Bab Bab 24 · PART IV. CHAPTER VI.

. PART IV. CHAPTER VI.

The week passed away, and Françoise still persisted in her refusal to

return to her sister's house. There was a terrible scene one day on the

road. Buteau, who was dragging the girl away by the hair, was obliged

to let go on having his thumb severely bitten. Macqueron then became

so alarmed that he turned the girl out of his house, saying that as he

was the representative of the law he could not encourage her in her

rebellion.

La Grande happened to be passing at the time, and she took Françoise

home with her. The old woman was now eighty-eight years of age, but

she never thought about dying except as a means of bequeathing to her

heirs the worry of endless litigation in reference to her fortune. She

had made an extraordinarily complicated will, mixing everything up with

absolute delight; and, under the pretext of wronging no one, she had

left such directions as would compel the heirs to devour one another.

She had done this quite deliberately, feeling a satisfaction in the

thought that although she could not take her property with her to the

grave, she would at any rate go off with the consolation of having

done her very best to set all her relations by the ears. Nothing gave

her more pleasure than to see them quarrelling with one another, and

this it was that prompted her to take her niece into her own house.

Her natural stinginess made her hesitate just for a moment, but she

came to a decision at the thought that she would get a large amount of

work out of the girl in return for a small amount of food. That very

evening, in fact, she made her wash the whole house. When Buteau made

his appearance, she stood up and confronted him with her wicked-looking

old nose which resembled the beak of some aged bird of prey; and he

who had talked of smashing everything at the Macquerons' here began to

tremble and stammer, too much paralyzed by the fear of losing his share

of La Grande's property to dare to engage in a struggle with her.

"I want Françoise here," she said, "and I mean to keep her, since she

is not comfortable with you. Besides, she is of age now, and you have

certain accounts to render her. We shall have to talk about them."

Buteau went off in a furious frame of mind, alarmed at the trouble and

annoyance which he realised were in store for him.

Just a week afterwards, indeed, about the middle of August, Françoise

at last came of age. She was now her own mistress. By her change of

residence, however, she had done little more than change her troubles,

for she, also, trembled before her aunt, and was nearly killed by

over-work in this cold, parsimoniously-managed house, where everything

had to be made shiny without any expenditure upon soap or brushes. Cold

water and elbow-grease had to suffice for everything. One day the girl

almost got her head cut open by a blow from her aunt's stick, merely

for forgetting herself so far as to give the fowls some grain.

Several of the neighbours said that, in her anxiety to spare her horse,

La Grande harnessed her grandson Hilarion to the plough; and, even if

that was an exaggeration, there was no doubt but that she did treat the

lad like a beast of burden, beating him and almost killing him with

work, abusing of his great strength to such a degree that he sank down

quite worn out with exhaustion, and feeding him so miserably, with mere

crusts and leavings, just as though he were a pig, that he was always

on the verge of starvation, as well as being stupefied with fear. When

Françoise discovered that she was meant to make up the second horse in

the pair, her one thought was of how she might get away from the house;

and then it was that she suddenly determined to marry.

She was simply prompted by the wish to finish with it all. With her

ingrained and obstinate ideas of justice, ideas which even in her

childhood had caused her no little trouble, she would rather have

killed herself than have gone back to her sister's. She wanted nothing

but justice, she told herself, and she despised herself for having

submitted so long. She now made no reference to the swinish Buteau; it

was only of her sister that she spoke harshly, saying that if it had

not been for her they could still have continued living all together.

Now that this rupture had taken place between them, a rupture which

could never be healed, she only lived to obtain her property, her share

in the inheritance. The thought of this worried her from morning to

night, and she went wild on account of the endless formalities that

would have to be gone through. What was the good of them all? This is

mine! that is yours! Why couldn't the whole thing be settled in a

couple of minutes? It could only be, she declared, because every one

was in league to rob her. She suspected the whole family, and came to

the conclusion that her only means of extricating herself from this

predicament was to take a husband.

Jean, certainly, had not got an inch of land, and he was fifteen

years her senior. But then no one else had asked for her, and perhaps

no one else would have dared to take her, from fear of Buteau, who

was so generally dreaded in Rognes that no one cared to have him for

an adversary. Then, too, she and Jean had had to do with each other

once; though this fact was not of much importance, since it had had

no consequences. On the other hand, he was gentle, and kindly, and

straightforward. Why not take him, since there was no one else she

cared about, and as her only object in marrying was to get some one to

defend her interests and to do what she could to enrage Buteau? Yes,

she, too, would have a man of her own!

Jean still retained a great affection for her, although with time his

lustful desire to possess her had greatly quieted down. But he still

adhered to her, and looked upon himself as engaged to her by reason of

the promises they had exchanged. He had waited patiently till she was

of age, without harassing her to depart from the waiting course she

had determined upon, and he had even restrained her from acting in any

way against her own interests while she remained at her sister's. As

a result, there was now every reason why all honourable people should

be on her side. And, although he blamed her for the tempestuous way in

which she had left the Buteaus, he repeated that she now had the game

in her hands. Whenever she chose to speak of the other matter he should

be ready and willing to hear her.

Their marriage was agreed upon in this wise, one evening when he had

come to meet her behind La Grande's cow-house. There was a rotten old

gate there, opening into a court, and they were leaning against it,

he outside and she inside, with the stream of liquid manure from the

stable trickling between their feet.

The girl was the first to refer to the subject.

"If you're still of the same mind, Corporal, I'm willing to consent

now," she said, looking him straight in the eyes.

