"That's true. Well, anyhow, my mother sha'n't go to prison, poor old thing! She cooks my food and keeps me in clothes, I'm sure I don't know how. Go to prison,--and through me! I shouldn't have any bowels within me; no, no! And for fear any one else should sell her, I'll tell her this very night not to kill any more trees."

"Well, my father may say and do what he likes, but I shall tell him there are five hundred francs to be had, and perhaps he'll ask my grandmother if she'll earn them. They'll never put an old woman seventy-eight years of age in prison,--though, to be sure, she'd be better off there than in her garret."

"Five hundred francs! well, yes; I'll speak to my mother," said Bonnebault, "and if it suits her to give 'em to me, I'll let her have part to take to prison. She could knit, and amuse herself; and she'd be well fed and lodged, and have less trouble than she has at Conches.

Well, to-morrow, my girl, I'll see you about it; I haven't time to stop now."

The next morning at daybreak Bonnebault and his old mother knocked at the door of the Grand-I-Vert. Mother Tonsard was the only person up.

"Marie!" called Bonnebault, "that matter is settled."

"You mean about the trees?" said Mother Tonsard; "yes, it is all settled; I've taken it."

"Nonsense!" cried Mother Bonnebault, "my son has got the promise of an acre of land from Monsieur Rigou--"

The two old women squabbled as to which of them should be sold by her children. The noise of the quarrel woke up the household. Tonsard and Bonnebault took sides for their respective mothers.

"Pull straws," suggested Tonsard's wife.

The short straw gave it in favor of the tavern.

Three days later, in the forest of Ville-aux-Fayes at daybreak, the gendarmes arrested old Mother Tonsard caught "in flagrante delicto" by the bailiff, his a.s.sistants, and the field-keeper, with a rusty file which served to tear the tree, and a chisel, used by the delinquent to scoop round the bark just as the insect bores its way. The indictment stated that sixty trees thus destroyed were found within a radius of five hundred feet. The old woman was sent to Auxerre, the case coming under the jurisdiction of the a.s.size-court.

Michaud could not refrain from saying when he discovered Mother Tonsard at the foot of the tree: "These are the persons on whom the general and Madame la comtesse have showered benefits! Faith, if Madame would only listen to me, she wouldn't give that dowry to the Tonsard girl, who is more worthless than her grandmother."

The old woman raised her gray eyes and darted a venomous look at Michaud. When the count learned who the guilty person was, he forbade his wife to give the money to Catherine Tonsard.

"Monsieur le comte is perfectly right," said Sibilet. "I know that G.o.dain bought that land three days before Catherine came to speak to Madame. She is quite capable, that girl, of pretending she is with child, to get the money; very likely G.o.dain has had nothing to do with it."

"What a community!" said Blondet; "the scoundrels of Paris are saints by comparison."

"Ah, monsieur," said Sibilet, "self-interest makes people guilty of horrors everywhere. Do you know who betrayed the old woman?"

"No."

"Her granddaughter Marie; she was jealous of her sister's marriage, and to get the money for her own--"

"It is awful!" said the count. "Why! they'd murder!"

"Oh yes," said Sibilet, "for a very small sum. They care so little for life, those people; they hate to have to work all their lives. Ah monsieur, queer things happen in country places, as queer as those of Paris,--but you will never believe it."

"Let us be kind and benevolent," said the countess.

The evening after the arrest Bonnebault came to the tavern of the Grand-I-Vert, where all the Tonsard family were in great jubilation.

"Oh yes, yes!" said he, "make the most of your rejoicing; but I've just heard from Vaudoyer that the countess, to punish you, withdraws the thousand francs promised to G.o.dain; her husband won't let her give them."

"It's that villain of a Michaud who has put him up to it," said Tonsard.

"My mother heard him say he would; she told me at Ville-aux-Fayes where I went to carry her some money and her clothes. Well; let that countess keep her money! our five hundred francs shall help G.o.dain buy the land; and we'll revenge ourselves for this thing. Ha! Michaud meddles with our private matters, does he? it will bring him more harm than good. What business is it of his, I'd like to know? let him keep to the woods! It's he who is at the bottom of all this trouble--he found the clue that day my mother cut the throat of his dog. Suppose I were to meddle in the affairs of the chateau? Suppose I were to tell the general that his wife is off walking in the woods before he is up in the morning, with a young man."

"The general, the general!" sneered Courtecuisse; "they can do what they like with him. But it's Michaud who stirs him up, the mischief-maker! a fellow who don't know his business; in my day, things went differently."

"Ah!" said Tonsard, "those were the good days for all of us--weren't they, Vaudoyer?"

"Yes," said the latter, "and the fact is that if Michaud were got rid of we should be left in peace."

"Enough said," replied Tonsard. "We'll talk of this later--by moonlight--in the open field."

