The White House Part 21

"Yes, monsieur, never fear; you shall be satisfied."

Francois started for La Roche-Noire, and Robineau, enchanted with his idea, went upstairs again to his two companions, rubbing his hands. He hurried them so that at last they left the table and went down to the courtyard. The stranger was filling his pipe.

"We are going," said Robineau; "we leave my travelling chaise here, with our trunks and luggage, monsieur l'aubergiste. Francois, my valet, will come to-morrow to get everything, with a horse to draw the carriage; these gentlemen wish to walk the rest of the way."

"Oh! you are going to see a beautiful country, messieurs."

"Yes, but it would be well for us to know in which direction we must go."

"There's a pleasant crossroad through the mountains to Saint-Saturnin, which is only half a league from Saint-Amand; and then there's the main road to Issoire and Saint-Flour."

"No; no main roads," said Edouard; "we want something varied, picturesque, even terrible!"

"One moment, messieurs; I don't propose to walk on the brink of precipices, myself! Perhaps it would be wiser to take a guide through this region, with which we are entirely unacquainted."

The stranger, having overheard Robineau's last words, suddenly approached the three young men, and said, without removing his hat:

"If you need a guide, messieurs, I can serve you; for I have done nothing but stroll about the neighborhood for a week, and I am beginning to know it well."

Alfred and Edouard hesitated; but Robineau, to whom the stranger's face was most unpleasant, replied hastily:

"No, no, we don't need anybody. I was joking; we are big enough to find our way ourselves."

"As you please," the stranger replied; and, putting his pipe in his mouth, he walked away from the inn. A few moments later, the three young men, having commended their effects to the inn-keeper's care, left Clermont, and took the crossroad said to lead to Saint-Amand.

VII

A WALK THROUGH THE MOUNTAINS

On leaving Clermont, the three travellers followed at first the road that had been pointed out to them as leading to the little town of Saint-Amand. But they had walked barely half a league into the mountains, when the desire to obtain a fine view, to climb a rock, or to take a more picturesque path, led them insensibly away from the road they should have followed. In vain did Robineau, who did not share the enthusiasm of his companions for the varied beauties of the landscape, sometimes wild and sometimes cultivated, stop again and again, and exclaim angrily:

"That isn't the way, messieurs! You're going astray; we shall lose our road and walk a hundred times farther than we need."

But Alfred and Edouard did not listen to him; they continued to go their own way, and, pausing a moment on the summit of some hill, they would cry:

"What a picturesque country! What a variety of scenery! On one side steep rocks, barren mountains, and a calcareous soil, of volcanic origin; at our feet green pastures, vineyards, fields, trees laden with fruit!"

"Let us go higher," Edouard said, "to the top of yonder hill; it seems to me that I see a field of grain."

"Oh! that would be curious, we must see that," Alfred replied, following Edouard; and they scaled the rocks, running and jumping, and laughing all the time; while Robineau, who had remained behind, made a horrible grimace, saying:

"It seems to me, messieurs, that my chateau isn't perched up there. You will have time enough to make excursions in the neighborhood when we are settled in my chateau. It's ridiculous to tire yourselves out climbing so high!"

The two friends continued their ascent; they reached the top, which seemed to be more than a league in circ.u.mference, and there in fact they found a large field of grain. Engrossed by the pleasure which that magnificent prospect afforded them, Alfred and Edouard stopped. They smiled at each other; they were happy! And when one is conscious of a sentiment of pleasure, one tries to make it last a long while, to detain it in one's soul. It is rare that one is happy in the present! We almost always rejoice in dreams of the future.

Robineau seated himself with a distressed air on a block of stone, and watched his companions, who were more than a hundred feet above him.

Alfred beckoned to him to join them.

"Come up here!" he shouted; "it's superb! You can see the whole country!"

"Can you see my chateau?" shouted Robineau.

"Oh! we can see a dozen!"

These words induced the new landed proprietor to climb the hill. He reached the top drenched with perspiration, and mopped his brow as he looked about.

"Well! are you sorry that you came up?" said Alfred.

"Isn't it worth while to tire oneself a bit for this, eh, Monsieur Jules?"

"It is very pretty, messieurs, I agree; you can see a long distance. But I have seen just as much in Messieurs Daguerre and Bouton's Diorama."

"The Diorama is certainly a beautiful thing, my friend; it is impossible to carry illusion and perfection of detail any farther; but art should not interfere with our admiration of nature."

"You may say what you please, messieurs, but I prefer the Diorama; there at least I have an explanation of what I see; but here I have no idea what I am looking at.--There's a village yonder, and I don't know what village it is."

"Wait a moment! here comes a worthy peasant who will be our cicerone."

A villager approached, with a spade and pickaxe over his shoulder. He was about to descend the hill. Alfred called him and he came toward them touching his hat. The peasants are much more polite in Auvergne than in the suburbs of Paris.

"Will you be kind enough to tell us, my good man, the name of the little town we see yonder, between two streams?"

"That is Saint-Amand, messieurs. It's a pretty little town. The little stream you see over here is the Veyre, which rises at Pagnia, a village over in this direction; it runs into the Mone, and they both run into the Allier. The Mone comes from Saint-Saturnin, half a league from Saint-Amand. See, where I'm pointing."

"What sort of a place is Saint-Saturnin?"

"Oh! it's a big village; it used to be a town, and a fortified town too."

"Is there a chateau thereabout?" inquired Robineau.

"Oh, yes, monsieur; there's a castle."

"Called La Roche-Noire?"

"No, monsieur, no; that one's the Chateau of Saint-Saturnin."

"And La Roche-Noire, where is that?"

"You mean La Roche-Blanche, I suppose, don't you?--That's that little village over there."

"I am not talking about your Roche-Blanche!--What astonis.h.i.+ng creatures these Auvergnats are! they absolutely insist that black and white (_noir_ and _blanc_) are the same thing!"

"_Dame!_ then I don't know, monsieur."

"And in this direction, my good man?"