He returned her look, and replied slowly:

"I've not said anything to you about it lately, because it would have

seemed as if I wanted your property. But you are right all the same.

Now's the time."

Then there was a pause. Jean had laid his hand upon the girl's, which

was resting upon the gate. Then he resumed: "You mustn't let any of the

neighbours' gossip about La Cognette trouble you. It's three years and

more since I even touched her."

"And you," she exclaimed, "you mustn't worry yourself about Buteau.

The swine brags everywhere that he has had to do with me. Perhaps you

believe it?"

"Everybody in the neighbourhood believes it," Jean murmured, evading a

direct reply.

Then, seeing that she was still looking at him, he continued:

"Well, yes, I did believe it. I knew the scoundrel so well, that I

didn't see how you could possibly have prevented him."

"Oh, he tried often enough, and I suffered dreadfully at his hands; but

if I swear to you that he never gained his ends, will you believe me?"

"Yes, I believe you."

Then, in token of his pleasure, he closed his fingers round her hand,

and kept it pressed in his own as he stood with his arm resting on the

gate. Noticing that the dribbling stream from the stable was wetting

his boots, he set his legs apart.

"You seemed to stick on there so persistently," he continued, "that it

almost appeared as though you enjoyed his buffetings."

The girl felt ill at ease, and her frank, straightforward gaze was

lowered.

"And the more so," he added, "as you wouldn't have anything more to do

with me. Well, it's all the better now, isn't it? That baby I so wanted

still remains to come. It's altogether more respectable, too."

He stopped to tell her that she was standing in the dirty stream.

"Take care; you are wetting your feet."

She took them out of the slush, and then observed:

"We are agreed about it, then?"

"Yes, we are agreed. Choose any time you like."

They did not even kiss each other, but just shook hands across the gate

like a couple of friends. Then they went off in opposite directions.

When Françoise informed her aunt that same evening of her intention

to marry Jean, explaining to her her need of a husband to assist her

in recovering her property, La Grande at first made no reply. She sat

stiffly in her chair with her eyes widely opened, calculating the

loss and gain and pleasure which she was likely to derive from the

marriage, and it was only the next day that she expressed her approval

of it. She had been thinking the matter over all night long as she lay

on her straw mattress, for she slept very little now, and would lie

with open eyes till day dawned, plotting how she might make things

disagreeable for the different members of her family. This marriage

seemed to her to be so pregnant with unpleasant consequences for

everybody, that she longed to see it come off with quite a youthful

feverishness. She could already foresee even the smallest among the

numerous vexations which would arise from it, and she was scheming how

she might embitter them, and render them as fatal as possible. She was

so pleased, indeed, that she told her niece that she would take the

whole matter upon herself for affection's sake. She emphasised the word

by a terrible shake of her stick. Since the others had cast the girl

off, she would take the place of her mother, and folks would see how

she managed matters.

As a first step, La Grande summoned her brother Fouan to talk to him

about the accounts of the guardianship. The old man, however, could

not give her any information. It wasn't his doing, he said, that he

had been appointed guardian, and as Monsieur Baillehache had managed

everything, he ought to be applied to. Moreover, when he discovered

that the old woman was bent upon annoying the Buteaus, he affected

still greater bewilderment. Age, and the consciousness of his weakness,

filled him with uneasy alarm for himself; he felt that he was at

everybody's mercy. Why should he quarrel with the Buteaus? He had twice

almost made up his mind to return to them after nights of quaking fear,

during which he had seen Hyacinthe and La Trouille ferreting about his

room, and even thrusting their bare arms under his bolster, trying

to rob him of his papers. He felt quite convinced that he would be

murdered some night or other at the Château if he did not escape from

it.

La Grande, being unable to glean anything from him, dismissed him in a

state of great alarm, shouting out that he should be prosecuted if he

had tampered with the girl's property. Then she attacked Delhomme, as a

member of the family council, and gave him such a fright that he went

home ill, Fanny coming at once to tell the old woman that they would

prefer paying money down to being worried with law-suits. La Grande

chuckled. The game was beginning to be very amusing!

The question she now set herself to solve was whether the division of

the property should be pressed forward as the next step, or whether

the marriage should take place first. She pondered over it for two

nights, and pronounced in favour of an immediate marriage. Françoise,

married to Jean and claiming her share of the property, assisted by her

husband, would anger the Buteaus extremely. She then hurried things

forward, seeming to regain the nimble activity of youth, and she busied

herself about obtaining the necessary documents on behalf of Françoise,

and made Jean give her his. Then she made all the arrangements both for

the civil and religious weddings, and her eagerness even carried her

so far that she advanced the necessary money, taking care, however,

to obtain in exchange for it a receipt signed by both Jean and

Françoise--a receipt in which the sum advanced was doubled by way of

providing for the interest. The glasses of wine which she was forced to

offer to the guests during the preparations wrenched her heart-strings

more than anything else, but as she was provided with her vinegary

liquid, her "gnat destroyer," folks were not pressing in this respect.

She decided that there should be no wedding feast on account of the

divided state of the family. After the mass they would merely just

swallow a glass of the "gnat destroyer," by way of drinking the health

of the newly-married pair.

