Jacques Bonneval | Page 8

lights and
shadows, and I kept in the shade till close to the house, when what was
my disgust to hear the wretched tinkle of a guitar under the window!
Serenades might be all very well for Italy, but we did not favor them in
Nismes; and stepping briskly up to the musician, I said abruptly, "We
want none of this miserable noise!"
He started as if shot, saying, "Pardon, monsieur," evidently taking me
for one of the family; a mistake which I favored by knocking at the

door. As I was in deep shadow he did not recognize me, but the
moonlight fell full on his face, and I saw it was Martin Prunevaux. I felt
exceedingly inclined to fall on him and beat him for daring to tune his
wretched pipes under Madeleine's window; but a second thought
assured me that Gabrielle must be his object; the more so that I was
sure I saw her shadow (which was shorter than her sister's) fall on the
curtain, and I could even fancy her making merry behind it. Still, I
liked not such a fellow to come prowling about either of the sisters. I
stood my ground, that I might not be guilty of a runaway knock, and
when Alice came to the door I made a bungling speech and said, "Oh, I
suppose the family are all gone to bed. I am late tonight." She said,
"They are so, sir," and looked surprised. I said, "There was a street
musician of some sort before the house when I came up. I think I have
chased him away." She said, "All the better, sir; we are much obliged to
you; we never encourage such people."
When I rallied Madeleine, next day, on having been serenaded, tears
sprang into her eyes, and she assured me it was not her fault, adding
that she feared Gabrielle, in her thoughtlessness, must have given some
encouragement to a presumptuous young man. "However, when my
father returns, he will take measures," she added, "to prevent our being
further troubled with him." Monsieur Bourdinave was at this time
traveling on business.
The sisters spent that evening at our house as was not unusual. On these
occasions we often sang hymns; and I had just set the tune of "Chantez
de Dieu le renom"--
"Chantez de Dieu le renom, Vous serviteurs du Seigneur! Venez pour
lui faire honneur, Vous qui avez eu ce don"--
and was lifting up my voice on high, followed by the sweet treble of
the girls, when a shower of stones rattled against the casement, and a
flint passed close to Madeleine and hit my father on the cheekbone. Hot
with anger, I rushed into the street, and found a group of unmannerly
fellows outside, who, instead of taking to their heels, gathered round
me with defiant looks.
"What is the meaning of this?" cried I in anger.
"What is the meaning of your disturbing the neighborhood with your
uproar?" cried one of them, saucily.
"Uproar! We were singing to the praise and glory of God. Do you know

that you have hurt my father?"
"We neither know nor care; and if you don't keep a quiet tongue in your
head, will slit it as soon as not."
"Come in, son, come in," said my father, whose cheek was covered
with blood. "As much as lieth in you, live peaceably with all
men"--drawing me indoors as he spoke.
"Excellent advice! Take care that he follows it," cried they, tauntingly,
as my father shut-to the door. I was burning with rage; Madeleine was
in tears; the children, with scared looks, were gathered round my
mother. My father, with gentle force, drew me into the little circle, and
made me sit down beside him.
"My children," said he, "we have been warned that evil times are
coming, and this may be the beginning. If it prove otherwise, we shall
have the more reason to praise the Lord; but if it please Him to try and
to prove us, let us not be found unprepared. Our strength lies in prayer,
in not giving offence, and in not being easily offended."
"We gave no offence, father," said I.
"But you were too easily offended. If any one had cause of complaint,
it was I; but I do not take it up."
My mother was meanwhile bathing his cut cheek and applying a
plaster.
"Sure, it would make any son's blood boil, to see his father hit!" cried I;
and I saw that Madeleine sympathized with me.
"Why, then, let his blood cool again," said my father, jocularly. "Tush,
many a school-boy gets a worse hurt than this, and makes no moan.
There! your mother has made all right, and I feel no smart. Let us say
no more