Autumn Glory Part 8

"They are coming. Hark!"

The distant footsteps of the men, one following the other, were audible. They were returning for the mid-day meal.

Eleonore, in terror, almost suppliant, her voice shaken with emotion, e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed:

"Mathurin is coming first--if only he did not hear what you were saying, Rousille. If he catches sight of me, he will guess everything.... I dare not go back into the house with such red eyes.

You take my place. Go and pour out the soup, I will be with you in a moment."

The men went into the house, walking in their usual leisurely manner; Francois alone had a presentiment of the news awaiting them. The hot sun had dried the moisture on gra.s.s and leaves, a soft haze lay all around, the air was mild and balmy; linnets, innumerable, had settled on the waggon-ruts, where lay thistles trodden down by the oxen. An aroma of hot bread pervaded the farmyard, and cheered by the wholesome smell the fine old farmer entered the house-place, whither Mathurin had preceded him.

As soon as they had disappeared within the house, Eleonore, who had been watching at the door of the bakery, crossed the yard to the stable where Francois, having deposited his load of maize, was coiling up the rope by which he had carried it.

"Francois," she exclaimed, "they want you. Your letter has been burning me like fire." And still quite pale, Eleonore held out the letter, watching it pa.s.s from her hands to those of her brother with a nervous dread of the unknown future.

"When is it?" she asked. "Be quick!"

Without showing any emotion Francois tried to smile, as though to mark masculine superiority over the weaker s.e.x, as he proceeded deliberately to open the envelope with his thick, moist fingers. He read, reflected for a moment, then answered:

"Humph! to-morrow."

"To-morrow?"

"Yes, I have to be at La Roche at noon, to begin work on the railway."

Eleonore covered her face with both hands.

"Oh, I say, don't you go and leave me now," he continued. "Do you want to?"

"No, Francois, but to go to-morrow--to-morrow!"

"Not to-morrow, to-night--at once. You ought to have expected it. Why, you engaged with the owner of the coffee shop in Rue Neuve two months ago. Did you sign the lease or not?"

"Yes."

"Did you promise to keep house for me?"

"Yes, Francois."

"When you bothered me to find you a good place at La Roche, did I not trouble myself about you on the condition that you would keep house for me? Yes or no? Of course, I want someone, and now you are not willing to go?"

"I do not say...."

"Oh, well. I shall tell father presently what you promised. Stay behind, if you like; but I warn you they will lead you a pretty life at La Fromentiere when I am gone; without mentioning the action the landlord at La Roche will bring against you at once, do you understand? at once, if you refuse to take the shop you have rented.

Stay, if you like. I am going!"

She raised her arms above her head and always under the impression of the moment, said:

"I will go; whatever time you like, I will be ready. Only I cannot hear you tell father. Do not speak to him when I am there." She hurriedly left the stable and went into the house to serve the dinner, whilst Francois proceeded to give the oxen their forage, taking as much time over it as he could.

Toussaint Lumineau was quietly talking with Mathurin. Sitting side by side at the table, they watched their steaming plates of soup cool as they discussed the new farm-servant whom it was necessary to engage shortly.

"I will hire him at Chalons fair," said the father.

"That will be too late."

"We must do our best till then, my boy. I will look out for a strong fellow, a lad from these parts."

"Yes, no _Boquin_, above all things! We know what they are!"

Toussaint Lumineau shook his head as he replied gently:

"Do not wrong the lad, Mathurin. I sent Jean Nesmy away, and for a reason. But as regards work, I have nothing but good to say of him; he worked well, and he loved farming, whilst others...." Little Rousille was listening with eyes lowered, standing like a statue by the window.

Francois entered. "Whilst others," continued the farmer, slightly raising his voice, "do not show as much energy as they might. Eh, my Francois?"

The fair, ruddy-cheeked youth shrugged his shoulders as he took his seat.

"The work is too hard," he said. "Since I came back I have felt that I cannot accustom myself to that kind of thing."

"Oh, you half of a man," cried Mathurin. "Are you not ashamed of yourself? If I could but walk, our father would have no need to hire anyone. Look at these arms," and he held them out, the muscles showing under his coat sleeves like knots of an oak-tree imprisoned within the bark, while his face was suffused with crimson, the veins of his forehead swelled, and his eyes were bloodshot.

