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  II. A TRAGIC DAWN

  As his cab turned by the end of the Pont Royal towards the Gare d'Orsay,M. Etienne Rambert looked at his watch and found, as he had anticipated,that he had a good quarter of an hour before the train that he intendedto take was due to start. He called a porter, and gave him the heavyvalise and the bundle of rugs that formed the whole of his hand baggage.

  "Where is the office for forwarding luggage, my man?" he enquired.

  The porter led him through the famous panelled hall of the Gare d'Orsay,and M. Etienne Rambert satisfied himself that his trunks had beenproperly registered for Verrieres, the station at which he had to alightfor the chateau of Beaulieu.

  Still attended by the porter, who had conceived a respectful admirationfor him in consequence of the authoritative tone in which he demandedinformation from the various railway servants, and who scented aprobable munificent tip, M. Etienne Rambert proceeded to thebooking-office and took a first-class ticket. He spent a few minutesmore at the book-stall where he selected an imposing collection ofillustrated papers, and then, his final preparations completed, heturned once more to the porter.

  "The Luchon train," he said; "where is it?" and as the man only made avague gesture and growled something wholly indistinct, he added: "Leadthe way, and I will follow."

  It was now just half-past eight, and the station showed all theanimation inseparable from the departure of main-line trains. M. EtienneRambert hurried onwards, and reaching the platform from which all thelines begin, was stayed by the porter who was laden with his baggage.

  "You want the express, sir?"

  "No, the slow train, my man."

  The porter showed some surprise, but made no remark.

  "Do you like the front or the back of the train?"

  "The back by choice."

  "First-class, isn't it?"

  "Yes, first-class."

  The porter, who had stopped a moment, picked up the heavy valise again.

  "Then there isn't any choice. There are only two first-class carriageson the slow train, and they are both in the middle."

  "They are corridor carriages, I suppose?" said Etienne Rambert.

  "Yes, sir; there are hardly any others on the main-line trains,especially first-class."

  In the ever-increasing crowd Etienne Rambert had some difficulty infollowing the porter. The Gare d'Orsay has little or none of theattractiveness of the other stations, which cannot fail to have acertain fascination for any imaginative person, who thinks of themystery attaching to all those iron rails reaching out into the distanceof countries unknown to him. It is less noisy than the others also, forbetween Austerlitz and Orsay the traction is entirely electric. Andfurther, there is no clearly defined separation between the main and thesuburban lines.

  On the right of the platform was the train which was to take EtienneRambert beyond Brives to Verrieres, the slow train to Luchon; and on theleft of the same platform was another train for Juvisy and all the smallstations in the suburbs of Paris.

  Very few people were making for the train to Luchon; but a large crowdwas pressing into the suburban train.

  The porter who was piloting M. Etienne Rambert, set the baggage he wascarrying down on the footboard of a first-class carriage.

  "There is no one for the slow train yet, sir; if you like to get infirst you can choose your own compartment."

  M. Etienne Rambert acted on the suggestion, but he had hardly set footin the corridor before the guard, also scenting a generous tip, came tooffer his services.

  "It really is the 8.50 you want, sir?" was his first enquiry. "You aresure you are not making a mistake?"

  "No," Etienne Rambert replied. "Why?"

  "A great many first-class passengers do make a mistake," the manexplained, "and confuse the 8.50 with the 8.45 express."

  As he spoke the guard took the baggage from the porter who had remainedon the platform, and the porter, after being generously remunerated forhis trouble by M. Rambert, hurried away to look for other travellers.

  "The 8.45 is the express, isn't it?" M. Rambert enquired.

  "Yes," the guard answered; "it runs right through without stopping atall the small stations as this train does. It goes in front of this oneand gets to Luchon three hours earlier. There it is on the side there,"and he pointed through the window in the door on the far side to anothertrain on the next rails, in which a number of travellers were alreadytaking their seats. "If you prefer to go by that one, sir," he went on,"there is still time for you to change; you are entitled to take yourchoice since you have a first-class ticket."

