The Idol of Paris Part 21

"That will be very good, kind lady, for then we can have a little heat, and that is what the little one needs. The sun never comes into my room, ah! it can't, the hole is not big enough. And then in the evening when the fog begins, my little boy, he coughs so, and that makes me s.h.i.+ver; then I take him in my bed, but my blood is not warm enough so he can't get warm. Ah! but that will be good for him, to have wood! Thank you."

For the first time her face broke into a smile, for she had almost forgotten how to smile. Her life had been nearly all tears. Suddenly she raised her head in fright--"What may that noise be?"

At the door a cart stopped. On the cart a big barrel.

"Here is some water, Mme. Borderie, that we are going to pour into your cistern."

With the help of the carter and Maurice, Albert got to work and behold! the cistern half full. Albert tried the pump.

"Don't waste any, in Heaven's name," cried the old woman.

"No, no, never mind. Anyway there is another barrel on its way."

In fact another cart was stopping before the door. This barrel being smaller. Albert, impatient at the peasant's slowness, picked it up himself and rolling it along, emptied it like the first in the cistern.

"Look there, will you, Mother," cried out the second carter, "that isn't any cheap water. The fine gentleman has given a hundred francs to the town so you could have that water there."

The Count coloured to the roots of his hair. He thought that Esperance had not heard, but he met her contrite glance, full of grat.i.tude. With Genevieve's help she washed the little fellow, who was very docile, sniffing with pleasure the "good smell" of these ladies. Bathed, combed, in his new clothes, he was a darling.

"I don't know you any longer, little boy. Who are you?" chuckled the old woman. And she kissed the child, saying, "On Sunday, we will go to Ma.s.s, you will be as fine as the other little boys."

She saw all her visitors to the door, and when Esperance jumped on her horse, "You aren't afraid up there? You know horses aren't exactly treacherous, but they are uncertain, and then these dreadful flies make them wild. _Au revoir_, Madame; my good gentlemen, thank you. Good luck, Mam'zelle."

The four riders returned together. Pa.s.sing the little village of Debers, they had to stop; a big hay wagon barred the way. The peasant who was driving was abominably drunk. He swore and struck his horses and jerked them violently towards the ditch. Maurice ordered him to make way. He laughed foolishly and swore at them insultingly. Maurice and the Count started forward, and the peasant menaced them with the scythe resting on the seat beside him. In a flash Albert leapt from his horse, threw the reins to Maurice, and went straight to the drunkard. The fellow tried to brandish his scythe, but already Albert had wrenched it from him and threw it aside. Then seizing the man, he pulled him down on his knees and held him there until he begged for pardon. The rustic, suddenly sobered, and raging with impatience, paid in full the apologies exacted by the Count, before he was allowed to get up.

Jean, during this contest, had led the horses out of their way. The driver, pale with fury, swung his whip at large and it struck Esperance's horse. The poor beast, mad with fright, took the bit between his teeth and started out on a dizzy run. Albert saw at a glance the only possible way to stop his course.

"Go to the left and cut across the road," he cried, "I'll take the right."

And he put his horse across the fields.

Esperance's horse did not follow the bend of the road as Styvens had expected. Blinded by fright, it made straight ahead towards the cliffs.

Once on the rocks, there was the precipice and certain death.

The Count's horse leapt as if it understood what it had to do.

The Count came up just as Esperance lost her seat and fell with one foot caught in the stirrup. Her lovely blonde hair swept the earth.

Twenty yards more and that exquisite little head would be crashed upon the rocks.

With a desperate effort, Albert by spurring his horse furiously was able to reach her horse's head, seize him by the bridle and swing himself to the ground.

Braced against the rocks, he succeeded in halting the trembling beast, and bent in anguish over the fainting girl. But just as he freed Esperance's feet, the horse, still trampling and plunging, kicked him full in the head. He went down like a stone.

Maurice and Jean had now come up. One calmed the horse, the other went to the aid of the wounded man. Albert, his face streaming with blood, was murmuring feebly, "No, she is not dead; no, she is not dead...."

He fell back unconscious.

Jean was kneeling beside Esperance. He raised his eyes to Maurice, moist with tears, but bright with hope.

"She is alive," he said, "she has just moaned feebly. It is only a little way to the farm. Hurry Maurice, go for help. G.o.d grant the Count's wound may not be fatal...."

The peasants who were haymaking nearby had left their work and come upon the scene. One man offered his cart and Albert was lifted, unconscious and bloodstained, and laid on the hay.

Esperance had come to her senses. She could see, but could not understand. A peasant woman, kneeling beside her, washed her face in water from a pool in the rocks.

Suddenly she recollected her comrade.

"Jean," she cried with fright, "Jean, Count Styvens?"

Jean sorrowfully showed her the wagon where he lay. Esperance, leaning on the young actor, stood up to be able to see, and a great sob shook her from head to feet.

"My G.o.d! my G.o.d!" she moaned, "is he killed?"

"No, I don't think so, not yet at least...."

"And his mother, his poor mother.... But what happened? I don't remember.... It is terrible...."

Jean described what had happened, and how the Count had s.n.a.t.c.hed her from certain death.

Esperance began to cry bitterly.

Meantime Maurice was returning with the victoria in which were M. and Madame Darbois. The wagon was sent on its way very slowly. Francois stepped down quickly and took his daughter in his arms, intending to carry her to the carriage.

"My father, I am able to walk...." she stifled with sobs. "But he...."

The philosopher put her in the victoria beside her mother, and begged Jean to stay with them. Then he rejoined the cart, and climbed up beside Maurice who was supporting the limp head on the hay.

The professor had studied a little medicine. He could see that the wound was grave, but the young man was robust and he allowed himself to hope.

Maurice recounted the accident with all its details.

"Brave fellow," said Francois, taking the cold hand. And tears, he could scarcely restrain, began to fill his eyes.

Soon they all arrived at the farm. Marguerite, as she had been instructed, had prepared the Darbois's room to receive the wounded man. Esperance, exhausted, was put to bed, and was soon asleep, watched over by Mlle. Frahender, who prayed silently, counting over her rosary.

They had difficulty in moving Albert Styvens. His great body was heavy and difficult to raise. Finally, after they had washed and bound up his head, they succeeded in undressing him and making him as comfortable as possible in the great bed.

A quarter of an hour later he opened his eyes, and, in response to the anxious faces leaning over him, smiled sweetly.

"And she?" he asked in a feeble voice.

"Thanks to your courage, she is all right," said Mme. Darbois. "You have the blessings of a grateful mother."

She put the young man's hand to her lips. Two warm tears fell down on it. The young man trembled, then his face grew radiant. They followed his glance. On the threshold stood Esperance, leaning upon Genevieve.

A half-hour of profound sleep had completely restored her. She had waked suddenly, and seeing Genevieve and Mlle. Frahender beside her, had asked, "How is Count Albert?"

And in spite of the protests of both women, she had got up. She wanted to be sure, she wanted to see!