In speaking of Father Ferdinand, I have compressed into one view the effect which was produced upon my mind by many long interviews with him. These took place, as I have said, almost every morning; but in the meanwhile several events occurred to which I must now turn. A slight variation in our dull and somewhat painful course of life was afforded, about this time, both to good Jerome Laborde and myself, by the coming of Jacques Marlot and his bride to my house at Juvigny, and by the preparations which preceded his arrival. In these preparations, indeed, I did not share; but almost every day I perceived that good Jerome continued to absent himself from his duties at the chÂteau for a sufficient space of time to run down, through the park, to Juvigny; and many a time did I meet him with gleesome satisfaction depicted on his countenance, returning from his expedition to his nephew's new dwelling.

As soon as I had learned that my friend Socrates had brought home his Xantippe, and was fairly in possession of his new abode, I asked the Duke permission to absent myself for an hour or two, and sallied forth to make him a visit of congratulation. I found him gazing forth from his door, with pleasure and content at the prospect around him, having the farm which he was to cultivate for the good Ursulines just on the opposite side of the river, the convent itself within a quarter of a mile; and a little stone bridge, at half that distance, to render it easily accessible.

Madame la mariÉe was within, aided by a bustling big-nosed Bretonne servante, arranging the household gods; and Jacques Marlot himself had thus an opportunity, without any sacrifice of dignity in the eyes of his bride, to pour forth his joy and gratitude to John Marston Hall.

As he somewhat belaboured me with thanks for all sort of kindnesses, past, present, and to come, I cut him as short as I could, by demanding impatiently to see the bride.

"Ha! ha! my young lord and master," he exclaimed, "do not excite my jealousy within the first fortnight of my marriage; for I have but lately found out that you are an old friend and high favourite of my dear better half."

These tidings surprised me more, perhaps, than they might have done at a later period of my life; for at that time the extent of my female acquaintance was very limited, and perhaps the most decided fragment of my boyhood that then remained to me was a lingering dislike to the generality of female society, and a very juvenile contempt for women in general.

"Indeed!" exclaimed I, in reply to Jacques Marlot's information, "indeed! you make me but the more curious. Let me offer my adorations with all speed to the first of your household divinities."

"Well, well; enter, enter, by all means," he cried: "I am not made of jealous stuff, thank God; and as our love has already lasted five long years, I trust it will not break short at matrimony."

I was now conducted in form into the house; and on the first floor we found the bride and her coadjutrix, when my surprise was still more excited, by beholding in Madame Marlot the pretty brunette whom I had seen at the inn near St. Aubin, on my first arrival in Brittany, and who had warned me of what was passing between her father and the groom who then accompanied me. After the first salutation, I returned her my thanks in set form, although I had nearly lost my life in consequence of her information; and I then enquired after her worthy and respectable father as tenderly as my conscience would permit me to do. In reply, she informed me that her parent had most unjustly been suspected of having given information to the same band of robbers who had plundered me, that the courier for St. Malo was about to pass within their hospitable neighbourhood, on a certain day and hour; and that, in consequence, he had been arrested and thrown into prison, where, within one fortnight, he died, just as the authorities were about to liberate him, having become convinced of his innocence, and judging that a fortnight's imprisonment was a sufficient punishment for being suspected. The prisoner having thus liberated himself, his daughter was left, according to her own account, sole heiress of her father's wealth, which proved a burden less weighty than she had anticipated. She also found so many persons in this generous world willing to relieve her of it, that she saw very clearly it would soon be no burden at all; and therefore, she set herself to consider what she might best do under such circumstances, when suddenly her ancient lover, Jacques Marlot, appeared one night at the inn, and presented her with an expedient that she did not fail to adopt.