Monsieur and Madame Charles, who were invited, excused themselves

on the ground that they were greatly worried on account of their

son-in-law, Vaucogne. Fouan, who was in a most uneasy state of mind,

went off to bed, and sent a message saying that he was ill. The

only relation present was Delhomme, who consented to act as one of

Françoise's witnesses, to mark the esteem which he felt for that steady

fellow, Jean. The latter, on his side, only brought his witnesses--his

master, Hourdequin, and one of the farm-hands, a companion. Rognes was

topsy-turvy, and at every doorway people watched for this wedding,

which had been so energetically pushed forward, and which seemed likely

to provoke so much quarrelling and fighting.

At the ceremony at the municipal offices Macqueron, inflated with

self-importance, went through the formalities, in presence of the

ex-mayor, in an exaggerated manner. At the church there was a painful

incident. The Abbé Madeline fainted while he was saying mass. He was

not feeling well. He regretted his native mountains since he had begun

to live in flat La Beauce, and he was extremely distressed by the

indifference of his new parishioners for religion, and so upset by the

continued chattering and squabbling of the women, that he no longer

dared even to threaten them with hell. They had realised that he was of

a yielding disposition, and they took advantage of this to tyrannise

over him even in religious matters. However, Cœlina, and Flore, and all

the other women present at the ceremony, expressed extreme sorrow for

his having fallen with his nose against the altar, and they declared

that it was an omen of misfortune and approaching death for the bride

and bridegroom.

It had been settled that Françoise should continue to live at La

Grande's till she had received her share of the property; for, with

her characteristic determination, she had quite made up her mind that

she would have the house. So what was the good of taking one elsewhere

just for a fortnight or so? Jean, who was to retain his post as

waggoner at the farm, would in the meantime join her every evening.

Their wedding night was a very sad and stupid one, though they were

glad to be at last together. When Jean took his wife in his arms, she

began to sob so violently that she almost choked: not that he used

the least roughness towards her; on the contrary, he treated her with

the utmost gentleness. In reply to his questions she told him, still

sobbing bitterly, that she had no complaint to make against him, but

that she could not help crying, though she did not know why she was

doing so. Such a wedding night as this was not calculated to make a man

very ardent. Though he embraced her and held her clasped in his arms, a

feeling of troubled constraint seemed to have come between them. Apart

from that they got on very well together, and being unable to sleep,

they spent the remainder of the night in speculating as to how their

affairs would progress, when they got hold of the house and land.

The next morning Françoise was anxious to demand her share of the

property. But La Grande now showed no great hurry to have the matter

settled. She wanted to make her spiteful enjoyment last as long as

possible, bleeding her relations by slow degrees with pin-thrusts; and

then, again, she profited too much by the services of Françoise and

her husband, who paid the rent of the bedroom by two hours' work every

evening, to be anxious to see them leave her and establish themselves

in a house of their own.

It was necessary, however, to ask the Buteaus how they proposed to

divide the property. La Grande, on behalf of her niece, claimed the

house, half the arable land, and half the meadow, foregoing the half of

the vineyard as a set-off against the house, estimating it as being of

the same value. It was a very fair proposal, and if matters had been

thus arranged in a friendly way, a recourse to the law, which always

retains a good slice of everything it gets hold of, would have been

avoided. Buteau, whom La Grande's arrival had revolutionised--he was

forced to be respectful with her on account of her money--dared not

listen any longer, but rushed out of the room, afraid lest he might so

far forget his own interests as to strike the old woman.

Lise who was left alone with her, and whose ears were red with anger,

stammered out:

"The house, indeed! She wants the house, does she? this heartless

hussy, this good-for-nothing who has got married without even coming to

see me! Well, aunt, you can tell her from me that if ever she gets this

house it will only be because I'm dead!"

La Grande remained perfectly calm.

"All right, all right, my child. There's no occasion to get excited.

You also want the house. Well, you have an equal right to it. We will

see what is to be done."

For the next three days the old woman went backwards and forwards from

one sister to the other, reporting to each of them all the abuse which

the other had indulged in, and exasperating them to such a degree that

both of them almost took to their beds. La Grande, unwearying in her

embassies, impressed upon them how great her affection for them was,

and what an amount of gratitude they owed her for undertaking this

unpleasant task. It was finally settled that the land should be divided

between the two sisters, but that the house, the furniture, and the

live stock should be sold, since they could not agree about them. Both

the sisters swore that they would buy the house, even if they had to

part with their last chemise to do it.

So Grosbois came to survey the land and divide it into two lots. There

were two and a half acres of meadow land, about the same amount of

vineyard, and about five acres of plough land. It was this latter

that Buteau, since his marriage, had been so determined to retain,

for it adjoined a field of his own which he had obtained from his

father, and the two plots together made up a parcel of between seven

and eight acres, such as no other peasant in all Rognes possessed. He

was, consequently, full of bitter wrath when he saw Grosbois setting

up his square and sticking his poles into the ground. La Grande was

there superintending, but Jean had thought it best not to be present,

fearing that there might be a fight if he came. As it was, there was

an angry discussion. Buteau wanted the line of division to be drawn

parallel to the valley of the Aigre, so that his wife's share might

still adjoin his own field; while La Grande, on the other hand,

insisted that the line should be drawn perpendicularly, asserting that

this was the way in which the family property had always been divided

for centuries past. The old woman won the day, and Buteau clenched his

fists and almost choked with suppressed rage.

"Curse it! Why, if the first lot falls to me," he blurted out, "my land

will be cut up into two pieces. There will be this piece in one place,

and my own field in another."

"Well, my lad," rejoined the old woman, "you must draw the lot that

suits you best."

For a month past Buteau had been in a state of the angriest excitement.

