Part 26 (1/2)
The Baron looked first at his guests, then at the group that had just reached the top of the clearing. For an instant Christian charity struggled against love of hunting, then the latter triumphed. As he saw that Octave, although limping slightly, was already in a condition to walk, especially with the aid of his friend's arm, he said:
”Do not forget to put your foot in water, and send for Rousselet; he understands all about sprains.”
This advice having eased his conscience, he joined his companions, while the two friends slowly took the road back to the chateau, Octave resting one hand upon the artist's arm and the other upon his gun.
”The bourgeois is outwitted!” said Marillac with a stifled laugh, as soon as he was sure that Bergenheim could not hear him. ”Upon my word, these soldiers have a primitive, baptismal candor! It is not so with us artists; they could not bamboozle us in this way. Your strain is an old story; it is taken from the 'Mariage de raison', first act, second scene.”
”You will do me the favor to leave me as soon as we reach the woods,”
said Gerfaut, as he continued to limp with a grace which would have made Lord Byron envious; ”you may go straight ahead, or you may turn to the left, as you choose; the right is forbidden you.”
”Very well. Hearts are trumps, it seems, and, for the time being, you agree with Sganarelle, who places the heart on the right side.”
”Do not return to the chateau, as it is understood that we are together.
If you rejoin the hunting-party, say to Bergenheim that you left me seated at the foot of a tree and that the pain in my foot had almost entirely gone. You would have done better not to accompany me, as I tried to make you understand.”
”I had reasons of my own for wis.h.i.+ng to get out of Christian's crowd.
To-day is Monday, and I have an appointment at four o'clock which interests you more than me. Now, will you listen to a little advice?”
”Listen, yes; follow it, not so sure.”
”O race of lovers!” exclaimed the artist, in a sort of transport, ”foolish, absurd, wicked, impious, and sacrilegious kind!”
”What of it?”
”What of it? I tell you this will all end with swords for two.”
”Bah!”
”Do you know that this rabid Bergenheim, with his round face and good-natured smile, killed three or four men while he was in the service, on account of a game of billiards or some such trivial matter?”
”Requiescat in pace.”
”Take care that he does not cause the 'De Profundis' to be sung for you.
He was called the best swords man at Saint-Cyr: he has the devil of a lunge. As to pistol-shooting, I have seen him break nine plaster images at Lepage's one after another.”
”Very well, if I have an engagement with him, we will fight it out with a.r.s.enic.”
”By Jove, joking is out of place. I tell you that he is sure to discover something, and then your business will soon be settled; he will kill you as if you were one of the hares he is hunting this moment.”
”You might find a less humiliating comparison for me,” replied Gerfaut, with an indifferent smile; ”however, you exaggerate. I have always noticed that these bullies with mysterious threats of their own and these slaughterers of plaster images were not such very dangerous fellows to meet. This is not disputing Bergenheim's bravery, for I believe it to be solid and genuine.”
”I tell you, he is a regular lion! After all, you will admit that it is sheer folly to come and attack him in his cage and pull his whiskers through the bars. And that is what you are doing. To be in love with his wife and pay court to her in Paris, when he is a hundred leagues from you, is all very well, but to install yourself in his house, within reach of his clutches! that is not love, it is sheer madness. This is nothing to laugh at. I am sure that this will end in some horrible tragedy. You heard him speak of killing his wife and her lover just now, as if it were a very slight matter. Very well; I know him; he will do as he says without flinching. These ruddy-faced people are very devils, if you meddle with their family affairs! He is capable of murdering you in some corner of his park, and of burying you at the foot of some tree and then of forcing Madame de Bergenheim to eat your heart frica.s.seed in champagne, as they say Raoul de Coucy did.”
”You will admit, at least, that it would be a very charming repast, and that there would be nothing bourgeois about it.”
”Certainly, I boast of detesting the bourgeois; I am celebrated for that; but I should much prefer to die in a worsted nightcap, flannel underwear, and cotton night-s.h.i.+rt, than to have Bergenheim a.s.sist me, too brusquely, in this little operation. He is such an out-and-out Goliath! Just look at him!”
And the artist forced his friend to turn about, and pointed at Christian, who stood with the other hunters upon the brow of the hill, a few steps from the spot where they had left him. The Baron was indeed a worthy representative of the feudal ages, when physical strength was the only incontestable superiority. In spite of the distance, they could hear his clear, ringing voice although they could not distinguish his words.