Complete Works of Emile Zola (994 page)

As he raised his eyes, he was surprised to find himself opposite La Borderie. Prompted by an instinct of which he had been scarcely conscious in his grief, he had made his way to the farm as to a place of refuge. Indeed, if he remained in the neighbourhood, this was the place to find work and food and lodging. Hourdequin had always held him in esteem, and he was sure of being well received.

However, the sight of La Cognette in the distance, flying wildly across the yard, thrilled him with an uneasy feeling of disquietude. Eleven o’clock was striking as he arrived, and some hours earlier a frightful catastrophe had happened. That morning, on coming down before the servant-girl, La Cognette had found the cellar trap-door — that trap-door situated so dangerously near the staircase — open, and Hourdequin lying below quite dead, with his back broken against the edge of a step. The young woman shrieked, the servants rushed up, and the whole place was overwhelmed with panic. The farmer’s body was now lying on a mattress in the dining-room, while Jacqueline was in the kitchen fairly off her nut, with her face distorted but tearless.

As soon as Jean entered, she broke out, relieving herself in a choking voice:

“I said it would be so! and I tried to get the trap altered! But who could it be that left it open? I’m positive it was closed last night when I went upstairs to bed. I’ve been racking my head all the morning in trying to make it out.”

“The master came down before you did, then?” asked Jean, quite stupefied by the accident.

“Yes, it was scarcely light, and I was asleep; I fancied I heard some one calling from downstairs, but I may have dreamt it. He frequently got up in this way and went down­stairs without a light to see the servants as soon as they turned out. He could not see that the trap was open, and he fell. But who can have left it open? Oh, this will be the death of me, it will!”

Jean had felt a passing suspicion, but he at once thrust it away from him. Jacqueline could have no possible interest in Hourdequin’s death, and her grief was evidently sincere.

“It is a terrible misfortune,” he murmured.

“Yes, indeed; a terrible misfortune for me, a terrible one!”

Then she fell down on a chair, completely overcome, as though the very walls were toppling over upon her. The master, whose legitimate wife she had so confidently reckoned on becoming! The master, who had sworn to leave her every­thing in his will! And now he was dead, dead before he had had time to sign a single paper! She would not even get any wages; the son would come back and kick her out of the house as he had threatened to do! She would have nothing but the few ornaments and the clothes she wore! It was ruin, disas­trous and complete!

But what Jacqueline omitted to mention, the matter, indeed, having entirely slipped from her mind in her present trouble, was the dismissal of Soulas, the shepherd, which she had succeeded in effecting on the previous evening. Exas­perated at finding him always at her elbow, playing the spy upon her, she accused him of being too old, and no longer competent to perform his duties. The farmer, although he did not agree with this statement, yielded to her wishes; for he was now completely under her domination, content to purchase her goodwill by slave-like submission. Soulas looked his master keenly in the face with his pale eyes as he was dis­missed with kindly words and promises for the future, and then he slowly began to relieve his mind anent the hussy who had brought about his discharge. He accused her of dissolute behaviour with Tron and a score of others. He gave full particulars, mentioning the places where she and Tron had met, and declaring that their shameless amours were matter of common notoriety — to such a degree, indeed, that folks said that the master was content to take the servant’s leavings, as it was impossible he could be so blind as not to see what was going on. The farmer, overwhelmed with distress and con­sternation at what he heard, vainly attempted to stop the old man, preferring to remain in ignorance, and fearful of being compelled to turn the young woman out of the house; but Soulas persisted in finishing his indictment, and did not stop until he had specified each separate occasion upon which he had found the two together. Then he felt somewhat soothed and easier in his mind, having at last unburdened himself of his long pent up wrath and spite. Jacqueline knew nothing of this, for Hourdequin had at once rushed into the fields, fearing lest he should strangle her if he came across her in his present mood. When he returned to the house he quietly dismissed Tron, upon the pretext that the young fellow left the yard in a filthily dirty condition. Upon hearing of this, Jacqueline cer­tainly had some suspicions; but she did not venture to plead in the cowherd’s favour, contenting herself by obtaining per­mission that he should remain another night on the premises, and trusting that she would be able to arrange matters in the morning, so that he might stay on. At present the thought of all this had faded away in the presence of that stroke of fate which had shattered the castle in the air so laboriously erected during the last ten years.