In the first place, Françoise was escaping him. He had become quite ill

with longing desire, now that he was no longer able to seize hold of

the girl as he had been wont to do, and to obstinately hope on that he

would succeed in effecting his purpose some day or other. And, now that

she was married, the thought that another man could do as he pleased

with her, ended by putting him in a perfect fever. And then this other

man was now trying to get his land into his possession, too. He felt

that he would as soon lose a limb. The girl he might, perhaps, have,

but not the land; the land which he, Buteau, had always looked upon as

his own, and with which he had sworn never to part! He began to indulge

in the most bloodthirsty thoughts, and ransacked his brains for some

method by which he might be able to keep the land, dreaming vaguely of

murders and acts of violence, which only his terror of the gendarmes

prevented him from committing.

At last a meeting was arranged at Monsieur Baillehache's office, at

which Buteau and Lise, for the first time since the marriage, again

found themselves in the presence of Françoise and Jean, whom La Grande

had accompanied for the pleasure of the thing, and under the pretext

of seeing that nothing wrong was done. The five of them went into

the private office in silence, comporting themselves stiffly. The

Buteaus seated themselves on the right. On the left, Jean remained

standing behind Françoise's chair, as though to express that he was

not of the meeting, but had simply come to support his wife. The aunt,

tall and scrawny, sat down in the middle, turning her round eyes and

her hawk-like beak first on one couple and then on the other with

a satisfied air. The two sisters did not even appear to know each

other. They sat there with a hard expression on their faces, without

exchanging a single word or look. The men, however, had given one

another a rapid glance, gleaming and penetrating like a dagger thrust.

"Now, my friends," said Monsieur Baillehache, who remained calm amid

all these expressions of murderous hate, "we are first of all going to

finish with the division of the land, upon which subject we are now

quite agreed."

He then made them affix their signatures forthwith. The parchment was

already engrossed, blanks being left after the names of the parties for

the description of the various parcels, and they all had to sign before

the lots were drawn, which ceremony was immediately proceeded with, in

order to prevent any trouble.

Françoise, having drawn number two, number one was, of course, left for

Lise, and Buteau's face turned quite purple from the angry surging of

his blood. Luck was always against him! Here was his land cut atwain,

and this hussy and her man had their share between his two parcels!

"The devil take and confound them all!" he growled from between his

clenched teeth.

The notary requested him to restrain his feelings till he got into the

street again.

"This will cut up our land," remarked Lise, without turning towards her

sister. "Perhaps we might be able to make an exchange. It would suit us

better, and be to no one's disadvantage."

"No!" said Françoise, drily.

La Grande nodded her approval. It would bring bad luck to interfere

with the ruling of chance. The result of the drawing made the old woman

gay. As for Jean, who was still standing behind his wife, he seemed so

determined to hold himself aloof from the proceedings that he had not

moved, and his face was a perfect blank.

"Come now, let us finish with it all," said the notary.

The two sisters had, by common consent, deputed him to arrange for the

sale of the house and furniture and live stock. The sale was advertised

to take place in his office on the second Sunday in the month, and the

conditions of the sale stated that the purchaser could have the right

of entering into possession on the same day. When the sale was over,

the notary would at once proceed to balance accounts between the two

co-heiresses. The different parties concerned signified their approval

of all this by silently nodding their heads.

Just at this moment, however, Fouan, who had been summoned to attend

the meeting as Françoise's guardian, was introduced by a clerk, who

prevented Hyacinthe from coming in at the same time, on account of his

intoxicated condition. Although more than a month had elapsed since

Françoise had attained her majority, the accounts of the guardianship

had not yet been rendered; and this fact tended to complicate matters.

It was necessary for the accounts to be passed before the old man could

be released from his responsibility. He looked first at one party,

and then at the other, straining his little eyes, and trembling with

increasing fear lest he should find himself compromised and given up to

justice.

An abstract of the accounts had been prepared, and it was read by the

notary. They all listened to it attentively, full of uneasy anxiety,

since they could not completely understand, and fearing that if they

let a word pass unheard that very word would somehow bring them into

trouble.

"Have you any observations to make, any of you?" asked the notary when

he had finished reading the abstract.

They all looked bewildered. What observations? Perhaps they had

forgotten something, and were allowing themselves to be robbed.

"Excuse me," La Grande suddenly interposed, "but this by no means suits

Françoise. My brother must be intentionally shutting his eyes if he

can't see that the girl's being defrauded."

"I! what? eh?" stammered Fouan. "I haven't taken a copper of hers, so

help me God!"

"I say that Françoise, since her sister's marriage, now nearly five

years ago, has been employed as her servant, and that she is entitled

to wages."

Buteau sprang up from his seat at this unexpected demand, and Lise

almost choked with anger.

"Wages!" she cried; "wages to a sister! That is too ridiculous!"

Monsieur Baillehache hushed them, and declared that the girl was

perfectly entitled to claim wages if she chose to do so.

"Yes, I do claim them," said Françoise; "I wish to have everything that

is my due."

"But then you must take all her food into account!" cried Buteau, wild

with excitement. "She makes short work with bread and meat! Just you

feel her, and say if you think that she's got as fat as that on air!"

"And then there's her linen and dresses!" Lise added furiously; "and

her washing! Why, she used to sweat so much that she'd soil a chemise

in a couple of days."

"If I sweated like that," replied Françoise, with annoyance, "it was

because I worked so hard."

"Sweat dries and doesn't soil," interposed La Grande, curtly.

