We left Dubourg running across the fields to escape Monsieur Floridor, the angry audience, and the raw potatoes of which Phèdre had received a specimen in the eye; we must not forget that his flight was so sudden that he had no time to change his costume, that his head was still buried under the huge Louis XIV wig, which fell in great curls over his neck and shoulders, and that his body was enveloped in the cloak covered with rabbit skins.
For an hour he ran at full speed, crossing highroads, jumping ditches, stumbling through fields of wheat and tracts of ploughed land, with no idea where he was or whither he was going, for the reader will remember that these things happened late in the evening; consequently, it was dark, and, as it was raining, there was no moon to light his path.
He paused at last and listened; he heard nothing to indicate that he was pursued. The most profound silence reigned all about him; he tried to look about and find out where he was; he no longer was afraid of being caught, and he felt the need of rest. It was the middle of autumn, the evenings were beginning to be cool, and our fugitive was not at all desirous to pass the night in the open air, unprotected from the rain; to be sure, his wig took the place of a hat, and his cloak was as good as an umbrella; but they would be drenched in time, and then he would be very uncomfortable; so that it was most advisable to seek a place of shelter.
He knew by the feeling that he was walking over vegetables, and soon his path was barred by a tall hedge; but as his cloak protected him from the thorns, he climbed over, leaving two or three rabbit skins and two curls from his wig in the bushes, and found himself at last on the other side, uncertain whether he would be any better off there. But various fruit-trees, pots of flowers, and a trellis, led him to think that he was in a garden. He walked on, holding his hands in front of him, and came to a wall; then he found that he was under a roof, where his progress was arrested by bundles of hay and straw: he was in a shed which was evidently used to store fodder.
"Parbleu!" he said to himself; "I have found all that I need for a comfortable night; I am sheltered from the rain, so I'll just lie down on this straw, wrap myself in my cloak, and sleep. To-morrow, we will consider our future plans."
Dubourg was soon ready for the night; he was exceedingly comfortable under the shed, and, after blessing the chance to which he owed that shelter, he fell sound asleep.
The shed in which he lay was at the end of a garden belonging to a very pretty little cottage, occupied by a farmer named Bertrand, who had married, seven years before, a pretty damsel of his village, a fresh, wide-awake young woman known as La Belle Claudine; she had already presented Monsieur Bertrand with two bouncing children, and hoped that the end was not yet.
In the country, everyone rises early. At daybreak, Fanfan and Marie, the farmer's two children, one five years old and the other four, having had their porridge, went out as usual to run about and play in the garden. Happening to pass near the shed, what did they see on the straw? Imagine Azor in Beauty and the Beast, and you will have an idea of the aspect of Dubourg, whose face was entirely hidden by a profusion of reddish-brown curls, which fell over his breast, while his whole body was covered by the cloak, which counterfeited some other animal if not the tiger; fancy, therefore, the fright of those children when they saw that shapeless mass.
Little Marie dropped the slice of bread and butter she held in her hand; while the little boy opened his mouth and could not close it again, being almost petrified by fear.
"Oh! oh! brother, do you see?" said little Marie at last, clinging to him and pointing to the object stretched out on the straw.
"Oh! oh! what a horrid beast!" said Fanfan, running behind his sister.
Then they ran at full speed to the house, uttering piercing shrieks which did not wake Dubourg, because the fatigue of the preceding night made his sleep very sound.
Bertrand had just kissed his Claudine, preparatory to going into the fields to work, when the two frightened, screaming children appeared.
"What's the matter?" said their papa; "why don't you speak, you rascals?"
The children were so panic-stricken that they could not speak coherently. At last, they cried in unison:
"Over there—under the shed—a great big beast all covered with hair—on the straw—with a black head and a red mane; he's bigger'n our donkey! He's a horrid-looking thing!"
"Can you make anything of all that?" Bertrand asked his wife.
"They said something about a big beast, goodman."
"Morgué! there's only us in the house; how could it get in? Perhaps it's neighbor Gervais's bull, or Dame Catherine's donkey."
