CHAPTER XVIII.
PIERRE LABARRE.
We have left the Marquis and his most excellent servant Cyprien goingtoward Vagney, but it was not without anxiety that they ventured on thisexpedition. Both these men valued their lives highly, and felt no fearsof ordinary foes, but with an inundation no cunning would prevail.Cyprien was extremely uncomfortable, and held his breath to listen tothe rush of waters. He heard it soon enough, and saw it too. The waterlooked brown and had a silver foam upon it, but high as was the torrentit was still confined to its rocky bed. The intendant's couragereturned. The Marquis stopped short to look at the cataract inadmiration, but Cyprien urged him on, for it was growing late.
Suddenly, Cyprien laid his hand on the arm of the Marquis, who started.Criminals are subject to these involuntary starts.
"We are here," said Cyprien.
"Ah!" answered the Marquis.
"Do you see on that side hill a tiny house, which seems to hold itsequilibrium almost by a miracle? It is there that we shall find PierreLabarre."
"But he may not be at home?"
"He never goes out, this hermit." And Cyprien laughed.
The house that Cyprien pointed out was much more like a hut--itconsisted of one story. Before the door were two or three worn stonesteps. The door was of oak, and looked strong. On each side of the doorwas a window, which had heavy shutters that could be bolted at night.These were now open.
There was not a sound nor a movement about the house, at the back ofwhich was an enclosure of moderate dimensions most carefully cultivated.
The Marquis hastened on, impatiently. He struck two or three blows withhis cane on the door.
A voice within called out, "Who is there?"
The two accomplices exchanged a glance. Their expedition promised well.
"The Marquis de Fongereues."
Instantly the door opened, and an old man appeared. It was the man whomwe saw in the Black Forest in the beginning of our narrative, the manwho then escaped from the assassin, and who told the old Marquis ofSimon's retreat. But the ten years that had since elapsed had left theirtraces on his brow; and perhaps it was not years alone that had linedhis brow, faded his eyes, and bent his form. His face was sad--a shadowrested upon it.
"Enter, sir," said the former servant of the Fongereues family.
The room into which the Marquis stepped was simply furnished--one cornerwas curtained off.
"Please be seated, Monsieur le Vicomte," said Pierre.
"I am forced to believe, Pierre," answered the Marquis, "that in thenine years that have elapsed since my father's death you have forgottenyour good breeding. Will you kindly remember that my title is theMarquis de Fongereues?"
Pierre held himself more erect. His face was like one of Rembrandt'spictures, where each wrinkle hides a thought.
"I know but one Marquis de Fongereues!" he said, slowly.
"And who may that be?" asked the Marquis, bringing his closed hand downupon the table.
"The son of the man who was murdered in 1815, in the village ofLeigoutte!" answered Labarre, with perfect calmness.
"Murdered! That man fell when fighting against the true masters ofFrance!"
"Your brother, Monsieur le Vicomte, was killed by those who had swornhis death, and who struck him down, when, in defending his country, hewas doing his duty!"
The Marquis could hardly contain himself, his rage was so great. Cyprienfeared an explosion. He had no objection to the man being killed, butnot until he had been made to speak.
"Let that pass!" said the Marquis, at last. "It is needless to awakenthese memories." Then lowering his voice he added, with an affectationof pity:
"It was a terrible affair, Pierre, and I understand that an old andfaithful servant must have felt it deeply--the father, mother, and twochildren to die at the same time!"
"You are mistaken," answered Labarre. "The father was shot, the motherperished in the flames, but the two children escaped."
"It is strange that you can persist in this illusion, Pierre. Simon'stwo children are dead."
The old man answered.
"No--they are living!"
The Marquis forgot himself:
"Ah! you know, then, where they are?"
"No; but your exclamation proves that you yourself do not believe intheir death."
Fongereues bit his lips.
Cyprien shrugged his shoulders. He felt a little contempt for his masterand doubted. The Society of Jesus would never trust him with a missionof diplomacy. He thought it was time for him to interfere.
"It seems to me, sir," he said to the Marquis, "that absolute certaintyin this matter is impossible. I have made the most careful searchwithout the smallest success, though I had no difficulty in finding thishouse."
"Ah! it was you, then, who discovered my retreat?" And Labarre shook hishead.
"That is enough!" interposed the Marquis. "Labarre, all this is useless.Give me your attention. I am about to speak of the honor of theFongereues family."
Labarre's pale face was lighted by a smile as he repeated the words:"The honor of the Fongereues family!"
The Marquis shrugged his shoulders impatiently.
"Cyprien," he said to his intendant, "you can leave us!"
Cyprien was astonished. This was no part of the programme, but heremembered that he could return, and also that he could listen.
As soon as the Marquis was alone with Labarre, an entire transformationtook place in his manner. He seemed to throw aside a mask. He seizedLabarre's hand, who shrank from the contact.