  But Etienne Rambert, after a moment's consideration, declined thesuggestion.

  "No: I would rather go by the slow train. If I take the express I shouldhave to get out at Brives, and then I should be twelve or thirteen milesfrom Saint-Jaury, which is my destination; whereas the slow train stopsat Verrieres, where, by the way, I have already telegraphed to say Ishall arrive to-morrow morning."

  He walked a little way along the corridor, assuring himself that thevarious compartments were still quite empty, and then turned to theguard.

  "Look here, my man," he said, "I am awfully tired, and I mean to getsome sleep to-night; consequently I should like to be alone. Now whereshall I be most quiet and undisturbed?"

  The man understood. M. Etienne Rambert's enquiry about the place wherehe would be most quiet, was an implicit promise of a handsome tip ifnobody did disturb him.

  "If you like to settle yourself here, sir," the man answered, "you candraw down the blinds at once, and I dare say I shall be able to findroom for any other passengers somewhere else."

  "Good," said M. Rambert, moving towards the compartment indicated. "Iwill smoke a cigar until the train starts, and immediately afterwards Iwill settle down to sleep. By the way, my man, since you seem soobliging, I wish you would undertake to call me to-morrow morning intime for me to get out at Verrieres. I am desperately sleepy and I amquite capable of not waking up."

  The guard touched his cap.

  "You can be perfectly easy, sir, and sleep without the least anxiety. Iwon't fail."

  "Very well."

  When his baggage had been stowed away, and his rugs spread out to makethe seat more comfortable still, M. Etienne Rambert repeated his appeal,for he was an old traveller and knew that it does not do to rely toomuch upon the promises of chance attendants.

  "I can rely upon you, can't I? I may sleep as sound as I like, and youwill wake me at Verrieres?" And the more to assure himself that theguard would execute his orders he slipped a franc into his hand.

  When he was left alone, M. Rambert continued his preparations for thenight. He carefully drew down the blinds over the door and over thewindows of the compartment that gave on to the corridor, and alsolowered the shade over the electric light, and then, in order to enjoythe last puffs at his cigar in peace, he opened the window over theother door and leant his elbows on it, watching the final preparationsbeing made by the travellers by the express on the other line.

  The departure of a train is always a picturesque sight, and M. Rambertleant forward inquisitively to note how the passengers had installedthemselves in the two compartments which he could see from his coign ofvantage.

  There were not many people in the train. As a matter of fact the Brivesand Luchon line is not much used at this time of year. If the number ofpassengers in the express were any criterion Etienne Rambert mightreasonably expect that he would be the only one in the slow train. Butthere was not much time for observations and reflections of this kind.On the platform for the express, which he got a glimpse of through thecompartments, people were hurrying up their farewells. The passengershad got into their carriages, and the friends who had come to see themoff were standing alone upon the platform. There was the sound of safetylocks being fastened by porters, and the noise of trollies being wheeledalong bearing articles for sale.

  "Pillows! Rugs! Sweets! Papers!"

  Then came the whistle of the guard, the shriller scream
from theelectric engine, and then, slowly at first but steadily, more rapidly asthe engine got up speed, the express moved along the platform andplunged into the tunnel on the way to Austerlitz.

  Meanwhile the guard of the slow train was doing wonders. Shamelesslyresolved to assure perfect quiet to "his" passenger, he managed, withoutunduly compromising himself but yet without leaving any doubt about itin any mind, to insinuate discreetly that M. Rambert's carriage wasreserved, so that that gentleman might count upon an entirelyundisturbed night.

  A few minutes after the express had gone, the slow train drew out in itsturn, and disappeared into the darkness of the underground tunnel.

  * * * * *

  At the chateau of Beaulieu young Charles Rambert was just finishingdressing when a gentle tap sounded on the door of his room.

  "It is a quarter to five, Charles. Get up at once!"

