The Honor of the Name by Emile Gaboriau (free ebook novel TXT) 📖

that deprive a dependent of all strength and courage; “quite enough.”

Then, in gentler tones:

“I must talk with this man,” she added.

“You, Aunt Medea, will remain at a little distance. Keep a close watch on every side, and if you see anyone approaching, call me, whoever it may be.”

Aunt Medea, submissive as she was ever wont to be, obeyed; and Mme. Blanche advanced toward the old poacher, who stood as motionless as the trunks of the giant trees around him.

“Well, my good Father Chupin, what sort of sport have you had to-day?” she began, when she was a few steps from him.

“What do you want with me?” growled Chupin; “for you do want something, or you would not trouble yourself about such as I.”

It required all Blanche’s determination to repress a gesture of fright and of disgust; but, in a resolute tone, she replied:

“Yes, it is true that I have a favor to ask you.”

“Ah, ha! I supposed so.”

“A mere trifle which will cost you no trouble and for which you shall be well paid.”

She said this so carelessly that one would really have supposed the service was unimportant; but cleverly as she played her part, Chupin was not deceived.

“No one asks trifling services of a man like me,” he said coarsely.

“Since I have served the good cause, at the peril of my life, people seem to suppose that they have a right to come to me with their money in their hands, when they desire any dirty work done. It is true that I was well paid for that other job; but I would like to melt all the gold and pour it down the throats of those who gave it to me.

“Ah! I know what it costs the humble to listen to the words of the great! Go your way; and if you have any wickedness in your head, do it yourself!”

He shouldered his gun and was moving away, when Mme. Blanche said, coldly:

“It was because I knew your wrongs that I stopped you; I thought you would be glad to serve me, because I hate the Sairmeuse.”

These words excited the interest of the old poacher, and he paused.

“I know very well that you hate the Sairmeuse now—but——”

“But what!”

“In less than a month you will be reconciled. And you will pay the expenses of the war and of the reconciliation? That old wretch, Chupin——”

“We shall never be reconciled.”

“Hum!” he growled, after deliberating awhile. “And if I should aid you, what compensation will you give me?”

“I will give you whatever you desire—money, land, a house——”

“Many thanks. I desire something quite different.”

“What? Name your conditions.”

Chupin reflected a moment, then he replied:

“This is what I desire. I have enemies—I do not even feel safe in my own house. My sons abuse me when I have been drinking; my wife is quite capable of poisoning my wine; I tremble for my life and for my money. I cannot endure this existence much longer. Promise me an asylum in the Chateau de Courtornieu, and I am yours. In your house I shall be safe. But let it be understood, I will not be ill-treated by the servants as I was at Sairmeuse.”

“It shall be as you desire.”

“Swear it by your hope of heaven.”

“I swear.”

There was such an evident sincerity in her accent that Chupin was reassured. He leaned toward her, and said, in a low voice:

“Now tell me your business.”

His small gray eyes glittered with a demoniac light; his thin lips were tightly drawn over his sharp teeth; he was evidently expecting some proposition to murder, and he was ready.

His attitude showed this so plainly that Blanche shuddered.

“Really, what I ask of you is almost nothing,” she replied. “I only wish you to watch the Marquis de Sairmeuse.”

“Your husband?”

“Yes; my husband. I wish to know what he does, where he goes, and what persons he sees. I wish to know how each moment of his time is spent.”

“What! seriously, frankly, is this all that you desire of me?” Chupin asked.

“For the present, yes. My plans are not yet decided. It depends upon circumstances what action I shall take.”

“You can rely upon me,” he responded; “but I must have a little time.”

“Yes, I understand. To-day is Saturday; will you be ready to report on Thursday?”

“In five days? Yes, probably.”

“In that case, meet me here on Thursday, at this same hour.”

A cry from Aunt Medea interrupted them.

“Someone is coming!” Mme. Blanche exclaimed. “Quick! we must not be seen together. Conceal yourself.”

With a bound the old poacher disappeared in the forest.

A servant had approached Aunt Medea, and was speaking to her with great animation.

Blanche hastened toward them.

“Ah! Mademoiselle,” exclaimed the servant, “we have been seeking you everywhere for three hours. Your father, monsieur le marquis—mon Dieu! what a misfortune! A physician has been summoned.”

“Is my father dead?”

“No, Mademoiselle, no; but—how can I tell you? When the marquis went out this morning his actions were very strange, and—and—when he returned——”

As he spoke the servant tapped his forehead with the end of his forefinger.

“You understand me, Mademoiselle—when he returned, reason had fled!”

Without waiting for her terrified aunt, Blanche darted in the direction of the chateau.

“How is the marquis?” she inquired of the first servant whom she met.

“He is in his room on the bed; he is more quiet now.”

She had already reached his room. He was seated upon the bed, and two servants were watching his every movement. His face was livid, and a white foam had gathered upon his lips. Still, he recognized his daughter.

“Here you are,” said he. “I was waiting for you.”

She remained