"No, papa, no; it's all gray and red. Oh! it's awful-looking!"
"The devil! what does it mean?"
"Has it got any tail?" inquired Claudine.
"I don't know 'bout that, mamma; he looked as if he was asleep, and we ran right away."
"You must go and see what it is, goodman."
"Yes, yes; I must go and see."
But Bertrand, who was not naturally brave, had already begun to quake, and, as a matter of prudence, went to get his gun, which was loaded with salt. Claudine took a broom, the children seized sticks, and they marched toward the shed. The little ones went first, because at that age, although frightened, a child delights in anything out of the ordinary, and the slightest event is a pleasure. Bertrand walked beside his wife, who kept pushing him to make him go ahead. The nearer they came to the shed, the more slowly they walked; they had ordered the children to make no noise, because it was better to view the beast asleep than awake.
At last they stood in front of the little building, and the children said, their voices trembling with fear and excitement:
"There—look, in there!"
Bertrand and Claudine thrust their heads forward, saw the horrifying object, and dared not advance; the husband turned pale and drew closer to his wife, who motioned to the children not to go any nearer.
"Let's go and call help," said Bertrand at last, in a choking voice.
"S'pose you fire at it, goodman."
"I guess not! my gun's only loaded with salt; that wouldn't kill him, but would just wake him up, and he'd be mad and go for us."
"Ah! you're right, you mustn't fire; let's run to the village. Come, children. Great God! I hope he won't wake up!"
Bertrand had already started; he ran, as if the beast were after him, to the village, which was only a gunshot from his house, and he was soon joined by Claudine. They both told everybody they met what they had found in their garden. As fear always magnifies objects, the beast they had seen became as large as a bull; and as events are always exaggerated by passing from mouth to mouth, because everyone adds a little to what he hears, the beast was transformed from a bull to a camel, then into a lion, then into an elephant; nor would it have stopped there if they had been able to think of any larger animal.
The one undoubted fact was that there was an extraordinary creature in Bertrand's garden, and in a moment that news had put the whole village in a ferment. The people assembled, and took counsel together; the women went to fetch their husbands from the fields, and the mothers brought their little ones into the house and forbade them to go out. They called on the mayor, who, like his constituents, was an honest peasant, and who declared that he knew no more about beasts than did the other inhabitants of his bailiwick. But there was a certain Latouche in the village, who had once been a customs clerk at the barrier in Paris, and who set up for a wit, a joker, and a scholar. They hunted up Latouche, who was at work on a process of making preserves without sugar, and told him of the event which had upset the equilibrium of the whole village.
Latouche listened gravely, passed his hand under his chin, required every detail to be repeated several times, made a pretence of reflecting long and profoundly, and said at last:
"We must go and see what it is."
"That is true, he's quite right," said all those who heard him; "let's go and see the beast."
"When I have seen it," said Latouche, "I will tell you at once what it is, and to what genus it belongs; I ought to know about such things; I studied botany once, and my cousin was under-porter at the Museum of Natural History."
The whole village made ready to visit Bertrand's garden. Everyone took such weapon as he could find; even the women took hoes or rakes, because the beast might be dangerous. The mayor joined the villagers, and Latouche, who was the only man in the place who had a gun in working order,—for Bertrand's would carry nothing heavier than salt,—Latouche undertook to lead the march and to direct all the operations that were to take place.
They left the village; men, women, boys, and girls plodded along, discussing the adventure. But the nearer they came to Bertrand's house, the less inclined they were to talk; and soon, as a result of the general terror, the silence became general. They marched in closer order, and everyone tried to gather courage from the glance of his neighbor.
Latouche walked ahead, with his gun over his shoulder, arranging his forces as if it were a matter of surprising a hostile camp. As they drew near the garden hedge, Bertrand uttered an exclamation and dodged behind a large rock.
"There it is!" he cried.