Towards the end of October the countess returned to Paris, leaving the general at Les Aigues. He was not to rejoin her till some time later, but she did not wish to lose the first night of the Italian Opera, and moreover she was lonely and bored; she missed Emile, who was recalled by his avocations, for he had helped her to pa.s.s the hours when the general was scouring the country or attending to business.

November was a true winter month, gray and gloomy, a mixture of snow and rain, frost and thaw. The trial of Mother Tonsard had required witnesses at Auxerre, and Michaud had given his testimony. Monsieur Rigou had interested himself for the old woman, and employed a lawyer on her behalf who relied in his defence on the absence of disinterested witnesses; but the testimony of Michaud and his a.s.sistants and the field-keeper was found to outweigh this objection. Tonsard's mother was sentenced to five years' imprisonment, and the lawyer said to her son:--

"It was Michaud's testimony which got her that."

CHAPTER IX THE CATASTROPHE

One Sat.u.r.day evening, Courtecuisse, Bonnebault, G.o.dain, Tonsard, his daughters, wife, and Pere Fourchon, also Vaudoyer and several mechanics were supping at the tavern. The moon was at half-full, the first snow had melted, and frost had just stiffened the ground so that a man's step left no traces. They were eating a stew of hare caught in a trap; all were drinking and laughing. It was the day after the wedding of Catherine and G.o.dain, and the wedded pair were to be conducted to their new home, which was not far from that of Courtecuisse; for when Rigou sold an acre of land it was sure to be isolated and close to the woods.

Courtecuisse and Vaudoyer had brought their guns to accompany the bride.

The neighborhood was otherwise fast asleep; not a light was to be seen; none but the wedding party were awake, but they made noise enough. In the midst of it the old Bonnebault woman entered, and every one looked at her.

"I think she is going to lie-in," she whispered in Tonsard's ear. "_He_ has saddled his horse and is going for the doctor at Soulanges."

"Sit down," said Tonsard, giving her his place at the table, and going himself to lie on a bench.

Just then the gallop of a horse pa.s.sing rapidly along the road was heard. Tonsard, Courtecuisse, and Vaudoyer went out hurriedly, and saw Michaud on his way to the village.

"He knows what he's about," said Courtecuisse; "he came down by the terrace and he means to go by Blangy and the road,--it's the safest way."

"Yes," said Tonsard, "but he will bring the doctor back with him."

"He won't find him," said Courtecuisse, "the doctor has been sent for to Conches for the postmistress."

"Then he'll go from Soulanges to Conches by the mail-road; that's shortest."

"And safest too, for us," said Courtecuisse, "there's a fine moon, and there are no keepers on the roads as there are in the woods; one can hear much farther; and down there, by the pavilions, behind the hedges, just where they join the little wood, one can aim at a man from behind, like a rabbit, at five hundred feet."

"It will be half-past eleven before he comes past there," said Tonsard, "it will take him half an hour to go to Soulanges and as much more to get back,--but look here! suppose Monsieur Gourdon were on the road?"

"Don't trouble about that," said Courtecuisse, "I'll stand ten minutes away from you to the right on the road towards Blangy, and Vaudoyer will be ten minutes away on your left towards Conches; if anything comes along, the mail, or the gendarmes, or whatever it is, we'll fire a shot into the ground,--a m.u.f.fled sound, you'll know it."

"But suppose I miss him?" said Tonsard.

"He's right," said Courtecuisse, "I'm the best shot; Vaudoyer, I'll go with you; Bonnebault may watch in my place; he can give a cry; that's easier heard and less suspicious."

All three returned to the tavern and the wedding festivities went on; but about eleven o'clock Vaudoyer, Courtecuisse, Tonsard, and Bonnebault went out, carrying their guns, though none of the women took any notice of them. They came back in about three-quarters of an hour, and sat drinking till past one o'clock. Tonsard's girls and their mother and the old Bonnebault woman had plied the miller, the mechanics, and the two peasants, as well as Fourchon, with so much drink that they were all on the ground and snoring when the four men left the tavern; on their return, the sleepers were shaken and roused, and every one seemed to them, as before, in his place.

While this orgy was going on Michaud's household was in a scene of mortal anxiety. Olympe had felt false pains, and her husband, thinking she was about to be delivered, rode off instantly in haste for the doctor. But the poor woman's pains ceased as soon as she realized that Michaud was gone; for her mind was so preoccupied by the danger her husband ran at that hour of the night, in a lawless region filled with determined foes, that the anguish of her soul was powerful enough to deaden and momentarily subdue those of the body. In vain her servant-woman declared her fears were imaginary; she seemed not to comprehend a word that was said to her, and sat by the fire in her bed-chamber listening to every sound. In her terror, which increased every moment, she had the man wakened, meaning to give him some order which still she did not give. At last, the poor woman wandered up and down, coming and going in feverish agitation; she looked out of all the windows and opened them in spite of the cold; then she went downstairs and opened the door into the courtyard, looking out and listening.