  "I am awake already, Therese," Charles Rambert answered with some pride."I shall be ready in two minutes."

  "What? up already?" the girl exclaimed from the other side of the door."Marvellous! I congratulate you. I'm ready too; I will wait for you inthe dining-room. Come down as soon as you are dressed."

  "All right!" the young man answered.

  He wasted no time over his toilette, the more so because it was none toowarm in his room, for at this early hour it was still quite dark; andthen taking his light in one hand he opened his door carefully so as tomake no noise, tip-toed along the landing, and went down the staircaseto join Therese in the dining-room. The girl was an accomplishedhousekeeper already, and while waiting for the young fellow she had gota scratch meal together.

  "Let us have breakfast quickly," she suggested; "it isn't snowing thismorning, and if you like we might walk to the station. We have plenty oftime, and it will do us good to have a walk."

  "It will warm us up anyhow," Charles Rambert replied; he was onlyhalf-awake, but he sat beside Therese, and did justice to thepreparations she had made.

  "Do you know that it is very wonderful of you to get up so punctually?"Mme. de Langrune's granddaughter remarked. "How did you manage it? Lastnight you were afraid you would sleep on as usual."

  "It was not much trouble for me to wake up," Charles Rambert answered."I hardly closed an eye all night."

  "But I promised to come and knock at your door myself, so you might haveslept without any anxiety."

  "That's so, but to tell you the truth, Therese, I was regularly upsetand excited by the thought of papa arriving this morning."

  They had both finished breakfast, and Therese got up.

  "Shall we start?" she asked.

  "Yes."

  Therese opened the hall door, and the two young people went down theflight of steps leading to the garden. The girl had thrown a big cloakover her shoulders, and she inhaled the pure morning air with keendelight.

  "I love going out in the early morning," she declared.

  "Well, I don't like it at all," Charles Rambert confessed withcharacteristic candour. "Good Lord, how cold it is! And it is stillpitch dark!"

  "Surely you are not going to be frightened?" said Therese teasingly.

  Charles Rambert made an irritable movement of vexation and surprise.

  "Frightened? What do you take me for, Therese? If I don't like going outin the early morning it's really only because it is cold."

  She laughed at him while they were crossing the lawn towards theout-buildings, through which she meant to get out on to the high road.As they passed the stables they came across a groom who was leisurelygetting an old brougham out of the coach-house.

  "Don't hurry, Jean," Therese called out as she greeted him. "We aregoing to walk to the station, and the only important thing is that youshould be there to bring us back."

  The man touched his cap and the two young people passed through the parkgate and found themselves upon the high road.

  * * * * *

  It was still very dark, with just a wan reflection in the distance ofthe sky vaguely outlining some cloud-shapes to the eastward to give somepromise of the day. There was no sound to break the silence of thefields, and as they walked briskly along Charles and Therese could heartheir footsteps ringing on the hard surface of the frozen ground.

  "It must please you awfully to be going to meet your father," said Mme.de Langrune's granddaughter half questioningly. "It is a long time sinceyou have seen him, isn't it?"

  "Three years," Charles Rambert answered, "and then just for a fewminutes. He is coming home from America now, and before that hetravelled in Spain for a long time."

  "He was travelling the whole time you were a child, wasn't he?"

  "Yes, always: either in Colombia, looking after his rubber plantationsthere, or in Spain, where he has a good deal of property too. When hewas in Paris he used to come to the school and ask for me, and I saw himin the parlour--for a quarter of an hour."

  "And your mother?"

  "Oh, mamma was different. You know, Therese, I spent all the childhoodthat I can remember at the school. I liked the masters and had goodchums, and was very happy there, and if the truth must be told I lookedforward with anything but pleasure to the holidays, when I had to go tomy parents' house. I always felt a stranger with them; my real home wasthe school-room, where I had my desk and all my own interests. And then,you know, when one is little one doesn't understand things much; Ididn't feel having hardly any family, very much."

  "But you loved your mother very much?"

