CHAPTER XIX.
THE FIXED IDEA
For some days Monsieur Roger made no allusion to the secret which now filled his soul, nor to that strange idea which filled his whole brain. He retired into himself, thinking that this folly which had suddenly come to him would go away as suddenly, and again feeling, in spite of all, the certain loss of a dream which had made him so happy. And still, the more he looked at Paul, which he did only on the sly, not daring to look him in the face, as formerly, for fear of betraying himself, the more and more evident and real did the mysterious resemblance appear to him. The Dalize family had remarked the absence of mind and the wandering look of Monsieur Roger. Still, they thought that that was simply because something had reminded him of his sorrows. Even Paul could not help taking notice of the new attitude which Monsieur Roger had taken up with regard to him. The kindness and sympathy which Monsieur Roger had shown him in the first few days of his acquaintance had greatly touched the motherless boy, whose father was far away on the other side of the ocean.
Now, for some days, it had seemed to Paul that Monsieur Roger sought to avoid his presence,—he neither spoke to him nor looked at him. Once only Paul had surprised a look which Monsieur Roger had given him, and in this sad look he had discovered an affection so profound that it felt to him almost like a paternal caress. Yet, Paul was forced to acknowledge that his father had never looked at him in that way.
One evening, after dinner, Monsieur Dalize led his friend Roger into the garden in front of the house, and said to him,—
"Roger, my dear friend, you have made us uneasy for some days. Now we are alone. What is the matter with you?"
"Why, nothing is the matter with me," said Monsieur Roger, surprised at the question.
"Why, certainly, something is the matter. What has happened to you?"
"I don't understand what you mean?"
"Roger, you oblige me to tread on delicate ground,—to ask you a painful question."
"Speak."
"Well, my dear friend, the change which we have noticed in you for some time is not my fault, is it? Or does it come from the surroundings in which you find yourself placed?"
"I don't understand."
"I ask if your grief—without your knowing it, perhaps—may not have been revived by the happiness which reigns around you? Perhaps the presence of these children, who nevertheless love you already almost as much as they do me, awakes in your heart a terrible remembrance and cruel regrets?"
"No, no," cried Monsieur Roger; "that is not true. But why do you ask me such questions?"
"Because, my dear friend, you are mentally ill, and I wish to cure you."
"Why, no, I am not. I am not ill either mentally or physically, I swear."
"Don't swear," said Monsieur Dalize; "and do me the kindness to hide yourself for some moments behind this clump of trees. I have witnesses who will convince you that I still have good eyes."
Monsieur Dalize got up, opened the door of the vestibule, and called Miette. She ran out gayly.
"What do you wish, papa?" she said.
"I want to see our friend Roger. Is he not in the parlor with you?"
"No; he always goes his own way. He does not talk to us any longer; and he has had a very funny, sad look for some time. He is not the same at all."
"Very well, my child," said Monsieur Dalize, interrupting the little girl. "Go back to the parlor and send me your brother."
Albert soon arrived.
"You wanted me, father?" said he.
"Yes; I want you to repeat to me what you told your mother this morning."
Albert thought for a moment; then he said,—
"About Monsieur Roger?"
"Yes."
"Well, I told mamma that for some time back I have heard Monsieur Roger walking all night in his room; only this evening I heard him crying."
"That is all that I wish to know, my child. You can go back again."
When Monsieur Dalize was alone, he walked around the clump of trees to rejoin Roger.
"Well," said he, softly, "you have heard. Everybody has noticed your grief. Won't you tell me now what it is that you are suffering, or what secret is torturing you?"
"Yes, I will confide this secret to you," said Monsieur Roger, "because you will understand me, and you will not laugh at your unhappy friend." And Monsieur Roger told the whole truth to his friend Dalize. He told him what a singular fixed idea had possessed his brain; he told him of the strange resemblance which he thought he had discovered between the features of his dear and regretted wife and the face of Paul Solange.
Monsieur Dalize let his friend pour out his soul to him. He said only, with pitying affection, when Monsieur Roger had finished,—
"My poor friend! it is a dream that is very near insanity."
"Alas! that is what I tell myself; and still–"
"And still?" repeated Monsieur Dalize. "You still doubt? Come with me."
He re-entered the château with Roger. When he reached the parlor he went straight to Paul Solange.
"Paul," said he, "to-morrow is the mail, and I shall write to your father."
"Ah, sir," answered Paul, "I will give you my letter; maybe you can put it in yours."
Monsieur Dalize seemed to be trying to think of something.
"How long a time is it," said he, "since I have had the pleasure of seeing your excellent father?"
"Two years, sir; but he will surely come to France this winter."
