The master of the forges

Front matter

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.

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Chapter II

While the young marquis was returning heavily laden to the chateau, Mme. de Beaulieu and Claire were seated in the large salon enjoying the close of the beautiful summer’s day. Through the large glass doors op3ning on the flight of steps, the sunshine streamed in floods, lighting up the burnished gold frames from which looked out ancestors in ceremonial dress, smiling or grave. A low, broad screen in Genoa velvet encircled the easy-chair where sat the- marchioness, busily engaged in knitting hoods for the village children.

31 me. de Beaulieu had passed her fortieth .year. Her grave, gentle face was crowned with hair that, already nearly white, imparted to her an air of nobility; her dark, melancholy eyes seemed still

<*-»% bccixk wars. She was fragile and delicate, and though the day was warm, had taken the precaution to spread over her knees a large shawl to protect the little feet on which, with a persistent coquetry she still wore thin black satin slippers.

Buried in a large arm-chair, with her head leaning on its tapestried back, and hands hanging idly by her side, Claire’s eyes were riveted on the horizon before her, but she did not see it. ” For an hour she had sat there motionless and silent, with the sunshine lighting up her hair with an aureola like the halo around the Virgin. For some minutes past her mother had been observing her anxiously. To rouse her attention she moved the basket containing the balls of worsted, accompanying the movement with a significant “ hem! hem!’' But insensible to these indirect appeals, Claire still sat lost in thought. The marchioness, vexed, laid aside her work, and raising herself in her chair said in a somewhat chiding tone:

“ Claire!”

Mile, de Beaulieu closed her eyes as if to bid adieu to her dream, and without a movement of her head, merely raising her beautiful white hands to the arms of her chair:

“ Well, mother?” she replied.

“ What are you thinking about?”

Claire’s brow clouded, and for a moment she made no reply. Then with an effort over herself she said, quietly :

“ Of nothing. The warm day stupefied me. Why did you call me?”

“ To try to rouse you from your reverie and induce you to speak to me,” said the marchioness, with a shade of affectionate reproach in her voice.

There was a pause. Claire had resumed her listless attitude; the marchioness bent forward and threw aside her shawl, regardless of the fresh air. Mile, de Beaulieu turned toward her a sad, beautiful face.

“ How long is it since we have heard from St. Petersburg?” she asked as though putting her thoughts in words.

“ About tw r o months.”

“ Two months, yes!” repeated Claire with a sigh.

Ttftr marchioness lost patience. “ Why will you torment yourself with such thoughts?”

“ What would you have me think of if not of my betrothed? and how can I help tormenting myself, as you say, to divine the cause of his absence?”

“ It is unaccountable, it must be confessed,” said the marchioness, “ he promised to return this winter — first political complications detained him, then, the winter being ended, he would wait for summer. Summer has come, but not the duke; here is autumn, and Gas ton ceases even to invent pretexts for his absence. Admitting that it is simply negligence, it is unpardonable. The times are. degener ate, the men of our rank have even forgotten to be polite.”

And the marchioness raised her white head which made her look so like the powdered ladies that smiled from their handsome frames around the wall.

THE MASTER OF THE FORGES.

c< But if he should be ill?” ventured Claire with an impulse to defend the man she loved, “ if he should have been unable' to write. ”

“ It is inadmissible.” replied the marchioness pitilessly, “ the embassy would have notified us. * Rest assured he is perfectly well and gay, and has been leading the cotillon in fashionable Russian society all winter.”

Claire’s face contracted painfully. She turned pale as if all the blood in her veins had rushed to her heart. Then forcing a smile :

_ “He promised to pass the winter in Paris, and 1 had drawn delightful pictures to myself of triumphing in his success, while he too might have perceived mine. It must be owned that he is free from jealousy, though there might be thought to be some cause for it. Even here in this desert of Beaulieu, there is this iron-master, who last Sunday at mass — you were too pious to remark it — but 1 was reading my prayers when, without knowing why, I felt embarrassed. Something stronger than my will drew my attention. I turned and saw Monsieur Derblay in the shadow of an altar.”

“ He was praying.”

