Was it a murder?

Chapter I

La Germoniere is not a chateau. La Germoniere has neither towers, nor moats, nor drawbridges, nor a main building flanked by two wings. Neither is it a chalet in the Arcachon style, nor an English cottage; still less is it a farm-house. It is a great country house, built in the bourgeois reign of Louis Philippe by a rich druggistwho loved comfort and despised architecture.

There are no artistic ornamentations, no roofs adorned with carved vanes and fancy gutters, no plinths, no pediments, no mouldings. Nothing but a cube of masonry, rising above a terrace in the Italian style, and pierced by three rows of windows at equal distances from each other.

It resembles a sub-prefecture or a barracks, the ideal of ugliness.

But it is built entirely of cut stone. It is a folly in granite ; but a folly which did not cost too much ; for the quarry is only a short distance off.

Therefore the economical constructor gave himself the luxury of two piazzas with flights of steps and balustrades, one upon the court and the other upon the gardens.

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F or there are gardens, and gardens such as are rarely seen. Trees abound there, trees a hundred years old which the druggist did not have the time to cut down and which the new proprietors have respected. A river bounds the park, which is laid out in the F rench fashion, a real river, navigable for boats, although it is not classed among navigable streams, and quite deep enough to drown a person in.

The druggistwho built the place experienced the truth of this latter fact. “ When the house is finished death enters,” says a Turkish proverb. One evening when this distinguished merchant had eaten and drank too much at dinner, after having arranged his accounts with his contractor to his own advantage, he took a walk on the bank of the river, and was found drowned in it the next day.

His heirs did not trouble themselves to discover how he happened to fall in, and having no taste for a country life, they tried to sell the place; but they could find no purchaser, and La Germoniere remained for thirty years uninhabited.

After the war of 1870, Madame Daudierne (without an apostrophe after the D.) bought it at half what it was worth, from the last descendant of the druggist, and she passed there regularly her summers and often a part of the autumn.

She was a widow ; she possessed what is called in the provinces a handsome fortune, but what would be in Paris only a moderate competency, especially when one has two daughters to marry, and a son who has already committed many follies.

These children, it is true, possessed an uncle, from whom they might be said to have expectations, for he had never married and he had made considerable money in California, where he had gone to seek his fortunes after a rather stormy youth.

But this uncle was an eccentric character, who had distressing opinions in regard to inheritance. He claimed that a man had a right to dispose of his property as he wished, to leave it by will to whomever he liked, even to spend it while he lived if he had a fancy to do so.

He was a good relative, however, indulgent to his nephew, affectionate to his nieces and very devoted to his sister-in-law, while he railed at the ideas of the good lady in regard to the education of girls and the danger to which a boy is exposed in Paris.

Uncle Armand was a jovial companion, bearing his fifty years lightly, and a great favorite at the Moucherons Club, where he spent two-thirds of his time. He was a little feared there, for he had a biting tongue, and did not spare the people whom he did not like. But he was pardoned for being caustic, because he was amusing.

When his sister-in-law was in the country he did not appear very often at her house. He pretended that La Germoniere lacked women ; at his age it was pure folly to give such an excuse, but he declared that this criticism had no hidden meaning, and that he regretted women only on account of their conversation. Men, he affirmed, had not taste enough for a finely turned epigram.

This particular year, however, instead of repairing to Biarritz, where it was his habit to go every year to join in September some of his comrades and ladies quite capable of replying to his witty remarks, he came as soon as the hunting season commenced and established himself at La Germoniere to the astonishment and delight of hu sister-in-law. He even announced that he intended to make a long visit.

It was November, and he was still there, and had said

G

WAS IT A MURDER?

nothing of leaving. He had not hunted for ten years, but he suddenly developed a strong liking for all field sports. He killed partridges during the month of September, pheasants during October, and after All- Saint’s Day he shot woodcock. There was nothing to show that he would not wait till the arrival of wild ducks.