"My poor boy!" said his father, touching his hand to calm him. "My poor boy, I well know your misfortune has cost La Fromentiere dear."

Then after a short silence, he added: "Still we will get through some good work, children, with Francois and Driot, who will soon be home, and the man I am about to hire. I have a mind to start to-day on the field of La Cailleterie, that has lain fallow there two years. The rain we have had must have softened the ground, the plough will bite."

Eleonore, who had just then pushed open the inner door, stopped tremblingly, seeing Francois in the act of moving his lips as if to speak and tell their secret. But no word escaped the young man's lips during the remainder of the meal. Towards the end, as they were rising from table, Mathurin, looking at the sky through the smoke-begrimed windows, said:

"Father, will you take me up there in the cart?"

"Of course I will. Go fetch the cart, Eleonore, and you, Francois, yoke the oxen."

The farmer was well-nigh gay; the young people thought his mind was dwelling upon Driot, whose name was now so constantly upon his lips.

But it was nothing but the first tillage of the season that made him so content.

A quarter of an hour later the farmer pa.s.sed round his body the strap fixed to the box on wheels in which the cripple was seated and began dragging it as one tows a boat; the oxen, led by Francois, going on in front. They took the same road which Jean Nesmy had taken the morning of his dismissal; his footprints were still visible in the dust. There were four superb oxen, preceded by a grey mare, n.o.blet, Cavalier, Paladin, and Matelot, all with tawny coats, widespread horns, high backs, and slow supple gait. With perfect ease they drew the plough, the share raised, up the steep ascent; and when a trail of bramble across their path tempted them, they would simultaneously slacken speed, and the iron chain that linked the foremost couple to the beam would clank on the ground. Francois walked gloomily beside them, deep in thought on matters not connected with the day's work.

Those following him, the farmer and his crippled son, were equally silent, but their thoughts were centred on the soil over which they were pa.s.sing; and with the like sense of peaceful content their eyes roamed over gates, ditches, fields, their minds filled with the same simple interests. With them meditation was a sign of their calling, the mark of the n.o.ble vocation of those by whose labours the world is fed. Arrived at the top of the knoll in the field of La Cailleterie, his father helped Mathurin out of the little cart to the foot of an ash-tree, whose branches threw a light shadow over the slope. Before them the fallow land, covered with weeds and ferns, fell away in an even descent, surrounded by hedges on the four sides. Looking down the slope and over the lower hedge could be seen the Marais fading away in the distance like a blue plain.

And now the farmer, having loosened the pin that held the share, himself guided the plough to the extreme left of the field, and put it in place.

"You stay there in the sun," he said to Mathurin. "And you, Francois, lead your oxen straight. This is a grand day for ploughing. Ohe!

n.o.blet, Cavalier, Paladin, Matelot!"

A cut of the whip sent the mare off, the four oxen lowered their horns and extended their hocks, the ploughshare cut into the earth with the noise of a scythe being whetted; the earth parted in brown clods that formed high ridges on either side, falling back in powdery ma.s.ses upon themselves like water divided by the bow of a ship. The well-trained oxen went straight and steadily. Their muscles under the supple skin moved regularly and without more apparent effort than if they had been drawing an empty cart upon an even road. Weeds lay uprooted in the ruts; trefoil, wild oats, plantains, pimpernels, broom, its yellow blossoms already mixed with brown pods, brakes folded back on their long stems like young oaks cut down. A haze ascended from the upturned earth exposed to the heat of the sun; in front the dust raised by the feet of the oxen caused the team to proceed in a ruddy aureole, through which numberless gnats and flies were darting.

Mathurin, in the shade of the mountain ash, looked on with envy as the team descended the slope of the hill, and the forms of his father and brother, the oxen and mare, grew smaller in the distance.

"Francois," exclaimed his father, enjoying the feeling of the shaft under his hand, "Francois, see to n.o.blet, he is slackening. Touch up Matelot! The mare is drawing to the left. Brisk up, my boy, you look half asleep!"

And, in truth, Francois was taking no interest in guiding the plough.