“ No, he was looking at me. Our eyes met, and he seemed to be making to me a silent entreaty. I dropped my head resolving not to turn again in that direction. When I left the church he was waiting in the porch. He did not venture to offer me the holy-water, but bowed profoundy, and when we passed out, 1 felt his gaze following me. it seems it was the first time he has been seen at mass this year. ’ ’

“Ah well, that will count something toward the safety of his soul. But instead of rolling his eyes at you he had better be trying to make reparations to us for his encroachments — and you must be sadly at a loss to be occupying yourself with the sighs of this iron-beater, who will deafen us one of these days with his hammers.”

“ Monsieur Derblay’s homage was respectful; 1 have no cause to complain of it. 1 only spoke of the iron-master among others. The heart of woman is inconstant, they say ; the duke is not here to defend his own, and I might weary of this role of Penelope. Gaston ought to say this much to himself, but he does not, while 1 remain here — patient, f aithf ul — ’ ’

“ And you are wrong,” exclaimed the marchioness with vivacity, “ were I in your place — ”

“No, mother,” interrupted Mile, de Beaulieu with gravity, “1 am not wrong, for I love the Duke de Bligny. ”

“You love him!” said the marchioness with ill-concealed irritation, “how you exaggerate! Gaston and you have grown up together, and you thought this life in common must never end, that you could not be happy without him, foolish child that you are! You are deceived in the duke; he is light, frivolous; he has habits of independence that are incorrigible, and 1 foresee disappointment for you. I could not see you married to him without grave concern.”

Claire’s face flushed, and they looked at each other in silence. Then Mile, de Beaulieu said, in a voice that quivered :

‘ ‘ Mother, you have never spoken so before. Is there a cause for the duke’s absence which you have been hiding from me? Have you learned anything?”

Mme. de Beaulieu was frightened at the vehemence of her daughter’s emotion. She perceived for the first time the depth and reality of her attachment, and recognized that she had gone too far.

“No, my child, I know nothing; I have heard nothing,” she said; “ niy nephew’s prolonged silence astonishes me, that is all ; indeed 1 think he is much too deeply engrossed in diplomacy.”

Claire was reassured, ller mother’s spirited attack proceeded simply from a dissatisfaction which she could not hut acknowledge to be well grounded; and recovering her serenity :

“ A little more patience, mother,” she said. ” The duke thinks of us, I am sure, and will surprise us one of these days by arriving unexpectedly.”

“ I hope so, since you wish it. At all events, my nephew De Prefont and his wife will be here to-day from Paris, and they, perhaps, will be better informed than we are.”

“ Here comes Octave through the terrace with Maitre Bachelin,” said Mile, de Beaulieu, risirikg quickly, anxious to escape from a painful conversation.

She quitted the salon and went out into the bright sunlight. She was twenty-two, and in the full splendoi of womanly beauty, with a tall, elegant figure and superb shoulders, ending in hands befitting a queen.

Her coil of golden hair, knotted high, revealed a neck of rosy whiteness. As she leaned lightly forward, resting her hands on the iron balustrade while she mechanically stripped the leaves from one of its twining plants, she was the impersonation of the grace and vigor of youth. Mme. de Beaulieu’s eyes rested on her in admiration, then she shook her head and heaved a sigh.

The steps of the new-comers sounded distinctly on the terrace, and a confused noise of voices reached the salon.

Maitre Bachelin was a little man of about sixty: with a rotund figure, a red, scrupulously shaven face, white hair, and dressed in black with a suspicion of ruffles on his wrists, he was a type of the notary of the old regime. He was warmly attached to his noble clients, saying “ Madame the Marchioness ” with pious unction, and sustaining the interests of the Beaulieu family by hereditary right, for the Bachelins were, by birth, notaries to the aristocracy of the country. The last of these public functionaries preserved with pride some charters of the time of Louis XI. with the rough feudal signature of the Marquis Honore Onfroy, Jacques Octave, and the flourishing autograph of Maitre Joseph Antoine Bachelin, royal notary.

The return of the Beaulieu family to the chateau had been an occasion of great joy to the good man. He had grieved at the absence of his noble clients, and begun to indulge a hope that every summer would now see them at Beaulieu. Jealous of his skill, he offered his aid to assist in disentangling the perplexed threads of the English suit, and had in a month and a halt done more work than had been done by all the solicitors of the Beaulieu family in two years. The marchioness was delighted to have secured his services in spite of his gloomy prognostications as to the probable result of the contest, and recognizing in him one of these devoted servants who are entitled to be raised to the rank of friends, treated him accordingly.