All was changed in the household since he had been installed there. He often brought pleasant Parisians to the house, drove away the too tiresome provincials, and knew how to derive advantage from the others. The little city of Arcy-sur-Beauvron is only seven kilometres from La Germoniere. This intelligent idler woke it up, and it was indeed the most sleepy sub-prefecture of the department of Orne-et-Sarthe. He made of it a branch of Trouville and of Aix in Savoy. They played baccarat at the Literary Club, where, from the memory of man, they had never played anything but Boston.

They spoke of playing a comedy during the winter in the hall of the chateau, — for they said “ chateau ” now, and the lady allowed it.

The old people of the place shook their heads and declared that she would be .ruined; but the mothers approved in their hearts. They hoped to profit by these gaieties to settle their daughters, and Madame Daudierne, who had two, probably was of the same opinion as the other mothers, for she gave carte blanche to her gay brother-in-law, who took advantage of it to organize f£tes almost every day.

The exertion of arranging parties of all sorts calmed him a little. He had moments of reflection ; and sometimes, after dinner, he would fall into a profound meditation. He dined heartily, it is true, but it was evident that he was preoccupied with something beside his diges-

OR, WHO IS THE HEIR?

tion. With what? No one had been_able to discover, for no one dared to questicm him.

His sister-in-law feared he liad lost money, and his nieces suspected he was in love. The youngest, whose name was Germaine, and who was afraid of nothing, vowed that she would make him reveal the lady’s name. But Laurence, who was the elder and the more reasonable, thought that he was too sensible to make himself ridiculous as so many superannuated beaux are apt to do.

Their brother Alfred put on a mysterious air, and said that Mademoiselle Coralie of the Fantaisies Comiques had gone to Russia, and he insinuated that Uncle Armand’s melancholy was due to this unexpected flight.

However this might be, their uncle, formerly so frank, became silent and absent-minded. He never departed from this abnormal torpor except to make sarcastic speeches, and on the particular evening our story opens, a dreary evening in autumn, he seemed peculiarly out of sorts.

He was plunged in a great arm chair, in the corner of the vast fire place of the salon, and Madame Daudierne sat opposite to him.

They had dined alone, but they were expecting company. They expected company every evening. The young gentlemen of Arcy-sur-Beuvron had no need to be invited to come, about nine o’clock, to take a cup of tea, and the evening often ended in an improvised dance.

Laurence and Germaine had ascended to their rooms to make some little addition to their toilets. Alfred had gone to Paris under pretence of arranging for some lessons in law, and at this moment, was amusing himself behind the scenes of a minor theatre, where he was well known.

• The brother-in-law and sister-in-law had been alone

WAS IT A MURDER?

for twenty minutes, and they had not yet exchanged a word.

Nothing was heard but the distant cracking of the trees in the park shaken by the wind, which was almost blowing a hurricane. It was not raining, but it was beginning to snow and it was bitterly cold. However, the salon was well heated and well lighted, and there were flowers everywhere. Winter remained outside, and it was pleasant to defy the weather with one’s feet stretched out toward a roaring fire.

“What a storm!” growled Uncle Armand, passing his hand over his forehead, like a man awaking from a nap.

“ F rightful,” said Madame Daudierne. “ I don’t think we shall have any visitors this evening.”

“ The fact is, my dear Reine, if the young men risk coming here to-night to flirt with the young ladies, they must be fools. ‘ Crime alone can be abroad in such weather,’ wrote the late Ducray-Duminil.”

“Who was Ducray-Duminil?” asked the hostess absently.

“ A novelist who was much in vogue under the First Empire, and who had a certain style as you can judge from that specimen of his prose. I don't think our young gentlemen from the city will take advantage of the storm to commit crimes, but I doubt if they will decide to brave it for the sake of your pretty daughters.”

“ My daughters can get on very well without them ; and you too, I think.”

“ Oh ! there are two or three of them that amuse me, and I would bet that Laurence and Germaine will regret not seeing them; Germaine especially. She adores music and she is crazy about dancing. It is time she was married.”