Monsieur Dalize looked at Roger; then he whispered in his ear,—
"You have heard."
CHAPTER XX.
FIRE
Certainly Monsieur Roger had heard, certainly he tried to convince himself; but when his looks fell upon Paul, his reason forsook him and he doubted again, and even he hoped. Some days passed in a semi-sadness that made every one feel uneasy. The children, without knowing why, knew that something had happened which troubled the mutual happiness of their life. Monsieur and Madame Dalize alone understood and pitied their friend Roger. They endeavored to interest him in other things,—but Monsieur Roger refused walks, excursions, and the invitations of the neighbors. He had asked Monsieur Dalize to let him alone for a while, as he felt the need of solitude.
One morning Albert said to his father,—
"Father, Paul and I wish to go with a fishing-party to the farm, as we did last year. Will you allow us to do so?"
"Yes," answered Monsieur Dalize; "but on one condition."
"What is it?"
"That you take Monsieur Roger with you."
Albert looked at his father, and answered,—
"Then you refuse?"
"Why, no,—I only make that condition."
"Yes, father; but as we cannot fulfil the condition, it is equal to a refusal."
"Why cannot you fulfil it? What is there so difficult about it?"
"You know as well as I, my dear father, Monsieur Roger has been for some time very sad, very preoccupied; he wants to remain by himself, and consequently he will refuse to go to the farm."
"Who knows?"
"Well, at all events, I would not dare to ask him."
"Well, then, let Paul do it."
"But what would Paul say?"
"He will say that I am detained here, that I cannot come with you, and that, not thinking it prudent to allow you to go fishing alone, I object to it unless Monsieur Roger will consent to take my place."
"Very well, father," said Albert, in a disappointed tone. "We will see whether Paul succeeds; but I am afraid he will not."
But Paul did succeed. Monsieur Roger could not resist the request so pleasantly made by the boy. That evening, after dinner, they left home to sleep at the farm, which was situated on the borders of the River Yonne. They had to get up at daybreak in order to begin their fishing. The farmers gave up to Monsieur Roger the only spare room they had in the house. Albert and Paul had to sleep in what they called the turret. This turret, the last mossy vestige of the feudal castle, whose very windows were old loop-holes, now furnished with panes of glass, stood against one end of the farm-house. It was divided into three stories: the first story was a place where they kept hay and straw; in the second there slept a young farm-boy; the higher story was reserved for another servant, who was just now absent.
"In war we must do as the warriors do," cried Albert, gayly; "besides, we have not so long to sleep. You may take whichever room you like the best."
"I will take the highest story, if you are willing," answered Paul; "the view must be beautiful."
"Oh, the view! through the loop-holes and their blackened glasses! However, you can climb up on the old platform of the turret if you wish. It is covered with zinc, like the roof of an ordinary house; but, all the same, one can walk upon it. Come, I will show it to you."
The wooden staircase was easily ascended by the boys. When they had reached the room which Paul was to occupy, Albert pointed his hand towards the ceiling and made Paul remark a large bolt.
"See," said he: "you have only to get upon a chair to draw this bolt and to push the trap-door, which gives admission to the turret. On the roof you will, in fact, see a beautiful view."
"I shall do that to-morrow morning, when I get up," answered Paul.
Albert, after he had said good-night to his friend, descended the staircase and slept in the bed which the farm-boy had yielded to him; the latter was to spend the night upon a bed of hay in the first story.
A distant clock in the country had struck twelve. Monsieur Roger had opened the window of his room, and, being unable to sleep, was thinking, still the prey to the fixed idea, still occupied by the strange resemblance; and now the two names of Paul and George mingled together in his mind and were applied only to the one and the same dear being. Suddenly the odor of smoke came to him, brought on the breeze. In the cloudy night he saw nothing, and still the smoke grew more and more distinct. Every one was asleep at the farm: no light was burning, no sound was heard. Monsieur Roger bent over the window-sill and looked uneasily around him. The loop-holes of the lower story of the turret were illuminated; then sparks escaped from it, soon followed by jets of flame. At the same instant the wooden door which opened into the yard was violently burst open, and Monsieur Roger saw two young people in their night-gowns fleeing together and crying with a loud voice. This was all so quick that Monsieur Roger had had neither the time nor the thought of calling for help. A spasm of fear had seized him, which was calmed, now that Paul and Albert were safe; but the alarm had been given, and the farm-hands had awakened. But what help could they expect? The nearest village was six miles off; the turret would be burned before the engines could arrive. Monsieur Roger had run out with the others to witness this fire which they could not extinguish. He held Albert in his arms, embraced him, and said to him,—
"But, tell me, where is Paul?"
