The Seven Cardinal Sins: Envy and Indolence Part 24

"You are not feeling ill, I trust?"

"No; only tired. I seem to need rest."

"I hope, my son, that you will consider how your words would have pained M. David, who already feels the tenderest interest in you, if he had not felt certain that he would soon overcome your prejudice by his kindness.

He will be to you not a master, but a friend; I would say a brother but for the disparity in your ages."

Frederick made no reply. His mouth contracted slightly, and he hung his head, and Madame Bastien, who had made a careful study of her son's face for some time past, saw that he was resolved to maintain an obstinate silence, so she insisted no further, but rejoined M. David.

After a frugal supper, Henri, wis.h.i.+ng to divert his companion's thoughts, begged her to let him see Frederick's note-books and exercises, as well as some of the essays he had written in happier days, hoping he might find in these last some clue to the origin of the unfortunate ideas which seemed to have taken such entire possession of his mind.

While the new tutor was thus engaged the young mother watched him closely, in order that she might judge of the effect these specimens of Frederick's work produced upon him. Soon he took up an essay Frederick had written upon a theme suggested by his mother, and at first the young mother felt doubtful of its success, for M. David's features remained grave and thoughtful, but suddenly he smiled, and the smile was followed by several approving nods of the head, and two or three times he even murmured, "Good, very good." Then something seemed to displease him, for he crumpled one of the sheets of ma.n.u.script impatiently, and his features became impa.s.sible again as he continued his reading.

Marie's face reflected each shade of feeling depicted on David's face; but soon, and for the first time in a long while, the happy mother, forgetting her anxieties at least temporarily, could once more rejoice in Frederick's triumphs, for the signs of approbation on the new tutor's part became more frequent. He not only appeared to take a deep interest, but likewise a personal pride and delight in what he was reading, and at last he exclaimed, suddenly:

"No, no; it is impossible that the author of sentiments as n.o.ble and generous as these should not listen sooner or later to the voice of justice and reason. May I ask, madame, if this was written very long before the time at which you first began to notice the change in your son's character?"

After a moment's reflection, Madame Bastien replied:

"As nearly as I can recollect, this was written just before a visit we paid to the Chateau de Pont Brillant the latter part of June. It was not until about a month afterward that I began to feel uneasy about Frederick."

After a moment's thought, David asked:

"Have you anything that Frederick has written since you noticed this marked change in his nature? If you have, it might aid us in solving this mystery."

"The idea is a good one," replied Madame Bastien, and, struck by a sudden recollection, she selected one of her son's books. She handed it to M. David, saying as she did so:

"Several pages are lacking here, as you see. I asked Frederick why he had mutilated it in this fas.h.i.+on, and he replied that he was dissatisfied with what he had written and did not want me to read it.

This occurred just as I was beginning to feel really anxious about him."

"And you noticed nothing significant in the remaining pages, madame?"

"You can see for yourself, monsieur. Since that time Frederick has written little or nothing, his distaste for work becoming more and more marked from that time on. In vain I have suggested themes of divers kinds; he would write a few lines, then drop his pen, and, burying his face in his hands, sit for hours together, deaf alike to all my questions and entreaties."

While Madame Bastien was speaking David was hastily glancing over the fragmentary writings his hostess had just handed to him.

"It is strange," he remarked, after several minutes, "these incoherent lines show none of the n.o.bility of feeling that characterise your son's other writings. His mind seems to have become clouded, and the la.s.situde and ennui his work caused him is everywhere apparent. But here are a few words which seem to have been carefully erased," added David, trying to decipher them.

Marie approached her guest with the intention of a.s.sisting him, if possible, and as she bent over the table her arm lightly grazed David's.

The pressure was so slight that Marie did not even notice it, but it sent a sort of electric thrill through David; but so great was his self-control that he remained perfectly impa.s.sive, though he realised for the first time since he made his generous offer that the woman with whom he was to live on such terms of intimacy was young and wonderfully beautiful, as well as endowed with the most admirable traits of character.

