The Champdoce Mystery | Page 4

has done
before you. You are the son of the noblest and the richest man for miles
round, and yet you are not so happy as I am."
Upon the return of the Duke de Champdoce some little time after this
conversation, he did not detect any change in his son's manner; but the
words spoken by Montlouis had fallen into Norbert's brain like a subtle

poison, and a few careless sentences uttered by an inconsiderate lad had
annihilated the education of sixteen years, and a complete change had
taken place in Norbert's mind, a change which was utterly unsuspected
by those around him, for his manner of bringing up had taught him to
keep his own counsel.
The fixed smile on his features entirely masked the angry feelings that
were working in his breast. He went through his daily tasks, which had
once been a pleasure to him, with utter disgust and loathing. His eyes
had been suddenly opened, and he now understood a host of things
which he had never before even endeavored to comprehend. He saw
now that his proper position was among the nobles, whom he never
saw except when they attended Mass at the little chapel in Bevron. The
Count de Mussidan, so haughty and imposing, with his snow-white hair;
the aristocratic-looking Marquis de Laurebourg, of whom the peasants
stood in the greatest awe, were always courteous and even cordial in
their salutations, while the noble dames smiled graciously upon him.
Proud and haughty as they were, they evidently looked upon his father
and himself as their equals, in spite of the coarse garments that they
wore. The realization of these facts effected a great change in Norbert.
He was the equal of all these people, and yet how great a gulf separated
him from them. While he and his father tramped to Mass in heavy
shoes, the others drove up in their carriages with powdered footmen to
open the doors. Why was this extraordinary difference? He knew
enough of the value of crops and land to know that his father was as
wealthy as any of these gentlemen. The laborers on the farm said that
his father was a miser, and the villagers asserted that he got up at night
and gazed with rapture upon the treasure that was hidden away from
men's eyes.
"Norbert is an unhappy lad," they would say. "He who ought to be able
to command all the pleasures of life is worse off than our own
children."
He also recollected that one day, as his father was talking to the
Marquis de Laurebourg, an old lady, who was doubtless the
Marchioness, had said, "Poor boy! he was so early deprived of a

mother's care!" What did that mean unless it was a reflection upon the
arbitrary behavior of his father? Norbert saw that these people always
had their children with them, and the sight of this filled him with
jealousy, and brought tears of anguish to his eyes. Sometimes, as he
trudged wearily behind his yoke of oxen, goad in hand, he would see
some of these young scions of the aristocracy canter by on horseback,
and the friendly wave of the hand with which they greeted him almost
appeared to his jaundiced mind a premeditated insult. What could they
find to do in Paris, to which they all took wing at the first breath of
winter? This was a question which he found himself utterly unable to
solve. To drink to intoxication offered no charms to him, and yet this
was the only pleasure which the villagers seemed to enjoy. Those
young men must have some higher class of entertainment, but in what
could it consist? Norbert could hardly read a line without spelling every
word; but these new thoughts running through his mind caused him to
study, so as to improve his education. His father had often told him that
he did not like lads who where always poring over books; and so
Norbert did not discontinue his studies, but simply avoided bringing
them under his father's notice. He knew that there was a large
collection of books in one of the upstairs rooms of the Chateau. He
managed to force the lock of the door, and he found some thousands of
volumes, of which at least two hundred were novels, which had been
the solace of his mother's unhappy life. With all the eagerness of a man
who is at the point of starvation and finds an unexpected store of
provisions, Norbert seized upon them. At first he had great difficulty in
dividing fact from fiction.
He arrived at two conclusions from perusing this heterogeneous mass
of literature--one was, that he was most unhappy; and the other was,
that he hated his father with a cold and determined