  FrÉdÉric, when he returned to the hotel during the evening, found MÉnard seated alone before the remains of a chicken with which the quondam tutor had passed a part of the time since Dubourg's departure. Surprised not to find the latter, the young count inquired of MÉnard as to his whereabouts, and was told that monsieur le baron had gone to pass the evening with one of the leading families of the city, from whom he had received an invitation. It seemed very strange to FrÉdÉric that Dubourg should receive invitations at Lyon, where he knew nobody, and he feared that this "leading family" might be an invention of his friend. However, he was careful not to convey his suspicions to MÉnard, but simply informed him that he proposed to resume his journey the next day. "Monsieur le baron isn't in such a hurry as he was," said MÉnard; "he is very well pleased with Lyon." "Why, only this morning he urged me to leave the place!" "This invitation seems to have changed his views." "Monsieur le baron may do as he pleases, but we shall start to-morrow." MÉnard made no reply, but went to bed, considering that his pupil was taking great liberties with such a man Early the next morning, MÉnard and the young count met in the room where they were accustomed to meet for breakfast. But Dubourg did not appear. "Can it be that he stayed out all night?" asked FrÉdÉric. "I beg your pardon, monsieur," said one of the servants of the hotel; "monsieur le baron came in about three o'clock this morning; he seemed very tired, and he is still in bed." "What folly to sit up all night when we were to start to-day! But where in the devil has he been?—Go and tell him that we are waiting for him." After some time, the servant returned and announced that monsieur le baron was sick and could not rise. "The rascal must have been drunk last night," thought FrÉdÉric; and, followed by MÉnard, who began by rubbing his nose and temples with vinegar to ward off contagion, he went to Dubourg's bedroom. They found him in bed; he had pulled his nightcap over his eyes and tied his handkerchief over it, and his face wore such a piteous expression, that one would have thought that he had been confined to his bed in agony for three months. MÉnard halted in the middle of the room and held a smelling-bottle to his nose, saying in an undertone to FrÉdÉric. "Mon Dieu! how he has changed!" "What's the matter with you, in heaven's name, my poor Dubourg?" said FrÉdÉric, taking the hand of the sick man, who had employed every known means to give himself an attack of fever. "Alas! my dear friend, I feel very ill." "How did it come on?" "Ah! it was brought on by something that happened—a terrible adventure; the shock of it was the cause of my illness." "You must see a doctor, first of all." "I will go for one, and an apothecary too," said MÉnard, who was anxious for an excuse to go out into the open air. "No, no, my dear Monsieur MÉnard," Dubourg interposed, in a faint voice; "I don't like doctors; we have plenty of time. Hippocrates himself said: Vita brevis, ars longa, experientia fallax." "Very true, monsieur le baron; but the same Hippocrates says in another place——" "Oh! for heaven's sake, drop Hippocrates!" cried FrÉdÉric, fancying that he could read in Dubourg's eyes that he was not so ill as he chose to appear. "As you won't have a doctor, do at least tell us the cause of your illness, this terrible adventure——" "Yes," said MÉnard, taking pains to seat himself as far as possible from the bed, where he could get the air from the hall. "Let us know if it might become contagious." Dubourg sat up in bed; he raised his eyes heaven-ward, uttered two or three plaintive groans, pulled his nightcap still further over his eyes, and began his tale in a most heartrending tone. "The excellent MÉnard has undoubtedly told you that I received yesterday an invitation to one of the first houses in the city. At all events, that is what our landlady assured me—otherwise——" "Yes, he told me that—what next? explain yourself!" said FrÉdÉric, impatient at Dubourg's roundabout way of reaching the facts. "Gently! I am in no condition to go so fast, my dear FrÉdÉric.—Well, I started out in a cab last night, after making a careful toilet." "Yes; I noticed that you took one of my coats." "You know perfectly well that I lost my wardrobe with my berlin." "Well?" "By some fatality, it happened that I put the purse containing the whole of our fortune in the pocket of your coat." "Ah! this begins to look bad," whispered FrÉdÉric, while MÉnard, even more disturbed than he, began to draw his chair nearer. "Well? go on." "Well, monsieur le baron?" "Well, my dear and noble friends, on leaving that brilliant society, where, to tell the truth, I stayed rather late, I found no carriage at the door. I was alone, in a street that I did not know. Suddenly four cutthroats leaped upon me. Alas! I had no weapons, but