Monsieur Baillehache again intervened. He told them that a debtor and

creditor account would have to be drawn up, the wages on one side and

the board and lodging and other expenses on the other. Then he took a

pen, and made an attempt to draw up a statement from the information

they gave him. It was a terrible business. Françoise, backed up by La

Grande, showed herself very exacting, setting a high price upon her

services, and detailing at length all that she had done while she was

with the Buteaus: her work in the household, and with the cows, and

out in the fields, where her brother-in-law had made her labour like a

man. The exasperated Buteaus, on the other hand, swelled out the list

of expenses as much as possible, counting up every meal, telling lies

about the girl's clothes, and claiming even the money which had been

spent in presents for her on fête-days. But, despite all they could do,

they found themselves with a balance of a hundred and eighty-six francs

against them. Their hands trembled and their eyes blazed as they tried

to think of something else that they might charge for.

The statement was about to be passed when Buteau suddenly cried out:

"Stop a moment. There's the doctor. He came twice when she was out of

sorts; that makes another six francs."

La Grande was by no means inclined to let the others enjoy this victory

undisturbed, and she stirred up old Fouan to make him recollect how

many days' work the girl had done on the farm while he was living in

the house. Was it five days or six, at a franc and a half the day?

Françoise cried six, and Lise cried five, hurling the words at each

other's heads as though they had been stones. The distracted old man

now supported one and then the other, tapping his forehead with his

fists. Françoise, however, carried the day, and there was now a balance

to her credit of a hundred and eighty-nine francs.

"Well, is everything included now?" asked the notary.

Buteau seemed quite crushed and overwhelmed with this ever-increasing

liability, and no longer struggling, he sat there hoping that affairs

had now seen their worst.

"I'll take off my shirt if they want it," he groaned in a doleful

voice.

La Grande, however, had kept a last terrible bolt in reserve. It was

a very important and simple matter, which everybody seemed to have

forgotten.

"And then there's the five hundred francs compensation for the road up

yonder."

Buteau now sprang wildly to his feet, his eyes projecting out of his

head, and his mouth wide open. He could say nothing, however; no

discussion was possible. He had received the money, and was bound

to hand half of it over. For a moment he ransacked his brains for

something to say, but he could not think of anything at all; and in

the wild anger that was rising and making his head throb, he suddenly

rushed forward at Jean.

"You filthy blackguard!" he cried, "it is you who killed our

friendship! If it hadn't been for you, we should still have all been

living together in peace and quiet!"

Jean, who had very sensibly preserved silence, was now forced to assume

an attitude of defence.

"Keep off!" he said, "or I'll strike."

Françoise and Lise had hastily sprung up and planted themselves in

front of their respective husbands, their faces swollen by their

gradually accumulating hatred, and their nails outstretched and ready

to tear each other's faces. A general engagement, which neither Fouan

nor La Grande seemed inclined to prevent, would certainly have taken

place, and caps and hair would soon have been flying about, if the

notary had not thrown off his professional calmness.

"Confound it all!" he cried, "wait till you've got outside. It's

disgusting that you can't settle your accounts without fighting!"

Then as the quivering antagonists quieted down, he added: "You are now

agreed, I think, eh? Well, I will have the accounts made out in proper

form, and then, when they have been signed, we will proceed to the sale

of the house, and get the whole matter done with. Now you can go, and

mind you are careful. Folly sometimes turns out very expensive!"

This remark finished pacifying them. As they were leaving, however,

Hyacinthe, who had been waiting outside for his father, attacked the

whole family, and roared out that it was a foul shame to involve a poor

old man in their dirty business for the sake of robbing him, no doubt;

and then, as his drunkenness made him affectionate, he took his father

away, as he had brought him, in a cart, bedded with straw, which he had

borrowed from a neighbour. The Buteaus went off on one side, while La

Grande pushed Jean and Françoise towards "The Jolly Ploughman," where

she had herself treated to some black coffee. She was radiant.

"At any rate I've had a good laugh!" she exclaimed, as she put the

remains of the sugar into her pocket.

La Grande had another idea that same day. When she got back to Rognes,

she hurried off to make an arrangement with old Saucisse, who had once

been a lover of hers, so folks declared. The Buteaus having threatened

to bid against Françoise for the house, even though it cost them

all they possessed, it had occurred to her that if Saucisse bid on

Françoise's behalf the others might not have any suspicions, but let

him secure the house; he was their neighbour and might very well wish

to enlarge his premises. In consideration of a present the old man

immediately consented to do as he was asked.

On the second Sunday of the month, when the sale came off, matters

turned out just as La Grande had foreseen. Once more the Buteaus were

seated on one side of Monsieur Baillehache's office, and Françoise

and Jean and La Grande on the other. There were also various other

people there, some peasants, who had come with a vague idea of bidding,

if things went very cheaply. After four or five bids from Lise and

Françoise, the house stood at three thousand five hundred francs,

which was just about its value. When they got to three thousand

eight hundred, Françoise stopped. Then old Saucisse came upon the

scene, pushed the bidding up to four thousand francs, and then on

to an additional five hundred. The Buteaus looked at each other in

consternation. They felt as though they could really go no higher;

the thought of such a large sum of money quite froze their blood.

Lise, however, let herself be carried away as far as five thousand

francs; but then the old man quite crushed her by immediately bidding

five thousand two hundred. That settled the business, and the house

was knocked down to him for the five thousand two hundred francs. The

Buteaus sniggered. It would be very pleasant to handle their share of

this big sum of money, now that Françoise and her filthy blackguard of

a husband had failed to get the house.

