land being given to agricultural emigrants, you were not joking?"

"Of course not."

"Have they proposed to give you some?"

Noiselessly, he had raised his head, and was watching with eyes and ears for Andre's answer. No reply came. In the vast extent of inundated meadows there was heard no sound but the swish of the water parted by the punt and was.h.i.+ng up as the tide rose against the hard mud of the sh.o.r.e with little sharp gurgles. Mathurin resumed:

"You miss Francois, do you not? The house seems different to you with only me there?"

The young man standing so erect in the stern, his profile scarcely defined in the darkness, stooped precipitately:

"Look out!" he cried, "lie back, Mathurin!" Perfect darkness was around them; they were pa.s.sing under one of the single-arched stone bridges that intersect the Marais here and there. When they had pa.s.sed through Mathurin noticed that the boat was going more slowly, as though the propeller were absorbed in thought. Encouraged by this, resolved to be put in possession of the secret that concerned the future of La Fromentiere, the cripple resumed persuasively:

"We are quite by ourselves here, Andre; why not tell me all you are pondering? You would like to cultivate newer soil than ours; you, too, want to go away, but further than Francois, and for another purpose?"

Then the younger brother ceased to punt. He still stood erect on the raised stern of the boat, and suffered the pole to float aimlessly behind him.

"As you have discovered it, Mathurin," he said, "keep my secret. It is true that proposals have been made to me.... With my two thousand francs I might have, on the other side of the Atlantic, a whole farm of my own and a brood of horses.... Some friends of mine are looking into the matter for me ... but I have not made up my mind. I have not yet consented."

"You are afraid of father?"

"I am afraid of leaving him in difficulties. If I were to go, who would carry on La Fromentiere? There is certainly Rousille, she might marry."

"Not that _Boquin_ fellow! That would not do for us at all! But my father has said No; and he is not the man to go back on his word."

"Then I do not see who is to carry on the farm?"

In a hard, imperious voice, which betrayed the intensity of his feelings, the cripple cried:

"Then I count for nothing?"

"My poor Mathurin...."

"I am better, I shall recover," continued Mathurin, in the same tone.

"When it comes to be my turn to rule, no one but myself will manage La Fromentiere, do you understand?"

Not to exasperate him, Andre replied:

"Your recovery would be a happy thing for us all, old man. I, for one, heartily wish it may come about."

But the cripple's wrath was not to be appeased so easily nor so quickly. Rising from his rec.u.mbent position with an effort which threatened to capsize the punt, he dragged himself on hands and knees to the stern, where shouting, "Give me your place, boy, you shall see me punt," he struggled for possession of the pole; and seating himself in the stern, began propelling the boat with astonis.h.i.+ng force and steadiness, keeping it clear of the banks, and with a rapidity, despite ice splinters and sedges, which Andre could not have accomplished. His huge frame took up the whole width of the boat; his powerful chest bent and raised itself with all the ease of robust health. As he went on arms and punt pole worked ever more vigorously; the banks flew by on either side. Soon he turned off into a ca.n.a.l on the right for some hundred yards. Now rays of light appeared on the surface of the water, rendering them more dazzling. They proceeded from the door of La Seuliere. The farm buildings rose up indistinctly from out the darkness; sounds of voices singing broke the stillness, mingled with the noise of footsteps on the paved court. With a couple of strokes, Mathurin brought up the boat into line with some ten other punts lying side by side; and before Andre had thought of going to his help, had rolled with his crutches on to the slope before the house where he got up unaided.

"Well punted, Mathurin," cried his younger brother, jumping on sh.o.r.e.

He, crimsoned, breathless, pleased as if with a victory won, looked round:

"Then don't worry yourself!" he said. "A man who can punt a boat as I do, is capable of managing a farm," and with a blow of his shoulder he shook the house door. A voice from within called out:

"Gently there! Who wants to break the door in?"

It was flung noisily open, revealing Mathurin standing in the full glare of the lamplight. The appearance of a ghost could not have produced greater effect. The noise ceased abruptly, the girls, frightened, ran away or cl.u.s.tered in groups against the walls. In their astonishment, many of the lads took off their hats, which they had kept on while dancing; farmers' wives half rose from the chairs on which they were sitting. Scarcely did they recognise the new-comer at such an hour and place.