I defended myself like a lion. But all in vain! They beat me and threw me down, and the worst of it is that they robbed me of all the money I had about me." "Great God! and you had our funds?" cried MÉnard. "I did." "And your own fifteen thousand francs?" "Everything—every sou, I tell you. There is nothing left, except what you two have about you. They took everything, even my superb hat, with its steel buckle worth sixty francs." "What a catastrophe! what are we to do?" exclaimed MÉnard, who was terribly distressed to think that, after living like lords, they were reduced to living by their wits. FrÉdÉric said nothing; he was suspicious of Dubourg's tale; and that worthy, perceiving his incredulity, tried to overcome it by crying every minute: "What a fatality! to be attacked and robbed! Such things happen to nobody but me!" "Indeed, monsieur le baron, you do seem to be unlucky," said MÉnard, remembering the theft of the berlin. "With whom did you pass the evening?" inquired FrÉdÉric. "With Madame la Marquise de Versac." "With Madame de Versac! That's very extraordinary, for I saw her yesterday at her country house." "You saw her! What do you mean? Do you know her?" cried Dubourg, in a voice that did not at all resemble an invalid's. "Madame de Versac came to my father's house several times, when she was in Paris last year. In the summer, she lives at her country house. I saw her there yesterday, I tell you, and she reproved me gently for not coming there to stay with her; she certainly did not come back to the city." "Great God! what do I hear? How old is this marchioness?" "Not over twenty-eight; her town house is on Place Bellecour." "Ten thousand cigars! that was a contraband marchioness! What an infernal fool, not to have discovered it!" Dubourg jumped up and down in his bed, rolled himself up in the bedclothes, snatched off his nightcap and threw it on the floor, while MÉnard cried: "Monsieur le baron is mad; I am going to fetch an apothecary!" The tutor left the room, and FrÉdÉric was not sorry, for it gave him an opportunity to have an explanation with Dubourg; but for several minutes he absolutely refused to keep still; he was in a frenzy at the recollection of the soi-disant counts and chevaliers. He dressed in hot haste, swearing that he would find his baron with the watch-charms, his threadbare chevalier, and his blackleg with lace cuffs; that he would break the baroness's remaining teeth, beat the viscountess, and horsewhip madame la marquise. At last, FrÉdÉric succeeded in making himself heard. "So you gambled last night, you wretch, did you? and that is where our funds have gone?" "Ah! my friend, beat me, kill me! I know that I am a good-for-naught. But, really, you would have done the same in my place. When a person assumes a respectable name—— For my part, I went there in all confidence, hoping to make an advantageous match. I heard people all about me talking of nothing but 'my estates, my chÂteaux, my servants, my millions'—as I would say 'my cane' or 'my hat.' And then, they dazed me with attentions and liqueurs. Still, I ought to have noticed that there was a suspicious look to it all; but what can you expect? Unluckily, I am not accustomed to good society. I took the pressure of one woman's foot for patrician manners, and another woman's blunders in grammar for a German accent. We played cards,—I confess that I love cards,—and they stripped me of everything, even to my hat! But they haven't seen the end of it!" "Where are you going?" said FrÉdÉric, trying to detain his friend, who had taken his shocking old hat as if to go out. "Let me go, let me go! I am going to hunt up my Dubourg opened the door just as MÉnard returned with an apothecary's clerk, who had a sedative potion in each hand. Dubourg roughly pushed the tutor aside when he tried to stop him, and descended the stairs four at a time, while the tutor collided with the apothecary, who fell to the floor with his potions. "We must send somebody after him," said MÉnard, thinking that Dubourg was in a high fever. FrÉdÉric had some difficulty in inducing him to dismiss the apothecary, by assuring him that the baron was very much better. Dubourg betook himself to the residence of his false marchioness, whose address he had retained. He was obliged to go on foot, and he no longer assumed the air of a great noble. The eyeglass would have accorded but ill with the wretched tile, which was not half large enough for him. But at that time he was thinking exclusively of his money, not at all of his costume. When he reached the house he had visited the night before, which he readily recognized from having scrutinized it carefully in the night, he entered the hall, the door of which was open, went upstairs, and looked and listened, but neither saw anybody nor heard a sound. He rang at the door of the apartment from which he had been ejected so