This night it was dreary enough: it rattles the windows and whistles under the doors; it wishes to come in, for it bears a message to this poor mother, and it sounds like an appeal or a warning. The ticking of the clock, the distant noise of a locomotive, all take the same plaintive tone and beseeching accent. Charlotte knows only too well what the wind wishes to tell her. It is a story of a ship rolling on the broad ocean, without sails or rudder--of a maddened crowd on the deck, of cries and shrieks, curses and prayers. Her hallucination is so strong that she even hears from the ship a beseeching cry of "Mamma!" She starts to her feet; she bears it again. To escape it, she walks about the room, opens the door and looks down the corridor. She sees nothing, but she hears a sigh, and, raising her lamp higher, discovers a dark shadow crouched in the corner.

"Who is that?" she cried, half in terror, half in hope.

"It is I, dear mother!" said a weak voice.

She ran toward him. It is her boy--a tall, rough sailor--rising as she approached him, with the aid of a pair of crutches. And this is what she has made of her child! Not a word, not an exclamation, not a caress.

They look at each other, and tears fill the eyes of both.

A certain fatality attaches itself to some people, which renders them and all that they do absolutely ridiculous. When D'Argenton returned that night, he came with the determination to disclose the fatal news to Charlotte, and to have the whole affair concluded. The manner in which he turned the key in the lock announced this solemn determination.

But what was his surprise to find the parlor a blaze of light!

Charlotte--and on the table by the fire the remains of a meal. She came to him in a terrible state of agitation.

"Hush! Pray make no noise--he is here and asleep."

"Who is here?"

"Jack, of course. He has been shipwrecked, and is severely injured. He has been saved as by a miracle. He has just come from Rio Janeiro, where he spent two months in a hospital."

D'Argenton forced a smile, which Charlotte endeavored to believe was one of satisfaction. It must be acknowledged that he behaved very well, and said at once that Jack must stay there until he was entirely recovered.

In fact, he could do no less for the actual proprietor of his Review.

The first excitement over, the ordinary life of the poet and Charlotte was resumed, changed only by the presence of the poor lame fellow, whose legs were badly burned by the explosion of a boiler, and had not yet healed. He was clothed in a jacket of blue cloth. His light moustache, the color of ripe wheat, was struggling into sight through the thick coating of tan that darkened his face; his eyes were red and inflamed, for the lashes had been burned off; and in a state of apathy painful to witness, the son of Ida de Barancy dragged himself from chair to chair, to the irritation of D'Argenton and to the great shame of his mother.

When some stranger entered the house and cast an astonished glance at this figure, which offered so strange a contrast to the quiet, luxurious surroundings, she hastened to say, "It is my son, he has been very ill,"

in the same way that the mothers of deformed children quickly mention the relationship, lest they should surprise a smile or a compa.s.sionate look. But if she was pained in seeing her darling in this state, and blushed at the vulgarity of his manners or his awkwardness at the table, she was still more mortified at the tone of contempt with which her husband's friends spoke of her son.

Jack saw little difference in the habitues of the house, save that they were older, had less hair and fewer teeth; in every other respect they were the same. They had attained no higher social position, and were still without visible means of support.

They met every day to discuss the prospects of the Review, and twice each week they all dined at D'Argenton's table. Moronval generally brought with him his two last pupils. One was a young j.a.panese prince of an indefinite age, and who, robbed of his floating robes, seemed very small and slender. With his little cane and hat, he looked like a figure of yellow clay fallen from an etagere upon the Parisian sidewalk. The other, with narrow slits of eyes and a black beard, recalled certain vague remembrances to Jack, who at last recognized his old friend Said who had offered him cigar ends on their first interview.

The education of this unfortunate youth had been long since finished, but his parents had left him with Moronval to be initiated into the manners and customs of fashionable society. All these persons treated Jack with a certain air of condescension. He remained Master Jack to but one person--that was that most amiable of women, Madame Moronval, who wore the same silk dress that he had seen her in years before. He cared little whether he was called "Master Jack," or "My boy,"--his two months in the hospital, his three years of alcoholic indulgence, the atmosphere of the engine-room, and the final tempestuous conclusion, had caused him such profound exhaustion, such a desire for quiet, that he sat with his pipe between his teeth, silent and half asleep.

"He is intoxicated," said D'Argent on sometimes.

This was not the case; but the young man found his only pleasure in the society of his mother on the rare occasions when the poet was absent.

Then he drew his chair close to hers, and listened to her rather than talk himself. Her voice made a delicious murmur in his ears like that of the first bees on a warm spring day.

Once, when they were alone, he said to Charlotte, very slowly, "When I was a child I went on a long voyage--did I not?"

She looked at him a little troubled. It was the first time in his life that he had asked a question in regard to his history.

"Why do you wish to know?"

