The Champdoce Mystery | Page 7

have been up very early, Marquis," said he.
The young man made no reply.
"The Duke," resumed Daumon, "is most fortunate in having such a son
as you. I know more than one father who says to his children, 'See what
an excellent example the young Marquis de Champdoce sets to you all.
He is not afraid of hard work, though he is noble by birth, and should
not soil his hands by labor.'"
A sudden lurch brought the Counsellor's eloquence to a sudden close,
but he speedily resumed again.
"I was watching you as you hefted the sacks. Heavens! what muscles!
what a pair of shoulders!"
At any other moment Norbert would have gloried in such laudation, but
now he felt displeased and annoyed, and vented his anger by a sharp
cut at his team.
"When people say that you are as innocent as a girl," continued
Daumon, "I always say that you are a sensible young fellow after all,
and that if you choose to lead a regular life, it is far better than wasting
your future fortune in wine, billiards, cards, or women."
"I don't know that I might not do something of the kind," returned
Norbert.
"What did you say?" answered his wily companion.
"I said that if I were my own master, I would live as other young men."
The lad paused abruptly, and Daumon's eyes gleamed with joy.
"Aha," murmured he to himself; "I have the game in my own hands. I
will teach his Grace to interfere with me."
Then, in a voice which could reach Norbert's ears, he continued,--

"Of course some parents are far too strict."
An impatient gesture from Norbert showed him that he had wounded
him deeply.
"Yes, yes," put in the wily Counsellor, "as the head grows bald, and the
blood begins to stagnate, they forget,--they forget the days when all
was so different. They forget the time when they were young, and when
they sowed their wild oats with so lavish a hand. When your father was
twenty-five, he was precious wild. Ask your father, if you do not
believe me."
At this moment the wagon passed the cross road, and Norbert pulled
up.
"I cannot thank you enough, Marquis," said the Counsellor as he
alighted with difficulty; "but if you would condescend to come and
taste my brandy, I would esteem it a great honor."
Norbert hesitated for an instant: his reasoning powers urged him to
decline the offer, but he refused to listen to them, and, fastening his
horses to a tree, he followed Daumon down the by-road. The cottage
was an excellent one, and extremely well furnished. A woman, who
acted as Daumon's housekeeper, served the refreshments. The
office--for he called his room an office, just as if he was a professional
man--was a strange-looking place. On one side was a desk covered
with account books, and against the wall were sacks of seed. A number
of books on legal matters crowded the shelves, and from the ceiling
hung a quantity of dried herbs. The Counsellor welcomed the heir to
the dukedom of Champdoce with the greatest deference, seated him in
his own capacious leathern arm-chair, and pressed the brandy which he
had refused upon him.
"I got this brandy from a man down Arcachon way in return for a
kindness that I did him; for, without boasting, I may say that I have
done kindnesses for many people in my time." He raised his glass to his
lips as he spoke. "It is good, is it not?" said he. "You can't get stuff with
an aroma like that hereabouts."

The extreme deference of the man, coupled with the excellence of the
spirit, opened Norbert's heart in a very short space of time. Up to the
present the conduct of poor Norbert had been blameless, but now,
without knowing anything of the Counsellor's character or reputation,
he poured out all the secret sorrows of his heart, while Daumon
chuckled secretly, preserving all the time the imperturbable face of a
physician called in to visit a patient.
"Dear me! dear me!" said he; "this is really too bad. Poor fellow! I
really pity you. Were it not for the deep respect that I have for the Duke,
your father, I should feel inclined to say that he was not quite in his
right senses."
"Yes," continued Norbert, the tears starting to his eyes, "this is just how
I am situated. My destiny has been marked out for me, and I am
helpless to alter it. I had better a thousand times be lying under the cold
greensward, than vegetate thus above ground."
The peculiar smile on Daumon's lips caused him to pause in his
complaint.
"Perhaps," he went on, "you think that I am childish in talking