  Therese asked the question quite anxiously, and it was patent that shewould have thought it dreadful if her companion had not had a realaffection for his mother.

  "Oh, yes, I loved her," Charles Rambert answered; "but I hardly knew hereither." And as Therese showed her surprise he went on, telling hersomething of the secret of his lonely childhood. "You see, Therese, nowthat I am a man I guess lots of things that I could not have had even asuspicion of then. My father and mother did not get on well together.They were what you call an ill-assorted couple. They were both verygood, but their characters did not harmonise. When I was little I alwayssaw mamma silent and sad, and papa active and on the go, and bright andtalking at the top of his voice. I half believe he frightened mamma! Andthen my father was constantly away, whereas mamma hardly ever went out.When a servant took me to the house on Thursdays, I was taken up to saygood morning to her, and I invariably found her lying on a sofa in herroom, with the blinds down and almost dark. She just touched me with herlips and asked me one or two questions, and then I was taken away againbecause I tired her."

  "Was she ill, then?"

  "Mamma always has been ill. I suppose you know, Therese, that threemonths ago--stay, it was just when I had taken my degree and went toGermany--she was sent to an asylum? I believe my father had wanted herto agree to undergo careful treatment of the kind long before, but shewould not."

  Therese was silent for a few minutes.

  "You have not been very happy," she said presently.

  "Oh, it was only after I grew up that I felt unhappy. When I was alittle chap I never thought of how sad it is to have no real father ormother. The last four or five years it has hurt me, but when he came tosee me once at school, papa told me he would take me with him as soon asI had taken my degree and grown up. Last October, after my examination,he wrote and told me to be patient a little longer, and that he washurrying on with the winding up of his business and coming back toFrance. That gave me a hope which has brightened these last few months,and will also make you understand why I am so pleased this morning at myfathers coming. It seems to me that a new life is going to begin."

  Day was breaking now: a dirty December day, with the light filteringthrough heavy grey clouds that drifted along the ground, hid thehorizon, clung to the low hills, and then suddenly dispersed in longwisps driven by a keen breeze, that got up in gusts, and drove clouds ofdust along the hard frozen ground.

  "I have not been very happy either," said Therese, "for I lost my
fatherwhen I was tiny: I don't even remember him; and mamma must be dead aswell."

  The ambiguous turning of the child's phrase caught Charles Rambert'sinterested attention.

  "What does that mean, Therese? Don't you know if your mother is dead?"

  "Yes, oh yes; grandmamma says so. But whenever I ask for particularsgrandmamma always changes the subject. I will echo what you said justnow: when you are little you don't know anything and are not surprisedat anything. For a long time I took no notice of her sudden reticence,but now I sometimes wonder if something is not being kept back fromme--whether it is really true that mamma is no more in this world."

  Talking like this Therese and Charles had walked at a good pace, and nowthey came to the few houses built around Verrieres station. One by one,bedroom windows and doors were being opened; peasants were making theirway to the sheds to lead their cattle to the pastures.

  "We are very early," Therese remarked, pointing to the station clock inthe distance. "Your father's train is due at 6.55, and it is only 6.40now; we still have a quarter of an hour to wait, and more, if the trainis not punctual!"

  * * * * *

  They went into the little station and Charles Rambert, thankful for someshelter from the cold, stamped his feet, making a sudden uproar in theempty waiting-room. A porter appeared.

  "Who the deuce is kicking up all this row?" he began angrily, and thenseeing Therese, broke off short. "Ah, Mademoiselle Therese," he saidwith the familiar yet perfectly respectful cordiality that marks countryfolk, "up already? Have you come to meet somebody, or are you goingaway?"

  As he spoke, the porter turned a curious eye upon Charles Rambert, whosearrival had caused quite a sensation two days before in this littlespot, where with but few exceptions none but people belonging to theneighbourhood ever came by train.

  "No, I am not going away," Therese replied. "I have accompanied M.Rambert, who has come to meet his father."

