The Little Old Portrait

“At Choisy-le-roi they spent the night with the old woman who seemed to be expecting them. Before daybreak they were some miles further on their way to Bretigny, the first stage, one might say, on the road home, driven in a cart by a boy, the grandson of the old woman, and accustomed to take her eggs into Paris for the market. Some days of pretty steady travelling followed; the weather was fine, fortunately, for had it not been so, the poor children were but scantily protected; and Edmond kept up better than they could have hoped. Edmée herself, during those first days, was scarcely conscious of fatigue, or even of anxiety. She felt as if in a dream, and constantly expected to wake and find herself again in the wretched lodgings, beside her mother. The thought of that mother, of the terrible parting from all that was left of her, possessed her to such an extent, that for herself she would have felt no fear, hardly emotion of any kind had they been seized and carried back to Paris. Pierre was sometimes frightened by her very quietness; it was unlike her to be so dreamy and silent, even in sorrow, and more than once he endeavoured to rouse her by reminding her that she must not let herself fall ill. ‘We are obeying the dear Countess,’ he said. ‘Her last thought was for you – the only comfort of those last moments was the belief that you would yet be safe at Valmont.’

”‘I know it was so,’ said Edmée. ‘Yes, Pierre, my kind Pierrot, you are right. I will try to wish what she did.’

“But before they had reached the longed-for end of their journey, danger came so near them that all the girl’s faculties were roused, and, terrible as it was, she has sometimes said to me that she thought this very experience saved her from falling into a sort of half-stupid, almost idiotic state, from which she might never have recovered. For till now, there had been nothing to make them realise along what a precipice-brink they were moving. Once out of Paris, both Edmée and her cousin had imagined themselves safe, and the girl had yielded to her overpowering sorrow, the boy to his grief, not less sincere, but less unselfish than hers. But for wide-awake, practical Pierre what would have become of them?

“It happened thus: it was, as Marguerite had foreseen, the fault of Edmond.

“One evening – they had been travelling, sometimes on foot and sometimes in a cart or in one of the public coaches, running short distances – they would not of course have ventured to take places right through to Tours, the nearest point to Valmont for the regular diligences – one evening they reached a village not very far from Sarinet. Pierre had judged it wise to skirt Sarinet, both because Edmond might have been recognised, and also out of pity for the boy, to spare his feelings as much as possible, and as they were now in a part of the country he thoroughly knew, he found it easy to make their way round at what he thought a safe distance. But they had had a long day’s walk before they arrived weary and foot-sore at a village where Pierre had decided to spend the night. There was a small inn in the village – a while ago Pierre would have been horrified at the idea of Edmée’s entering such a place, but he had grown used to the necessity of such things, and the young girl never by word or glance murmured or seemed to notice the roughness and coarseness to which she was for the first time exposed. Pierre bespoke a bed for his ‘sister,’ and a corner of the barn for himself and Edmond, and then they sat down in the rude kitchen to such a supper as could be provided for them. There were one or two peasants drinking in a corner, but quietly enough, when suddenly the door was pushed roughly open, and a couple of men in blouses came noisily in, shouting for something to drink. The innkeeper’s wife, a timid, civil woman, hurried forward, but before she had time to serve the new-comers, one of them came up to the fire-place, near where the three young strangers were seated, and kicked the burning logs with his foot. Some embers flew out, and a spark or two lighted on Edmée’s dress, though she at once extinguished it. But up started Edmond.

”‘Mind what you’re about, fellow!’ he cried, with the true Sarinet tone.

“The offender turned round and eyed him curiously, but without speaking a word. Then he kicked the logs again till more sparks flew out in all directions. Edmond was springing to his feet, but Pierre held him forcibly back. ‘Are you mad – quite mad?’ he whispered in a low, stern voice, while Edmée clasped his hand under the table with her trembling ones. The boy seemed startled into submission, and Pierre, rising from his seat, went forward to the fire.

”‘If you don’t object, citizen,’ he said good-humouredly, ‘I think I can make it burn better without scorching your feet or my sister’s dress,’ and he skilfully turned and arranged the logs till a bright glow rewarded him.