Instantly the whole body of peasants executed a retrograde movement, and Latouche darted into the centre of his battalion; but soon, hearing no sound, they moved forward again, looking for the object which had frightened Bertrand. It was a red cat, which had glided under the hedge.
"Morbleu! Bertrand," said Latouche, hastily resuming his place as leader, "do you know that you're terribly chicken-hearted? it's shameful for a man of your years to have so little courage!"
"Yes, that's true enough," said Claudine; "he ain't brave a bit, and I often tell him so."
"The idea of calling out and spreading an alarm just for a cat!"
"Dame! Monsieur Latouche, I saw something crawling, and I thought——"
"Perhaps it was some foolish thing like that that made him turn the whole village upside down, and interrupt the chemical experiment I was making."
"Oh, no! that wasn't anything foolish! you'll soon see that it was worth the trouble; here we are, close to the shed; just go through this little gate and you'll be right there."
"No; let's go in by the house, and examine the creature first at a distance."
Latouche's advice was followed: they went through Bertrand's house into the garden. As they approached the shed, the bravest turned pale, several women dared not go any farther, and Latouche, who resembled those persons who sing to dissemble their fear, issued precautionary orders on this side and that, but found an excuse for abandoning his position at the head of the procession.
"There it is! there it is!" exclaimed several of the villagers, pointing to Dubourg, who was still in the same position, because he was in a heavy sleep. Terror was depicted on every face, but it was blended with curiosity; everyone stretched out his neck, or stooped forward, or leaned against his neighbor. Latouche instantly ordered a halt, and one could hear on all sides:
"Oh! what a horrid beast! oh! how ugly! What a head! what a body! I can't see any eyes. No, nor any paws."
"Hush! hush!" said Latouche; "don't talk so loud, you may wake him up. Wait till I examine him. Neighbors, did you ever hear of the famous beast that ravaged Gévaudan?"
"No, no!" said the villagers.
"Well, this one looks to me very much like him. You don't see this monster's feet, because he has them folded under him, like the Turks; as for his eyes, they are turned toward the straw, luckily for us; for the eyes of such creatures often emit a deadly poison. The more I look at that skin and that mane—yes, it's a sea-lion, that must have found its way here from Normandie."
"A sea-lion!" repeated the peasants; "are they ugly?"
"Parbleu! they eat a man as if he was an oyster."
"Oh! mon Dieu! What shall we do? how shall we catch him?"
"Perhaps he's dead," said Claudine; "he ain't changed his position since this morning."
"Dead? where's the man who'll go and find out?"
"What if you should give him a shot?" suggested the mayor.
"To fire at him is taking a great risk; the bullet often glances off of their skin."
"Aim at his ear."
"I should have to see it, first."
"No matter," said the mayor; "we must capture the animal, dead or alive; take good aim, and fire; and we, that is I myself and the bravest men here, will guard you with our hoes; and, morgué! if he comes at us, we'll give him a warm reception."
The mayor's speech revived the courage of the villagers; they formed in line and stood with upraised hoes, ready to strike. Latouche finally decided to fire, although he was not at all eager to do so. He stood behind the line, passed the barrel of his gun between two peasants, spent five minutes taking aim, and at last pulled the trigger—and the gun missed fire, luckily for Dubourg, who had no suspicion of the danger he had escaped.
The mayor was in despair, Latouche refused to try again, and the peasants made no motion. Suddenly our sleeper turned over, with a yawn which everybody took for a roar. Instantly the most courageous dropped their weapons and fled, pushing and crowding one another, and listening to nothing but their fright; the boys tumbled over the girls, the women dragged their husbands away, Latouche climbed a tree, the mayor was thrown down by Bertrand, the most agile leaped the hedge, the heaviest slipped and fell when they tried to run. Claudine fell flat, as did several of her neighbors, and, in the confusion, all the women, young and old, were more on exhibition than they were in the habit of being in public; but no one paid any heed to them; the most seductive objects do not stop fugitives, for in great crises we do not give a thought to such trifles.