  "Ah-ha, to meet your papa, sir: is he coming from far?"

  "From Paris," Charles Rambert answered. "Is the train signalled yet?"

  The man drew out a watch like a turnip, and looked at the time.

  "It won't be here for quite another twenty minutes. The work on thetunnel makes it necessary to be careful, and it's always late now. Butyou will hear when the bell rings: that will be when the train is comingover the level-crossing; it will run into the station three minutesafter that. Well, Mademoiselle, I must get on with my work," and the manleft them.

  Therese turned to Charles Rambert.

  "Shall we go on to the platform? Then we shall see the train come in."

  So they left the waiting-room and began to walk up and down the wholelength of the platform. Therese watched the jerky movements of the handsof the clock, and smiled at her companion.

  "Five minutes more, and your father will be here! Four minutes more! Ah!There it is!" and she pointed to a slope in the distance where a slighttrail of smoke rose white against the blue of the sky, now clear ofcloud. "Can't you see it? That is the steam from the engine coming outof the tunnel."

  Ere she finished speaking the quivering whir of the bell echoed throughthe empty station.

  "Ah!" said Charles Rambert: "at last!"

  The two porters who, with the stationmaster, constituted the entirerailway staff at Verrieres, came bustling along the platform, and whilethe bell continued its monotonous whirring ring, pulled forward trucksin readiness for any possible luggage. Puffing portentously, the engineslackened speed, and the heavy train slowed down and finally stopped,bringing a noisy atmosphere of life into the station of Verrieres thatbut a moment ago was so still.

  The first-class carriages had stopped immediately in front of Charlesand Therese, and on the footboard Etienne Rambert stood, a tall, elderlyman of distinguished appearance, proud bearing and energetic attitude,with extraordinarily keen eyes and an unusually high and intelligentforehead. Seeing Therese and Charles he seized his baggage and in atwinkling had sprung on to the platform. He dropped his valise, tossedhis bundle of rugs on to a seat, and gripped Charles by the twoshoulders.

  "My boy!" he exclaimed; "my dear boy!"

  Although he had hitherto shown so little affection for his child, it wasobvious that the man was making a great effort to restrain his emotion,and was really moved when he now saw him again as a grown young man.

  Nor, on his part, did Charles Rambert remain unmoved. As if the suddengrip of this almost stranger, who yet was his father, had awakened aworld of memories within him, he turned very pale and his voice falteredas he replied:

  "Papa! Dear papa! I am so glad to see you!"

  Therese had drawn tactfully aside. M. Rambert still held his son by theshoulders and stepped back a pace, the better to consider him.

  "Why, you are a man! How you have altered, my boy! You are just what Ihoped you would be: tall and strong! Ah, you are my son all right! Andyou are quite well, hey? Yet you look tired."

  "I did not sleep well," Charles explained with a smile. "I was afraid Ishould not wake up."

  Turning his head, M. Rambert saw Therese and held out his hand.

  "How do you do, my little Therese?" he exclaimed. "You have altered toosince I saw you last. I left a little chit of a child, and now I beholda grown-up young lady. Well! I must be off at once to pay my respects tomy dear old friend, your grandmother. All well at the chateau, eh?"

  Therese shook hands warmly with M. Rambert and thanked him prettily.

  "Grandmamma is very well; she told me to tell you to excuse her if shedid not come to meet you, but her doctor says she must not get up veryearly."

  "Of course your grandmamma is excused, my dear. Besides, I have to thankher for her kindness to Charles, and for the hospitality she is going toextend to me for a few days."

  Meanwhile the train had gone on again, and now a porter came up to M.Rambert.

  "Will you take your luggage with you, sir?"

  Recalled to material things, Etienne Rambert contemplated his trunkwhich the porters had taken out of the luggage van.

  "Good Lord!" he began, but Therese interrupted him.

  "Grandmamma said she would send for your heavy luggage during themorning, and that you could take your valise and any small parcels withus in the brougham."