"Because, three years ago, the first day that I was on board a steamer, I had a singular sensation. It seemed to me that I had seen it all before; the cabins, and the narrow ladders, impressed me as familiar; it seemed to me that I had once played on those very stairs."

She looked around to a.s.sure herself that they were entirely alone.

"It was not a dream, Jack. You were three years old when we came from Algiers. Your father died suddenly, and we came back to Tours."

"What was my father's name?"

She hesitated, much agitated, for she was not prepared for this sudden curiosity; and yet she could not refuse to answer these questions.

"He was called by one of the grandest names in France, my child--by a name that you and I would bear to-day if a sudden and terrible catastrophe had not prevented him from repairing his fault. Ah, we were very young when we met! I must tell you that at that time I had a perfect pa.s.sion for the chase. I remember a little Arabian horse called Soliman--"

She was gone, at full speed, mounted on this horse, and Jack made no effort to interrupt her--he knew that it was useless. But when she stopped to take breath, he profited by this brief halt to return to his fixed idea.

"What was my father's name?" he repeated.

How astonished those clear eyes looked! She had totally forgotten of whom they had been speaking. She answered quickly,--"He was called the Marquis de l'Epau." Jack certainly had but little of his mother's respect for high birth, its rights and its prerogatives, for he received with the greatest tranquillity the intelligence of his ill.u.s.trious descent. What mattered it to him that his father was a marquis, and bore a distinguished name? This did not prevent his son from earning his bread as a stoker on the Cydnus.

"Look here, Charlotte," said D'Argenton impatiently, one day, "something must be done! A decided step must be taken with this boy. He cannot remain here forever without doing anything. He is quite well again; he eats like an ox. He coughs a little still, to be sure, but Dr. Hirsch says that is nothing,--that he will always cough. He must decide on something. If the life in the engine-room of a steamer is too severe for him, let him try a railroad."

Charlotte ventured to say, timidly, "If you could see how he loses his breath when he climbs the stairs, and how thin he is, you would still feel that he is far from well. Can you not employ him on some of the office work?"

"I will speak to Moronval," was the reply.

The result of this was, that Jack for some days did everything in the office except sweep the rooms. With his usual imperturbability, Jack fulfilled these various duties, enduring the contemptuous remarks of Moronval with the same indifference that he opposed to D'Argenton's cold contempt. Moronval had a certain fixed salary on the magazine; it was small, to be sure, but he added to it by supplementary labors, for which he was paid certain sums on account. The subscription books lay open on the desk, expenses went on, but no receipts came in. In fact, there was but one subscriber, Charlotte's friend at Tours, and but one proprietor, and he, with a glue-pot and brush, was at work in a corner. Neither Jack nor any one else realized this; but D'Argenton knew it and felt it hourly, and soon hated more strongly than ever the youth upon whose money he was living.

At the end of a week it was announced that Jack was useless in the office.

"But, my dear," said Charlotte, "he does all he can!"

"And what is that? He is lazy and indifferent; he knows not how to sit nor how to stand, and he falls asleep over his plate at dinner; and since this great, shambling fellow has appeared here, you have grown ten years older, my love. Besides, he drinks, I a.s.sure you that he drinks."

Charlotte bowed her head and wept; she knew that her son drank, but whose fault was it? Had they not thrown him into the gulf?

"I have an idea, Charlotte! Suppose we send him to Etiolles for change of air. We will give him a little money, and it will be a good thing for him."

She thanked him enthusiastically, and it was decided that she would go the next day to install her son at Aulnettes.

They arrived there on one of those soft autumnal mornings which have all the beauty of summer without its excessive heat. There was not a breath in the air; the birds sang loudly, the fallen leaves rustled gently, and a perfume of rich maturity of ripened grain and fruit filled the air.

The paths through the woods were still green and fresh; Jack recognized them all, and, seeing them, regained a portion of his lost youth. Nature herself seemed to welcome him with open arms, and he was soothed and comforted. Charlotte left her son early the next morning, and the little house, with its windows thrown wide open to the soft air and sunlight, had a peaceful aspect.

CHAPTER XIX.--THE CONVALESCENT.

"And to think that for five years I have been allowed to remain in the belief that my Jack was a thief!"

"But, Dr. Rivals--"

"And that if I had not happened to ask for a gla.s.s of milk at the Archambaulds, I should have continued to think so!"

It was, on feet, at the forester's cottage that Jack and his old friend had met.

For ten days the youth had been living in solitude at Aulnettes. Each day he had become more like the Jack of his childhood. The only persons with whom he held any communication were the old forester and his wife, who had served Charlotte faithfully for so long a time. She watched over his health, purchased his provisions, and often cooked his dinner over her own fire, while he sat and smoked at the door. These people never asked a question, but when they saw his thin figure and heard his constant cough, they shook their heads.