by Eugène Sue
CHAPTER X. THE SURPRISE.
The orphans, after reading the journal of their father, remained forsome moments silent, sad, and pensive, contemplating the leaves yellowedby time. Dagobert, also plunged in a reverie, thought of his wife andson, from whom he had been so long separated, and hoped soon to seeagain.
The soldier was the first to break the silence, which had lasted forseveral minutes. Taking the leaves from the hand of Blanche, he foldedthem carefully, put them into his pocket, and thus addressed theorphans:
"Courage, my children! you see what a brave father you have. Think onlyof the pleasure of greeting him, and remember always the name of thegallant youth, to whom you will owe that pleasure--for without him yourfather would have been killed in India."
"Djalma! we shall never forget him," said Rose.
"And if our guardian angel Gabriel should return," added Blanche, "wewill ask him to watch over Djalma as over ourselves."
"Very well, my children; I am sure that you will forget nothing thatconcerns good feeling. But to return to the traveller, who came to visityour poor mother in Siberia, he had seen the general a month after theevents of which you have read, and at a moment when he was about toenter on a new campaign against the English. It was then that yourfather entrusted him with the papers and medal."
"But of what use will this medal be to us, Dagobert?"
"And what is the meaning of these words engraved upon it?" added Rose,as she drew it from her bosom.
"Why it means, my children, that on the 13th of February, 1832, we mustbe at No. 3, Rue Saint Francois, Paris."
"But what are we to do there?"
"Your poor mother was seized so quickly with her last illness, that shewas unable to tell me. All I know is, that this medal came to her fromher parents, and that it had been a relic preserved in her family formore than a century."
"And how did our father get it?"
"Among the articles which had been hastily thrown into the coach,when he was removed by force from Warsaw, was a dressing-case of yourmother's, in which was contained this medal. Since that time the generalhad been unable to send it back, having no means of communicating withus, and not even knowing where we were."
"This medal is, then, of great importance to us?"
"Unquestionably; for never, during fifteen years, had I seen your motherso happy, as on the day the traveller brought it back to her. 'Now,'said she to me, in the presence of the stranger, and with tears of joyin her eyes, 'now may my children's future be brilliant as their lifehas hitherto been miserable. I will entreat of the governor of Siberiapermission to go to France with my daughters; it will perhaps be thoughtI have been sufficiently punished, by fifteen years of exile, and theconfiscation of my property. Should they refuse, I will remain here; butthey will at least allow me to send my children to France, and you mustaccompany them, Dagobert. You shall set out immediately, for much timehas been already lost; and, if you were not to arrive before the 13thof next February, this cruel separation and toilsome journey would havebeen all in vain.'"
"Suppose we were one day after?"
"Your mother told me that if we arrived the 14th instead of the 13th, itwould be too late. She also gave me a thick letter, to put into thepost for France, in the first town we should pass through--which I havedone."
"And do you think we shall be at Paris in time?"
"I hope so; still, if you are strong enough, we must sometimes makeforced marches--for, if we only travel our five leagues a day, and thatwithout accident, we shall scarcely reach Paris until the beginning ofFebruary, and it is better to be a little beforehand."
"But as father is in--India, and condemned to death if he return toFrance, when shall we see him?"
"And where shall we see him?"
"Poor children! there are so many things you have yet to learn. When thetraveller quitted him, the general could not return to France, but nowhe can do so."
"And why is that?"
"Because the Bourbons, who had banished him, were themselves turned outlast year. The news must reach India, and your father will certainlycome to meet you at Paris, because he expects that you and your motherwill be there on the 13th of next February."
"Ah! now I understand how we may hope to see him," said Rose with asigh.
"Do you know the name of this traveller, Dagobert?"
"No, my children; but whether called Jack or John, he is a good sort.When he left your mother, she thanked him with tears for all hiskindness and devotion to the general, herself, and the children; but hepressed her hands in his, and said to her, in so gentle a voice thatI could not help being touched by it: 'Why do you thank me? Did He notSay--LOVE YE ONE ANOTHER!'"
"Who is that, Dagobert?"
"Yes, of whom did the traveller speak?"