However, when Lise, upon her return to Rognes, once more entered

the old house where she had been born and where she had hitherto

lived, she burst into tears. Buteau, also, was dreadfully cut up and

down-hearted, and he relieved his feelings by falling foul of his wife;

swearing that if he had had his own way he would have parted with the

last hair on his head rather than have let the house go. But your

heartless women, he cried, refused to open their purses, except it

were for self-indulgence. In this, however, he was lying, for it was

he himself who had held Lise back. Then they got to blows. Ah! The

poor old patrimonial abode of the Fouans, built by an ancestor three

hundred years previously, and now crazy and cracked, mended and patched

in every part, sunken and thrown forward by the sweeping winds of La

Beauce! To think that the family had lived in it for three hundred

years, that they had grown to love it and honour it as a holy relic,

and that it was counted as a leading item in the inheritances! Buteau,

at the thought of losing it, knocked his wife down with a back-hander,

and when she struggled up again she kicked him so violently that she

nearly broke his leg.

On the evening of the next day matters were even worse--the thunderbolt

fell. Old Saucisse had gone in the morning to complete the sale, and

by noon all Rognes knew that he had bought the house on behalf of

Françoise, with her husband's authorisation; and not only the house,

but the furniture also, and Gédéon and La Coliche. There was a howl of

anguish and distress at the Buteaus', as though lightning had stricken

them. Husband and wife threw themselves upon the ground, and roared and

wept in their wild despair at finding themselves defeated, outwitted,

by that hussy of a girl. What maddened them, perhaps, more than

anything else, was the knowledge that the whole village was laughing

at them for their lack of penetration. To be fooled in this way, and

turned out of their own house by such a trick! No, indeed, it was too

much! They would not submit to it!

When La Grande presented herself the same evening on Françoise's

behalf, and politely inquired of Buteau when it would be convenient for

him to give up possession, he thrust her out of the house, casting all

prudence to the winds and only making use of a foul expression.

The old woman went off chuckling, simply remarking that she would send

the bailiff. The next day, indeed, Vimeux, with a pale, uneasy face,

and looking more pitiable than usual, came up the street and gently

knocked at the door, anxiously watched by all the gossips in the

neighbouring houses. No notice was taken of his knock, and he gave a

louder one, and even summoned up enough courage to call out and explain

that he had come to serve a notice to quit. Then the window of the

garret was opened, and a voice roared out the same foul word as had

been addressed to La Grande; while the contents of a chamber utensil

were flung upon Vimeux, who, soaked from head to foot, had to go off

without serving the notice. For a whole month Rognes roared over his

adventure.

La Grande, however, now immediately went off to Châteaudun with Jean,

to consult a lawyer. The latter explained to her that at least five

days would be necessary before the Buteaus could be ejected. Complaint

would have to be formally laid; then an order would have to be obtained

from the presiding judge; this order would then have to be registered,

and then the ejectment would take place, the bailiff being assisted

by the gendarmes, if necessary. La Grande tried hard to get matters

settled a day sooner, and when she returned to Rognes--it was then

Tuesday--she told every one that on the Saturday evening the Buteaus

would be turned into the street at the point of the sword like thieves,

if they did not voluntarily take themselves off in the meantime.

When this was repeated to Buteau, he made a threatening gesture and

told every one he met that he would never leave the house alive, and

that the soldiers would have to break down the walls before they

dragged him out. His fury acquired such an extravagant character that

the whole neighbourhood was at a loss to know whether he was pretending

to be mad, or really was so. He passed wildly along the roads, standing

in the front of his cart, and keeping his horse at the gallop, without

replying when he was spoken to or warning the foot passengers. He

was met at nights, too, how in one part of the neighbourhood, now

in another, returning from nobody knew where, possibly from seeing

the fiend. One man who had ventured up to him had received a heavy

cut from his whip. He spread terror abroad, and the whole village

was soon constantly on the look-out. One morning it was seen that he

had barricaded the house, and terrible cries were heard from behind

the closed doors, piteous howls in which the neighbours fancied they

could distinguish the voices of Lise and her two children, Laure and

Jules. The whole neighbourhood was revolutionised, and took counsel

together as to what should be done; with the result that an old peasant

risked his life by raising a ladder to one of the windows, in view of

climbing up to see what was going on inside. Buteau, however, opened

the window, and overturned both the ladder and the old man, the latter

almost having his legs broken. Couldn't a chap be left alone in his own

house? Buteau roared as he shook his fists, and he threatened to murder

everybody if they made any further attempt to interfere with him. Lise

also appeared with her two children, and gave utterance to a flood of

virulent language, abusing her neighbours for poking their noses into

what did not concern them. After that no one dared to make any further

attempt at interference; but the general alarm increased at every

fresh outburst, and people shuddered as they listened to the dreadful

uproar. The more cynical fellows thought that Buteau was only acting,

but others swore that he had gone off his nut, and that some terrible

result would ensue. The truth, however, was never known.

On the Friday, the day before the Buteaus were to be ejected, another

scene caused great emotion. Buteau, having met his father near the

church, began to cry like a calf, kneeling down on the ground in

front of the old man, and asking pardon of him for all his previous

misconduct. It was probably owing to that, he said, that his present

troubles had come upon him. He besought his father to return to live

with him, seeming to think that this alone could put fortune again on

his side. Fouan, worried by all this braying, and amazed by his son's

seeming repentance, promised to entertain the proposal some day, when

all the family worries were over.

