CHAPTER VII
PIERRE LABARRE
The marquis and his steward had likewise hurried along the road toVagney. They were often forced to halt to find the right direction, asthe overflowing Cure had flooded the road at different points, but yetthey reached the hill on which the city rests before night.
"The danger is behind us now," said Simon.
A quarter of an hour later they stopped before a small solitary house.Simon shook the knocker, and then they both waited impatiently to getin.
For a short time all was still, and Simon was about to strike again,when a window was opened and a voice asked:
"Who is there?"
The two men exchanged quick glances; Pierre Labarre was at home, and, asit seemed, alone.
"I am the Marquis of Fougereuse," said the marquis, finally.
No sooner had the words been spoken than the window was closed. The boltof the house door was shoved back in a few moments and a lean old manappeared on the threshold.
Ten years had passed since Pierre Labarre rode alone through the BlackForest, and saved himself from the bullet of the then Vicomte de Talizacby his portfolio. Pierre's hair had grown gray now, but his eyes lookedas fearlessly on the world as if he had been thirty.
"Come in, vicomte," said the old man, earnestly.
The marquis and Simon followed Pierre into a small, plainly furnishedroom; the only decoration was a black piece of mourning almost coveringone of the walls. While the old man turned up the small lamp, Simon,without being noticed, closed the door. Pierre pointed to a straw chairand calmly said:
"Monsieur le Vicomte, will you please take a seat?"
The marquis angrily said:
"Pierre Labarre, it surprises me that in the nine years which havepassed since the death of my father, the Marquis of Fougereuse, youshould have forgotten what a servant's duties are! Since seven years Ibear the title of my father; why do you persist in calling me Monsieurle Vicomte?"
Pierre Labarre stroked the white hair from his forehead with his longbony hand and slowly said:
"I know only one Marquis of Fougereuse."
"And who should bear this title if not I?" cried the marquis, angrily.
"The son of the man who was murdered at Leigoutte in the year 1805,"replied Pierre.
"Murdered?" exclaimed the marquis, mockingly: "that man fell fightingagainst the legitimate masters of the country."
"Your brother, Monsieur le Vicomte, was the victim of a well-laid plan;those persons who were interested in his death made their preparationswith wonderful foresight."
The marquis frothed with anger, and it did not require very much moreuntil he would have had the old man by the throat. He restrainedhimself, though; what good would it do him if he strangled Pierre beforehe knew the secret?
"Let us not discuss that matter," he hastily said; "other matters havebrought me here--"
As Pierre remained silent, the marquis continued:
"I know perfectly well that that affair disturbed you. As the oldservitor of my father you naturally were attached to the dead man. Yet,who could avert the catastrophe? The father, the mother and the twochildren were all slain at the same hour by the Cossacks, and--"
"You are mistaken, vicomte," interrupted Pierre, sharply; "the fatherfell in a struggle with paid assassins, the mother was burned to death,but the children escaped."
"You are fooling, old man," exclaimed the marquis, growing pale;"Jules's two children are dead."
The old man crossed his arms over his breast, and, looking steadily atthe marquis, he firmly said:
"Monsieur le Vicomte, the children live."
The marquis could no longer restrain himself.
"You know where they are?" he excitedly exclaimed.
"No, vicomte, but it cheers me to hear from your words that you yourselfdo not believe the children are dead."
The marquis bit his lips. He had betrayed himself. Simon shrugged hisshoulders and thought in his heart that the marquis was not the properperson to intrust with diplomatic missions for the Society of Jesus.
"Monsieur le Marquis," he hurriedly said, "what is the use of these longdiscussions? Put the question which concerns you most to the obstinateold man, and if he does not answer, I will make him speak."
"You are right," nodded the marquis; and turning to Pierre again hethreateningly said:
"Listen, Pierre Labarre; I will tell you the object of my visit. It is aquestion of the honor of the Fougereuse."
A sarcastic laugh played about the old man's lips, and half muttering tohimself, he repeated:
"The honor of the Fougereuse--I am really curious to know what I shallhear."