Albert looked around him.
"He must be here,—unless fright has made him run away."
"No, he is not here. But you are sure that he ran out of the tower, are you not?"
"Certainly, since it was he who came and shook me in my bed while I was asleep."
At this moment a young boy in a night-gown came out of the crowd, and, approaching Albert, said,—
"No; it was I, sir, who shook you."
Monsieur Roger looked at the boy who had just spoken, and he felt a horrible fear take possession of him. He saw that it was the farm-boy. It must have been he whom he had seen fleeing a moment before with Albert. But Paul? Had he remained in the turret? And the flames which licked the walls had almost reached the floor where Paul was sleeping. Was the poor boy still asleep? Had he heard nothing?
"A ladder!" cried Monsieur Roger, with a cry of fear and despair.
The ladder was immediately brought; but it was impossible to place it against the turret, whose base was in flames.
Monsieur Roger in a second had examined the battlements which composed the roof. He ran towards the farm-house, climbed up the staircase to the top story, opened a trap-door, and found himself upon the roof. Crawling on his hands and knees, following the ridge of the roof, he reached the turret, and found himself even with the story where Paul Solange was asleep. The loop-hole was before him. With a blow of his elbow he broke the glass; then he cried,—
"Paul! Paul!"
Below the people looked at him in mournful silence. No reply came from the room; he could see nothing through the darkness. Monsieur Roger had a gleam of hope: Paul must have escaped. But a sheet of fire higher than the others threw a sudden light through the loop-hole on the other side.
Monsieur Roger was seized with indescribable anguish. Paul Solange was there in his bed. Was he asleep? Monsieur Roger cried out anew with all his force. Paul remained motionless. Then Monsieur Roger leaned over the roof, and said to the people below,—
"Cry at the top of your voices! Make a noise!"
But the next moment he made a sign to them to be silent,—for Monsieur Roger had felt somebody crawling behind him, somebody who had followed his perilous path. It was Albert Dalize.
"Oh, my friend,—my poor friend!" cried Monsieur Roger; "what can we do? Is it not enough to make you crazy? See! the staircase is in flames. You can hardly pass your arm through the loop-holes. Whether he wakes or not, he is lost." And then he said, with an awful gravity, "Then, it is better he should not awake."
"No," replied Albert, quickly; "there is an opening at the top of the tower."
"There is an opening?"
"Yes, a trap-door, which I showed him only a little while ago, before we went to sleep."
Monsieur Roger raised himself upon the roof to a standing position.
"What are you doing?" cried Albert.
"I am going to try to reach the top of the tower."
"It is useless; the bolt opens in the room. Paul only can open it."
"Paul can open it."
"If he awakes. But how is it he does not awake?"
And in his turn Albert called to his friend.
Paul made no movement. The flames were gaining, growing more and more light, and the smoke was filtering through the plank floor and filling the room.
"Ah, I understand," cried Monsieur Roger, "I understand: he is not sleeping. That is not sleep,—that is asphyxia."
"Asphyxia?" repeated Albert, in a voice choked with fear.
The scene was terrible. There was the boy, a prisoner, who was going to die under the eyes of those who loved him, and separated from them solely by a circle of stone and of fire,—a circle which they could not cross. He was going to die without any knowledge that he was dying. Asphyxia held him in a death-like trance. Albert saw the floor of the room crack and a tongue of flame shoot up, which lighted up the sleeping face of Paul Solange. Then he heard a strange cry from a terrified and awful voice. The voice cried,—
"George! George!"
And it was Monsieur Roger who had twice called that name.
CHAPTER XXI.
SAVED
Albert still looked. Then he saw Paul Solange raise himself upon his bed, and, seeing the fire, pass his hands over his eyes and his forehead, jump to the floor, reflect a moment, as if endeavoring to remember something, then seize a chair, get upon it, and pull the bolt of the trap-door. At the same time he remarked that Monsieur Roger was no longer near him. Braving the danger, Monsieur Roger had jumped from the roof, and succeeded in reaching the top of the turret; and now it was he who pulled Paul from the trap-door and gathered him up in his arms. The boy had fainted. Obeying an order shouted by Albert, two farm-boys trusted themselves upon the roof, bringing with them a ladder and ropes. Then Monsieur Roger was able to come down with his precious burden.