OR, WHO IS THE HEIR?

“ She must wait till Laurence is married. But, my dear Armand, you speak very confidently. Do you think it would be so easy?”

“Why, certainly, for Germaine especially, who pleases at first sight. Laurence charms those who know her intimately, but so many people judge by first appearance.”

“ Laurence has fine qualities,” said Madame Daudierne, a little piqued, “ and I don’t see why she should not make a good match.”

“ She can make ten of them, if she is not too exacting.”

“It seems to me she has the right to be so.”

Instead of answering, Uncle Armand commenced to whistle softly to himself.

“ Really, Armand,” said the mother, decidedly offended. “ I don’t know what is the matter with you, but you seem to take a pleasure in tormenting me about my children.”

“ I ! I love your children ; I am as devoted to them as if they were my own, without even excepting that black sheep Alfred, who is already counting upon inheriting your fortune, as well as my own. Only, I have not your maternal illusions, and I see the situation as it is. How much dowry can you give each of your daughters?”

“ A hundred and fifty thousand francs, as you know very well, and you know also that I can not give more.”

“ Good ! And after you are gone, they will have as much more, if my charming nephew does not diminish their portion by incurring debts, which you will be weak enough to pay. But just now they haven’t a sou, as their father left them nothing. He had no fortune when you married him, no more than I, who made mine in San F rancisco. In short, these young ladies are matches with a hundred thousand crowns, ‘ expectations

WAS IT A MURDER?

included,’ as the prospectuses of the matrimonial agencies say. Therefore, they must be married to millionaires.”

“That is just like you; you push everything to extremes. Certainly, I think that Germaine would be happy with a very rich husband — ”

“And you think that Laurence would be contented with a poor one ? ”

“ Perfectly so, if she loved him. She has simple tastes, she is considerate and even-tempered. She is neither capricious, nor ambitious, nor — ”

“Nor giddy, nor passionate. I grant you that. Although I have seen in my journeyings volcanoes covered with snow — ”

“ There now, you compare my poor Laurence to a volcano. Really, my dear Armand, you are mocking me.”

“ I had not the slightest idea of doing so, I assure you, and since the volcano has shocked you, I withdraw the volcano. I know the excellent qualities of your elder daughter, and I ardently hope that she will find a husband worthy of her. But just now I don’t see any one in this place who is suitable. Though there is no lack of suitors. Since I have taken up my autumn quarters at La Germoniere, all the male youth of Arcy has defiled before me, and I have counted half a dozen of the natives who aspire to become your son-in-law, but not one of them fulfils the conditions which I should exact. There is indeed the cock of the walk, handsome Arthur du Pommeval. He is not bad looking, he is not too great a fool ; but a gentleman who mixes himself up with horse-racing, and who has at the most fifteen thousand livres income, offers but insufficient guarantees.”

“He will inherit from his uncle,” said Madame Daudierne.

“ That is what can not be depended upon, the inherit-

OR , WHO IS THE HEIR?

ing from an uncle. Let us talk of something else, my clear sister. Whom are you expecting this evening?”

“ Every one and no one. Any one comes here who likes from nine o’clock to midnight, but the weather is so bad, we shall perhaps have no one but the good doctor.”

u So much the better. His philosophy agrees with mine.”

“ Our neighbors on the other side of the river may also decide to make their call which their nephew, M. du Pommeval,has spoken of for the last three months.”

“ The Vignemals? They would be fools then, for the storm is turning into a cyclone. But — did you hear that ? ”

“ What? ”

“ That cry which seemed to come from the foot of the garden. I would swear that some one called for help.”

“You must be mistaken,” said Madame Daudiere unconcernedly. “No one is walking in the garden at this hour and in this abominable weather.”

“ I assure you, my dear, that I heard a cry, a cry of distress,” replied Uncle Armand, who had gone to the window overlooking the garden, and was listening with his ear pressed against the glass.

“ It was only the wind.”

