The Seven Cardinal Sins: Envy and Indolence

Marie, who had just discovered the reason of her son's presence in the forest, placed her hand over Frederick's mouth and listened breathlessly.

Receiving no response after waiting several seconds, and not supposing for one moment that his unknown enemy could have gotten here in advance of him, Raoul settled himself in his saddle again, saying to himself: "It was some startled deer leaping through the bushes;" after which the mother and son, silent, motionless, and locked in a firm embrace, heard the young man begin to whistle his hunting song again.

The sound grew fainter and fainter until it died away altogether in the profound silence that pervaded the forest.

CHAPTER XVI

MADAME BASTIEN could no longer doubt Frederick's intentions, for she had seen him aim at Raoul de Pont Brillant, at the same time exclaiming, "I have you now, M. le marquis;" but this ambuscade seemed so cowardly and so atrocious to the unfortunate woman that, in spite of the conclusive evidence against her son, she still tried to close her eyes to the truth.

"Frederick, my child, what are you doing here?" asked Madame Bastien, tremulously.

"You do not answer me, my child," she continued. "Your eyes are haggard, you look so strangely. You have been suffering so much for some days past that it has brought on a sort of nervous fever. The fact that you do not even know where you are or how you come to be here is proof of that. You are like one who has just been suddenly awakened from a dream. Am I not right, Frederick?"

"I know where I am."

"Yes, you do now, but you did not a moment ago."

"On the contrary, I tell you that I do know perfectly well why I am hiding here with my gun."

"Then Jean François was right," said the poor mother, pretending to be reassured. "What he told me was true."

"What did he tell you?"

"That you were poaching in the Pont Brillant woods. You can judge of my anxiety when I heard that, so I hastened here at once with Jean François, for it is frightfully imprudent in you, my poor child. Don't you know that M. le marquis – "

The words M. le marquis startled Frederick out of his terrible calmness. He clenched his fists furiously and, confronting his mother with a ferocious expression upon his face, exclaimed:

"It was M. le marquis I was lying in wait for; do you hear me, mother?"

"No, Frederick, no," replied the poor mother, shuddering.

"I am determined to make myself understood, then," said Frederick, with a frightful smile. "Knowing that M. le marquis would pass here about nightfall on his way home, I loaded my gun and came and concealed myself behind this tree to kill M. le marquis as he passed. Do you understand me now, mother?"

On hearing this terrible confession, Madame Bastien's brain reeled for a moment; then she showed herself to be truly heroic.

Placing one of her hands on her son's shoulder, she laid the other on his forehead, saying in a calm, perfectly calm, voice, and as if talking to herself:

"How hot his poor head is, and he is still delirious with fever! My God, oh, my God, how can I induce him to follow me?"

Frederick, amazed by his mother's words and her apparent tranquillity after the terrible confession he had just made, exclaimed:

"I am perfectly sane, I tell you, mother. It is you as much as myself that I wish to avenge, and my hatred, you see – "

"Yes, yes, my child, I know," interrupted Madame Bastien, too much terrified to notice Frederick's last words.

Then, kissing him on the forehead, she said, soothingly:

"Yes, yes, of course you have your senses, so come home with me; for it is getting late and we have been out in these woods a long time."

"The place suits me well enough and I shall come back again," answered Frederick, sullenly.

"Of course we will come back again, my child, but in order to do that we shall first have to go away."

"Don't exasperate me too much, mother."

"Hush, hush, I implore you," whispered Marie, placing her hand upon her son's lips and listening breathlessly. "Don't you hear footsteps? My God, who is coming?"

Frederick caught up his gun.

"Ah, I know," murmured his mother, recovering from her alarm, after a moment's reflection, "it is Jean François. He was to search for you in one side of the grove while I searched in the other."

"Is that you, Jean François?" she called out, cautiously.

"Yes, Madame Bastien," replied the worthy farmer, who was not yet visible but who could be distinctly heard forcing his way through the branches. "I did not find M. Frederick."

"My son is here, Jean François."

