Meanwhile, Tom Soher was pondering heavily. He was in a terrible pa.s.sion. When he entered his father's house, he wore an angry look.

He walked straight upstairs without even partaking of supper. His mother and sister who were downstairs laughed. The young man was not much of a favourite at home.

Tom sat for a long time on his bed, his face covered with perspiration, his limbs agitated. He was not yet very strong after his illness, and the shock which he had received had completely upset him.

He meditated a plan of revenge. A dozen ideas struck him, but none seemed good enough. Finally, he thought of one, which, if carried out, would completely crush his detestable rival.

CHAPTER XIX.

TOM'S INTERVIEW WITH MRS. VIDOUX.

Five minutes' walk from the "Prenoms," there might once be seen a small, badly built, one-storeyed cottage, the walls of which were built of stone, with clay serving instead of mortar. In the walls, were three small windows, opening like French windows. They were of different sizes, contained numerous small rectangular panes of gla.s.s, and were situated irregularly; two in front of, and one behind the house.

Inside, the walls were white-washed, the floor was of clay, the ceiling was black with smoke. One of the two rooms served as a bedroom, while the other one was badly fitted up to resemble a kitchen.

A wretchedly thatched roof, surmounted by a single stone chimney, covered the whole.

Situated behind this hovel, was a small piece of land called a garden. In it grew cabbages, potatoes, fruits and weeds; the latter predominating.

In this cottage, there lived an old woman, whose age none seemed to know. The fact that she never attended divine service, coupled with the tales of her being in the habit of attending the witches'

sabbath, was enough to make her pa.s.s amongst her superst.i.tious neighbours as a being possessed of supernatural powers.

She was aware of this, and consequently avoided, as far as it was practicable, having anything to do with her species.

At first she had felt very angry at her countrymen's insinuations, and almost wished she did possess supernatural powers; but gradually she had cooled down, and now she was indifferent.

Mrs. Vidoux--such was the appellation of this woman--was not attractive. Her face was of a colour much resembling Vand.y.k.e Brown.

It was a woman's face, yet it resembled a man's, not excepting the whiskers, which seemed to grow vigourously, as it fertilized by the dirt which her uncleanly habits allowed to acc.u.mulate on her face.

She had but two companions; they were cats. She very often ate limpets (_Patella Vulgata_). When she descended to the beach to collect the sh.e.l.l fish she took exactly one hundred.

A proof that she could reckon up to one hundred.

Arrived home, she cooked her limpets, gave twenty to each of her cats, and reserved sixty for herself.

A proof that she had gastronomic tendencies.

There was but one young man to whom she spoke freely.

One evening, this man tumbled near her doorstep. He was intoxicated.

She took him inside, laid him on her own bed, and when he had slept and sobered, she gave him a cup of tea and escorted him to his home.

Ever since, they had been friends.

This man's name was Tom Soher.

We have seen that an idea had struck him which he intended to carry out. He, too, believed in Mrs. Vidoux's power of bewitching.

So the day following his unpleasant discovery, Tom Soher directed his steps towards the old woman's cottage.

He knocked at the door. No one answered. "She must be in the garden," he said to himself. He accordingly went round the back of the house and espied her, laboriously occupied in trying to dig a few parsnips.

"Good morning, Mrs. Vidoux," he said; then perceiving her useless efforts, he took the spade from her bony hands, and dug up a few of the esculent roots.

"Thank you very much," said the old woman, leaning heavily on her walking-stick.

"I wonder, why she, who possesses such magic powers, does not make those parsnips fly out of the ground without even touching them,"

thought Tom.

Then a conversation followed between them.

"It's fine weather," said Tom, feeling embarra.s.sed about the introduction of his subject.

"Beautiful."

"You have a great deal of trouble to work as you do, cultivating your own vegetables?"

"Yes, but I cannot afford to buy some."

"Don't you feel lonely at times?"

"No, I am accustomed to solitude."

"You did me a good turn once."

"I am glad of it."

"Yes, I shall always remember it."

"I am happy to see that you don't forget, you are the only sensible man in this parish."

"That's praising me rather too much, I'm sure I don't deserve it, but what I think I deserve less is the nasty fix in which I now am."

"You are in a fix?"

"You know my cousin, Adele Rougeant?"

"Miss Rougeant, let me see--oh--yes, I knew her once, but I am afraid I should not recognise her now, she must be a fine lady by this time."

"Fine; she's simply charming."

"I should think so; I don't doubt you at all, Mr. Soher."

"There is a young man who is paying his attentions to her."

"He is very fortunate."