The marquis trembled, and, casting a timid look at Simon, he said:
"Simon, leave us to ourselves."
"What, Monsieur le Marquis?" asked Simon in amazement.
"You should leave us alone," repeated the marquis, adding in a whisper:"Go, I have my reasons."
"But, Monsieur le Marquis!"
"Do not say anything; go!"
Simon went growlingly away, and opening the door he had so carefullylocked, he strode into the hall; taking care, however, to overhear theconversation.
As soon as the nobleman was alone with Pierre, his demeanor changed. Heapproached close to the old man, took his hand and cordially shook it.Pierre looked at the marquis in amazement, and quickly withdrawing hishand, he dryly said:
"To business, vicomte."
"Pierre," the marquis began, in a voice he tried to render as soft andmoving as possible, "you were the confidant of my father; you knew allhis secrets, and were aware that he did not love me. Do not interruptme--I know my conduct was not such as he had a right to expect from ason. Pierre, I was not wicked, I was weak and could not withstand anytemptation, and my father often had cause to be dissatisfied with me.Pierre, what I am telling you no human ear has ever heard; I look uponyou as my father confessor and implore you not to judge too harshly."
Pierre held his eyes down, and even the marquis paused--he did not lookup.
"Pierre, have you no mercy?" exclaimed the nobleman, in a tremblingvoice.
"Speak further, my lord," said Pierre; "I am listening."
The marquis felt like stamping with his foot. He saw, however, that hehad to control himself.
"If you let me implore hopelessly to-day, Pierre," he whispered,gritting his teeth, "the name of Fougereuse will be eternallydishonored."
"The name of Fougereuse?" asked Pierre, with faint malice; "thank God,my lord, that it is not in your power to stain it; you are only theVicomte de Talizac."
The marquis stamped his foot angrily when he heard the old man's cuttingwords; it almost surpassed his strength to continue the conversation toan end, and yet it must be if he wished to gain his point.
"I see, I must explain myself more clearly," he said after a pause."Pierre, I am standing on the brink of a precipice. My fortune and myinfluence are gone; neither my wife nor my son imagines how I amsituated, but if help does not come soon--"
"Well, what will happen?" asked Pierre, indifferently.
"Then I will not be able to keep my coat of arms, which dates from theCrusades, clean and spotless."
"I do not understand you, vicomte. Is it only a question of yourfortune?"
"No, Pierre, it is a question of the honor of the Fougereuse. Oh, God!You do not desire to understand me; you want me to disclose my shame.Listen then," continued the marquis, placing his lips to the old man'sears: "to rescue myself from going under, I committed an act of despair,and if assistance does not come to me, the name of the Fougereuse willbe exposed to the world, with the brand of the forger upon it."
The old man's face showed no traces of surprise. He kept silent for amoment, and then asked in cold tones:
"Monsieur le Vicomte, what do you wish of me?"
"I will tell you," said the marquis, hastily, while a gleam of hopestrayed over his pale face; "I know that my father, to have the majorpart of his fortune go to his el
dest son, made a will and gave it toyou--"
"Go on," said Pierre, as the marquis paused.
"The will contains many clauses," continued the nobleman. "My father hida portion of his wealth, and in his last will named the spot where itlies buried, providing that it should be given to his eldest son or hisdescendants! Pierre, Jules is dead, his children have disappeared, andtherefore nothing hinders you from giving up this wealth. It must be atleast two millions. Can you hesitate to give me the money which willsave the name of Fougereuse from shame and exposure?"
The marquis hesitated; Pierre rose slowly and, turning to a side wall,grasped the mourning cloth and shoved it aside.
The nobleman wonderingly observed the old man, who now took a lamp andsolemnly said:
"Vicomte, look here!"
The marquis approached the wall, and in the dim light of the lamp he sawa tavern sign, upon which a few letters could be seen. The sign hadevidently been burned.
"Monsieur le Vicomte, do you know what that is?" asked Pierre,threateningly.
"No," replied the marquis.
"Then I will tell you, vicomte," replied Pierre. "The inscription onthis sign once read, 'To the Welfare of France.' Do you still wish me togive you the will and the fortune?"