In reply to this communication, I paid her my compliments upon her wisdom; and, as I found that the kind-hearted brunette and her bridegroom were both bent upon my staying to partake of their first dinner in their new dwelling, I yielded to my fate, and found that neither Jacques Marlot's taste for friandise, nor the skill which Madame had acquired in the kitchen of an inn, had abandoned them. During our meal, my philosopher gave me a sketch of his wandering life in the guise of a pedlar; and then related the means he had employed to obtain his pardon, which were ingenious enough. It appears that in France the presence of the King is always mercy, and that if he but set eyes upon a condemned criminal his punishment is remitted. Well knowing this fact, and trusting to his disguise, Jacques Marlot made his way towards Paris, and having heard that the King and Court were about to make their public entrance into the capital on a certain day, he prepared to take advantage thereof, to obtain his pardon. This plan succeeded to his wish. Bribing some of the guards at the palace with a considerable portion of what he had gained in his petty traffic, he placed himself in a spot where the royal party were sure to pass, in descending from their carriages; and, as the young King and the Queen came on together, he struggled forward to cast himself at their feet. One of the ushers, indeed, opposed his progress, and knocked the poor printer down to make him clear the way; but this only brought him literally to the King's knees; and the young monarch's first impulse was to stoop in order to raise him, reproving, at the same time, the usher for his violence.

Jacques Marlot rose no farther than his knees, however, and in that position besought pardon for his offences. It being now ascertained who the intruder really was, the guards were ordered by Mazarin to take him into custody; and poor Marlot was removed, trembling, as he acknowledged, for the consequences of his bold attempt. The rule, however, was suffered to prevail even in his case, although the Queen and the Cardinal were both exasperated in a high degree against the unfortunate printer. After remaining in one of the rooms of the palace for more than an hour, his pardon was brought him, but coupled with the condition that he should quit Paris immediately, never to return, and should never more exercise the trade of printing in any part of France. "And thus, my dear benefactor," he added, "I turned my steps hither, determined to become a new Cincinnatus, and, abandoning the government of Roman capitals, to dwell upon my farm and put my hand to the plough."

In such conversation we passed an hour or two very cheerfully; at the end of which time I took my leave, and left the pair to conclude their evening alone. It was now about two o'clock, on a fine April day; and, walking slowly along, I meditated over all the strange turns of that strange and unaccountable thing, fate, which, principally by the means of a complete stranger, had conducted the ci-devant printer in less than a year from the foot of the gallows to a peaceful retirement in a beautiful country.

On entering the park, I took the shady walk by the bank of the stream, both because the warmth of the day made a shelter from the sun not unpleasant, though the year was yet so young, and because I always had an indescribable pleasure in sauntering by a running water, and gazing upon the current gushing brightly by me. The banks here were irregular, sometimes high and overhanging, sometimes sloping softly down, and dipping their turf into the stream; and, as I often paused to gaze, and ponder, and revolve a number of sweet sunshiny dreams that were now very common to my mind, I was at least twice the length of time in the walk that I needed to have been.

Luckily did it happen that I was so. When I had got about half way to the chÂteau, I perceived that there were others in the walk besides myself; and, straining my eyes a little, I saw that it was Madame de Villardin, with a servant a step behind her, and her little girl running on before. The Duchess approached but slowly, with her fine eyes, as usual now, bent pensively upon the ground, and her hands, which were very beautiful, clasped together, and resting on her waist. The little girl, full of the joy and vivid life of youth, ran backwards and forwards before her mother, now gathering a flower, now peeping over at the stream, and receiving, from time to time, a grave caution from the soubrette, who walked behind, against approaching too near the water. As soon as she saw me, however, the little Laura had a new object of attention, and running along the walk like light, she came towards her playfellow. The impulse, however, was soon over; and, ere she had half reached me, she slackened her pace on hearing the voices of her father and the Confessor in one of the other paths hard by, and was turning gaily to seek them, when an early butterfly started up from the bosom of a flower and caught her notice. The painted insect fluttered on before her with that sort of faint impotent flight which leads so many a child to follow on for miles, still hoping to catch it at every step. Eagerly she pursued, with her whole young soul beaming out of her beautiful eyes. For some way the butterfly flew on down the alley, and Laura de Villardin was close upon it; when rising a little in the air, it turned its course towards the opposite bank of the river. With a bound forward, Mademoiselle de Villardin strove to catch it ere it escaped for ever, slipped her foot on the bank, and plunged over at once into the stream.

