The Honor of the Name | Page 9

would have lost their heads!
But he, M. Lacheneur, had been wise enough to retain his /sang-froid/.
In spite of the princely luxury that surrounded him, his own habits were
simple and frugal. He had never had an attendant for his own person.

His large income he consecrated almost entirely to the improvement of
his estate or to the purchase of more land. And yet, he was not
avaricious. In all that concerned his wife or children, he did not count
the cost. His son, Jean, had been educated in Paris; he wished him to be
fitted for any position. Unwilling to consent to a separation from his
daughter, he had procured a governess to take charge of her education.
Sometimes his friends accused him of an inordinate ambition for his
children; but he always shook his head sadly, as he replied:
"If /I/ can only insure them a modest and comfortable future! But what
folly it is to count upon the future. Thirty years ago, who could have
foreseen that the Sairmeuse family would be deprived of their estates?"
With such opinions he should have been a good master; he was, but no
one thought the better of him on that account. His former comrades
could not forgive him for his sudden elevation.
They seldom spoke of him without wishing his ruin in ambiguous
words.
Alas! the evil days came. Toward the close of the year 1812, he lost his
wife, the disasters of the year 1813 swept away a large portion of his
personal fortune, which had been invested in a manufacturing
enterprise.
Compromised by the first Restoration, he was obliged to conceal
himself for a time; and to cap the climax, the conduct of his son, who
was still in Paris, caused him serious disquietude.
Only the evening before, he had thought himself the most unfortunate
of men.
But here was another misfortune menacing him; a misfortune so
terrible that all the others were forgotten.
From the day on which he had purchased Sairmeuse to this fatal
Sunday in August, 1815, was an interval of twenty years.

Twenty years! And it seemed to him only yesterday that, blushing and
trembling, he had laid those piles of louis d'or upon the desk of the
receiver of the district.
Had he dreamed it?
He had not dreamed it. His entire life, with its struggles and its miseries,
its hopes and its fears, its unexpected joys and its blighted hopes, all
passed before him.
Lost in these memories, he had quite forgotten the present situation,
when a commonplace incident, more powerful than the voice of his
daughter, brought him back to the terrible reality. The gate leading to
the Chateau de Sairmeuse, to /his/ chateau, was found to be locked.
He shook it with a sort of rage; and, being unable to break the fastening,
he found some relief in breaking the bell.
On hearing the noise, the gardener came running to the scene of action.
"Why is this gate closed?" demanded M. Lacheneur, with unwonted
violence of manner. "By what right do you barricade my house when I,
the master, am without?"
The gardener tried to make some excuse.
"Hold your tongue!" interrupted M. Lacheneur. "I dismiss you; you are
no longer in my service."
He passed on, leaving the gardener petrified with astonishment, crossed
the court-yard--a court-yard worthy of the mansion, bordered with
velvet turf, with flowers, and with dense shrubbery.
In the vestibule, inlaid with marble, three of his tenants sat awaiting
him, for it was on Sunday that he always received the workmen who
desired to confer with him.
They rose at his approach, and removed their hats deferentially. But he
did not give them time to utter a word.

"Who permitted you to enter here?" he said, savagely, "and what do
you desire? They sent you to play the spy on me, did they? Leave, I tell
you!"
The three farmers were even more bewildered and dismayed than the
gardener had been, and their remarks must have been interesting.
But M. Lacheneur could not hear them. He had opened the door of the
grand salon, and dashed in, followed by his frightened daughter.
Never had Marie-Anne seen her father in such a mood; and she
trembled, her heart torn by the most frightful presentiments.
She had heard it said that oftentimes, under the influence of some dire
calamity, unfortunate men have suddenly lost their reason entirely; and
she was wondering if her father had become insane.
It would seem, indeed, that such was the case. His eyes flashed,
convulsive shudders shook his whole body, a white foam gathered on
his lips.
He made the circuit of the room as a wild beast makes the circuit of his
cage, uttering harsh imprecations and making frenzied gestures.
His actions were