Jean was quite alone with her in the kitchen when Tron came in. She had not seen the latter since the previous even­ing. The other servants, unoccupied and anxious, were wander­ing about the farm. When she now perceived the big, strapping fellow, with his pinky face, she broke out into a cry — oc­casioned by the suspicious sort of way in which he came in.

“It is you who opened the trap!” she screamed, and then she suddenly understood the whole matter; Tron meanwhile stand­ing by, with pale face, staring eyes, and open, trembling lips.

“It was you who opened the trap, and then called to him to come down, so that he might break his neck!”

Jean started back, quite overcome by what he had just heard. In the violence of their passionate agitation neither of the others seemed to notice his presence. With his head lowered Tron sullenly confessed the crime.

“Yes,” he said, “I did it. He had dismissed me, and I should never have seen you again, and that was more than I could bear. And then I thought that if he were to die we should be free.”

Jacqueline listened to him, erect and rigid, her whole body in a state of acute nervous tension. He went on complacently, revealing the thoughts that had sprung up in his savage breast, the fierce jealousy of a servant against his master, and the treacherous plan which he had formed to secure unshared pos­session of the woman he loved.

“I felt sure that you would be pleased when it was over,” said he; “I didn’t mention it to you beforehand, because I didn’t want to cause you any worry. But now that he’s out of the way, I’ve come to take you off. We’ll go away together and get married.”

Jacqueline, wild with anger, now broke out in a harsh voice:

“Marry you! But I don’t love you! I won’t have you! Ah! so you killed him to get me? You must be even a greater fool than I thought you were! To act so stupidly before he had married me, before he had made his will! You have ruined me! You have taken the bread out of my mouth. It is my back, mine, that you have broken! Can you understand that much, now, you idiotic brute? And you imagine that I will go away with you? Why, you must take me for an arrant fool!”

Tron heard her in gaping amazement, quite stupefied by this unexpected reception.

“Just because I’ve joked with you,” she continued, “and we’ve had a little amusement, you imagine that I’m going to let myself be bored by you all the days of my life? Marry you, indeed! No, no, if ever I take a husband, I’ll choose a sharper fellow than you are! Come, get out of my sight! It makes me ill to look at you! I detest you, and I won’t have you! Be off!”

Tron quivered with rage. What! So he had committed murder for nothing? No, no, she belonged to him, and he would seize her by the throat and carry her off.

“You are a stuck-up, conceited drab!” he growled; “but you’ll come with me all the same. If you don’t, I shall settle your hash as I settled his!”

La Cognette stepped towards him, clenching her fists.

“Try it on, you murderer!”

Tron was very strong and broad and tall, while Jacqueline was weak and slight and delicately made. However, it was he who started back, so threatening did she look, with her teeth ready to bite and her eyes gleaming like daggers.

“It’s all over,” she resumed; “take yourself off! I would rather never see a man again than allow you to touch me now. Be off — be off — be off!”

Then Tron went out, stepping backwards like some wild beast giving way to fear, and deferring vengeance.

“Dead or alive, I’ll have you!” he blurted out threateningly.

Jacqueline watched him leave the farm, heaving a sigh of relief. Then as she turned round, quivering all over, she did not seem at all surprised to see Jean; but, in an outburst of frankness, exclaimed:

“Ah, the villain! I would have him marched off by the gendarmes, if I weren’t afraid that they would lock me up with him.”

Jean was frozen with horror by what he had just heard, and could not find a word to say. The young woman, too, now underwent a nervous reaction. She seemed to be suffocating, and fell into Jean’s arms, sobbing and wailing that she was very wretched — oh, so very wretched and miserable! Her tears continued to flow in streams down her face; she seemed craving for sympathy and love, and clung to Jean as though she were yearning for him to take her away and protect her. The young man was beginning to feel very uncomfortable, when the dead farmer’s brother-in-law, Monsieur Baillehache, who had been fetched by one of the farm-servants, sprang out of his gig in the yard. Jacqueline at once rushed off to him and paraded her despair.