“The man eyed Pierre with curiosity.

”‘You are a handy fellow, and a civil one,’ he said; ‘how come you in company with such a young insolent as that one yonder?’ and he jerked his thumb towards Edmond.

“Pierre laughed, though his heart was beating so fast that he fancied it must be heard. But for knowing that Edmée was holding her cousin tight, he dared not have risked that laugh or his words.

”‘A spoilt child,’ he said lightly. ‘He was brought up in Paris; I and our sister in the country. Now we are on our way to Tours, and my brother is tired. We have had a long tramp. You must excuse him, citizen.’

“In his turn the man laughed, but the laugh had not a pleasant sound.

”‘He is not worth chastising; it is easy to see he is not country-bred,’ he said. But Pierre, watching, saw him shoot an expressive glance over to his companion, who was sitting still and had taken no part in the discussion. And Pierre’s heart stood still with horror, for to him the glance spoke terrible things.

”‘And but for Edmond,’ he reflected, ‘we might have passed unnoticed. Marguerite was right. Oh, my dear lady, I would have died for you and Edmée, but it will be too hard to have her sacrificed for him!’”

Chapter Twelve

“A few minutes later the two men went away. They paid for the wine they had drunk, but said nothing. Pierre breathed more freely when they were gone, and as both he and his two charges were very tired, they soon after went to bed: that is to say, Edmée went to the room prepared for her, and the boys made the best of their corner of the barn. It was a tumble-down old place, and there were several other out-buildings adjoining it; a disused stable was at one end, separated from it only by a wall which ran up as a partition, though leaving a space between its top and the roof. This Pierre happened to notice before he lay down. He was asleep in five minutes, but after some time, how long he knew not, he awoke with a start, something had wakened him, though he could not remember what. He lay perfectly still, and in a moment a sound from the other side of the partition wall, of which I have spoken, caught his ears. It was that of men’s voices, though speaking so softly that less sharp ears than those of the forester’s boy, trained to distinguish each cry of the wood-creatures, each note of the birds, could have heard nothing.

”‘I tell you,’ said one voice, ‘I am as sure as I can be. I knew that insolent tone at once, and when I looked I was certain. The girl too – though who the third is I cannot make out. That baffled me.’

”‘Then if you were so sure, why give yourself and me all this bother?’ grumbled the other. ‘Why did you not at once seize them? It would be too bad to lose the reward after coming so far, and taking so much trouble.’

”‘I have told you why,’ said the other, speaking more loudly as he got angry. ‘They might have been too much for us; there is no telling whether they have not got friends in the village. They are in their own country now, and that Valmont lot set up to be benevolent, and all that kind of thing. No, I would not risk any scene; let us wait here quietly and watch them off in the morning – we can see which way they go, and easily take them when they are alone. You have the order for the arrest all right?’

”‘Yes, but only for the two.’

”‘Of course; we don’t want the country lad, though, perhaps – ’ But here the voice grew so low that Pierre, strain his ears as he would, could hear no more, till he caught a half-surly ‘Good-night then’ from the second speaker, and all was silent, save the beating of the poor boy’s own heart, which sounded to him so unnaturally loud, that he felt as if it could not but be heard through the partition.

“And all this time Edmond was sleeping soundly; it was too dark to see him, but by listening close, Pierre heard his soft and regular breathing. What could he do? what dared he do? or was it useless to attempt anything? thought poor Pierre, till he began to fear the night would pass in this sort of paralysis of terror. At last his brain began to recover itself a little. He moved himself up into a sitting position, trembling at every rustle in the hay, and at last, getting on to his feet, having slipped off his shoes, he managed to creep out at the door, without its creaking. The fresh cold air did him good, and he rapidly regained his presence of mind. There would be no difficulty in rousing Edmée, he hoped, for he knew her to be the lightest of sleepers, and she was already uneasy from the events of the evening. The little room where she was, opened out of the kitchen where they had supped, and by good chance the house door was only latched. So far, all was easy, and in five minutes the poor child, who had only partly undressed, was standing shivering beside her young protector. She took it all in, in an instant.