roughly, but no one answered the bell. He rang again and again, with increasing violence, until the bell-pull came off in his hand, but the door remained closed. "Open, you rascals, you blacklegs! or I'll go for a magistrate," cried Dubourg, putting his mouth to the keyhole. Finally an old woman appeared on the landing above and asked him why he was making such an uproar. "I want to speak with the people who live here on the first floor," he replied. "There's no one living there now, monsieur; it was let furnished to a woman who went away this morning before daybreak." Dubourg was petrified. He realized that he could not hope to recover his money. He returned slowly and dejectedly to the hotel, and joined FrÉdÉric and MÉnard with an expression of utter dismay. "Well, what about the robbers?" inquired FrÉdÉric. "Ah! my friend, they have fled." "I was sure of it." "But you have entered a complaint with the magistrate, surely, monsieur le baron?" "I have done all that there was to do, Monsieur MÉnard; but I fancy that we may say good-bye to our money." "In that case, what are we going to do?" "That is what we must consider.—How much money have you, Monsieur MÉnard?" "Not more than two louis." "And you, FrÉdÉric?" "I have about ten." "That isn't enough to pay our landlord, for we must owe him at least three hundred francs." "What! hasn't he been paid?" "Who ever heard of making people of our sort pay in advance?" "But think how extravagant we have been!" "We had to live; and what difference does it make whether we owe one hundred francs or three hundred, as we can't pay?" "However, we cannot leave this hotel without settling our account, and we cannot continue our journey without money." "That would be rather difficult, to be sure," said MÉnard. "I see but one way to get any," said Dubourg, "and that is to apply to Monsieur le Comte de Montreville. He certainly won't leave his son in straits." "Ask monsieur le comte for money, when it isn't three weeks since we left Paris! What will he think?" murmured MÉnard, with a sigh.—"What if monsieur le baron should write to his steward at Rava or Krapach?" "Why, I would write in a moment, but it's so far!—It would take at least two months to get an answer, because at this time of year the mails are greatly delayed by avalanches." "What, monsieur le baron, in summer?" "Summer is the season when the snow melts. Pardieu! if it was winter, they could make half the distance on snow-shoes. We couldn't wait all that time in this inn; we must have money at once." "My dear MÉnard," said FrÉdÉric, "you really must apply to my father." "Well, I will write him what has happened to monsieur le baron——" "No, no; you are the one he gave the money to, and you are the one who was robbed; it's useless to mention me. Just imagine that you were the one who was robbed last night." "Come, my dear MÉnard, write my father a most pathetic letter." "The deuce! that's a very hard task." "I'll dictate to you, if you choose," said Dubourg. "You will oblige me very much, monsieur le baron." So MÉnard took the pen, and Dubourg dictated the following letter: "MONSIEUR LE COMTE: "I have the honor to inform you of our safe arrival at Lyon, where I was attacked at night, as I was returning to our hotel, and robbed of all that we possessed; which places us in a very embarrassing position, from which we beg you to extricate us as soon as possible. Monsieur your son is as well as Esculapius himself; the journey seems to have done him a vast amount of good. He bids me offer you his most respectful homage." MÉnard signed this letter, to which Dubourg desired FrÉdÉric to add a few affectionate words. But FrÉdÉric had never lied to his father, and he preferred to write nothing rather than to try to deceive him. The letter was mailed, and they had no choice but to await the reply. Luckily, their landlord did not seem at all disturbed. Moreover, FrÉdÉric had a chaise and horses, which, at need, would bring more than enough to pay their bill; that fact set his mind at rest, but he none the less urged his companions to spend less on the table. Dubourg, however, did not agree with him; he thought that such a course might arouse suspicions of their plight, and MÉnard was once more of monsieur le baron's opinion. FrÉdÉric resumed his wanderings; but Dubourg abandoned his street promenades with MÉnard; after parading his fashionable costume and playing the wealthy palatine on the public thoroughfares of Lyon, he did not care to show himself in a shabby hat and with a long face; he was convinced that people would divine that he was penniless: there are so many men who owe their self-confidence and their assurance entirely to the money they have in their pockets, which alone gives them aplomb in society. Dubourg passed his days talking philosophy with MÉnard, who was no philosopher, but listened attentively to the baron, whom he