But Dubourg was now fully awake; he rubbed his eyes, and, first of all, snatched off his wig, which prevented his seeing, then removed his cloak, in which he was stifling. He stood up, for he heard shouts, cries of terror, words that he did not understand—in short, an uproar, the cause of which he was very far from suspecting. He left the shed and went out into the garden, where he was thunderstruck by the scene before his eyes. There was ample ground for amazement; but as he saw some very pleasing details amid the chaos, he walked on, saying to himself:
"I don't know what insect has stung all these people, but they have a strange way of receiving travellers in this country; one ought to have little difficulty in making acquaintances."
The boldest of the villagers, hearing no repetition of the roaring, gradually turned his head; he saw Dubourg's features, which were in no wise alarming when they were no longer surrounded by that infernal wig.
"Well, well! who's that man, and where did he come from?" said the peasant.
At that, all his companions turned their heads and stared at Dubourg, who, having politely assisted Claudine to rise, thus answered the mayor, who repeated the question:
"I am an unfortunate devil, albeit an honest man, who, when surprised by the storm last night, did not know where to go, so took the liberty of lying on yonder bundles of straw, where I slept without waking until this moment. I trust that I have done no harm."
"You say you slept under that shed?" said the mayor.
"To be sure."
"And the big beast didn't eat you?" asked Bertrand.
"What big beast?"
"Pardi! the beast with long hair and red mane that was lying there."
Dubourg turned, and his eye fell on his cloak and wig; he divined the source of the peasants' terror, and gave way to a longing to laugh, which he could not control for several minutes. The villagers, hearing his laughter, began to take courage; the fugitives stopped, the women rose and arranged their dresses; everybody looked at Dubourg and awaited an explanation from him. He went back to the shed, took his cloak in one hand and his wig in the other, and returned to the villagers.
"Here, my friends, is the beast that seems to have frightened you. I abandon it to your wrath."
As he spoke, he threw the cloak and wig on the ground; and the peasants drew near, ventured to touch them, and laughed with Dubourg, saying:
"What! is that what it was? Mon Dieu! what a pack of idiots!"
At this juncture, Latouche descended from his pear-tree, crying:
"I told you that that idiot of a Bertrand, who's as cowardly as a hare, had told us some fool story, and taken a nut-cracker for an ox. Tell me, now, if I wasn't right."
"Morguienne!" retorted Bertrand; "I don't see but what my nut-cracker gave you a good fright, too; for you climbed that pear-tree like a cat, and knocked Claudine down when you ran by her."
"Hush!" said Latouche, turning as red as a beet at Bertrand's retort; "hush, you clown! I only climbed the tree so that I could aim better at what you called an animal."
"And you threw your gun away!"
"Unintentionally, of course."
"Come, come," said Dubourg; "I am the cause of all this confusion; and, in truth, I don't wonder you were frightened when you saw me at a distance in this cloak and wig; the bravest men aren't always eager to fight with a savage beast, and Monsieur Latouche must be very brave to have dared to fire at me."
This adroit speech conciliated everybody, and Latouche recovered his good humor.
"This stranger expresses himself well," he said; "he is certainly a learned man."
Dubourg might easily have passed himself off as a baron again, he had created such a favorable impression; but since the happenings at Chambertin's, he was little inclined to play the nobleman; and when the mayor asked him whence he had come in such an extraordinary costume, he instantly invented a fable of robbers who had attacked and stripped him, stifled his cries with the wig, and wrapped him in the cloak, probably intending to carry him to their cavern, when they had taken alarm at the sound of horses' steps, and had run away, leaving him in the midst of the fields.
This tale aroused the deepest interest among the villagers, in Dubourg's favor; they found him very agreeable, having ceased to be afraid of him. The mayor drew up a report, and Latouche observed:
"I have been saying for a long while that there are robbers in the neighborhood; they stole two hens from me a week ago, and that isn't all they've done. We must have a general battue, neighbors; I'll take charge of it, and you know what a good hand I am at making plans. We will begin immediately after the constables have made theirs in pursuance of monsieur le maire's report."