THE MA.STER OF THE FORGES.

Maitre Bachelin had, on liis way to the chateau, encountered the young marquis at the park gate, and insisting on relieving him of a part of his burden, had taken from him his gun, which he carried on his left arm, while he hugged closely with his right a voluminous leather case stuffed with papers.

“ Ah! you have more there than you can carry, my poor Monsieur Bachelin,” said Claire to the notary, who was ascending the stairs with precipitation, trying to take off his hat and going through the motions of ceremonious bowing.

“ Accept my humble respects, mademoiselle. 1 represent in my -person, as you see, the attributes of law and of force, with the code in one hand and gun in the other. But the gun is in the left — cedant armatogce! A thousand pardons ; you do not perhaps understand Latin, and 1 am simply a pedant.”

“My sister understands that Latin at least,” said the marquis laughing, “ and you are the best of men. Let me take my gun from you, and thanks.”

And resuming his weapon, he followed the notary up the stairs.

“You have had a fine hunt it appears,’’ said Mile, de Beaulieu, stopping her brother at the door and lifting the game-bag which hung from his shoulder.

6' 1 shall be modest, and not deck myself in false plumes ; the game was not killed by me. ’ ’

“ By wdiom then?”

“I do not know.” And seeing his sister’s surprise: “Only think, 1 strayed into the Pont-Avesnes grounds where 1 met another huntsman, who inquired quite sharply who 1 was, but no sooner did he hear my name than he became conciliatory, even gracious, and forced upon me the contents of this bag.”

“ What was the huntsman like?” asked Bachelin.

“ A tall dark young man in an old gray felt and blouse.”

“Ah! exactly,” said the notary in an undertone; “I think I can enlighten you. Monsieur the Marquis, concerning your mysterious donor. It was Monsieur Derblay.”

“ Monsieur Derblay! With a peasant’s blouse and slouch hat like a smuggler’s?”

“ Bear in mind, Monsieur the Marquis, that we are rustic sportsmen. 1, whom you see ordinarily decently clad, might frighten you if you encountered me in a corner of the woods in my hunting-dress. If Iliad not recognized Monsieur Derblay from your portrait, his courtesies would leave me no room for doubt.”

‘ ‘ Indeed ! Then 1 have been courteous enough to tell him he was a very disagreeable neighbor. 1 must go to see him and apologize.”

‘ ‘ I think that is unnecessary, Monsieur the Marquis. If you will announce my visit to j^our mother, 1 will inform you, in her presence, of certain facts that may serve to modify your opinion of Monsieur Derblay. ’ ’

“ Ma foi! 1 should like nothing better. He seems to be an excellent fellow,” said Octave, as he removed his hunting gear. He entered the salon and kissing Mme. de Beaulieu’s hand respectfully, said :

“ Maitre Bachelin wishes to see you, mother.”

THE MASTER OF THE FORGES.

“ Why does lie not come in?” said tlie marchioness. “ 1 have heard you prattling on the stairs for ten minutes. Good-morning, Monsieur Baclielin,” and as the notary was engaged in bowing as low as his corpulent person would permit, do you bring me good news?” she added.

Bachelin’s smiling face assumed an expression of seriousness.

“1 bring news, yes, Madame the Marchioness.” And as if in haste to change the subject. “ I went this morning to Pont-Avesnes, and have seen Monsieur Derblay. The difficulties respecting your boundary lines are removed. My friend is ready to accept whatever conditions you may dictate.”

“ In that case,” said Mme. de Beaulieu, with some embarrassment, “ we have no conditions to dictate. The matter will be submitted to your arbitrament; whatever you do will be well done.”

“ 'That is a resolution that gives me much pleasure. 1 am very desirous to see peace between the manufactory and the chateau. All we want is to sign the preliminaries, for which purpose Monsieur Derblay will present himself at the chateau with liis sister, Mademoiselle Suzanne, and offer his respects, if Madame the Marchioness will permit it.”

