Part 10 (1/2)

”Do not mind waiting a bit; Rousille will come to fetch you. I am going round by the slope of the meadow.”

At the foot of the field, filled in with bundles of thorn, was a gap in the hedge leading on to a narrow slip of meadow, and thence to the farm. To avoid having to answer Mathurin's questions, the farmer touched up his oxen and took this way back. In the middle of the courtyard he perceived the dog-cart already harnessed, Francois standing beside it in his Sunday clothes.

”Fasten up the oxen,” he said roughly. Then, pa.s.sing in front of him, he opened the house door and called:

”Eleonore!”

There was no answer. Going through the house-place he pa.s.sed into the kitchen, where he met Rousille.

”Where is your sister?”

”She was talking to Francois in the courtyard just now. Shall I look for her?”

”No, that will do. I will see her later on. Rousille, we have some business at Chalons, Francois and I. We shall be back before supper.

Go to Mathurin, who will be tired of waiting so long at La Cailleterie, and bring him back.”

Without another word, the farmer returned to the yard, where Francois awaited him. Getting into the cart, he signed to his son to take the place beside him, and with a cut of the whip sent the mare, unaccustomed to such harsh usage, off at a gallop.

”Where are they going at such speed?” thought the few spectators whom they pa.s.sed on their way--spectators whom nothing escapes: innkeepers standing at their doors, tramps on the highway, peasants lopping the trees. ”What has come to them? Old Lumineau is las.h.i.+ng La Rousse, and jerking the reins like a groom afraid of his master, and not a word does he say to his lad.”

In fact the farmer's wrath was growing as he meditated his wrongs; he muttered between his teeth what he would say to that Meffray, while his stalwart arms, eager for strife and vengeance, lashed into the mare. Francois, on the contrary, exhausted by the effort he had made, had relapsed into his usual apathy, and suffered himself to be carried on towards his fate, looking at the hedges with vacant stare.

It was he, who on arrival at the Place by the Halles-Neuves of Chalons, jumped down and tied the mare to a ring attached to one of the pillars; then followed his father who turned up one of the streets on the left, and stopped before a modern, narrow, red-brick building.

An iron plate, under the door bell, was inscribed, ”Jules Meffray, Ex-Sheriff's Officer, Town Councillor.”

The farmer pulled the bell vigorously.

”Is your master in?” he asked the servant who opened the door.

The girl examined the peasant who inquired for her master in a tone and look not of the pleasantest, and who presented himself in work-day clothes soiled with mud, and replied:

”I think he is. What may be your business?”

”Tell him that Toussaint Lumineau, of La Fromentiere, wants to speak to him; and let him be quick, I am in a hurry.”

Astonished, not daring to show Lumineau into the dining-room where M.

Meffray was wont to receive his clients, the maid left the farmer and his son standing in the shabby pa.s.sage at the foot of the stairs. So taken aback was she, that she did not see the shamefaced Francois hidden in the background, but only the stalwart old peasant, whose broad shoulders almost blocked the way as he stood erect, hat on head, under the ill-kept hall lamp that was never lighted.

A few seconds later the garden door opened, and a tall, stout man came in, dressed in a white flannel suit, a cap of the same material on his head; his face was clean-shaven, his small eyes blinking, probably with the sudden change from the outer glare. This was M. Meffray, member for Chalons, an ambitious small tradesman, who, originally one of them, was possessed by a secret animosity towards the peasant cla.s.s; and who, living amongst them, had only learnt to know their defects of which he made use.

Informed of the manner in which Lumineau had presented himself, dreading some violence, he stopped short at the foot of the staircase, rested his elbow on the banisters, and touching the brim of his cap with three fingers, said carelessly:

”They should have shown you in, farmer. But as it seems that you are in haste, we can talk just as well here. I have done your son a service, is that your reason for coming?”

”Just so,” returned Lumineau.

”Can I do anything more for you?”

”I want to keep my boy, M. Meffray.”