"I am glad of it, Madame Bastien, for I just heard voices over by the lake and think some of the gamekeepers must be making their rounds," said the worthy farmer, stepping into the clearing.

Frederick, in spite of the violence of his animosity, dared not repeat the threats he had just uttered before his mother, so, taking his gun under his arm, he silently and gloomily prepared to follow Madame Bastien.

On reaching the farmer's cottage that worthy man insisted upon harnessing his horse to his cart and taking Marie and her son home, and she accepted his offer, being too much overcome with fatigue and emotion to be capable of walking such a distance.

They had reached home about nine o'clock in the evening and Frederick had scarcely entered the house before he tottered and fell unconscious upon the floor. This swoon was followed by a severe nervous spasm which terrified his mother beyond expression, but with old Marguerite's assistance she did everything she could for her son, who was carried into his own room and put to bed.

During this nervous spasm, though his eyes were closed, Frederick wept bitterly, and when he recovered consciousness and saw his mother leaning over him he held out his arms and pressed her tenderly to his breast. This crisis over, he seemed much more calm, and, remarking that he chiefly needed rest and quiet now, he turned his face toward the wall and did not utter another word.

With rare presence of mind, Marie had ordered all the outside shutters of her son's room closed before he was taken into it. There was no way of reaching the room except through hers, where she intended to watch all night, with the communicating door slightly ajar.

She was not one of those persons who are paralysed by misfortune. Terrible as the discovery she had just made was, as soon as she was alone she faced it resolutely, after vainly endeavouring to persuade herself that her son had not been sane when he premeditated such an execrable crime.

"I can no longer doubt that Frederick hates the young marquis with a mortal hatred," she said to herself, "and this long suppressed animosity is undoubtedly the cause of the great change which has taken place in him during the last few months. This hatred has attained such an intensity that my son, after having attempted to kill M. de Pont Brillant, cannot be induced to abandon that horrible idea even now. These are unquestionably the facts of the case. Now to what mysterious circumstance am I to impute the origin and the development of such a deadly animosity against a youth of his own age? How is it that my son, who has been so carefully reared, and who has heretofore made me the proudest and happiest of mothers, can have conceived such a horrible idea? All this is of secondary importance, so I will postpone the solution of these questions which puzzle my reason and make me doubt myself until some later day. What I must do now and without delay is to save my son from this terrible temptation, and thus prevent him from committing a murder."

And after having satisfied herself that her son was sleeping quietly, she seated herself at a table and wrote the following letter to her husband:

"To M. BASTIEN: – I wrote you only a few days ago in relation to Frederick's poor health and to the departure of the tutor you had authorised me to employ.

"My son's condition causes me great uneasiness, and I realise the urgent necessity of taking some decided action in the matter.

"I consulted our friend, Doctor Dufour, again yesterday. He feels certain that Frederick's age and rapid growth is the cause of his nervous and morbid condition, and advises me to divert his mind from himself as much as possible, or, better still, travel with him.

"This I am anxious to do, as in the seclusion in which we live it is almost impossible for me to give Frederick any diversion.

"It is hardly probable that your business will allow you to accompany us to Hyères, where I wish to take my son, but Marguerite will accompany us, and we may be absent five or six months, or a much shorter time, as that will depend upon the improvement in Frederick's health.

"For reasons which it would take too long to enumerate here, I have fixed upon next Monday as the date of my departure. I would have started to-morrow morning if I had had the necessary amount of money, but the small sum you sent me last month has been used for household expenses, and you know I have no other money.

"I send this letter to Blois by a messenger, so you will receive it day after to-morrow, and I implore you to answer by return mail, enclosing a draft on your banker in Blois. I have no idea what amount you will consider adequate. You know the simplicity of my habits. Calculate the amount that will be needed to transport us to Hyères by diligence, add to that the trifling expenses that cannot be exactly foreseen, and sufficient money to live upon for a short time. We will establish ourselves in the most economical manner, and I will afterward write you exactly how much it will cost us a month.

