The Champdoce Mystery | Page 3

He was utterly
uncultured, and had been ruled with such a rod of iron by his father that
he had never been a league from the Chateau. His ideas were barred by
the little town of Bevron, with its sixty houses, its town hall, its small
chapel, and principal river; and to him it seemed a spot full of noise and
confusion. In the whole course of his life he had never spoken to three
persons who did not belong to the district. Bred up in this secluded
manner, it was almost impossible for him to understand that any one
could lead a different existence to that of his own. His only pleasure
was in procuring an abundant harvest, and his sole idea of excitement
was High Mass on Sunday.
For more than a year the village girls had cast sly glances at him, but he
was far too simple and innocent to notice this. When Mass was over, he

generally walked over the farm with his father to inspect the work of
the past week, or to set snares for the birds. His father at last
determined to give him a wider experience, and one day said that he
was to accompany him to Poitiers.
At a very early hour in the morning they started in one of the low
country carts of the district, and under the seat were small sacks,
containing over forty thousand francs in silver money. Norbert had
long wished to visit Poitiers, but had never done so, though it was but
fifteen miles off. Poitiers is a quaint old town, with dilapidated
pavements and tall, gloomy houses, the architecture of which dates
from the tenth century; but Norbert thought that it must be one of the
most magnificent cities in the world. It was market day when they
drove in, and he was absolutely stupefied with surprise and excitement.
He had never believed there could be so many people in one place, and
hardly noticed that the cart had pulled up opposite a lawyer's office. His
father shook him roughly by the shoulder.
"Come, Norbert, lad, we are there," said he.
The young man jumped to the ground, and assisted mechanically to
remove the sacks. The servile manner of the lawyer did not strike him,
nor did he listen to the conversation between him and his father. Finally,
the business being concluded, they took their departure, and, driving to
the Market Place, put up the horse and cart at an old-fashioned, dingy
inn, where they took their breakfast in the public room at a table where
the wagoners were having a violent quarrel over their meal. The Duke,
however, had other business to transact than the investment of his
money, for he wanted to find the whereabouts of a miller who was
somewhat in his debt. Norbert waited for him in front of the inn, and
could not help feeling rather uncomfortable at finding himself alone.
All at once some one came up and touched him lightly on the shoulder.
He turned round sharply, and found himself face to face with a young
man, who, seeing his look of surprise, said,--
"What! have you entirely forgotten your old friend Montlouis?"
Montlouis was the son of one of the Duke's farmers, and he and

Norbert had often played together in past years. They had driven their
cows to the meadows together, and had spent long days together fishing
or searching for birds' nests. The dress now worn by Montlouis had at
first prevented Norbert from recognizing him, for he was attired in the
uniform of the college at which his father had placed him, being
desirous of making something more than a mere farmer of his son.
"What are you doing here?" asked Norbert.
"I am waiting for my father."
"So am I. Let us have a cup of coffee together."
Montlouis led his playmate into a small wine shop near at hand. He
seemed a little disposed to presume upon the superior knowledge of the
world which he had recently acquired.
"If there was a billiard-table here," said he, "we could pass away the
time with a game, though, to be sure, it runs into money."
Norbert never had had more than a few pence in his pocket at one time,
and at this remark the color rose to his face, and he felt much
humiliated.
"My father," added the young collegian, "gives me all I ask for. I am
certain of getting one, if not two prizes at the next examination; and
when I have taken my degree, the Count de Mussidan has promised to
make me his steward. What do you think that you will do?"
"I--I don't know," stammered Norbert.
"You will, I suppose, dig and toil in the fields, as your father