Jean, making his escape from the kitchen, presently found himself again on the bare plain beneath a rainy March sky. But he scarcely knew where he was, being completely upset by the tragedy of Hourdequin’s death, which added another pang to all his troubles. However, he had his own load of worry to bear, and, despite his sorrow for his old master’s fate, he quickened his steps, thinking of his own interests. It was no business of his to hand La Cognette and her lover over to justice. The authorities ought to open their eyes. Twice he turned round, fancying he heard some one shouting after him, and vaguely feeling as though he were an accomplice in the murder. It was only when he reached the outskirts of Rognes that he again breathed freely; he said to himself that the farmer’s death was the result of his own sin; and he pondered anent that great truth that men would be much happier if there were no women in the world. His mind reverted to Fran­çoise, and a big lump seemed to rise in his throat and nearly choke him.

When he found himself in the village again he recollected that he had gone to the farm to seek work. He now began to feel very uneasy, and racked his brains as to whom he could next apply to. Then it struck him that Monsieur Charles had been looking out for a gardener recently. Why should he not go and offer his services? He was still, in a way, somewhat of the family, and perhaps that might be a recommendation. So he hastened off in the direction of Roseblanche.

It was one o’clock, and Monsieur and Madame Charles were just finishing their late breakfast as the servant introduced him. Elodie was pouring out the black coffee, and Monsieur Charles, making his cousin sit down, asked him to take a cup. Jean accepted it; he had eaten nothing since the previous evening, and his stomach felt very drawn. The coffee would do him good. Now that he found himself sitting at table with this well-to-do family, he could not bring himself to ask point-blank for the gardener’s place. He must wait for an oppor­tunity. As Madame Charles began to sympathise with him and to bewail poor Françoise’s death, he felt very melancholy and depressed again. The family evidently believed that he had come to say good-bye to them.

The servant soon came into the room again to say that the Delhommes, father and son, had called; and Jean was quite forgotten.

“Show them in here, and bring two more cups,” said Mon­sieur Charles.

It had been a somewhat exciting morning altogether for the Charleses. Nénesse had accompanied them to Roseblanche after the funeral, and, while Madame Charles and Elodie went into the house, he had detained the husband and openly proposed to purchase Number 19, providing they could agree as to terms. According to his account, the house, which he knew very well, would only fetch a miserable price if it went into the market. Vaucogne, he said, would not get five thousand francs for it, so greatly had it depreciated in value under his management. A complete change would have to be made in every particular. The furniture was shabby and ricketty, and the staff had been so badly chosen and was so unsatisfactory that even the soldiers were deserting the place. He went on for a whole hour running down the house in this fashion, quite bewildering his uncle, and amazing him by his acute shrewdness and bar­gaining powers, and by the extraordinary business talent he showed for one so young. Ah, here was a capital young fellow! thought Monsieur Charles; one with a sharp eye and a ready hand. Nénesse concluded by saying that he would come again after breakfast with his father, so that they might talk the matter over seriously.

On getting indoors, Monsieur Charles informed his wife of what had occurred, and she expressed great astonishment at the young man’s ability. If only their son-in-law, Vaucogne, had had but half his capacity! They would have to be careful as to what they were about, if they wished to avoid getting the worst of the bargain with this young fellow. It was Elodie’s dowry that was at stake. Mingled, however, with the fear they felt, there was a strong sympathy with Nénesse, and a keen desire to see Number 19 in the hands of a clever, energetic master, who would restore it to its old position, even although this entailed a loss upon them­selves. And so, when the Delhommes made their appearance, both Monsieur and Madame Charles greeted them in the most cordial fashion.

“You’ll have some coffee won’t you? Elodie, pass the sugar.”

Jean had pushed his chair back, and they were now all seated round the table. Delhomme, with his expressionless, freshly-shaven, tanned face, sat perfectly silent, maintaining a diplomatic reserve; while Nénesse in his smartest clothes, his patent leather boots, gold-flowered waistcoat and mauve neckerchief, seemed quite at his ease, and smiled in his most winning way. As the blushing Elodie handed him the sugar-basin, he looked into her eyes and sought for some pretty compliment to pay her.