Jacques Bonneval | Page 8

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 about it."
I thought he strikingly acted on our Lord's axiom of "If thine enemy smite thee on the one cheek, offer him the other," but could not just then enter into it. I longed to give those rascals a good beating.
"Now, then, I'll set the tune again," said I, affecting composure.
But, "No, no," said the girls simultaneously; and "No, no," said my dear mother. "Don't you see," she continued, "I have all this broken glass to pick up? If you will do me a real kindness, you will step round to the glazier, the first thing in the morning, and get him to mend the window before breakfast."
"I'll go at once," said I; but "No, no," was again the word. My father laid his hand firmly on my right arm, and Madeleine hers on my left. Though her touch was as light as a snow-flake, I would not have shaken it off for the world.
"The streets are unquiet