It is impossible to describe the three or four long thrilling shrieks that burst from the lips of Madame de Villardin as her child disappeared. For one instant they overpowered me; but the next I darted forward to the bank. Luckily the stream was flowing towards me, and, though deep and rapid, was smooth enough. I cannot remember the time when I could not swim, and the only difficulty was to discover the object of our search. The first plunge over had made her sink, and nothing appeared as my eye ran along the river, but the flat glistening surface of the stream.

An instant after, however, the little girl rose again, and with a faint cry, held out her arms at the distance of about twenty yards from me. I plunged in, with two or three strokes brought myself to the spot, and finding that she had sunk again, dived down where I caught the gleaming of her clothes; and, throwing my left arm round her, shot up to the surface, holding her head above my own. By the convulsive grasp with which she seized my neck and hair, I found that she was still living: and the joy which that conviction gave me was indescribable, when, on rising above the water, I saw the scene that the bank presented. Madame de Villardin, on her knees, with her hands clasped, and eyes straining upon the spot where I had disappeared, was the first object that met my view; but a little nearer stood the Duke, called to the spot by the shrieks of his wife; while, with the frenzy of agony in his whole aspect, he was evidently only restrained from plunging over also by the firm grasp which the priest had laid upon his arm. Behind him appeared the form of Father Ferdinand, raising up his left hand with impressive energy; and I could not but think he was predicting I would save the child. The whole scene was made up by a number of servants running down towards the spot, together with the woody irregular banks, the bright green shades of the young leaves which clothed some of the trees, and the calm, bright sunshine, streaming cheerfully over all, as if there were no such things as danger, and terror, and care, and distress, in all the many scenes he looks upon.

A shout of joy, that made the banks echo again, burst from the spectators, when we rose above the surface of the stream, especially when, by the ease with which my old habits of swimming enabled me to bear my little charge, they saw that she was placed beyond further risk; and when a motion of her hand towards her father evinced that she was uninjured from that which had already occurred. All crowded round the spot to which I directed my course; and Monsieur de Villardin, stooping down as I approached, caught his child in his arms, and pressed her again and again to his heart. For some time Madame de Villardin wept in silence, holding one little hand of her rescued child, and kissing her fair cheek as she lay sobbing and agitated in her father's bosom. The priest looked on for a moment or two without speaking; but then calling to their remembrance Him to whom their thanks were first due, he offered a short prayer of praise and gratitude in their name to the Almighty Giver of all good.

When this was concluded, Madame de Villardin besought her husband to give their little Laura into the hands of one of the servants, with orders to carry her to the chÂteau, lest, from the dripping state of her clothes, she might encounter a danger different from that which she had just escaped. Her father, however, would not part with her; but, so far following the suggestion, he himself carried her home, hurrying forward as fast as possible, while Madame de Villardin, with the rest, followed more slowly, her situation preventing her from accompanying her husband so rapidly. Her feelings were too intense for speech, and she proceeded in perfect silence; while the priest, who followed by my side, questioned me concerning all the circumstances which had attended the accident.

When we arrived at the castle, we were met by Monsieur de Villardin himself, leading his daughter by the hand, now clad in drier garments, and smiling as gaily as if nothing had happened. Such moments soften and expand the heart; and the Duke's first act was one which inspired bright but delusive hopes of better days in the bosom of more than one person present. He held his daughter up in his arms to embrace her mother, and then taking the Duchess's hand, he pressed a kiss upon her cheek.