“ Certainly, let him come. I am curious to see this Cyclops that blackens all the valley. But, 1 suppose it is not this treaty of pease only that swells your portfolio,” she added, pointing to the notary’s leather case. “ You bring new papers relative to the English suit, do you not?”

‘‘Yes, Madame the Marchioness, with your permission, we will talk business.”

He glanced toward the son and daughter. The marchioness understood, and experienced a vague uneasiness. What had her man of business to say to her that must be said with closed doors?

“ Octave,” she said, turning to her son, “ see if the order has been given to meet your cousins at the station at live.”

Claire looked up quickly. The meaning of the marchioness was evident, and the brother and sister withdrew, with a smile to their mother. The thought had suddenly presented itself to Mile, de Beaulieu that Bachelin brought news of the duke, and deeply agitated, conscious only of a confused tumult of ideas and feelings surging through her brain, while she was unable to fix one, she sauntered down the terrace and beneath the shades of the great trees.

When the marchioness and the notaiy were left alone, the smiling expression which Bachelin had assumed gave place to a look of thoughtful gravity. Mme. de JBeaulieu remained silent for a moment, as though unwilling to part with her quiet of mind until the last moment.

“ Well, my dear Bachelin,” she said, after a pause, “ what news do you bring me?”

The notary shook his white head sadly.

“ Nothing good, Madame the Marchioness. The winning of the late marquis’ suit has become a matter of grave doubt.”

“ You are not telling me the whole truth, Bachelin; you would not have this dejected air if there were the least ray of hope. Have the English courts decided? have we lost?”

The notary could not summon courage to reply, but he made a significant gesture. The marchioness bit her lips, tears gathered in her eyes, while Bachelin, forgetting himself, began pacing the room with hasty strides, gesticulating as though he had been studying an affair of business in his own cabinet.

‘ The case was mismanaged ! These attorneys are fools, and rapacious ! They write you a letter, so much — they read your reply, so much — If the marquis had applied to me for counsel — but he was in Paris. And he was ill advised by his attorneys— idiots, these Paris attorneys!”

He paused suddenly, and striking his hands together: “ A sad blow this for the house of Beaulieu.”

“ Terrible!” said the marchioness, “ it is the ruin of my son and daughter. It would take not less than ten years of economy to reestablish our finances. ’ ’

Bachelin had recovered his composure, and now stood in an attentive attitude. The loss of the suit he knew to be irreparable. The carelessness of the marquis had given advantages to his opponents, and no appeal was possible.

‘‘Misfortune seldom comes singly,” resumed the marchioness. “ You have other news for me, Bachelin; tell me all; what remains cannot be worse than this.”

“ What remains appears to me less serious, Madame the Marchioness, but I fear that of the two misfortunes the loss of the money will affect you least seriously. ’ ’

“ You have tidings of the Duke de Bligny?” said the marchioness, turning pale.

“ You charged me with inquiries respecting your nephew,” said this fervent adorer of the aristocracy, with a shade of disdain.# “ I have followed your instructions and here is what 1 have learned. The Duke de Bligny has been in Paris for six weeks.”

“ Six weeks!” repeated the marchioness, confounded, ” and we have remained ignorant of it!”

“ Your nephew has taken care that you should not know it.”

“ And he does not come, knowing our reverse? For he knows it, does he not?”

“ He was among the first to hear of it.”

Mme. de Beaulieu made a gesture of grieved surprise.

“ Ah! you are right, Bachelin, this is a more cruel blow than the loss of the money. The duke abandons us; he has not come and I feel a presentiment that he will not. What he wanted was our money, and the fortune gone, the lover vanishes. Money is the vatchword of this venial, grasping epoch. Beauty, virtue, intelligence, count for nothing. "Now that we are almost poor no one will rtcognize us.”

Bachelin had listened calmly to this outburst of the outraged mother, unable to disguise a secret satisfaction. His face became ve*y red, and mechanically he rubbed his hands behind his back.

‘ I think you are unjust to our epoch, Madame the Marchioness; practical ideas govern it, it is true, and the natural cupidity of the Inman race has made notable progress; but we must not condemn all our contemporaries in one breath. There are men left who are disinterested enough to prize a woman for her beauty, virtue and intelligence. I do not say that 1 know many, but 1 know, at least, one.”