considered a man of profound learning, though he was no longer so overjoyed to have him for a travelling companion, because, when he recalled their adventures, from the time that the palatine had overturned them into a ditch, it seemed to him that Monsieur de Potoski carried about with him a monumental ill luck, of which they had already felt the effects. After ten days, they received a reply from the count; it was addressed to Monsieur MÉnard, but it was FrÉdÉric who, with a trembling hand, broke the seal. "See what there is enclosed, first," said Dubourg. They found a draft on a Lyon banker for six thousand francs. "Good! here's something to help us endure papa's reproaches," said Dubourg; "now let's read his letter." Monsieur de Montreville wrote to MÉnard these few words only: "I place no sort of credence in your fable of robbers, but I am very glad to forgive my son's first escapade; I trust, however, that it will make him more prudent. I send you some money, but do not rely upon the like indulgence again." "He didn't believe us," said FrÉdÉric. "I am very much afraid that he is angry," said MÉnard. "Oh! don't be alarmed; he'll cool down. Hereafter, we will travel like three little pasteboard Cupids; we will be virtuous, orderly; in short, true philosophers—which "Credo equidem, monsieur le baron." "But no more pomp and parade; I resume my incognito." "What, monsieur le baron!" "Yes, Monsieur MÉnard; at all events, with six thousand francs we couldn't play the grandee very long—I mean, live up to our rank." "But, monsieur le baron, when you have received answers from Rava and Krapach?" "Oh! then it will be different; but I fear we shall not have them for a long time. As to the funds, I think that we had better let FrÉdÉric take charge of them. He is calm and cool, and that is what we need in a cashier." "It's a great pity," muttered MÉnard; "we lived so handsomely when monsieur le baron paid the bills!" All their plans being made, they paid their hotel bill; it amounted to eight hundred and fifty francs for the three weeks they had passed there, so that the count's remittance was seriously impaired at the outset; but meanwhile they had been lodged and fed like lords. Dubourg's only sentiment was regret at their inability to continue the same mode of life; MÉnard sighed as he thought of the delicious repasts they had enjoyed; and FrÉdÉric observed to Dubourg, in an undertone: "My friend, if we had continued to go so fast, we shouldn't have gone very far." Monsieur le comte's horses were sold, and they arranged with a stable-keeper to journey from Lyon. "These two halts have cost you dear, monsieur le baron," said MÉnard; "a berlin and fifty thousand francs "My mind is at rest now, Monsieur MÉnard; I defy anyone to rob me. Socrates found his house large enough to receive his friends, and I shall find my purse full enough so long as FrÉdÉric pays for me." MÉnard had no reply to make to that; the comparison did not seem to him a happy one. Instead of taking the road to Turin, FrÉdÉric gave orders to drive toward Grenoble; he desired to visit that city and its suburbs, especially the Carthusian monastery, whose wild aspect astounds and almost terrifies the traveller. Dubourg was in no hurry to reach Italy; it mattered little to him in which direction they went. Moreover, since his last misadventure, he did not presume to offer his advice. As for MÉnard, he was always ready to yield to FrÉdÉric's wishes, but the name of the Carthusian monastery made him shudder; he was afraid that his former pupil would want to take up his quarters in some hermitage, and he felt no sort of inclination for a frugal life. As they drew near the banks of the IsÈre, the country became more picturesque, more mountainous, and more impressive. The fields were interspersed with thickets; the brooks, after trickling across a plain, plunged in foamy cascades over steep cliffs. How different the scene from the noisy suburbs of Paris and the lovely landscapes of the RhÔne valley! The picture was more serious, more majestic perhaps, disposing the mind to pleasant reverie, and wafting one's thoughts far from the turmoil of great cities. "What a beautiful country this is!" said FrÉdÉric; "I find here an indefinable charm which fascinates my heart "And dream of Madame Dernange, I suppose?" "Oh! no, Dubourg; she has been out of my thoughts for a long while, I assure you, as have all the rest of the coquettes I knew in Paris." "Well, what do you dream about, then, in your long, solitary walks?" "Alas! I don't know; I dream of a being I have never seen, a woman who is lovely, sweet-tempered, loving, and, above all, faithful!" "And you look for her on the banks of a brook?" "I don't look for her; I am waiting for chance to bring us together." "If chance should wait for thirty years or so, you would both be a trifle mature." "Oh! Dubourg, how irritating