Without pretending to any fine feelings, I may truly say, that I felt as glad as if some great benefit had fallen upon myself. His next act, however, was one which gave me gratification more entirely personal. The little Laura, having embraced her mother, turned to me, and, as I bent over her to ask her how she was, she sprang into my arms and kissed my cheeks repeatedly, with all the warmth and sincerity of childish gratitude. Monsieur de Villardin smiled kindly upon us both; and the Duchess, who was again drowned in tears of joy, held out to me her hand, which I raised respectfully to my lips. We all now entered the chÂteau, and, although I was not very apt to fear wet clothes, I made the state of my dress an excuse for retiring to my chamber, feeling that the Duke and Duchess would be better left alone together with their child under the circumstances in which they were then placed. A couple of hours elapsed before I again saw any of the family; but, at the end of that time, one of the lacqueys entered my room, and informed me that Monsieur de Villardin desired to speak with me. I instantly followed, not doubting, certainly, that his intention was to thank me for the assistance I had rendered to his child; but not expecting, by any means, the deep and enthusiastic pouring forth of gratitude with which he now overwhelmed me.

He knew not, he said, how he could express his feelings towards me. If he had before looked upon me as a member of his own family, in what light could he now look upon me, when I had saved his child, the idol of his heart, from the death which so imminently threatened her? In conclusion, he again asked what he could do to testify his affection for me, and to express his thanks; and bade me point out myself any way which would prove most gratifying to myself, and he would instantly pursue it, did it involve the sacrifice of half his fortune.

"My lord," I replied, "I hope for nothing, I wish nothing, I will accept of nothing, for doing an act which is far more than repaid by seeing the happiness which it has given to yourself and your most excellent lady. Or, if I must ask a boon, it shall be alone, that you will, through life, give me the same place in your regard and affection that you do now, and let me share your love and confidence as long as we both live."

"That boon," replied the Duke, "was granted before you sought it. For never, of course, can I behold you in any other light than as the dearest and best beloved of my friends--nay more, as a benefactor, though the benefits conferred are of a kind that I can never repay. You must think, therefore, of some other request; or, if you think of none now, let it stand over to the future, and I promise, whatever boon you then ask me, to grant you, upon my honour."

"I do not think I shall have cause, my lord," I replied, "to call upon you to fulfil your word; but, as there is nothing that I either want or wish for at present, I can certainly ask nothing now."

"Well, then," he added, "let it remain for the future; but one thing I must myself do immediately, which I have heretofore forgotten: as I told you before, it will require a royal ordinance to put you, as a foreigner, in full and entire possession of your farm of Juvigny; and, as I stand not over well with the Court, I was almost afraid that such a favour might be refused me, if I applied without some special reason which I could assign for making over the property to you. I now can assign the noblest and the most valid of reasons, and I will at once write to the Prince de CondÉ, one of my best friends, entreating him to make immediate application to the court for such letters patent as may enable you hereafter and for ever to obtain and hold lands and lordships in France, as if you were a native subject of the realm."

I thanked him sincerely for all his kindness, and the letter to the Prince de CondÉ was immediately written and despatched by a special messenger, who, before three weeks were over, brought me back letters of naturalization in all due form, and entitling me, John Marston Hall, Sieur de Juvigny--a name which, afterwards, I occasionally adopted when circumstances required.

If, in the household of Monsieur de Villardin, there had before been anything wanting to my being considered and treated as one of his own family, such was no longer the case. Every day something new was done to contribute to my comfort and happiness. My time was left perfectly at my own disposal. A servant was selected peculiarly to attend upon me. A suite of handsome apartments were assigned me in one of the wings of the chÂteau. Two beautiful horses were presented to me for my own use; and no young cavalier, of the first quality, could have been better equipped in every respect than I now found myself. That which gratified me the most of all, however, was to find that Monsieur de Villardin now selected me continually for his companion; and though but little conversation of a very private nature took place between us, yet I felt that, as far as his confidence went, Gaspard de Belleville was beneath my feet for ever.