“ No. It was the voice of a man, or of a woman.”

“ Do you think that a murder is being committed near the house? You will end by alarming me with your lugubrious imaginings.”

“ I don’t say that, but perhaps an accident has happened. The river is two hundred yards from here, that pretty river in which the former proprietor was drowned. Who knows if one of your servants has not fallen in.”

“ My servants do not ramble about, at night, in dangerous places.”

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“ Oh, there are some sentimental chamber maids who meet their lovers in solitary places by moonlight, and the moon is now full. But I hear nothing more.”

“ Because nothing has happened.”

“ Or because the person who cried out is no longer in this world.”

“ Armand, you are unbearable this evening. Y ou know that I am very nervous, and you take pleasure in frightening me.”

The conversation was interrupted by a burst of silvery laughter. The door opened, and two young girls entered, hand in hand.

They did not resemble each other in the least. One was fair and rosy, with beautiful golden hair and large dark eyes which sparkled with mischief and gayety. The other was dark and pale, with eyes of a shade very difficult to define.

Uncle Armand pretended that they were violet, which greatly annoyed Madame Daudierne.

At all events, they were superb, though not so lively as those of her sister. They had an expression of resigned sweetness, which was very touching, and sometimes they sparkled like stars.

This evening the fair Germaine was brimming over with laughter, while the dark Laurence was calm and quiet.

“You seem very gay, little one,” said Uncle Armand.

“ I have to be gay for two,” exclaimed Germaine. “ My sister is so dull. I have been telling her stories to rouse her. I have even mimicked old Baroness Verton when she is angry with her partner at whist. But all to no purpose. Mademoiselle is melancholy itself, like the barometer which has remained fixed at cloudy weather ever since yesterday. And I should like to know why.

OR, WHO IS THE HEIR?

lo

She has had wonderful success. This very week M. du Pommeval, who sets the fashion for the young men of Arcy, waltzed with her seven times, while he only honored me with three wretched mazourkas.”

“ F our, I counted them,” said Laurence gently. “ And then you know very well that if M. du Pommeval was attentive to me, it was only because he arrived late, and you were engaged for all the evening.”

“ Oh ! I forgive him ! But I wish he would bring some of his friends here to-night ; for two days I have amused myself with crochetting, and I feel that I need a change of exercise.”

“ Give us some music, then,” said Uncle Armand, “ for we shall have no one to-night. The wind will put to rout all the young men of the district.”

“Ah! that is true,” cried Germaine, running to the window. “And it is snowing, besides. So much the better. I adore the snow. The trees all look as if they were dressed for a white ball, and were saluting each other, as people used to salute when they still danced the Lancers. And then if the pond in the garden freezes, we shall have skating. And that is such fun. But those gentlemen of Arcy are afraid of the cold. If I had a lover, I would like him to serenade me under my balcony with the thermometer at thirty degrees below zero.”

“Germaine! Will you stop chattering?” said Madame Daudierne. “Your sister is already at work. Help her to finish that foot-stool.”

“Oh! No. Embroidery wearies me. I would rather play the piano. I am going to execute one of Offenbach’s quadrilles and I shall imagine I am dancing.”

“ Not too loud!” grumbled Uncle Armand. “I don’t like music except behind the scenes.”

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“Have no fear, uncle; I will put on the soft pedal,” answered Germaine, sitting down before the piano.

Laurence was busy with her work. Madame Daudierne, who no longer thought of the noise outside, had settled herself before the fire, when a servant in brown livery entered and announced in a well-trained voice :

“ Doctor Subligny.”

“ Welcome!” cried Uncle Armand. “You at least do not abandon us, under the pretext that the roads are bad.”

“To brave the storm for us is beautiful; it is grand, it is sublime!” said Germaine, clapping her hands.

“ Good evening, my dear doctor,” said Madame Daudierne. “ Come to the fire. You must be frozen.”

“How did you come?” asked Uncle Armand.

Everybody spoke at once except Laurence, who contented herself with a friendly smile.