"Stress of business often prevents you from replying to my letters promptly or even at all, but you must realise the importance of this letter too much to permit any delay in this instance.

"I do not wish to alarm you, but I feel it my duty to tell you that Frederick shows symptoms of so grave a nature that this journey may, and I hope will, be the salvation of my son.

"I think I must have given you during the last seventeen years sufficient proofs of my strength of character and devoted affection for Frederick for you to feel satisfied that, sudden as this resolution on my part may appear to you, you will do everything in your power to aid me in carrying out a resolution dictated by the most urgent and imperative necessity.

"I shall leave old André here. He will take charge of the house, and perform any service you may require during your visits. He is a trusty man to whom I can safely confide the charge of everything in my absence.

"Good-bye. I end my letter rather abruptly so it can be mailed this evening.

"I hope to receive a reply on Monday, in which case I shall take the diligence that same evening for Paris, where we shall remain only twenty-four hours, and then leave for Lyons on our way southward.

"Once more adieu.

"MARIE BASTIEN."

Her letter concluded, Madame Bastien ordered the horse harnessed so the letter could be taken to Blois at once.

After satisfying herself several times in regard to the condition of her son, who seemed to be resting more quietly, Madame Bastien sat down and began to reflect upon the determination to travel that she had just announced to her husband, and found it more and more opportune, though she asked herself anxiously how she should manage to prevent Frederick from getting out of her sight for a moment until the time appointed for their departure. The little clock on the mantel had just struck twelve, and the young mother was still absorbed in the same sorrowful reflections, when she fancied she heard the quick ring of a horse's hoofs in the distance, and the sound came nearer and nearer, until the animal paused at the door of the farmhouse.

A few minutes afterward an unwonted bustle pervaded the dwelling and some one rapped at the door of Madame Bastien's chamber.

"Who is there?" she asked.

"I, Marguerite, madame."

"What do you want?"

"Doctor Dufour is here, madame. He just arrived on horseback."

"Light a fire in the sitting-room and ask the doctor to wait for me there. I will be down in a moment."

Then, recollecting that she would be obliged to leave her son, Madame Bastien recalled the servant, and said:

"I have changed my mind. I will see the doctor here in my room. Show him up at once."

Almost immediately the doctor appeared, preceded by Marguerite.

"Good Heavens! what is the matter with you?" exclaimed M. Dufour on seeing Marie.

"Nothing, doctor – "

"Nothing!" repeated the physician, scrutinising Marie with evident surprise, so terrible was the change which the events of the previous evening had wrought in her appearance. "Nothing?"

"Ah, yes, I know," replied Madame Bastien, with a heart-broken smile, reading the doctor's thoughts from the expression of his face.

Then placing a finger on her lips, she added, in a low tone, with a meaning glance toward the door of Frederick's chamber:

"We must be very careful, my dear doctor, my son is in there asleep. He has had a terrible experience this evening. I was about to write to you and ask you to come to-morrow. It was Heaven that sent you."

"As my coming seems so opportune, I shall not have to apologise for coming at such an unseasonable hour. I wished to talk with you about a matter that would brook no delay, so I ventured to come almost in the middle of the night and at the risk of disturbing you."

"My God! what is it?"

"Your son is asleep, is he not?"

"I think so."

"But he might hear us if he is not, so let us go to the other end of the room and speak low, for it is a matter that concerns him."

CHAPTER XVII

"I WISH to speak to you in regard to the mental and physical change which you have noticed in your son, and which is giving you such grave uneasiness."

"Grave indeed, doctor."

"There is a possibility of curing him, I think."

"You really think you can, my dear doctor."

"I? No."

"What do you mean?"

"Have the goodness to read this, madame," said the doctor, drawing a letter from his pocket and handing it to Madame Bastien, who, greatly astonished, took it, and read as follows:

"'MY DEAR PIERRE: – The diligence stops here for an hour and I take advantage of the opportunity thus afforded to write to you.

"'After leaving you last evening the subject of our last conversation engrossed my thoughts to the exclusion of all other subjects, for what I had seen and heard could not fail to make a deep impression upon me.

