A Start in Life [41]
added, not wishing
his companions to know that he was really going to the chateau.
"You don't say so? Then you are coming to me," said Pere Leger.
"How so?"
"Why, I'm the farmer at Moulineaux. Hey, colonel, what brings you
there?"
"To taste your butter," said Georges, pulling out his portfolio.
"Pierrotin," said Oscar, "leave my things at the steward's. I am going
straight to the chateau."
Whereupon Oscar plunged into a narrow path, not knowing, in the least,
where he was going.
"Hi! Monsieur l'ambassadeur," cried Pere Leger, "that's the way to the
forest; if you really want to get to the chateau, go through the
little gate."
Thus compelled to enter, Oscar disappeared into the grand court-yard.
While Pere Leger stood watching Oscar, Georges, utterly confounded by
the discovery that the farmer was the present occupant of Les
Moulineaux, has slipped away so adroitly that when the fat countryman
looked round for his colonel there was no sign of him.
The iron gates opened at Pierrotin's demand, and he proudly drove in
to deposit with the concierge the thousand and one utensils belonging
to the great Schinner. Oscar was thunderstruck when he became aware
that Mistigris and his master, the witnesses of his bravado, were to
be installed in the chateau itself. In ten minutes Pierrotin had
discharged the various packages of the painter, the bundles of Oscar
Husson, and the pretty little leather portmanteau, which he took from
its nest of hay and confided mysteriously to the wife of the
concierge. Then he drove out of the courtyard, cracking his whip, and
took the road that led through the forest to Isle-Adam, his face
beaming with the sly expression of a peasant who calculates his
profits. Nothing was lacking now to his happiness; on the morrow he
would have his thousand francs, and, as a consequence, his magnificent
new coach.
CHAPTER VI
THE MOREAU INTERIOR
Oscar, somewhat abashed, was skulking behind a clump of trees in the
centre of the court-yard, and watching to see what became of his two
road-companions, when Monsieur Moreau suddenly came out upon the
portico from what was called the guard-room. He was dressed in a long
blue overcoat which came to his heels, breeches of yellowish leather
and top-boots, and in his hand he carried a riding-whip.
"Ah! my boy, so here you are? How is the dear mamma?" he said, taking
Oscar by the hand. "Good-day, messieurs," he added to Mistigris and
his master, who then came forward. "You are, no doubt, the two
painters whom Monsieur Grindot, the architect, told me to expect."
He whistled twice at the end of his whip; the concierge came.
"Take these gentlemen to rooms 14 and 15. Madame Moreau will give you
the keys. Go with them to show the way; make fires there, if
necessary, and take up all their things. I have orders from Monsieur
le comte," he added, addressing the two young men, "to invite you to
my table, messieurs; we dine at five, as in Paris. If you like
hunting, you will find plenty to amuse you; I have a license from the
Eaux et Forets; and we hunt over twelve thousand acres of forest, not
counting our own domain."
Oscar, the painter, and Mistigris, all more or less subdued, exchanged
glances, but Mistigris, faithful to himself, remarked in a low tone,
"'Veni, vidi, cecidi,--I came, I saw, I slaughtered.'"
Oscar followed the steward, who led him along at a rapid pace through
the park.
"Jacques," said Moreau to one of his children whom they met, "run in
and tell your mother that little Husson has come, and say to her that
I am obliged to go to Les Moulineaux for a moment."
The steward, then about fifty years old, was a dark man of medium
height, and seemed stern. His bilious complexion, to which country
habits had added a certain violent coloring, conveyed, at first sight,
the impression of a nature which was other
his companions to know that he was really going to the chateau.
"You don't say so? Then you are coming to me," said Pere Leger.
"How so?"
"Why, I'm the farmer at Moulineaux. Hey, colonel, what brings you
there?"
"To taste your butter," said Georges, pulling out his portfolio.
"Pierrotin," said Oscar, "leave my things at the steward's. I am going
straight to the chateau."
Whereupon Oscar plunged into a narrow path, not knowing, in the least,
where he was going.
"Hi! Monsieur l'ambassadeur," cried Pere Leger, "that's the way to the
forest; if you really want to get to the chateau, go through the
little gate."
Thus compelled to enter, Oscar disappeared into the grand court-yard.
While Pere Leger stood watching Oscar, Georges, utterly confounded by
the discovery that the farmer was the present occupant of Les
Moulineaux, has slipped away so adroitly that when the fat countryman
looked round for his colonel there was no sign of him.
The iron gates opened at Pierrotin's demand, and he proudly drove in
to deposit with the concierge the thousand and one utensils belonging
to the great Schinner. Oscar was thunderstruck when he became aware
that Mistigris and his master, the witnesses of his bravado, were to
be installed in the chateau itself. In ten minutes Pierrotin had
discharged the various packages of the painter, the bundles of Oscar
Husson, and the pretty little leather portmanteau, which he took from
its nest of hay and confided mysteriously to the wife of the
concierge. Then he drove out of the courtyard, cracking his whip, and
took the road that led through the forest to Isle-Adam, his face
beaming with the sly expression of a peasant who calculates his
profits. Nothing was lacking now to his happiness; on the morrow he
would have his thousand francs, and, as a consequence, his magnificent
new coach.
CHAPTER VI
THE MOREAU INTERIOR
Oscar, somewhat abashed, was skulking behind a clump of trees in the
centre of the court-yard, and watching to see what became of his two
road-companions, when Monsieur Moreau suddenly came out upon the
portico from what was called the guard-room. He was dressed in a long
blue overcoat which came to his heels, breeches of yellowish leather
and top-boots, and in his hand he carried a riding-whip.
"Ah! my boy, so here you are? How is the dear mamma?" he said, taking
Oscar by the hand. "Good-day, messieurs," he added to Mistigris and
his master, who then came forward. "You are, no doubt, the two
painters whom Monsieur Grindot, the architect, told me to expect."
He whistled twice at the end of his whip; the concierge came.
"Take these gentlemen to rooms 14 and 15. Madame Moreau will give you
the keys. Go with them to show the way; make fires there, if
necessary, and take up all their things. I have orders from Monsieur
le comte," he added, addressing the two young men, "to invite you to
my table, messieurs; we dine at five, as in Paris. If you like
hunting, you will find plenty to amuse you; I have a license from the
Eaux et Forets; and we hunt over twelve thousand acres of forest, not
counting our own domain."
Oscar, the painter, and Mistigris, all more or less subdued, exchanged
glances, but Mistigris, faithful to himself, remarked in a low tone,
"'Veni, vidi, cecidi,--I came, I saw, I slaughtered.'"
Oscar followed the steward, who led him along at a rapid pace through
the park.
"Jacques," said Moreau to one of his children whom they met, "run in
and tell your mother that little Husson has come, and say to her that
I am obliged to go to Les Moulineaux for a moment."
The steward, then about fifty years old, was a dark man of medium
height, and seemed stern. His bilious complexion, to which country
habits had added a certain violent coloring, conveyed, at first sight,
the impression of a nature which was other