Awaiting the general battue, they turned their attention to Dubourg, who obviously stood in need of refreshment. Everyone wanted to treat him, to give him food and lodging. Every male villager cordially offered him a jacket to replace his cloak, and urged him to make his house his home for a few days. Dubourg gave the preference to Bertrand, because he had not forgotten certain impressions he had received when he assisted Claudine to rise. Bertrand's better half seemed flattered by that honor; she courtesied to the stranger, and accompanied the courtesy with a smile, which smile meant many things. After all that Dubourg had witnessed, it was a great triumph for her over her neighbors.
The mayor, as the official head of the commune, had the privilege of offering him a stout woollen jacket to replace the coat the robbers had stolen from him. As compensation, he awarded to himself the famous cloak, with which he proposed to make a winter coverlet; and Monsieur Latouche secured the wig, which he had well earned by his behavior throughout the affair.
The villagers returned to their customary occupations: some to the fields, others to their cottages. Bertrand, who had a large field to plow, went off to his work, enjoining upon his wife to take good care of the gentleman until his return. Claudine promised, and kept her word. She was active and obliging; she was most anxious to prove to the stranger that he had done well to give her the preference, and she spared no trouble to make him content with his choice. For his part, Dubourg desired to efface the ghastly impression produced by his appearance in the village, and we know that he had a great talent for making himself agreeable to the ladies; and so, when Bertrand returned from the field at night, his wife ran to meet him, saying:
"Jarni! goodman, what fools we was to be afraid of that gentleman; he's just like anybody else, you see, and he knows a lot more'n you do."
Dubourg was extremely well treated by the villagers, and he found it very convenient to pass some little time among those honest folk, who strove, by their attentions, to make him forget his misadventure. He paid for his entertainment by telling ghost stories in the evening. To the peasant, a man who can talk for hours of interesting, terrifying, and, consequently, amusing things, is a veritable treasure. Dubourg was such a man, and when Monsieur Latouche was present he always sprinkled his tales with a few Latin words; whereupon the village oracle, although he did not understand, would turn to the peasants and say:
"This is all true, my friends; he just made oath to it in German."
But, after a fortnight, Dubourg began to tire of telling the peasants fairy tales in the evening and making love to their wives during the day; and he determined to leave the village, and go in search of news of his former companions. He still had in his pocket, untouched, the hundred francs he had earned by acting Hippolyte; with that amount he could safely set out without being obliged to disguise himself as a strange beast. Despite all that Claudine could do to detain him, he determined to go. He thanked the mayor, Latouche, and all the villagers for their kind treatment. He thanked Bertrand, and especially his wife, with peculiar warmth. Then, with a stout knotted stick in his hand, which harmonized with his jacket, and a broad-brimmed hat in place of his wig, he left the village, saying to himself:
"Those people who saw me playing the swell will never recognize me; and that is precisely what I desire."
However, he deemed it prudent to avoid Voreppe, where he might fall in with Floridor or some member of his troupe. Nor did he care to pass through Grenoble, where Durosey might still be lying in wait for him, and a creditor's eyes are not easily deceived. So he headed for Vizille, where he hoped to find Frédéric, or, at least, to learn something about him.
He strode gayly along, singing all the time, and sitting down on the grass to eat the provisions with which Claudine had filled his pockets; for women think of everything. Dubourg blessed Madame Bertrand's foresight.
"How can I be melancholy," he thought, "when I have had ample proof, a hundred times over, that tender-hearted women will always take an interest in my fate! Here's to Claudine's health, and Madame Chambertin's, and Goton's, and little Delphine's, and all the others to whom I owe so many pleasant hours and delicious memories."
He drank their healths in water from a brook, for he could adapt himself to anything. Moreover, he had money and might have wine, which consideration made the water seem less disagreeable. Toward nightfall, he drew near Vizille.