"Listen to me, Pierre, and for God's sake throw aside this distrust,which is an insult to me. You were the friend and the confidant of myfather, you knew his secret thoughts, and you know that he did not loveme. I am ready to admit that my father had reason to be offended at manyof my acts and many of my words. I was young, and very reckless. Yousee, Pierre, that I am speaking to you with entire frankness. Godforgives the penitent. Are you harsher than He?" He felt the hand heheld tremble in his grasp. "Guilty though I be," continued the Marquis,"great as have been my faults and my errors, I bear to-day the name ofmy father, and that name, Pierre Labarre, will be forever dishonoredunless you come to my assistance!"
"I do not understand," said Labarre. "I am an old man and poor. What canI do for you?"
"I will tell you. I am ruined, my influence is lost. This is not all--Iam crushed under the weight of engagements so heavy that were I to giveup every sou I have in the world, and reduce my wife and my son tobeggary, I could not release myself and save my honor!"
Labarre did not speak.
"I have tried every plan," continued the Marquis, "and--hear me,Pierre--I have gone too far. What would you say, Pierre, if the name ofyour old master should be borne by a forger?"
Pierre did not evince the smallest emotion.
"Well?" said the Marquis, breathlessly.
"What do you want of me?" asked Pierre.
"I will tell you. I know that my father, in order to reserve for Simon aportion of his fortune, and fearing, with the suspicion of an old man,that in some way he would lose it, made a will, which he gave toyou----"
"Go on, sir."
"This will contains a secret--it tells where this money reserved forSimon is concealed. This will gives direction that only Simon, or hisheirs, shall receive this will. Simon is dead, his children havedisappeared. Your duty is plain. This money now amounts to two millions,at least. What was always my father's first wish? Was it not to preservehis family name without a spot or blemish? Give me this will. Withoutthis money I am dishonored!"
The old man released his hand and crossed the room. He stopped beforethe dark curtain, and then, with a solemn gesture, lifted it. TheMarquis leaned forward. This was what he saw: A sheet of iron wasfastened to the wall. It was twisted and out of shape. Strange lineswere upon it, as if flames had licked it.
"Do you know what that is?" said Labarre.
"No," answered the Marquis, surprised and uneasy.
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br /> "I will tell you. Among the Vosges mountains there lived a man, honestand kindly. He was loved by all. He kept an inn, and taught the childrenof the peasants, to whom he sold wine. Yes, and this man bore one of thenoblest names in France. One day cowards killed him, and at the sametime other scoundrels and cowards, in obedience to fratricidal commands,attacked the house where he had so long struggled against poverty; othervillains again attacked his wife and tried to kill his children. This,Monsieur de Talizac, is the sign that hung on the front of the inn keptby Simon, Marquis de Fongereues, and I defy you, his brother and hismurderer, to repeat to me what you have already said in the face of thiswitness. Pray and entreat, if you will, if you dare--I, the lacquey ofyour father, reply: Cain! you are stained with the blood of yourbrother--begone!"
The Marquis uttered a yell of rage.
"Your memory is short, Monsieur de Talizac, and I will remind you thatin 1817, one night the good man whom you killed with your infamy laydying. You had the cruel courage to enter his room, and knelt at theside of his bed----"
"Be silent!" cried the Marquis.
"My master cursed you, cursed you as a murderer! It was a horriblescene--I saw and heard it all. You implored this dying man to have mercyon you and tell you where this money was placed. But my master did notyield, nor will I!"
Deadly pale, and with compressed lips, the Marquis murmured:
"Then you refuse?"
"I refuse--the son of Simon de Fongereues is living!"
"And if he be dead--am I not the sole heir?"
"I do not know."
"You have no right to keep back a will. Once more I ask--will youspeak?"
"I will not!"
"Very well. The will is here; we will take it!"
The Marquis whistled, and Cyprien appeared.
"We must help ourselves," said the Marquis.
"All right!" answered the lacquey.
Strangely enough, this man who looked so infirm now bounded back andplaced himself behind a table. He drew from his pockets two pistols,which he pointed toward his adversaries.
"Monsieur de Talizac," he said, "you tried to kill me once before, inthe Black Forest--take care!"
Fongereues had no arms. Cyprien had been wiser. He, too, drew a pistol,but before he could touch the trigger, Pierre had opened the door behindhim.
"For a valet," he said, "a dog is all that is required."
A dog of the Vosges, as large as a wolf, with bloodshot eyes andbristling hair, flew at Cyprien's throat, who fell on the floor.
"Help! Help!" cried the scoundrel.
The Marquis, livid with terror, had succeeded in opening the door.
"Here, Cliepe! Here!" shouted Pierre.
The dog gave Cyprien another furious shake, and dropped him. He rolledhimself out of the door. Pierre flung it to and bolted it.
"Farewell!" he cried. "You will get your punishment in another world!"
And from his window he watched two black shadows fleeing towardSaint-Ame.
The Son of Monte-Cristo Page 20