Part 19 (1/2)

”Well, at all events, I would not dare to ask him.”

”Well, then, let Paul do it.”

”But what would Paul say?”

”He will say that I am detained here, that I cannot come with you, and that, not thinking it prudent to allow you to go fis.h.i.+ng alone, I object to it unless Monsieur Roger will consent to take my place.”

”Very well, father,” said Albert, in a disappointed tone. ”We will see whether Paul succeeds; but I am afraid he will not.”

But Paul did succeed. Monsieur Roger could not resist the request so pleasantly made by the boy. That evening, after dinner, they left home to sleep at the farm, which was situated on the borders of the River Yonne. They had to get up at daybreak in order to begin their fis.h.i.+ng.

The farmers gave up to Monsieur Roger the only spare room they had in the house. Albert and Paul had to sleep in what they called the turret.

This turret, the last mossy vestige of the feudal castle, whose very windows were old loop-holes, now furnished with panes of gla.s.s, stood against one end of the farm-house. It was divided into three stories: the first story was a place where they kept hay and straw; in the second there slept a young farm-boy; the higher story was reserved for another servant, who was just now absent.

”In war we must do as the warriors do,” cried Albert, gayly; ”besides, we have not so long to sleep. You may take whichever room you like the best.”

”I will take the highest story, if you are willing,” answered Paul; ”the view must be beautiful.”

”Oh, the view! through the loop-holes and their blackened gla.s.ses!

However, you can climb up on the old platform of the turret if you wish.

It is covered with zinc, like the roof of an ordinary house; but, all the same, one can walk upon it. Come, I will show it to you.”

The wooden staircase was easily ascended by the boys. When they had reached the room which Paul was to occupy, Albert pointed his hand towards the ceiling and made Paul remark a large bolt.

”See,” said he: ”you have only to get upon a chair to draw this bolt and to push the trap-door, which gives admission to the turret. On the roof you will, in fact, see a beautiful view.”

”I shall do that to-morrow morning, when I get up,” answered Paul.

Albert, after he had said good-night to his friend, descended the staircase and slept in the bed which the farm-boy had yielded to him; the latter was to spend the night upon a bed of hay in the first story.

A distant clock in the country had struck twelve. Monsieur Roger had opened the window of his room, and, being unable to sleep, was thinking, still the prey to the fixed idea, still occupied by the strange resemblance; and now the two names of Paul and George mingled together in his mind and were applied only to the one and the same dear being.

Suddenly the odor of smoke came to him, brought on the breeze. In the cloudy night he saw nothing, and still the smoke grew more and more distinct. Every one was asleep at the farm: no light was burning, no sound was heard. Monsieur Roger bent over the window-sill and looked uneasily around him. The loop-holes of the lower story of the turret were illuminated; then sparks escaped from it, soon followed by jets of flame. At the same instant the wooden door which opened into the yard was violently burst open, and Monsieur Roger saw two young people in their night-gowns fleeing together and crying with a loud voice. This was all so quick that Monsieur Roger had had neither the time nor the thought of calling for help. A spasm of fear had seized him, which was calmed, now that Paul and Albert were safe; but the alarm had been given, and the farm-hands had awakened. But what help could they expect?

The nearest village was six miles off; the turret would be burned before the engines could arrive. Monsieur Roger had run out with the others to witness this fire which they could not extinguish. He held Albert in his arms, embraced him, and said to him,--

”But, tell me, where is Paul?”

Albert looked around him.

”He must be here,--unless fright has made him run away.”

”No, he is not here. But you are sure that he ran out of the tower, are you not?”

”Certainly, since it was he who came and shook me in my bed while I was asleep.”

At this moment a young boy in a night-gown came out of the crowd, and, approaching Albert, said,--

”No; it was I, sir, who shook you.”

Monsieur Roger looked at the boy who had just spoken, and he felt a horrible fear take possession of him. He saw that it was the farm-boy.