”‘Pierrot,’ she said, ‘there is nothing to do; there is no chance of escape for us. There is only one thing to do, save yourself. They may mean to take you too, or to kill you at once,’ and Edmée shuddered, ‘if you make any defence. Go, Pierre – go home to your father and mother, you have no right to throw your life away uselessly.’

“But Pierre did not seem to hear her words.

”‘Edmée,’ he replied, ‘I can save you– we could start off at once, and hide in the woods till they have lost all trace of us – we should be hours in advance of them. But oh, Edmée, it is Edmond! And I promised – I promised the Countess not to desert him.’

”‘No,’ said Edmée, determinedly, ‘we cannot desert him.’

“They then consulted together – how to wake him without being heard by the two men was the terrible question. He was a heavy sleeper, especially when tired, and from his delicate health and nervousness he was always irritable if awakened before his sleep was completed.

”‘He is sure, certain to scream out crossly, and then all will be over,’ said Edmée, her teeth chattering with cold and terror.

”‘Then there is only one thing to be done,’ said Pierre. ‘Have you your bag ready, Edmée?’ The girl nodded as she held it up. ‘You have nothing left in the house? That is right; my bundle and Edmond’s are just as they were – only we must leave some money to pay for our supper and lodging. Here, I will slip in and place it on the table. Now we must both creep back into the barn – you to help me in case of need. I have here a large, strong handkerchief; I will gag Edmond before he has time to make a sound – he is so feeble it will be easily done; then if you can take the baggage I will carry him on my back till we are well out of hearing, and then explain all.’

”‘He will struggle fearfully,’ said Edmée. ‘Perhaps – perhaps, Pierre, if I whisper in his ear that it is we who are doing it to save him, he will be quiet.’

”‘After he is gagged, if you like,’ said Pierre; ‘but not before. We must run no risk; our lives hang on the thinnest of threads, Edmée. Come, try not to tremble so – oh, my poor little lady, if I could have spared you this!’

“Edmée hesitated.

”‘Dear Pierrot,’ she said, ‘I think perhaps if I were to say a little prayer to the good God to help and save us, it would make me leave off trembling so.’

“Pierre answered by uncovering his head, and then, at a sign from Edmée, he knelt down beside her on the grass, for they had crept back behind the house, and there the two young creatures prayed with earnest and simple words for the help they so sorely needed – ‘or,’ whispered Edmée, ‘if we do not escape, for courage to bear whatever is before us.’

“Then she rose to her feet.

”‘I am not trembling now,’ she said. ‘Pierrot dear, kiss me once before we go; for we don’t know, we may fail.’

“Pierrot kissed her; he could not have spoken had he tried.

“He led the way to the barn. Pierre crept in first to reconnoitre; all was quiet, and as he had left it, he reported, when he crept out again, bringing his own and Edmond’s bundles, which, with her bag, he and Edmée carried a little way into the shelter of the wood hard by, so that the girl’s hands might be free, if need were, to help him with the much more troublesome piece of baggage – Edmond. Then they both made their way in again, Edmée standing a little aside, while Pierre, by the very faint moonlight which came in through the open doorway, satisfied himself as to the exact position in which Edmond lay, before attempting to gag and seize him. How he succeeded he could never himself tell, but succeed he did. Before the sleeping boy had recovered his faculties sufficiently to attempt to scream or to make any resistance, he was safe and fast in Pierre’s strong arms, his mouth so firmly gagged that, though he was scarlet, nay purple, with rage and terror long before he found out the real state of the case, not the faintest sound was audible, as, followed by Edmée, young Germain, with his heavy burden, made his way from the barn by the path behind the house, which they had already discovered led into the woods. More than once Edmée tried to whisper into Edmond’s ear, but blinded and confused as he was she could not catch his attention.

”‘Better wait awhile,’ whispered Pierre, and it was not till after quite a quarter of an hour of this painful progress that he at last stopped, and, after listening in all directions, let Edmond slip to the ground, though still firmly holding him. The boy opened his eyes; he had half lost consciousness, and Pierre began to loosen the handkerchief.

