Part 24 (1/2)
”The end!” repeated Andre, as he came in at the door from the outer darkness. ”I am glad not to have seen it.”
The good-looking young Maraichin seemed tired and troubled; his eyes were brilliant as if about to shed tears. Toussaint Lumineau thought that the shame of this public auction, so painful to him, had affected his son in like manner, and had been the sole cause of his long absence.
”Sit down, Driot,” he said, ”you must be hungry. The soup is ready.”
”No, I am not hungry,” replied Andre.
”Nor am I,” returned his father.
Mathurin alone, dragging himself to the table, ladled out a plate of soup; while his father remained sitting beside the fire, and Driot stood leaning against the projecting chimney-corner, looking alternately at his father and brother.
”Where did you go?” asked the farmer.
Andre made a sweeping gesture:
”From one to the other. To your friend Guerineau, of La Pinconniere; to the miller of Moque-Souris; the Levrelles; the Ma.s.sonneau....”
”A good fellow, le Glorieux,” interrupted the farmer; ”worthy family his.”
”I saw the Ricolleaus of Malabrit too.”
”What, you went as far as that?”
”The Ertus of La Paree du Mont----”
Toussaint Lumineau looked straight into his son's clear eyes, trying to understand.
”What led you to go and see all these people, my boy?”
”An idea”--no longer able to endure his father's inquiring look, his eyes sought the dark corner wherein stood the bed--”an idea. Well then, going along, I thought I would go as far as La Roche and see Francois.”
”Francois?” murmured the farmer. ”You are like me then, dear lad, your thoughts are often with him?”
Slowly the young man nodded his head, as he answered:
”Yes, this evening especially; this evening, more than any evening of my whole life, I would have liked to have him beside me.”
Andre's words were spoken with such strong emotion, with so mournful a solemnity, that Mathurin, who had not known the date of Andre's departure, understood that the time had come, and that his brother had not many more minutes to remain in La Fromentiere.
The blood rushed to his head, his lips half opened, a violent fit of trembling seized him, while his eyes stared fixedly at Andre. There was an unwonted animation in those eyes of his, for, while they expressed triumphant pride, there was also, in that supreme hour, something of pity and affection, perhaps of remorse. Andre knew that they bade him farewell. The father, meanwhile, had drawn up his chair to the table, and raising the cane horizontally to the level of the lamp, that Andre might the better see it, was caressing the gold ring with his fingers, none too clean from the day's toil. He imagined that his son's thoughts were again with the present, or like his own, were embracing the same future.
”See,” said he, ”what I bought as a souvenir of M. Henri. How often he has knocked against my door with the point of this cane, tap! tap!
tap! 'Are you there, my old Lumineau?' Andre, when you are the master of La Fromentiere----”
At these words the young man, who was standing behind the farmer, felt all his courage give way. Unable to restrain his tears, and fearing lest his father should turn towards him, he retreated silently towards the door.
Toussaint Lumineau had noticed nothing; he continued: ”When you are the master at La Fromentiere, you will see no more of the family. I do not believe that the farmstead will be sold. I greatly hope not, but our Marquises will not come amongst us again. My lad, the new times you will be living in will not be like those I used to know!”
Now Driot's tears fell fast as he looked at the old walls worn with the shoulders of many a Lumineau past and gone.