Albert lent his aid to the rescuer, and Paul was taken down into the yard. At this moment a carriage arrived, which had been driving at the top of its speed. It stopped at the door of the farm-house. Monsieur Dalize appeared. From the château the flames had been seen by a watchman, who had gone to awake his master. Monsieur Dalize, understanding the danger, frightened at what might be happening over there in that farm-house on fire, under that roof which sheltered his child, his best friend, and Paul Solange, had immediately harnessed a horse, with the aid of the watchman, and, telling him to say nothing to Madame Dalize, had departed at the top of his speed. He arrived in time to see Monsieur Roger and Albert, who were bearing Paul with them. He approached, trembling.
"Paul!" he cried.
"Calm yourself," Monsieur Roger hastened to say: "he has only fainted. It is nothing; but we shall have to take him home."
"The carriage is ready."
"Then everything is for the best."
Paul was seated in the carriage, between Albert and Monsieur Roger. The latter had placed his left arm under Paul's head to sustain him. The poor child was still insensible; but there could be no better remedy for him than the fresh air of the night,—the fresh air which the rapid movement of the carriage caused to penetrate into his lungs. Monsieur Dalize, who drove, turned around frequently, looking at Roger. The latter held in his right hand Paul Solange's hand, and from time to time placed his ear against the boy's breast.
"Well?" said Monsieur Dalize, anxiously.
"His pulse is still insensible," answered Monsieur Roger; "but stop your horse for a moment."
The carriage stopped. Then, being no longer interfered with by the noise, Monsieur Roger again applied his ear, and said,—
"His heart beats; it beats very feebly, but it beats. Now go ahead."
Again the carriage started. At the end of some minutes, Monsieur Roger, who still held Paul's wrist between his fingers, suddenly felt beneath the pulsations of the radial artery. He cried out, with a loud voice, but it was a cry of joy,—
"He is saved!" he said to Monsieur Dalize.
At that very moment Paul Solange opened his eyes; but he closed them again, as if a heavy sleep, stronger than his will, were weighing upon his eyelids. Again he opened them, and looked with an undecided look, without understanding. At that moment they arrived at the house. Everybody was on foot. The fire at the farm had been perceived by others besides the watchman. They had all risen from their beds, and Madame Dalize, awakened by the noise, had, unfortunately, learned the terrible news. She was awaiting in cruel agony the return of her husband. At last she saw him driving the carriage and bringing with him the beings who were dear to her. Paul, leaning on the arms of Monsieur Roger and Albert, was able to cross the slight distance which separated them from the vestibule. There Monsieur Roger made him sit down in an arm-chair, near the window, which he opened wide. Monsieur and Madame Dalize and Albert stood beside Paul, looking at him silently and uneasily; but they were reassured by the expression of Monsieur Roger. With common accord they left him the care of his dear patient. Monsieur Roger was looking at Paul with tender eyes,—an expression of happiness, of joy, illumined his face: and this expression, which Monsieur Dalize had not seen for long years upon the face of his friend, seemed to him incomprehensible, for he was still ignorant of the extraordinary thing that had happened. At this moment, Miss Miette, in her night-cap, hardly taking time to dress herself, rushed into the vestibule. Her childish sleep had been interrupted by the tumult in the house. She had run down half awake.
"Mamma, Mamma," she cried, "what is the matter?"
Then, as she ran to throw herself upon her mother's knees, she saw the arm-chair and Paul sitting in it. She stopped at once, and, before they had the time or the thought of stopping her, she had taken Paul's hands, saying to him, very sadly,—
"Paul, Paul, are you sick?"
Paul's eyes, which until this time had remained clouded and as if fixed upon something which he could not see, turned to Miette. Little by little they brightened as his senses returned to him: his eyes commenced to sparkle. He looked, and, with a soft but weary voice, he murmured,—
"Miette, my little Miette."
Then he turned his head, trying to find out where it was he found himself, who were the people around him.
"What has happened?" he asked.
Nobody dared to answer. Everybody waited for Monsieur Roger; but Monsieur Roger kept silent. He let nature take care of itself. Indeed, he even hid himself slightly behind Monsieur Dalize. Paul's looks passed over the faces which were in front or beside him; but they did not stop there: they seemed to look for something or some one which they did not meet. Then, with a sudden movement, Paul bent over a little. He saw Monsieur Roger; he started; the blood came back to his face; he tried to speak, and could only let fall a few confused words. But, though they could not understand his words, what they did understand was his gesture. He held out his arms towards Monsieur Roger. The latter advanced and clasped Paul Solange in a fatherly embrace.
The effort made by the sick boy had wearied him. He closed his eyes in sleep; but this time it was a healthy sleep, a refreshing sleep.
Monsieur Roger and Monsieur Dalize took the sleeping Paul up to his room. And Miss Miette, as she regained her boudoir, said to herself, with astonishment,—
"It is extraordinary! Monsieur Roger embraced Paul as if he were his papa."