"What other people have been doing I can't tell," muttered the old man; "I only speak for myself, and I have done no harm to any one. My hats are ruined,--and I, too, for that matter!" continued Belisaire, dolefully.

"But what have I done?" asked Jack, for he could not imagine that among the many follies of which he had been guilty there was one more grave than another.

"They say--But why do you make me tell you? You know well enough what they say."

"Indeed, I do not; pray, go on."

"Well, they say that you have stolen Zenade's dowry."

The boy uttered an exclamation of horror. "But you do not believe this, Belisaire?"

The old man did not answer. Every one at Indret thought Jack guilty.

Every circ.u.mstance was against the boy. On the first report of the robbery, Jack was looked for, but was not to be found. Chariot had very well managed matters. All along the road there were traces of the robbery in the gold pieces displayed so liberally. Only one thing disturbed the belief of the boy's guilt in the minds of the villagers: what could he have done with the six thousand francs? Neither Belisaire's pocket nor his own displayed any indication that such a sum of money had been in their possession.

Soon after daybreak the superintendent sent for the prisoners. They were covered with mud, and were unwashed and unshorn; yet Jack had a certain grace and refinement in spite of all this; but Belisaire's naturally ugly countenance was so distorted by grief and anxiety, that, as the two appeared, the spectators unanimously decided that this gentle-looking child was the mere instrument of the wretched being with whom he was unfortunately connected. As Jack looked about he saw several faces which seemed like those of some terrible nightmare, and his courage deserted him. He recognized the sailors, and the proprietors of several of the wineshops, with many others of those whom he had seen on that disastrous yesterday. The child begged for a private interview with the superintendent, and was admitted to the office, where he found Father Rondic, whom Jack went forward at once to greet with extended hand. The old man drew back sadly but resolutely.

"Out of regard for your youth, Jack," said the Director, "and from respect to your parents, and in consideration of your hitherto good behavior, I have begged that, instead of being carried to Nantes and placed in prison, you shall remain here. I now tell you that it is for you to decide what will be done. Tell me the truth. Tell Father Rondic and myself what you have done with the money, give him back what is left, and--no, do not interrupt me," continued the Director, with a frown. "Return the money, and I will then send you to your parents."

Here Belisaire attempted to speak. "Be quiet, fellow!" said the superintendent; "I cannot understand how you can have the audacity to speak. We believe you to be in reality the guilty party, and that this child has simply been your tool."

Jack wished to protest against this condemnation of his friend; but old Rondic gave him no time.

"You are quite right, sir, it is bad company that has led the lad astray. Everybody loved him in my house; we had every confidence in him until he met this miserable wretch."

Belisaire looked so heart-broken at this wholesale condemnation that Jack rushed boldly forward in his defence. "I a.s.sure you, air, that I met Belisaire late in the day."

"Do you mean," said the superintendent, "that you committed this robbery all alone?"

"I have done no wrong, sir."

"Take care, my lad--you are going down hill with rapidity. Your guilt is very evident, and it is useless to deny it. You were alone with the Rondic women in their house all night. Zenade showed you the casket, and even showed you where it was kept. In the night she heard some one moving in your attic; she spoke; naturally you made no reply. She knew that it must be you, for there was no one else in the house. Then you must remember that we know how much money you threw away yesterday."

Jack was about to say, "My mother sent it to me," when he remembered that she had forbidden him to mention this. So he hesitatingly murmured that he had been saving his money for some time.

"What nonsense!" cried the Director. "Do you think you can make us believe that with your small wages you could have laid aside the amount you squandered yesterday? Tell the truth, my lad, and repair the evil you have done as well as possible."

Then Father Rondic spoke. "Tell us, my boy, where this money is.

Remember that it is Zenade's dowry, that I have toiled day and night to lay it aside for her, feeling that with it I might make her happy.

You did not think of all this, I am sure, and were led away by the temptation of the moment. But now that you have had time to reflect, you will tell us the truth. Remember, Jack, that I am old, that time may not be given me to replace this money. Ah, my good lad, speak!"

The poor man's lips trembled. It must have been a hardened criminal who could have resisted such a touching appeal. Belisaire was so moved that he made ar series of the most extraordinary gestures. "Give him the money, Jack, I beg of you!" he whispered.

Alas I if the child had had the money, how gladly he would have placed it in the hands of old Rondic, but he could only say,--

"I have stolen nothing--I swear I have not!"