At last the Saturday arrived. Buteau's excitement had gone on

increasing, and from morn to night he was ever harnessing and

unharnessing his horse again without the slightest reason. Folks fled

out of the way when they saw him driving furiously along, full of

consternation at the sight of all this aimless rushing about. At about

eight o'clock on the Saturday morning Buteau once more put his horse

between the shafts, but did not leave his premises. He took up his

stand at the door, calling out to every one who passed by, sniggering

and sobbing and yelling out his troubles in coarse language. Oh, it was

a nice thing, wasn't it? to be made a fool of by a young hussy who'd

been his keep for the last five years! Yes, she was a strumpet, and

so was his wife! Yes, a couple of fine strumpets, who fought together

as to which of them he should belong. He continued harping upon this

lie, inventing all kinds of nasty details out of spite and revengeful

bitterness. Lise having come to the door, there was another atrocious

scene between them. Buteau thrashed her in sight of everybody, and then

sent her back again, limp and subdued, while he himself felt relieved

by the hiding he had given her. He still remained at the door on the

look-out for the agents of the law, which he jeered at and reviled. Had

the law stopped on the way to make a beast of herself? he cried. At

last, no longer expecting the bailiff, he became triumphant.

It was not till four o'clock that Vimeux made his appearance,

accompanied by a couple of gendarmes. Buteau turned pale, and hastily

closed the yard door. Possibly he had believed that matters would never

be pushed to an extremity. A death-like silence fell upon the house.

Protected by armed men, Vimeux was now quite insolent, and knocked

at the door with his two fists. No answer was vouchsafed. Then the

gendarmes came forward and made the old door shake with the butts of

their guns. A crowd of men, women, and children had followed them; all

Rognes was there, waiting to see the siege. Then suddenly the door was

thrown open again, and Buteau was seen, standing in the front of his

cart, and lashing his horse forward. He came out at a gallop, right

into the midst of the assembled crowd.

"I'm going to drown myself! I'm going to drown myself!" he bellowed out

amid the cries of alarm.

It was all up, and he was going to make an end of it by hurling himself

and his horse and cart into the Aigre!

"Look out, there," he shouted; "I'm going to drown myself!"

Fright dispersed the inquisitive folks, as Buteau lashed his whip and

the cart rushed wildly out. However, just as he was going to dash down

the slope, at the risk of smashing the wheels of the vehicle, several

men ran forward to arrest his course. The obstinate fool was quite

capable of making the plunge, they cried, just for the sake of annoying

people! They caught him up, but there was a struggle; while some sprang

to the horse's head others had to climb into the cart. When they led

him back to the house again, he clenched his teeth and stiffened his

whole body, but said not a single word, letting fate take its course,

with no other protest save the silence of impotent anger.

La Grande now made her appearance with Françoise and Jean, whom she

was bringing to take possession of the house. Buteau contented himself

with staring at them with the sombre gaze with which he now watched

the completion of his misfortune. Lise, however, began to cry out and

struggle, as though she were mad. The gendarmes had ordered her to take

what belonged to her and quit the premises. There was nothing left for

her but to obey, since her husband was poltroon enough, she cried, to

stand by without striking a blow in her defence. With her arms a-kimbo,

she began to abuse him.

"You craven! to stand by and allow us to be turned into the street in

this way! You haven't got any pluck, eh? Why don't you hit the swine!

Get out of my sight, you coward! You're no man!"

As she went on yelling all this in his face, exasperated by his

quiescent demeanour, he at last gave her such a violent shove that she

moaned. However, he still persisted in his silence, and merely glowered

at her with his sombre eyes.

"Come now, look sharp," cried Vimeux, triumphantly, "We shan't go away

till you have given up the keys to the new owners."

Lise thereupon began to remove her goods in a wild paroxysm of rage.

During the last three days she and Buteau had already transferred

a great many things, tools and implements, and the larger domestic

utensils, to the house of their neighbour, La Frimat. It was indeed

evident that they had really anticipated the ejection, for they had

made arrangements with the old woman to have the use of her house

till they had time to settle down again. The place was too big for La

Frimat, who merely retained the bedroom to which her paralysed husband

was confined.

As the furniture and live-stock had been sold together with the house,

Lise merely had to remove her linen, her mattresses, and a few other

trifling articles. Everything was tossed out of the door and windows

into the middle of the yard, while the two little ones yelled as though

they thought that their last day had come, Laure clinging to her

mother's skirts, while Jules, who had tumbled down, was wallowing in

the midst of the ejected property. As Buteau made no attempt to assist

his wife, the gendarmes, like good fellows, began to place the bundles

in the cart, which was still standing in front of the door.

However, the row commenced all over again when Lise caught sight of

Françoise and Jean, standing beside La Grande. She rushed forward and

gave free flow to all her accumulated wrath and spite.

"Ah, you filthy cat, you've come to look on with your tom, have you?

Yes, feast your eyes on our trouble! It's just as though you were

drinking our blood! You thief! you thief! you thief!"

She almost choked as she shouted this last word, which she hurled again

at her sister every time she came out into the yard with some fresh

burden. Françoise did not reply. She was very pale, her lips were

closely pressed together, and her eyes seemed to be on fire. But soon

she assumed an air of suspicious watchfulness, and gazed at everything

that was brought out, as though she wished to make sure that nothing

belonging to herself was taken away. Presently her eye fell upon a

kitchen-stool which had been included in the sale.

"That belongs to me," she exclaimed in a rough voice.