"'Last night, and this morning as well, I have been unable to drive that poor boy of Madame Bastien's out of my mind. You know, Pierre, that I am rarely deceived in the deductions I draw from certain physiognomies, and what I saw yesterday and what occurred during the passing of the hunting party alike convince me that Madame Bastien's son feels a deadly hatred for the young Marquis de Pont Brillant.'"

Marie, astonished by the justice of this observation, and overcome by her recollection of the terrors of the evening, buried her face in her hands, and began to sob wildly.

"Great Heavens! what is the matter?" cried the doctor.

"Ah, that is only too true. It is hatred, an implacable hatred, that he feels. But who wrote this letter?"

"My best friend, the most generous and noble-hearted man in the world. You remember meeting a stranger at my house on St. Hubert's Day, do you not?"

"The gentleman my son treated so rudely?"

"The same; but pray go on with the letter."

"'I have not endeavoured to discover the cause of this animosity, but daily association with Frederick would undoubtedly enable a patient and sagacious person to make a discovery which is indispensable if he would effect a cure. Confident that an implacable animosity has already taken deep root in Frederick's heart, I ask myself by what strange anomaly he can be a prey to such a deplorable weakness.'"

"But who is this man who seems to know my son better than I do myself, – this man whose penetration frightens me; for it has proved more correct, much more correct than you suppose."

"This man," replied the doctor, sadly, "is a man who has suffered much, seen much, and observed much. That is the secret of his remarkable penetration."

Madame Bastien resumed her reading of the letter.

"'You have told me, my friend, that Frederick has arrived at what you call the transition period, an epoch of life which is often extremely critical and accompanied with grave physical disturbances.

"'Frederick may be strongly affected by these conditions and consequently a prey to feelings which are the more powerful by reason of their very novelty, on account of his mother's close supervision and the salutary influence she has exerted over him up to this time. And how could even Madame Bastien's affection and prudence guard against a danger which neither she nor her son apprehended? She must have been quite as unprepared as her son for the violent passion which seems to have taken possession of him. No, even this judicious and devoted mother has no more cause for regret than if her child had been attacked with measles or some other childish disease.'"

"Don't you entirely agree with my friend in this?" inquired the doctor, "I mean in relation to not blaming yourself for the present state of affairs."

"Yes," replied Madame Bastien, thoughtfully, "I shall show no mock modesty with you, my dear doctor. I am conscious of having performed my duties as a mother to the very best of my ability, and I recognise the fact that it was not within the limits of human possibility for any one to foresee or prevent the misfortune which has overtaken my son."

"One word more, my dear doctor," continued Marie, after a moment's silence. "Your friend saw Frederick for only a few minutes, but long enough, alas! to be treated with inexcusable rudeness. A generous-minded person feels only indulgence and compassion for a poor sick child, I know, but there is a wide difference between this compassion and the profound interest which your friend manifests in Frederick. What has my son done to deserve this interest?"

"The latter part of this letter will explain, I think, but I will say this much by way of explanation. My friend had a brother very much younger than himself, of whom he had entire charge after his father's death. My friend idolised this brother, who was about Frederick's age. Like him, he was extremely handsome; like him, he was passionately loved, not by a mother, but by the tenderest of brothers."

"And what became of him?" inquired Marie, with interest.

"My friend lost this brother six years ago."

"Ah, now I understand," cried Marie, deeply moved. Then even more thoughtfully she resumed the reading of the letter:

"'I am almost positive that Frederick has never evinced any lack of confidence in his mother up to this time because he has had nothing to hide from her, but the more reprehensible the secret he is concealing from his mother is now at this present time, the more impenetrable he is likely to be.

"'But now the malady is known to us, what are the best means or the chances of a cure?

"'The first thing to be done is to discover the cause of Frederick's animosity. How is this discovery to be effected? Frederick loves his mother devotedly, nevertheless he has remained deaf to her entreaties, so it is almost certain that he will never tell her his unhappy secret now, partly from a fear of forfeiting the respect of his friends, partly from a fear of imperilling his prospect of vengeance, the inevitable consequence of hatred when it is as energetic and intense as Frederick's seems to be.'"

