In Search Of A Son Part 1

In Search of a Son.

by William Shepard Walsh.

CHAPTER I.

THE DESPATCH.

In the great silence of the fields a far-off clock struck seven. The sun, an August sun, had been up for some time, lighting up and warming the left wing of the old French chateau. The tall old chestnut-trees of the park threw the greater part of the right wing into the shade, and in this pleasant shade was placed a bench of green wood, chairs, and a stone table.

The door of the chateau opened, and a gentleman lightly descended the threshold. He was in his slippers and dressing-robe, and under the dressing-robe you could see his night-gown. After having thrown a satisfied look upon the beauty of nature, he approached the green seat, and seated himself before the stone table. An old servant came up and said,--

"What will you take this morning, sir?"

And as the gentleman, who did not seem to be hungry, was thinking what he wanted, the servant added,--

"Coffee, soup, tea?"

"No," said the gentleman; "give me a little vermouth and seltzer water."

The servant retired, and soon returned with a tray containing the order.

The gentleman poured out a little vermouth and seltzer water, then rolled a cigarette, lighted it, and, leaning back upon the rounded seat of the green bench, looked with pleasure at the lovely scene around him.

On the left, in a small lake framed in the green lawn, was reflected one wing of the old chateau, as in a mirror. The bricks, whose colors were lighted up by the sun, seemed to be burning in the midst of the water.

The large lawn began at the end of a gravelled walk, and seemed to be without limit, for the park merged into cultivated ground, and verdant hills rose over hills. There was not a cloud in the sky.

The gentleman, after gazing for some minutes around him, got up and opened the door of the chateau. He called out, "Peter!" in a subdued voice, fearing, no doubt, to waken some sleeper.

The servant ran out at once.

"Well, Peter," said the gentleman, "have the papers come?"

"No, sir; they have not yet come. That surprises me. If you wish, sir, I will go and meet the postman."

And Peter was soon lost to sight in a little shady alley which descended into the high-road. In a few moments he reappeared, followed by a man.

"Sir," said he, "I did not meet the letter-carrier; but here is a man with a telegraphic despatch."

The man advanced, and, feeling in a bag suspended at his side, he said,--

"Monsieur Dalize, I believe?"

"Yes, my friend."

"Well, here is a telegram for you which arrived at Sens last night."

"A telegram?" said Monsieur Dalize, knitting his brows, his eyes showing that he was slightly surprised, and almost displeased, as if he had learned that unexpected news was more often bad news than good.

Nevertheless, he took the paper, unfolded it, and looked at once at the signature.

"Ah, from Roger," he said to himself.

And then he began to read the few lines of the telegram. As he read, his face brightened, surprise followed uneasiness, and then a great joy took the place of discontent. He said to the man,--

"You can carry back an answer, can you not?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, Peter, bring me pen and ink at once."

Peter brought pen, ink, and paper, and Monsieur Dalize wrote his telegram. He gave it to the man, and, feeling through his pockets, pulled out a louis.

"Here, my good fellow," said he: "that will pay for the telegram and will pay you for your trouble."

The man looked at the coin in the hollow of his hand in an embarra.s.sed way, fearing that he had not exactly understood.

"Come, now,--run," said Monsieur Dalize; "good news such as you have brought me cannot be paid for too dearly; only hurry."

"Ah, yes, sir, I will hurry," said the man; "and thank you very much, thank you very much."

And, in leaving, he said to himself, as he squeezed the money in his hand,--

"I should be very glad to carry to him every day good news at such a price as that."

When he was alone, Monsieur Dalize reread the welcome despatch. Then he turned around, and looked towards a window on the second floor of the chateau, whose blinds were not yet opened. From this window his looks travelled back to the telegram, which seemed to rejoice his heart and to give him cause for thought. He was disturbed in his reverie by the noise of two blinds opening against the wall. He rose hastily, and could not withhold the exclamation,--

"At last!"

"Oh, my friend," said the voice of a lady, in good-natured tones. "Are you reproaching me for waking up too late?"

"It is no reproach at all, my dear wife," said Monsieur Dalize, "as you were not well yesterday evening."

"Ah, but this morning I am entirely well," said Madame Dalize, resting her elbows on the sill of the window.

"So much the better," cried Mr. Dalize, joyfully, "and again so much the better."

"What light-heartedness!" said Madame Dalize, smiling.

"That is because I am happy, do you know, very happy."

"And the cause of this joy?"

"It all lies in this little bit of paper," answered Monsieur Dalize, pointing to the telegram towards the window.

"And what does this paper say?"

"It says,--now listen,--it says that my old friend, my best friend, has returned to France, and that in a few hours he will be here with us."

Madame Dalize was silent for an instant, then, suddenly remembering, she said,--