The doctor, who received such a warm welcome, had passed his sixtieth year, but he was as straight as a poplar and as strong as an oak. He had been a military surgeon in his early years, and he still retained a certain brusqueness of manners tempered by the habits of society. He was a man of good birth, and a thoroughly honest man, which is better still; his face expressed frankness and kindness with a trifle of mischief in his eyes. He was loved in the city, and he was feted at La Germoniere, where the door was always open to him, and where he very willingly passed his evenings, especially since M. Armand Daudierne had taken up his residence there.

Dr. Subligny had never married, and the two old gentlemen were great friends.

“ Oh ! ” he answered, after having greeted Madame Daudierne and her daughters. “ I came on foot. My mare is old, and I was afraid that she would break a leg in this slippery weather.”

OR, WHO IS THE HEIR?

“And you preferred to risk your own,” said Uncle Armand laughing. “ If I had known you were on your way here, I should have thought it was you who called for help just now?”

“ Did some one call for help ? W ell, I have everything with me necessary to treat a wounded man.”

“ Oh ! Don’t trouble yourself. Some one cried out, but he doesn’t cry any more ; and besides I am not absolutely certain that there was a cry.”

“ Let us hope that you were deceived. I don’t believe there is any one else out this evening. I left Arthur du Pommeval and his gay companions at the club. They intended to come here in their carriages, but they were afraid of being upset, and they are now playing baccarat to console themselves.”

“The cowards!” cried Germaine; “to play baccarat when there are two poor girls at La Germoniere who have not waltzed for forty-eight hours ! ”

“ I acknowledge that they are very much to blame. But they have costly horses and they take care of them. Young du Pommeval has just bought a span which cost him three hundred louis.”

“ This Beau Brummel of Arcy-sur-Beuvron is very rich then?” asked Uncle Armand.

“ Rich? No. He has enough to live upon, and yet at the rate he is going — ”

“ But he has a millionaire relative in the neighborhood from whom he will inherit, they tell me.”

“ M. Vignemal, his mother’s brother. But he won’t get anything from him. Madame Vignemal is the millionaire. Monsieur Vignemal did not possess much, when he married a widow almost as old as himself. It is true that since their marriage they have made wills giving all their property to each other. But the good man is quite

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sickly and his wife is as strong as an ox. She will bury him, you can rest assured, and du Pommeval will have nothing. She can’t bear him. I am sorry for it, for he has more virtues than faults, and if he should inherit their fortune, he would be a good match,” concluded the doctor, furtively regarding Laurence.

Their eyes met, and he saw that she had not lost a word of the conversation; but she quietly went on with her embroidery.

Germaine was looking through her music, and did not seem particularly interested in M. du Pommeval’s financial future.

The doctor, while talking, had taken an arm chair, and was warming himself before the fire with great satisfaction.

“ These Vignemals are strange neighbors,” said Madame Daudierne, after a pause. “ They live three-quarters of a league from La Germoniere. I went to see them some time ago, but I was not admitted, and they have never returned my call.”

“ They do nothing like other people,” answered Doctor Subligny. “ They have horses and carriages, but they never use them.”

“ They are miserly, then? ”

“ The nephew is a spendthrift and that is a compensation,” muttered M. Armand.

u No, it is not because they are miserly, that they remain at home. It is for a much queerer reason. Would you believe that Madame Vignemal is as jealous as a tigress of her husband, who is at least fifty-five and wears a wig? I must tell you, however, that she married him for love, a quarter of a century ago. She always sees him as he was then, and she is afraid some one may entice him away from her. So she holds him with a tight rein,

OR, WHO IS TEE HEIR?

and he allows it. Yet I know from a good source that they will not long delay in paying their respects to you. They have been preparing to do so for the last three months, for the least change from the daily routine of their life is a great affair with them. But you will see them appear at the moment when you least expect them — this evening, very likely. Vignemal consulted me the other day as to what hour it was proper to call on you, and I jokingly told him that they never went to bed at La Germoniere till three o’clock in the morning.

