The Mysteries of Paris. Эжен Сю
sprang to the side of Rodolph, and with an air of unfeigned alarm, almost amounting to distress, said, in a tone so low as not to be overheard by Madame Georges:
"M. Rodolph! M. Rodolph! pray do not be angry, but why have you sent away the carriage? Will it not return to fetch us away?"
"Of course not; I have quite done with the man, and therefore dismissed him."
"But the ogress!"
"What of her? Why do you mention her name?"
"Alas! alas! because I must return to her this evening; indeed, indeed, I must, or—or she will consider me a thief. The very clothes I have on are hers, and, besides, I owe her—"
"Make yourself quite easy, my dear child; it is my part to ask your forgiveness, not you mine."
"My forgiveness! Oh, for what can you require me to pardon you?"
"For not having sooner told you that you no longer owe the ogress anything; that it rests only with yourself to decide whether you will henceforward make this quiet spot your home, and cast off the garments you now wear for others my kind friend, Madame Georges, will furnish you with. She is much about your height, and can supply you with everything you require. She is all impatience to commence her part of 'aunt,' I can assure you."
Poor Fleur-de-Marie seemed utterly unable to comprehend the meaning of all she saw and heard, and gazed with wondering and perplexed looks from one companion to the other, as though fearing to trust either her eyes or ears.
"Do I understand you rightly?" she cried at length, half breathless with emotion. "Not go back to Paris? Remain here? And this lady will permit me to stay with her? Oh, it cannot be possible; I dare not hope it; that would, indeed, be to realise our 'castles in the air.'"
"Dear Fleur-de-Marie, your wishes are realised—your dream a true one."
"No, no, you must be jesting; that would be too much happiness to expect, or even dare to hope for."
"Nay, Fleur-de-Marie, we should never find fault with an oversupply of happiness."
"Ah, M. Rodolph, for pity's sake deceive me not; you cannot believe the misery I should experience were you to tell me all this happiness was but a jest."
"My child, listen to me," said Rodolph, with a tone and manner which, although still affectionate, was mingled with a dignified accent and manner Fleur-de-Marie had never previously remarked in him. "I repeat that, if you please, you may from this very hour lead here, with Madame Georges, that peaceful life whose description but a short time since so much delighted you. Though the kind lady with whom you will reside be not your aunt, she will feel for you the most lively and affectionate interest, and with the personages about the farm you will pass as being really and truly her niece, and this innocent deception will render your residence here more agreeable and advantageous. Once more I repeat to you, Fleur-de-Marie, you may now at your own pleasure realise the dream of our journey. As soon as you have assumed your village dress," said Rodolph, smilingly, "we will take you to see that milk-white heifer, Musette, who is to be your favourite henceforward, and who is only waiting for the pretty collar you designed to ornament her with; then we will go and introduce ourselves to your pets, the pigeons, afterwards visit the dairy, and so go on till we have been all over the farm. I mean to keep my promise in every respect, I assure you."
Fleur-de-Marie pressed her hands together with earnest gratitude. Surprise, joy, and the deepest thankfulness, mingled with respect, lit up her beautiful countenance, while, with eyes streaming with tears, she exclaimed:
"M. Rodolph, you are, you must be, one of those beneficent angels sent by the Almighty to do good upon earth, and to rescue poor fallen creatures, like myself, from shame and misery."
"My poor girl," replied Rodolph, with a smile of deep sadness and ineffable kindness, "though still young, I have already deeply suffered. I lost a dear child, who, if living, would now be about your age. Let that explain my deep sympathy with all who suffer, and for yourself particularly, Fleur-de-Marie, or, rather, Marie only. Now, go with Madame Georges, who will shew you the pretty chamber, with its clustering roses and honeysuckle to form your morning bouquets. Yes, Marie, henceforward let that name, simple and sweet as yourself, be your only appellation. Before my departure we will have some talk together, and then I shall quit you, most happy in the knowledge of your full contentment."
Fleur-de-Marie, without one word of reply, gracefully bent her knee, and, before Rodolph could prevent her, gently and respectfully raised his hand to her lips; then rising with an air of modest submission, followed Madame Georges, who eyed her with a profound interest, out of the room.
CHAPTER XI.
MURPHY AND RODOLPH.
Upon quitting the house, Rodolph bent his steps towards the farmyard, where he found the individual who, the preceding evening, disguised as a charcoal-man, had warned him of the arrival of Tom and Sarah. Murphy, which was the name of this personage, was about fifty years of age; his head, nearly bald, was still ornamented with a fringe of light brown hair at each side, which the hand of time had here and there slightly tinged with gray; his face was broad, open, and ruddy, and free from all appearance of hair, except very short whiskers, of a reddish colour, only reaching as low as the tip of the ear, from which it diverged, and stretched itself in a gentle curve across his rubicund cheeks. Spite of his years and embonpoint, Murphy was active and athletic; his countenance, though somewhat phlegmatic, was expressive of great resolution and kindliness of nature; he wore a white neck-handkerchief, a deep waistcoat, and a long black coat, with very wide skirts; his breeches, of an olive green colour, corresponded in material with the gaiters which protected his sturdy legs, without reaching entirely to the knee, but allowing the strings belonging to his upper garment to display themselves in long unstudied bows; in fact, the dress and whole tournure of Murphy exactly accorded with the idea of what in England is styled a "gentleman farmer." Now, the personage we are describing, though an English squire, was no farmer. At the moment of Rodolph's appearance in the yard, Murphy was in the act of depositing, in the pocket of a small travelling caléche, a pair of small pistols he had just been carefully cleaning.
"What the devil are you going to do with those pistols?" inquired Rodolph.
"That is my business, my lord," replied Murphy, descending the carriage steps; "attend to your affairs, and I will mind mine."
"At what o'clock have you ordered the horses?"
"According to your directions—at nightfall."
"You got here this morning, I suppose?"
"I did, at eight o'clock. Madame Georges has had ample time to make all the preparations you desired."
"What has gone wrong, Murphy? You seem completely out of humour. Have I done anything to offend you?"
"Can you not, my lord, accomplish your self-imposed task without incurring so much personal risk?"
"Surely, in order to lull all suspicion in the minds of the persons I seek to understand and fully appreciate, I cannot do better than, for a time, to adopt their garb, their language, and their customs."
"But all this did not prevent you, my lord, last night (in that abominable place where we went to unkennel Bras Rouge, in hopes of getting out of him some particulars relative to that unhappy son of Madame Georges), from being angry, and ready to quarrel with me, because I wished to aid in your tussle with the rascal you encountered in that horrid cut-throat alley."
"I suppose, then, Murphy, you do not think I am capable of defending myself, and you either doubt my courage or the strength of my arm?"
"Unfortunately, you have given me too many reasons to form a contrary opinion of both. Thank God! Flatman, the Bertrand of Germany, perfected you in the knowledge of fencing; Tom Cribb taught you to box; Lacour, of Paris, accomplished you in single-stick, wrestling,