The superintendent rose from his chair impatiently. "We have had enough of this. Your heart must be of adamant to resist such an appeal as has been made to you. I shall send you up-stairs again, and give you until to-night to reflect. If you do not then make a full confession, I shall hand you over to the proper tribunal."

The boy was then left all the long day in solitude. He tried to sleep, but the knowledge that every one thought him guilty, that his own shameful conduct had given ample reason for such a judgment, overwhelmed him with sorrow. How could he prove his innocence? By showing his mother's letter. But if D'Argenton should know of it? No, he could not sacrifice his mother! What, then, should he do? And the boy lay on the straw bed, turning over in his bewildered brain the difficulties of his position. Around him went on the business of life; he heard the workmen come and go. It was evening, and he would be sent to prison. Suddenly he heard the stairs creak under a heavy tread, then the turning of the key, and Zenade entered hastily.

"Good heavens," she cried, "how high up you are!"

She said this with a careless air, but she had wept so much that her eyes were red and inflamed, her hair was roughened and carelessly put up. The poor girl smiled at Jack. "I am ugly, am I not? I have no figure nor complexion. I have a big nose and small eyes; but two days ago I had a handsome dowry, and I cared but little if some of the malicious young girls said, 'It is only for your money that Maugin wishes to marry you,'

as if I did not know this! He wanted my money, but I loved him! And now, Jack, all is changed. To-night he will come and say farewell, and I shall not complain. Only, Jack, before he comes, I thought I would have a little talk with you."

Jack had hidden his face, and was crying. Zenade felt a ray of hope at this.

"You will give me back my money, Jack, will you not?" she added entreatingly.

"But I have not got it, I a.s.sure you."

"Do not say that. You are afraid of me, but I will not reproach you.

If you have spent a little you are quite welcome, but tell me where the rest is!"

"Listen to me, Zenade: this is horrible. Why should every one think me guilty?"

She went on as if he had not spoken. "Do you understand that without this money I shall be miserable? In your mother's name I entreat you here on my knees!"

She threw herself on the floor by the side of the bed where the boy sat, and gave way to tears and sobs. Jack, who was as unhappy as she, tried to take her hand. Suddenly she started up. "You will be punished. No one will ever love you because your heart is bad!" and she left the room.

She ran hastily down the stairs to the superintendent's room, whom she found with her father. She could not speak, for her tears choked her.

"Be comforted, my child!" said the Director. "Your father tells me that the mother of this boy is married to a very rich man. We will write to them. If they are good people, your dowry will be restored to you."

He wrote the following letter:--

"Madame: Your son has stolen a sum of money from the honest and hard-working man with whom he lived. This sum represents the savings of years. I have not yet handed him over to the authorities, hoping that he might be induced to restore at least a portion of this money. But I am afraid that it has all been squandered among drunken companions. If that is the case, you should indemnify the Rondics for their loss. The amount is six thousand francs. I await your decision before taking any further steps."

And he signed his name.

"Poor things--it is terrible news for them!" said Pere Rondic, who amid his own sorrows could still think of those of others.

Zenade looked up indignantly. "Why do you pity these people? If the boy has taken my money, let them replace it."

How pitiless is youth! The girl gave not one thought to the mother's despair when she should hear of her son's crime. Old Rondic, on the contrary, said to himself, "She will die of shame!"

In due time this letter written by the superintendent reached its destination, as letters which contain bad news generally do.

CHAPTER XV.--CHARLOTTE'S JOURNEY.

One gray morning Charlotte was cutting the last bunches from the vines; the poet was at work, and Dr. Hirsch was asleep, when the postman reached Aulnettes.

"Ah! a letter from Indret!" said D'Argenton, slowly opening his newspapers,--"and some verses by Hugo!"

Why did the poet watch this unopened letter as a dog watches a bone that he does not wish himself, and is yet determined that no one else shall touch? Simply because Charlotte's eyes had kindled at the sight of it, and because this most selfish of beings felt that for a moment he had become a secondary object in the mother's eyes.

From the hour of Jack's departure, his mother's love for him had increased. She avoided speaking of him, however, lest she should irritate her poet He divined this, and his hatred and jealousy of the child increased. And when the early letters of Ron-die contained complaints of Jack, he was very much delighted. But this was not enough.