The Last Vendée; or, the She-Wolves of Machecoul. Alexandre Dumas
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Название: The Last Vendée; or, the She-Wolves of Machecoul
Автор: Alexandre Dumas
Издательство: Bookwire
Жанр: Языкознание
isbn: 4064066248529
isbn:
"Well, in order to get Monsieur Michel completely out of this hornets' nest, I think you'll have--by some means or other, prayers or threats--to make him leave la Logerie and go to Paris."
"Yes, you are right, Courtin."
"Only, I am afraid he won't consent."
"If I decide it, Courtin, he must consent."
"He will be twenty-one in eleven months; he is very nearly his own master."
"I tell you he shall go, Courtin. What are you listening for?"
Courtin had turned his head to the door, as if he heard something.
"I thought some one was in the corridor," he said.
"Look and see."
Courtin took a light and rushed into the passage.
"There was no one," he said, "though I certainly thought I heard a step."
"Where do you suppose he can be, the wretched boy, at this time of night?" said the baroness.
"Perhaps he has gone to my house," said Courtin. "He has confidence in me, and it wouldn't be the first time he has come to tell me of his little troubles."
"Possibly. You had better go home now; and remember your promise."
"And do you remember yours, Madame la baronne. If he comes in lock him up. Don't let him communicate with the wolves, for if he sees them--"
"What then?"
"I shouldn't be surprised to hear some day that he was firing behind the gorse."
"God forbid! Oh! he'll kill me with anxiety. What a luckless idea it was of my husband ever to come to this cursed place!"
"Luckless, indeed, madame,--especially for him."
The baroness bowed her head sadly under the recollections thus evoked. Courtin now left her, looking about him carefully to see that no one was stirring in the château de la Logerie.
XVI.
COURTIN'S DIPLOMACY.
Courtin had hardly taken a hundred steps on the path that led to his farmhouse before he heard a rustling in the bushes near which he passed.
"Who's there?" he said, standing in the middle of the path, and putting himself on guard with the heavy stick he carried.
"Friend," replied a youthful voice.
And the owner of the voice came through the bushes.
"Why, it is Monsieur le baron!" cried the farmer.
"I, myself, Courtin," replied Michel.
"Where are you going at this time of night? Good God! if Madame la baronne knew you were roaming about in the darkness, what do you suppose she would say?" said the farmer, pretending surprise.
"That's just it, Courtin."
"Hang it! I suppose Monsieur le baron has his reasons," said the farmer, in his jeering tone.
"Yes; and you shall hear them as soon as we get to your house."
"My house! Are you going to my house?" said Courtin, surprised.
"You don't refuse to take me in, do you?" asked Michel.
"Good heavens, no! Refuse to take you into a house which, after all, is yours?"
"Then don't let us lose time, it is so late. You walk first, I'll follow."
Courtin, rather uneasy at the imperative tone of his young master, obeyed. A few steps farther on he climbed a bank, crossed an orchard, and reached the door of his farmhouse. As soon as he entered the lower room, which served him as kitchen and living-room, he drew a few scattered brands together on the hearth and blew up a blaze; then he lighted a candle of yellow wax and stuck it on the chimney-piece. By the light of this candle he saw what he could not see by the light of the moon,--namely, that Michel was as pale as death.
"My God! what's the matter with you, Monsieur le baron?" he exclaimed.
"Courtin," said the young man, frowning, "I heard every word of your conversation with my mother."
"Confound it! were you listening?" said the farmer, a good deal surprised. But, recovering instantly, he added, "Well, what of it?"
"You want your lease renewed next year?"
"I, Monsieur le baron?"
"You, Courtin; and you want it much more than you choose to own."
"Of course I shouldn't be sorry to have it renewed, Monsieur le baron; but if there's any objection it wouldn't be the death of me."
"Courtin, I am the person who will renew your lease, because I shall be of age by that time."
"Yes, that's so, Monsieur le baron."
"But you will understand," continued the young man, to whom the desire of saving the Comte de Bonneville and staying near Mary gave a firmness and resolution quite foreign to his character, "you understand, don't you, that if you do as you said to-night,--that is, if you denounce my friends,--I shall most certainly not renew the lease of an informer?"
"Oh! oh!" exclaimed Courtin.
"That is certain. Once out of this farm you may say good-bye to it, Courtin; you shall never return to it."
"But my duty to the government and Madame la baronne?"
"All that is nothing to me. I am Baron Michel de la Logerie; the estate and château de la Logerie belong to me; my mother resigns them when I come of age; I shall be of age in eleven months, and your lease falls in eight weeks later."
"But suppose I renounce my intention, Monsieur le baron?"
"If you renounce your intention, your lease shall be renewed."
"On the same conditions as before?"
"On the same conditions as before."
"Oh, Monsieur le baron, if I were not afraid of compromising you," said Courtin, fetching pen, ink, and paper from the drawer of a desk.
"What does all this mean?" demanded Michel.
"Oh, hang it! if Monsieur le baron would only have the kindness to write down what he has just said,--who knows which of us will die first? For my part, I am ready to swear,--here's a crucifix,--well, I swear by Christ--"
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