"If monsieur le comte learned of Frédéric's amourette from Ménard," he said to himself, "he probably came here after him, and I shall not find him; but I shall find the pretty blonde, and she will tell me what has happened."
He did not then know that the poor girl could not tell him anything. He walked through the valley, entered the woods, looked about, and called, but saw no one. At last he discovered the cabin; he entered the garden, which was deserted; then he went into the little house, where he found no one but old Marguerite, dozing in her big armchair.
Surprised not to find the girl, Dubourg left the cabin; he was afraid that the story he had invented for Ménard would prove to be true, and that Frédéric had really taken his sweetheart away with him. He was on his way to the village to try to learn something about Sister Anne, when, in one of the paths in the forest, he met her walking slowly toward her home.
Her whole bearing was so dejected, her features wore an expression of such profound sorrow, that Dubourg was touched. He gazed at her for several minutes, saying to himself:
"Poor creature! he has gone, and he didn't take you! How much better it would have been for you if he had never come!"
At that moment, Sister Anne, hearing footsteps, looked up and saw that someone was approaching. She ran forward like a flash; when she reached Dubourg's side, she stopped, and her features, which hope had brightened for a moment, resumed their grief-stricken expression; sadly she shook her head—it was not he!
But Dubourg spoke; recognizing his voice, she looked at him more carefully, and again her heart beat fast with joy. It was one of Frédéric's friends, who had come once before to seek him; doubtless he came now to announce his return. She walked closer to him, questioning him with her eyes, and waiting impatiently for him to explain his presence; whereupon Dubourg, much surprised, asked her what had become of Frédéric.
The name of Frédéric made her quiver; she pointed to the road he had taken, counted on her fingers the number of days he had been gone, and seemed to be trying to ask him why he did not bring him back.
This pantomime revealed to Dubourg Sister Anne's unhappy condition, and he devoted all his efforts to consoling her. But for Sister Anne there was no consolation, no happiness, without Frédéric.
"Poor girl!" thought Dubourg; "he was quite right to assure me that she did not resemble any woman he had ever known! But to leave her in these woods—that was an outrage! for such grace and charm to live in a wretched hovel is downright murder! Upon my word, I have a mind to take her to Paris!"
"Why didn't you go with him?" he asked her; "what detains you here in the woods? Come with me, my child, and we will find Frédéric; or, if we don't find him, there are thousands of others who will be only too happy to fill his place."
Sister Anne stared at him in amazement; she seemed not to understand him; but when he waved his hand in the direction of the town, she hastily drew back, and, pointing to the cabin, made him understand by signs that there was someone there whom she could not leave. Ah! had it not been for Marguerite, how willingly she would have gone with Dubourg! for she believed that he would lead her at once to her lover's arms. But as for abandoning the one who had taken charge of her in her childhood, who had been a second mother to her,—now, when she was advanced in years and was most in need of her assistance!—such a thought did not enter the dumb girl's mind; ingratitude was a vice to which her heart was a stranger.
"Very good," said Dubourg; "then remain here in these woods, my child; and may you recover your happiness and peace of mind!"
Sister Anne's eyes questioned him anew.
"Yes, yes," he said; "he will come back; you will see him again, I have no doubt. Dry your tears. He will surely come soon and comfort you."
These words brought a gleam of hope to the dumb girl's pale, sorrowful face. She smiled at him who had given her that assurance, and, bidding him adieu with a motion of her head, left him, to return to Marguerite.
Dubourg left the woods, and, despite his heedless nature, he did not sing as he walked back through the valley to the highroad. Like a heavy weight upon his heart lay the image of that unhappy child, to whom he had held out a hope which he thought would never be realized. He had never been so moved. For several leagues, he thought constantly of Sister Anne, saying to himself:
"Poor girl! she was well worth the trouble!"
But, at last, the thought of his own plight brought him back to his natural frame of mind. He sold his jacket and hat to a second-hand dealer, and for a few crowns obtained a more fitting costume; then he started for Lyon, whence he proposed to return to Paris, in the hope of finding his former travelling companions.