From Father Ferdinand, too, I received a mark of affection and kindness, which, as I had now learned to appreciate his character properly, gratified me much. The apartments assigned me consisted of an ante-chamber, a little saloon, a bed-room, and a dressing-room; and I was surprised, on returning one morning, to see the carpenters, who were always more or less employed about the house, engaged in putting up a neat bookcase in my ante-room. This was followed by the arrival of two large packets of books from Rennes; and I soon after found the good priest busily employed in placing them in order. When the task was concluded, he begged me to accept them for his sake, and added, "I have had them placed here for you, because there are many leisure moments in every man's life which he is glad to employ in reading, if a book be at hand, when, probably, he would not take the trouble of going down to seek one out in a large library like that below."

When I came to examine the store that the good father had provided for my mind, I was both pleased and amused with his selection; and, indeed, it offered not a bad type of his own mind. The books were in general of anything but a heavy or very serious cast, though amongst them were to be found a number of volumes, in the pages of which a man disposed to seek for sound and wholesome ideas was sure to find them on every branch of morals or ethics. The generality, however, consisted of the best and purest poets in the language; of historians a considerable number; of romance writers a very few; but all were chosen evidently with a view to induce a habit of reading, and to lead the mind on to knowledge and virtue, by the pleasant path of entertainment.

The effect was such as the good priest could have wished and desired: as I was not naturally obstinate or perverse, the knowledge of his design led me rather to endeavour to accomplish than to defeat it. Although my taste for reading was, certainly, never so great as it might have been, yet the half hour that I snatched twice or thrice in the course of each day to peruse some of the volumes with which he had supplied me, carried me through a great number of the classical authors, both in French and Latin, and gave me a taste for many things which I had before but little appreciated.

Owing both to new pursuits and feelings, my time did not now hang heavy on my hands; but it must be remarked, also, that a renewed gleam of sunshine had fallen upon our dwelling, which made everything seem cheerful around. The burst of kindly emotions and tender feeling, to which Monsieur de Villardin had given way, had proved more permanent than might have been expected. For several days before, the Confessor had been labouring to free his mind from its delusions; and although he had clung to his suspicions with all the tenacity of a jealous disposition, yet the calm, steadfast reasoning of the priest had, it appears--together with my former representations--produced a great effect; and it wanted but some little circumstance to wake the dormant affections of his heart, when the accident that befel his child occurred. The consequence, at the time, I have already noticed; and for several weeks the same mood continued. Everything assumed a new aspect, and to me, especially, the whole scene was full of enjoyment.

Although the season was no longer one in which we could urge the chase, as we had formerly done at the PrÉs VallÉe, yet fishing and falconry, which was still a favourite sport in that part of Brittany, afforded us constant amusement; and, as I have said, I was ever by the side of Monsieur de Villardin, often his only follower, and always his most cherished companion. The only one in the house whom this change seemed really to oppress, was my old enemy, Gaspard de Belleville; and never did I set out with the Duke on any expedition of pleasure, but I caught a sight of his brow lowering upon us, evidently full of gloomy disappointment at seeing the new hold I had obtained of his master's affections. That he would struggle to regain them himself, and endeavour to deprive me of the confidence and regard which he coveted, I did not at all doubt; but as I feared nothing for myself, and trusted that his power of injuring Madame de Villardin, at least in regard to the Count de Mesnil, was at an end, his hatred and malevolence were more a matter of mockery to me than anything else. It is difficult, however, to know when the fangs of a snake are drawn completely; and I had yet to learn what a base and malicious heart can accomplish, when it scruples at no means to serve its own sordid and ungenerous purpose. I thought it quite sufficient that I did not affect to triumph over him who was evidently my enemy, and that, without insulting him by anything like protection or condescension, I treated him with civility. I have sometimes, indeed, been sorry since that I did not pursue a different course, and even, by irritating him still more against myself, who could always defend myself, give a different direction to efforts which, without serving his own purpose, were but too fatal to the peace of others.