you are! you have no idea of love!" "Love, my friend, is a doll that everyone dresses according to his own fancy;—isn't that so, Monsieur MÉnard?" "I cannot answer from experience, monsieur le baron." In due time they arrived at Grenoble, where they dismissed their driver. Their arrangements there were not the same as at Lyon; but although the hotel was less palatial, they had an excellent table; poultry was abundant, and the wine very good. Monsieur MÉnard and Dubourg made the best of it. On the day following their arrival, FrÉdÉric and his companions started off to visit the Carthusian monastery. Dubourg, having ceased to play the grand seigneur, was quite as willing to accompany his friend as to remain with MÉnard, and the latter decided to go along, although The monastery, which they reached after half a day's walk, first appears to the visitor surrounded by mountains covered with firs, by fertile valleys and rich pasture lands. Approaching by Fourvoyerie, you follow a road hewn out of the solid rock, with a rushing mountain stream on the left, and a perpendicular cliff sixty feet high on the right. One inevitably feels an unfamiliar sensation, a blending of wonder and alarm, at sight of that wild landscape. They stopped to examine the peak called L'Aiguille, which towers above the gate of the Grande Chartreuse. FrÉdÉric was lost in admiration, Dubourg looked calmly at the rock, and MÉnard sighed; but the hospitable welcome they received at the Chartreuse revived the poor tutor's spirits; while he agreed that there were many superb views in that region, he felt that he preferred his little fourth-floor room on Rue BÉtisy to the most picturesque cell in the monastery, where, moreover, fast-days were very numerous. It is not given to everybody to appreciate the beauties of nature; and it was with extreme delight that MÉnard started to return to Grenoble, although FrÉdÉric proposed that they should sleep at the Chartreuse to avoid overtiring themselves. MÉnard declared that he was not tired, and that the walk of five leagues had no terrors for him; so they set out, after dinner. The sun was just setting and our travellers were still four leagues from Grenoble, because FrÉdÉric paused every instant to call his friends' attention to a valley, a windmill, or a lovely view. Every time that FrÉdÉric stopped, MÉnard sat down on the turf, and they had much difficulty in inducing him to rise again. The worthy man FrÉdÉric's attention was attracted by strains of rustic music. "Come," he said, "let us go down in this direction; I see some villagers dancing below; let us enjoy the picture of their merrymaking." "Come on," said Dubourg; "there are probably some pretty girls among the dancers." "Let us go," said MÉnard; "we shall have a chance to rest and refresh ourselves." They descended a hill into a valley bordered by oaks and firs, where there were assembled the people of a small village which could be seen farther up the valley. It was the local saint's day, and the peasants were celebrating it by dancing. The orchestra consisted of a bagpipe and tambourine, but that was quite enough for their purpose. Happiness shone on every face; the girls wore their best gowns, and the coquettish costume of the village maidens of that province makes them most attractive, as a general rule. The older people were seated a little apart, chatting together and drinking, while their children danced. MÉnard seated himself at a table, and called for refreshments. Dubourg prowled about the dancers, making sweet speeches to the prettiest peasants; while FrÉdÉric, after watching the picture for some time, walked away from the dance, along the bank of a stream which wound in and out among the willows on the edge of a dense forest. He had walked so far that the notes of the bagpipe hardly reached his ears, and was about to return to his companions, when, on turning his head, he espied, within FrÉdÉric stopped and gazed at the young woman; he could not tire of contemplating her. Why was she there, alone by the brook, while her companions were making merry and dancing? Why that melancholy expression? It was only a moment since FrÉdÉric's eyes had fallen upon her, and his interest was already awakened; he longed to know all about her; it seemed to him that his heart already shared her sorrows. At that moment, several couples passed along the path on their way to the dance. FrÉdÉric accosted a peasant woman, and said, pointing to the girl sitting by the brook: "Pray, who is that pretty child, and why doesn't she join in your sports?" The villagers stopped and replied, with a compassionate glance at the girl: "Oh! monsieur, the poor dear don't dance! That's Sister Anne." FrÉdÉric, surprised, expected some further explanation; but they went on toward the dance, repeating sadly: "That's Sister Anne." |
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