“ What do you mean?” asked the marchioness.

“ Simply that among my friends there is one who has not been able to see Mademoiselle de Beaulieu without being ardently in love with her. Knowing her engagement to the duke, he has remained silent; but now that she is free, if you authorize it, he will speak.”

“You allude to Monsieur Derblay?” <

“Yes, Madame the Marchioness,” said the notary, boldly.

“ I was not ignorant of the sentiments with which my daughter has inspired the iron master, ’ ’ resumed the marchioness. ‘ ‘ He shows them only too plainly.”

“Ah! because he loves Mademoiselle Claire and that sincerely,” resumed the notary, earnestly, “ but you do not as yet know enough of Monsieur Derblay to understand his worth.”

“ I am aw r are that he is highly esteemed throughout the country. But are you, my dear Bachelin, connected with his family?”

“ 1 was their father’s friend, and have know r Monsieur Philippe and his sister from their birth. My client has in my eyes but a single defect — that he spells his name in one word without an apostrophe. But the family is an old one, and who knows? In the Devolution honest men pressed close together, letters may have done so too.”

“ Let him keep his name as it is,” said the marchioness, sadly,

“ he makes it honorable, and in these days that is enough. See the Duke de Bligny, who deserts Claire when her fortune is gone, whilst Monsieur Derblay seeks out a dowerless girl, and tell me which is the nobleman, the lord or the plebeian?”

“ Monsieur Derblay would be most happy, madame, to hear you speak so. ’ ’

“ Do not repeat what 1 have said,” interrupted the marchioness, gravely. “Mademoiselle de Beaulieu accepts no one’s generosity, and knowing her as I do, 1 think it probable she will never marry. Pray Heaven that this double blow may find her strong and resigned. ”

“Whatever happens, madame, remember that Monsieur Derblay would esteem himself the happiest of men were it permitted him to hope. He will wait, for he is not a man whose heart will change. Now if 1 may offer a word of advice, say nothing to Mademoiselle de Beaulieu. The Duke de Bligny may come to himself, and there is time enough to make her suffer.”

“You are right. As for my son, I must acquaint him with our misfortune.”

The marchioness opened the door and beckoned to Octave, who was seated on the ten-ace, patiently awaiting the close of the confer ence.

“ Well,” he said, gayly, “is the meeting adjourned, or am 1 calM to take part in it?”

“ 1 have serious and distressing news for you,” said the marchioness, gently.

“ What is it?” he inquired, becoming immediately grave.

“ Monsieur Bachelin has received definitenewsfromour representative in England. ”

“ Well,” he said, “ and the cause is lost?” /.

“ You knew it, then?” said the marchioness, breathing more freely on seeing her son’s composure.

” Not positively, but I have anticipated it. Though I have refrained from discouraging; you, 1 have been satisfied that our case was indefensible. 1 have dreaded it on account of my sister, whose dowry was at stake, but there is a very simple method of settling that. You will give her the share of your fortune that you had reserved for me. 1 will take care of myself.”

Mme. de Beaulieu flushed with pride as she turned to the notary:

“ What right have 1 to complain with such a son?”

“There is no merit in it,” said the marquis, with emotion.

‘ 4 1 love my sister and would do anything to insure her happiness. And while we are on these melancholy topics, do you not think there is some connection between our cousin's silence and this lost suit?”

“ You mistake, my dear boy,” sai il the marchioness, hastily, with a deprecating gesture, “ the Duke de Bligny — ”

“Oh! you need have no fears,” interrupted Octave, with haughty disdain. “ If Gaston shrinks from keeping his engagement now that Mademoiselle de Beaulieu is not presented to him with a million in each hand, we are not the ones, I believe, to seize him by the collar and force him to respect his word. And if the Duke de Bligny does not marry my sister it will be in my opinion so much the worse for him, and so much the better for her.”

“Well said, my son,” exclaimed the marchioness.

“ Well said,” echoed Bachelin, “ and if Mademoiselle de Beaulieu is not rich enough to tempt a fortune-hunter, she is quite capable of winning a man who has heart.”