"I know nothing about it; only the manner in which he pronounced thosewords struck me, and they were the last he spoke."
"Love one another!" repeated Rose, thoughtfully.
"How beautiful are those words!" added Blanche.
"And whither was the traveller going?"
"Far, very far into the North, as he told your mother. When she sawhim depart, she said to me: 'His mild, sad talk has affected me even totears; whilst I listened to him, I seemed to be growing better--Iseemed to love my husband and my children more--and yet, to judge by theexpression of his countenance, one would think that this stranger hadnever either smiled or wept!' She and I watched him from the door aslong as we could follow him with our eyes; he carried his head down, andhis walk was slow, calm, and firm; one might fancy that he counted hissteps. And, talking of steps, I remarked yet another thing."
"What was it, Dagobert?"
"You know that the road which led to our house way, always damp, becauseof the overflowing of the little spring."
"Yes."
"Well, then, the mark of the traveller's footsteps remained in the clay,and I saw that he had nails under his shoe in the form of a cross."
"How in the form of a cross?"
"Look!" said Dagobert, placing the tip of his finger seven times on thecoverlet of the bed; "they were arrange: thus beneath his heel:"
* * * * * * *
"You see it forms a cross."
"What could it mean, Dagobert?"
"Chance, perhaps--yes, chance--and yet, in spite of myself, thisconfounded cross left behind him struck me as a bad omen, for hardly washe gone when misfortune after misfortune fell upon us."
"Alas! the death of our mother!"
"Yes--but, before that, another piece of ill-luck. You had not yetreturned, and she was writing her petition to ask leave to go to Franceor to send you there, when I heard the gallop of a horse. It was acourier from the governor general of Siberia. He brought us orders tochange our residence; within three days we were to join other condemnedpersons, and be removed with them four hundred leagues further north.Thus, after fifteen years of exile, they redoubled in cruelty towardsyour mother."
"Why did they thus torment her?"
"One would think that some evil genius was at work against her. A fewdays later, the traveller would no longer have found us at Milosk; andif he had joined us further on, it would have been too far for the medaland papers to be of use--since, having set out almost immediately, weshall hardly arrive in time at Paris. 'If they had some interest toprevent me and my children from going to France,' said your mother,'they would act just as they have done. To banish us four hundredleagues further, is to render impossible this journey, of which the termis fixed.' And the idea overwhelmed her with grief."
"Perhaps it was this unexpected sorrow that was the cause of her suddenillness."
"Alas! no, my children; it was that infernal cholera, who arriveswithout giving you notice--for he too is a great traveller--and strikesyou down like a thunderbolt. Three hours after the traveller had leftus, when you returned quite pleased and gay from the forest, with yourlarge bunches of wild-flowers for your mother, she was already in th
elast agony, and hardly to be recognized. The cholera had broken out inthe village, and that evening five persons died of it. Your mother hadonly time to hang the medal about your neck, my dear little Rose,to recommend you both to my care, and to beg that we should set outimmediately. When she was gone, the new order of exile could not applyto you; and I obtained permission from the governor to take my departurewith you for France, according to the last wishes--"
The soldier could not finish the sentence; he covered his eyes with hishand, whilst the orphans embraced him sobbing.
"Oh! but," resumed Dagobert, with pride, after a moment of painfulsilence, "it was then that you showed yourselves the brave daughters ofthe general. Notwithstanding the danger, it was impossible to tearyou from your mother's bedside; you remained with her to the last, youclosed her eyes, you watched there all night, and you would not leavethe village till you had seen me plant the little wooden cross over thegrave I had dug for her."
Dagobert paused abruptly. A strange, wild neighing, mingled withferocious roarings, made the soldier start from his seat. He grew pale,and cried: "It is Jovial! my horse! What are they doing to my horse?"With that, opening the door he rushed down the stairs precipitately.
The two sisters clung together, so terrified at the sudden departure ofthe soldier, that they saw not an enormous hand pass through the brokenpanes, unfasten the catch of the window, push it violently open,and throw down the lamp placed on the little table, on which was thesoldiers's knapsack. The orphans thus found themselves plunged intocomplete darkness.