He gave no sign of all this, however, but with Marie's a.s.sistance continued his efforts to decipher the words Frederick had erased, and after patient study they succeeded in making out here and there the following phrases which seemed to have no connection whatever with what preceded or followed them, but had apparently been jotted down almost involuntarily under the influence of some strong emotion. For instance, one leaf bore this fragmentary sentence:

" ...for persons doomed to a humiliating obscurity of lot, the inability to lift oneself from it is--"

Two or three words at the beginning of the sentence had been entirely obliterated.

Farther on, upon another page were these two words, but slightly blurred, as if their laconicism was sufficient protection against interpretation:

"Why? By what right--"

And lastly, this more complete sentence was deciphered with great difficulty:

"Through you, great and holy Revolution, the weak became the strong. The hour of vengeance came at last, terrible indeed, but grand and far-reaching in its--"

As David was slowly perusing these words a second time as if to gather their hidden significance, the clock on the mantel struck twelve.

"Twelve!" exclaimed Madame Bastien, in surprise, "twelve o'clock already!"

David rose at once, and, taking the book, said:

"With your permission, madame, I will take this with me. What we have deciphered is very vague, but it may give us a clue to the truth. Good night, madame."

"Good night, M. David. I gladly accept all the encouragement you hold out to me. I need it more than I can tell you. To-morrow will be a momentous day to us. G.o.d grant it may prove a propitious one."

"G.o.d grant it, madame."

CHAPTER XXII.

As soon as his mother's words brought a full realisation of the crime he had tried to commit, Frederick experienced the keenest remorse; but though he was conscientious enough to feel appalled by his attempt at homicide, he was far from being cured of his hatred and envy.

During the night that immediately followed Henri David's arrival at the farm, Frederick underwent a new transformation that very naturally disconcerted both his mother and M. David. Both were instantly struck by the change in the lad's expression. It was no longer haughty, sarcastic, and defiant, but embarra.s.sed and crestfallen. Madame Bastien and David had antic.i.p.ated a fresh ebullition of temper when Frederick's second interview with his tutor took place, but nothing of the kind occurred.

David questioned the lad in relation to his studies; he replied promptly and definitely, but in regard to all extraneous subjects he maintained a determined silence.

Marie proposed that he take a walk with David, and Frederick consented without the slightest demur. During the long walk the new tutor, whose stock of information was as extensive as it was varied, tried to call Frederick's attention to some of the most interesting phenomena of nature, a bit of rock serving as the starting-point for a dissertation on the most curious of the different ages of the earth and the successive transformation of its inhabitants, while an old ruin near the farmhouse led to a series of interesting comments on the warlike habits of the middle ages and the narration of a number of quaint old legends, to which his youthful companion listened politely but replied only in monosyllables.

As soon as they returned Frederick picked up a book and read until dinner-time, after which he asked to be excused for the rest of the evening.

On being left alone, David and Marie exchanged discontented glances, for both felt that the first day had proved a failure.

"I am almost tempted to regret the change I notice in him," remarked David, thoughtfully. "p.r.o.nounced as his asperity of manner was, it nevertheless gave one a sort of hold, but what can one do confronted with a surface as hard and polished as gla.s.s?"

"But what do you think of this sudden change?"

"Is it the calm that follows the subsidence of the tempest or the treacherous calm which often precedes another storm? We shall know by and by. This change may be due to my arrival."

"How is that, M. David?"

"Perhaps he feels that our double surveillance will make another attempt at vengeance impossible; perhaps he fears that my penetration, united with yours, madame, would ferret out his secret, so he increases his constraint and reserve."

"And the book you took to your room last night?"

"Has given me a slight clue, perhaps, madame, but it is such a very weak and feeble one that I must ask you to pardon me for not even mentioning it. Ours is such a difficult and extremely delicate task that the merest trifle may make or mar us. So once more I implore you to forgive my reticence."