"I do not understand you," stammered the nobleman, in a trembling voice.
"Really, vicomte, you have a short memory, but I, the old servant ofyour father, am able to refresh it! This sign hung over the door of thetavern at Leigoutte; your brother, the rightful heir of Fougereuse, wasthe landlord and the bravest man for miles around. In the year 1805Jules Fougere, as he called himself, fell. The world said Cossacks hadmurdered him. I, though, vicomte, I cry it aloud in your ear--hismurderer was--you!"
"Silence, miserable lackey!" exclaimed the marquis, enraged, "you lie!"
"No, Cain, the miserable lackey does not lie," replied Pierre, calmly;"he even knows more! In the year 1807 the old Marquis of Fougereusedied; in his last hours his son, the Vicomte of Talizac, sneaked intothe chamber of death and, sinking on his knees beside the bedside of thedying man, implored his father to make him his sole heir. The marquishardly had strength enough to breathe, but his eyes looked threateninglyat the scoundrel who dared to imbitter his last hours, and with his lastgasp he hurled at the kneeling man these words: 'May you be eternallydamned, miserable fratricide!'
"The vicomte, as if pursued by the furies, escaped; the dying man gaveone more gasp and then passed away, and I, who was behind the curtains,a witness of this terrible scene--I shall so far forget myself as todeliver to the man who did not spare his father the inheritance of hisbrother? No, vicomte, Pierre Labarre knows his duty, and if to-morrowthe name of the Fougereuse should be trampled in the dust and thepresent bearer of the name be placed in the pillory as a forger andswindler, then I will stand up and say:
"'He is not a Fougereuse, he is only a Talizac. He murdered the heir,and let no honest man ever touch his blood-stained hand!' Get out ofhere, Vicomte Talizac, my house has no room for murderers!"
Pale as death, with quaking knees, the marquis leaned against the wall.When Pierre was silent he hissed in a low voice:
"Then you refuse to help me?"
"Yes, a thousand times, yes."
"You persist in keeping the fortune of the Fougereuse for Jules's son,who has been dead a long time?"
"I keep the fortune for the living."
"And if he were dead, nevertheless?"
Pierre suddenly looked up--suppose the murderer were to prove hisassertion?
"Would you, if Jules's son were really dead, acknowledge me as theheir?"
"I cannot tell."
"For the last time, will you speak?"
"No; the will and fortune belong to the Marquis of Fougereuse, Jules'sson."
"Enough; the will is here in your house; the rest will take care ofitself."
Hereupon the marquis gave a penetrating whistle, and when Simon appearedhis master said to him:
"Take hold of this scoundrel!"
"Bravo! force is the only thing," cried Simon, as he rushed upon the oldman. But he had reckoned without his host; with a shove Pierre Labarrethrew the audacious rascal to the ground, and the next minute the heavyold table lay between him and his enemies. Thereupon the old man took apistol from the wall, and, cocking the trigger, cried:
"Vicomte Talizac, we still have an old score to settle! Years ago youattempted to kill me in the Black Forest; take care you do not arouse myanger again."
The vicomte, who had no weapon, recoiled: Simon, however, seized apocket-pistol from his breast, and mockingly replied: "Oh, two can playat that game!"
He pressed his hand to the trigger, but Pierre Labarre put his pistoldown, and contemptuously said:
"Bah! for the lackey the dog will do. Catch him, Sultan!"
As he said these words he opened a side door; a large Vosges dog, whoseglowing eyes and crispy hair made him look like a wolf, sprang uponSimon, and, clutching him by the throat, threw him to the ground.
"Help, my lord marquis!" cried the steward.
"Let go, Sultan," commanded Pierre.
The dog shook his opponent once more and then let him loose.
"Get out of here, miscreants!" exclaimed Pierre now, with threateningvoice, as he opened the door, "and never dare to come into my houseagain."
The wretches ran as if pursued by the Furies. Pierre caressed the dogand then laughed softly; he was rid of his guests.
The Son of Monte-Cristo, Volume II Page 7