The marchioness made a motion of silence to Bachelin, and the latter, happy to sec so favorably terminated a much-dreaded interview, made his adieus to his noble clients, and with all the speed of his old limbs, took the route to Pont-Avesnes.

Chapter III

It was, as Bachelin had affirmed, M. Derblay, whom the Marquis de Beaulieu had encountered in the forest of Pont-Avesnes. Leaving Octave to call after him, he had hastened across the woods, heedless of the lashing of branches or the tearing of thorns. He descended the slope with long strides, unconscious that he walked so fast as to cause the drops to stand on his brow. When the marquis should discover who he was — for he would end by discovering — he would be gratified by the courtesies of his disagreeable neighbor, and who could tell? an acquaintance might be the result. He would see the adorable Claire, he would speak to her. But at this thought a cloud passed before him. He fancied the words would suffocate him, and that he would stand before her silent and abashed. Then he would seek refuge in some obscure corner of the room where he might see her at his ease, and lose himself in the happiness of this contemplation.

Happiness! And why? Where could this insane idolatry lead except to witnessing more nearly her marriage with the Duke de Bligny? For that lie would return was certain. How could a man

THE MASTER OF THE FORGES.

loved by such a woman be mad enough to disdain her? And if not the duke, it would be some other brilliant nobleman who had but to present his name to be cordially welcomed, while he, the plebeian, would be repulsed with cold disdain.

He no longer ran toward Pont- Avesnes like a deer through the coppice, but walked slowly, mechanically plucking the leaves from their branches and crumpling them in his fingers. Then he paused, and leaning against the trunk of a tree, stood there, grave and pale. He passed his life in review, asking himself whether the work he had accomplished did not give him the right to be happy. After a brilliant college career and a successful course at the Polytechnic school, he had chosen the engineering business, and had just received his appointment, when war being declared, he had enlisted as a volunteer in the army of the Rhine. He had participated in the bloody reverse of Froeschwiller, and returned with the remains of the first army corps to the camp at Chalons. He had made the northern campaign with General Faideherbe, and, wounded at Saint Quentin, had passed six weeks in a hospital hovering between life and death, and had awakened from a long stupor to learn with a shudder that Paris was in the hands of the Commune.

His state of convalescence saved him the sad duty of firing on the French, and he returned to his home, suffering from the effects of his wound, but bringing with him the cross of the Legion of Honor. A misfortune, greater than any he had yet experienced, awaited him there. He found his household mourning the loss of his mother, and his little sister deprived of her care at the age of seven. M. Derblay, engrossed in business affairs which demanded his constant attention, had been forced to abandon the little Suzanne to the care of servants, and deprived of the tenderness and affection which is more than material comfort in the life of children and of women, she clung to Philippe with passionate devotion.

But it became necessary to part with Suzanne in order to resume his occupations. This separation, so grievous lor the child, was not, however, destined to prove of long duration. M. Derblay suddenly sunk under the burden of his excessive cares, and Philippe and Suzanne were left alone in the world.

New duties now devolved upon the young man. The winding up of his father’s affairs proved extremely complicated, and occasioned him many a painful surprise. M. Derblay, though a man of intelligence, had the serious defect of undertaking more than he could accomplish; expending his energies in a variety of directions and unable to bring all to a successful issue, the losses of one enterprise absorbed the profits of another. He had surmounted, by dint of energy and skill, the host of difficulties with which he was constantly met, and had passed away before the catastrophe came, but leaving behind him the most entangled of inheritances.

A splendid career was traced out for Philippe. He might abandon for it his father’s enterprises, permitting all his resources to be applied to the saving of his name, but this would leave his sister penniless, and without hesitation he renounced his future, resigned this position, and assumed the burden under which his father had succumbed.

A difficult task lay before him. M. Derblay’s inheritance com-

THE MASTER OF THE FORGES.

prised glass works at Courtalin, a foundry in the Nivernais, slateworks in the Yar, and iron works at Pont-Avesnes. Philippe applied himself to gathering together the scattered wrecks, and for six years his days, and a great portion of his nights, were dedicated to the work of rescue so courageously entered upon. All the ready money he could command was appropriated to setting matters to rights, and as he saw each enterprise in successful working-order he abandoned it, retaining only the forges w T hose great value he recognized.