Madame Bastien trembled violently as she read this prophecy which the scene she had lately witnessed in the forest verified but too well, and it was in a voice full of emotion she continued:

"'Consequently it seems almost certain that Madame Bastien must renounce all hope of gaining her son's confidence. That being the case, shall she resort to penetration, that compound of watchfulness, dissimulation, and trickery? for to ferret out a secret, at least a jealously guarded secret, one must employ all sorts of cunning expedients.

"'Can a woman like Madame Bastien play such a difficult rôle even if she desire to do so, a rôle which requires so much cool calculation and dissimulation?

"'No, the poor mother would blush and pale by turn, and in spite of her resolution she would hesitate at every step, even though she felt such a course might effect her son's salvation.'"

Madame Bastien's head drooped, two big tears rolled slowly down her cheeks, her hands fell inertly upon her knees, and she murmured, with a deep sigh:

"What he says is only too true. I recognise my utter powerlessness."

"Don't despair, I beseech you," cried the doctor, earnestly. "Do you suppose I would ever have brought you this letter, or that my friend would ever have written it, if he had not felt sure he had found a means of remedying this evil? Go on, I beg of you."

"'In my opinion,'" Marie continued, "'Frederick has reached an age when the most devoted and intelligent maternal tenderness will no longer suffice for his guidance.

"'Some knowledge of and experience in a man's life is needed to arm him against the many temptations of which a woman is entirely ignorant, and against which it is consequently well-nigh impossible for her to protect her son.

"'An intelligent and devoted father might accomplish this difficult task successfully, but as M. Bastien's business keeps him so much from home, Frederick needs a man of feeling, honour, integrity, and experience, – a man who understands the full importance of the task of fashioning a youth into a man.

"'Such a person, aided by the information Madame Bastien could give him, and, above all, by the influence she must still possess over her son, such a person could, I feel sure, by patient study and observation eventually discover Frederick's secret, and assist his mother in combating and finally destroying this animosity in the heart of this unfortunate youth, and then continue the education which Madame Bastien has so admirably begun.'"

"This is only too true," commented Madame Bastien. "I have felt the necessity of providing a tutor for my son for some time, as you know, my dear doctor. The tutor I engaged did not fulfil all my requirements by any means, but he was fairly competent, and endowed with an unusual amount of patience and amiability. Unfortunately, my son's irascibility of temper drove him away. Now, in the seclusion in which I live, and for the very limited amount of money my husband has consented to expend for this purpose, how can I hope to find such a tutor as your friend describes? Besides, how can I induce Frederick to accept a tutor in his present irritated state of mind? Besides, the more conscious a tutor is of his value, his devotion, and his dignity, the less inclined he will be to submit to my son's violence. Alas! you see I shall be obliged to renounce this means, valuable as I know it to be."

The young mother resumed her reading.

"'If Madame Bastien for any special reason does not desire to employ a tutor, there is another course which may not prove equally beneficial, but which will at least serve to divert his mind from the idea which seems to be dominating it, – that is for his mother to start with him on a long journey.'"

"I had made up my mind to do that very thing," said Marie. "This very evening I wrote to my husband informing him of my decision. I cannot be wrong this time, as I agree with your friend on this point, so – "

"Yes, but in my friend's opinion, as you will see if you read on a little further, this journey is only a palliative measure."

Madame Bastien read as follows:

"'I do not doubt the beneficial effects of such a journey on Frederick's mind, but unhappily it will only divert his mind from this unfortunate idea, not destroy it. A journey may, I repeat, serve to ameliorate Frederick's mental condition and enable his mother to gain time, a very important consideration, for I know there will necessarily be considerable difficulty in immediately finding a person capable of undertaking this mission. In fact, I am so conscious of the many difficulties that, if I thought my offer would be acceptable and above all seemly, I should be glad to offer myself to Madame Bastien as Frederick's tutor.'"