"Belongs to you, does it?" replied her sister; "go and fetch it, then!"

and she hurled the stool into the pond.

The house was at last evacuated. Buteau took hold of the horse's

bridle, while Lise picked up her two children, her two last bundles,

Jules in her right arm and Laure in the left. Then, as she finally left

her home, she stepped up to Françoise and spat in her face.

"There! take that for yourself!"

Her sister immediately spat back at her.

"And you take that!"

After these farewell words, the offspring of their bitter hatred, Lise

and Françoise slowly wiped their faces, without taking their eyes off

one another. They were sundered for ever now; there was henceforth

nothing in common between them save their kindred blood, which surged

with such hot hate.

Finally, Buteau opened his mouth again to roar out the order to start,

which he coupled with a threatening gesture in the direction of the

house.

"It won't be long before we come back again!"

La Grande followed them to see the end of it all; and, indeed, now that

the Buteaus were completely overthrown, she resolved to turn against

Françoise and Jean, who had left her so speedily, and whom she already

found much too happy together. For a long time the villagers continued

standing about in groups, talking to each other in undertones.

Françoise and Jean had entered the empty house.

While the Buteaus were unloading their bundles at La Frimat's they were

amazed to see old Fouan appear. With a frightened look, and glancing

behind him as though he was afraid of being pursued, he asked: "Is

there a corner here for me? I have come to sleep here."

He had just fled in terror from Hyacinthe's. For a long time past

whenever he awoke during the night he always saw that bony creature

La Trouille prowling in her chemise about his room, searching for the

papers, which he had now taken the precaution to conceal out-of-doors

in a hole in a rock, which he had stopped up with earth. The girl was

sent on this errand by her father on account of her light suppleness,

and she glided about with bare feet just like a snake, insinuating

herself everywhere, between the chairs and under the bed. She evinced

the greatest enthusiasm in the search, feeling certain that the old

man placed the papers somewhere about his person when he dressed

himself, and exasperated that she could not discover where he hid

them on going to bed. She had convinced herself that he did not put

them in the bed itself, for she had felt everywhere with her slender

arm, with such skilful dexterity that Fouan had scarcely known that

she had touched him. On that particular day, however, soon after

breakfast, he had had a fainting fit, falling against the table in

a state of unconsciousness; and, as he came to himself again, still

so overcome that he kept his eyes closed, he realised that he was

lying on the ground near where he had fallen, and he could feel that

Hyacinthe and La Trouille were undressing him. Instead of doing what

they could to bring him round, the wretches had had but one idea,

that of at once profiting by the fit to search him. La Trouille

manifested an angry roughness in her search, not going about it in

her wonted gentle manner, but pulling roughly at his jacket and

trousers, and even examining every corner of his flesh to make sure

that he had not concealed his treasure there. She turned him round,

and then, stretching out his limbs, she searched him as though she

were ransacking some old bag. Nothing! Where could he have hidden the

papers? It was enough to make one cut him open and look inside!

The old man was in such terror lest he should be murdered if he moved

that he still feigned unconsciousness, and kept his eyes closed and

his legs and arms rigid. But as soon as he found himself free again he

fled, firmly resolved never to spend another night at the Château.

"Tell me, can you give me a corner?" he asked again.

Buteau's spirits seemed to revive at his father's unexpected return. It

was money that was coming back.

"Certainly I can, dad! We'll squeeze together to find a corner for you.

It will bring us luck, too. Ah, I should be a rich man, if merely a

good heart were needed to make one so!"

Françoise and Jean had slowly entered the empty house. The night was

closing in, and the rooms lay silent in the mournful, fading light.

Everything there was very old. This patrimonial roof had sheltered

the toil and wretchedness of three centuries, and there was an air of

solemnity about the place such as dwells in the gloom of an ancient

village church. The doors were still standing open. It seemed as

though a storm of wind had blown through the house; the chairs lay

overturned on the ground amid the general chaos of the removal. The

place looked as though it were dead.

Françoise slowly went over it, examining every corner. Vague

recollections and confused sensations awoke in her as she proceeded. In

that spot she had played as a child. It was in the kitchen, near that

table, that her father had died. As she stood in the bedroom, in front

of the bed stripped of its mattress, she thought of Lise and Buteau,

and of the nights when they had embraced each other so vigorously that

she could hear the sound of their panting breath through the ceiling.

Was she even now to be tormented by them? She felt as though Buteau

were still there. Here he had seized hold of her one night, and she had

bitten him. And here again, too, and here. There was not a corner in

the whole house that did not suggest some painful recollection.

Then as Françoise turned round, she started at seeing Jean. What was

this stranger doing in the house? There was an air of constraint about

him, as though he were on a visit, and did not like to take the liberty

of touching anything. She felt overwhelmed with a feeling of solitude,

and grew sick at heart to find that her victory had not made her more

joyful. She had fancied she would enter the house, full of happiness,

triumphant in the thought of having ejected her sister; but now the

house afforded her no pleasure, and her heart was heavy and ill at

ease. Perhaps it was the dying day that was filling her with melancholy!

When the night had quite fallen, she and her husband were still

wandering from one room to another in the darkness, without having had

the courage even to light a candle.

Presently, however, a noise brought them back into the kitchen, and

they became merry on recognising Gédéon, who had effected an entrance

after his usual custom, and had his head inside the side-board, which

had been left open. Close by, inside the stable, they could hear old La

Coliche lowing.

Then Jean, taking Françoise in his arms, kissed her tenderly, as though

to say that, despite everything, they would be happy.

PART V.