“ What sport, if they should come to-night!” cried Germaine; “ those good people must be a perfect circus. What fun I should have in watching them.”

A severe glance from Madame Daudierne silenced the young girl, who softly attacked the first bars of F ortunio’s song.

“ Humph! ” said her uncle, “ you have no need of the Vignemals to find something to make fun of. There is no lack of absurd people in this charming place.”

“ No, these people are types.”

“ What do you mean by types ? ”

“ I mean faces which do not resemble all those you meet in the streets, peculiar characters, individualities, in a word.”

“ By Jove! Mademoiselle, you express yourself very well. I should like to know how you learned to do it.”

“ F rom the newspapers, when mamma allows me to read them. But acknowledge that I am right. All the young men of Arcy dress and talk after the same fashion; all the middle class are of the same pattern. Who knows one of them knows a hundred. I hoped better of the peasants, but I have been sadly deceived. I have not seen one who has not hair the color of tow, a sallow complexion, a red nose, round shoulders and a sly ex-

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pression. The race is ugly and vulgar here.”

“ I think you might make an exception in favor of M. du Pommeval.”

“Oh! he is a being quite by himself. He has Parisian manners, and he would make a very passable hero of romance, if he did not part his hair in the middle, and if he brushed his whiskers a little less carefully.”

“ Ah! you are dreaming of a Fra Diavolo.”

“ Perhaps.”

“ W ell, Mademoiselle, I can satisfy your longings,” said Doctor Subligny with a smile.

“ What! Are there Calabrian brigands in the neighborhood of La Germoniere?”

“ No, very fortunately. But there is a savage who is encamped upon your land without your ever having suspected it.”

“ Tell me where he is, so that I can go and see him.”

“ He is sometimes in your woods, sometimes upon your river. He is a wanderer who lives on your fish and game.”

“ And — is he young ? ”

“ He is twenty, and has a magnificent head.”

“ Good! We will draw his portrait; not I, but Laurence, who' is a real artist.”

“ Thanks,” said the elder sister quickly. “ I don’t like savages, and I don’t care to reproduce the features of this Mohican.”

“ I doubt very much, besides, if he would consent to sit for you,” said Doctor Subligny.

“No matter; I would like to see him,” said Germaine.

“ So would I, to get out a warrant against him,” added Uncle Armand, “ if this redskin hunts and fishes without permission at La Germoniere.”

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“ But — What is it, Baptiste? ” he continued, addressing an old servant, who had just entered the room. “ What’s the matter? Why do you look so frightened? ”

“ Monsieur,” faltered the domestic, “ an accident has happened.”

“ An accident! Where? and to whom? ”

“ Upon the river, Monsieur.”

“ By Jove! I was sure I heard a cry; some tipsy peasant has fallen into the water.”

“ No, Monsieur; it seems that M. and Madame Vignemal had entered the ferry-boat to cross the Beuvron; the wind broke the rope, and the boat was upset.”

“Good Heavens!” cried Madame Daudierne, “and they are drowned! drowned coming to see us! for I am sure they were coming here, — the ferry is at the foot of the garden. It is frightful ! ”

“ But some one must go there,” said Germaine. “ Perhaps there is still time to save them.”

“ Roch says not, Mademoiselle. He saw the accident twenty minutes ago.”

“ Roch! Who is Roch? ”

“ Roch Ferrer, the savage I was telling you about,” responded the doctor. “ If he has not saved them, it is because it was impossible, for he swims like a fish and dives like an otter. The husband and wife are both dead ; there is no doubt about that.”

“ The devil ! this is a strange occurrence, an occurrence which will materially better Arthur du Pommeval’s condition.”

“ This is a nice time to talk about Arthur du Pommeval,” cried Germaine. “ Y ou ought to hasten to the place where the accident happened, and try to resuscitate those poor people. People have been brought to life after being under the water an hour, haven’t they, doctor? ”