”‘Edmond,’ said Edmée, though still in a whisper, ‘it is we – Pierre and I. Don’t you know us?’ But Edmond shivered convulsively, and it was some minutes – minutes of most precious time – before Edmée and Pierre together could get him to understand all that had passed. Then he burst into tears, blaming himself as the cause of the terrible risk they had run, thanking them both for saving his life, and entreating their forgiveness. It was a great relief that his excitement had taken this form, – Edmée had been secretly terrified that he would perhaps have turned upon Pierre in a rage at him for having employed force, even to save his life, – for it was easy to make him do whatever they wished. He soon recovered himself enough to get on to his feet, and with Pierre on one side and Edmée on the other, to make his way deeper and deeper into the recesses of the forest. It was their best chance. Pierre’s experience served as a guide, even though with these special woods he was unacquainted, and he was able to direct their steps ever towards Valmont, though plunging very much further into the forest than he intended. And for some days they did not venture to leave its friendly shelter. What did they live upon? you will ask, as I have often asked my mother when she has been relating to me the history of these strange days. Very little, it seems to me. Pierre managed, two or three times, to get a loaf from one of the wood-cutters’ cottages they passed at long intervals, but which he never dared approach near, except by himself. He used to hide his companions and then, whistling lightly, as if on an ordinary journey of a few hours, would knock at the cottage door and ask for some bread, as he was hungry and had some distance to go; but not much of the bread fell to his share, you may be sure. Once or twice he got a few eggs, which he cooked on a fire of dry wood, and which Edmée thought delicious, for there is no sauce like hunger! The nights they spent, in part, in walking, when there was light enough to see their way, for it was cold work lying on the beds of dead leaves they collected, with the scanty spare clothing that was all their bundles contained; and had the weather not been exceptionally fine, and even mild for October, my mother has always maintained they would never have got to Valmont alive. It was that thought – the thought that they were near their journey’s end – that kept up their hearts through this, so much the most painful part of the journey. For even when so near home that a few hours in a passing diligence would have safely landed them within a league of Valmont, they dared not venture on the high road.

“It was a forlorn little group which at last, late one evening, – they had purposely concealed themselves till late in the woods hard by, ‘our own woods,’ said Edmée and Pierre joyously, where to the boy every path, every tree almost, had been familiar from infancy, – approached the forester’s cottage at the extreme end of the village. They had not ventured to pass along the main street, but made a round which brought them in by the other side; for since their terrible fright Pierre had grown doubly cautious.

”‘They may have come here and be waiting to take them,’ he thought, though he did not say so to his two poor tired charges. And even when within a stone’s throw of the cottage he made Edmée and her cousin wait in a little copse while he went forward to reconnoitre. And these few minutes’ waiting, my mother has often said, seemed to her the most trying part of the whole journey.

“With what joy did she hear Pierre’s footsteps in return, and his voice exclaiming eagerly, ‘It is all right! come quickly. Ah, here is my mother behind me.’

“And so it was. Poor Madame Germain had found it impossible to wait in the cottage – here she was, crying and sobbing, and yet smiling through her tears.

”‘My children! my children! whom I had given up hoping ever to see again!’ she exclaimed, clasping Edmée to her arms, forgetful of everything except that she had again her precious nursling, her little lady, whose life she had so many years ago saved by her devotion!

“But to poor Edmée the loving clasp of those motherly arms brought an agonising remembrance.

”‘Dear, dear mamma Germain,’ she said. ‘Do you know – has Pierrot told you all – about my sweet mother?’

”‘I know – he told me. Oh, my darling, how I grieve for you! But she is happy – and thank heaven her death was as it was. And now she will rejoice to see you safe – at last, my Edmée – after all your weary journeying. And Monsieur Edmond too,’ she added, turning to the poor boy. ‘Welcome, a thousand times welcome, to the best we can give you.’

“And the last vestige of his foolish pride melted out of the poor boy’s heart, as he impulsively threw himself into the kind motherly arms. ‘Kiss me too,’ he said, ‘for Pierre’s sake – Pierre, who has saved my life.’