  "What's that? Your grandmamma has taken the trouble to send hercarriage?"

  "It's a long way to Beaulieu, you know," Therese replied. "Ask Charlesif it isn't. We came on foot and the walk would be too tiring for youafter a whole night in the train."

  The three had reached the station yard, and Therese stopped in surprise.

  "Why, how's that?" she exclaimed; "the carriage is not here. And yetJean was beginning to get it ready when we left the chateau."

  M. Etienne Rambert was resting one hand on his son's shoulder, andcontemplating him with an affectionate, all-embracing survey every nowand then. He smiled at Therese.

  "He may have been delayed, dear. I tell you what we will do. Since yourgrandmamma is going to send for my luggage there is no need for me totake my valise; we can leave everything in the cloak-room and start forthe chateau on foot; if my memory serves me right--and it is a very goodmemory--there is only one road, so we shall meet Jean and can get intothe carriage on the way."

  A few minutes later all three set out on the road to Beaulieu. M.Rambert walked between the two young people; he had gallantly offeredhis arm to Therese, who was not a little proud of the attention, whichproved to her mind that she was now regarded as a grown-up young lady.On the other side of his father Charles made answer to the incessantquestions put to him.

  M. Etienne Rambert enjoyed the walk in the quiet morning through thepeaceful country-side. With a tender half-melancholy he recognised everyturn in the road, every bit of scenery.

  "Just fancy my coming back here at sixty years of age, with a great sonof eighteen!" he said with a laugh. "And I remember as if it wereyesterday the good times I have had at the chateau of Beaulieu. Mme. deLangrun
e and I will have plenty of memories to talk over. Gad! it mustbe quite forty years since I came this way, and yet I remember every bitof it. Say, Therese, isn't it the fact that we shall see the front ofthe chateau directly we have passed this little copse?"

  "Quite true," the girl answered with a laugh. "You know the country verywell, sir."

  "Yes," said Etienne Rambert; "when one gets to my age, little Therese,one always does remember the happy days of one's youth; one remembersrecent events much less distinctly. Most likely that means, my dear,that the human heart declines to grow old and refuses to preserve anybut pictures of childhood."

  * * * * *

  For a few minutes M. Rambert remained silent, as if absorbed insomewhat melancholy reflections. But he soon recovered himself and shookoff the tender sadness evoked in his mind by memories of the past.

  "Why, the park enclosure has been altered," he exclaimed. "Here is awall which used not to be here: there was only a hedge."

  Therese laughed.

  "I never knew the hedge," she said. "I have always seen the wall."

  "Must we go on to the main gate?" M. Rambert asked, "or has yourgrandmamma had another gate made?"

  "We are going in by the out-buildings," the girl answered; "then weshall hear why Jean did not come to meet us." She opened a little doorhalf-hidden among the moss and ivy that clothed the wall surrounding thepark, and making M. Rambert and Charles pass in before her, cried: "ButJean _has_ gone with the brougham, for the horses are not in the stable.How was it we did not meet him?" Then she laughed. "Poor Jean! He is somuddle-headed! I would not mind betting he went to meet us atSaint-Jaury, as he does every morning to bring me home from church."

  The little company, Etienne Rambert, Therese and Charles, were nowapproaching the chateau. Passing beneath Mme. de Langrune's windowsTherese called merrily up to them.

  "Here we are, grandmamma!"

  There was no reply.

  But at the window of an adjoining room appeared the figure of thesteward, Dollon, making a gesture, as if asking for silence.

  Therese, in advance of her guests, had proceeded but a few yards whenMme. de Langrune's old servant rushed down the stone flight of steps infront of the chateau, towards M. Rambert.

  Dollon seemed distraught. Usually so respectful and so deferential inmanner, he now seized M. Rambert by the arm, and imperiously wavingTherese and Charles away, drew him aside.

  "It is awful, sir," he exclaimed: "horrible: a fearful thing hashappened. We have just found Mme. la Marquise dead--murdered--in herroom!"