THE MEMOIRS OF A PHYSICIAN (Complete Edition: Volumes 1-5) - Alexandre Dumas

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read them," rejoined the youth, drily.

      The mocking traveler was briefly silent. He was interested in this singular character, in whom was blended good and evil, shame and boldness.

      "How came you to read bad books?"

      "I did not know what they were until read; but I kept on as they taught me what I was unaware of. But 'The Contract' told me what I had guessed, that all men are brothers, society badly arranged, and that instead of being serfs and slaves, individuals are equal."

      "Whew!" whistled the gentleman, as they went on. "You seem to be hungry to learn?"

      "Yes, it is my greatest wish to know everything, so as to rise——"

      "To what station?"

      Gilbert paused, for having a goal in his mind, he wanted to keep it hidden.

      "As far as man may go," he answered.

      "So you have studied?"

      "How study when I was not rich and was cooped up in Taverney? I can read and write; but I shall learn the rest somehow one of these days."

      "An odd boy," thought the stranger.

      During the quarter of an hour they had trudged on, the rain had ceased, and the earth sent up the sharp tang replacing the sulphurous breath of the thunderstorms.

      "Do you know what storms are?" questioned Gilbert, after deep musing.

      "Thunder and lightning are the result of a shock between the electricity in the air and in the earth," he said, smiling.

      "I do not follow you," sighed Gilbert.

      The traveler might have supplied a more lucid explanation but a light glimmered through the trees.

      "That is the carriage-gateway of Taverney," said the guide.

      "Open it."

      "Taverney gate does not open so easily as that."

      "Is it a fort? Knock, and louder than that!"

      Thus emboldened, the boy dropped the knocker and hung on to the bell, which clanged so lustily that it might be heard afar.

      "That is Mahon barking," said the youth.

      "Mahon? He names his watchdog after a victory of his friend my Lord Richelieu, I see," remarked the traveler.

      "I did not know that. You see how ignorant I am," sighed Gilbert.

      These sighs summed up the disappointments and repressed ambition of the youth.

      "That is the goodman Labrie coming," said the latter at the sound of footsteps within.

      The door opened, but at the sight of the stranger the old servant wanted to slam it.

      "Excuse me, friend," interposed the traveler; "don't shut the door in my face. I will risk my travel-stained garb, and I warrant you that I shall not be expelled before I have warmed myself and had a meal. I hear you keep good wine, eh? You ought to know that?"

      Labrie tried still to resist, but the other was determined and led the horses right in with the coach, while Gilbert closed the gates in a trice. Vanquished, the servant ran to announce his own defeat. He rushed toward the house, shouting:

      "Nicole Legay!"

      "Nicole is Mademoiselle Andrea's maid," explained the boy, as the gentleman advanced with his usual tranquility.

      A light appeared among the shrubbery, showing a pretty girl.

      "What is all this riot; what's wanted of me?" she challenged.

      "Quick, my lass," faltered the old domestic, "announce to master that a stranger, overtaken by the storm, seeks hospitality for the night."

      Nicole darted so swiftly toward the building as to be lost instantly to sight. Labrie took breath, as he might be sure that his lord would not be taken by surprise.

      "Announce Baron Joseph Balsamo," said the traveler; "the similarity in rank will disarm your lord."

      At the first step of the portal he looked round for Gilbert, but he had disappeared.

      Chapter V.

       Taverney And His Daughter.

       Table of Contents

      Though forewarned by Gilbert of Baron Taverney's poverty, Baron Balsamo was not the less astonished by the meanness of the dwelling which the youth had dubbed the Castle. On the paltry threshold stood the master in a dressing gown and holding a candle.

      Taverney was a little, old gentleman of five-and-sixty, with bright eye and high but retreating forehead. His wretched wig had lost by burning at the candles what the rats had spared of its curls. In his hands was held a dubiously white napkin, which proved that he had been disturbed at table. His spiteful face had a likeness to Voltaire's, and was divided between politeness to the guest and distaste to being disturbed. In the flickering light he looked ugly.

      "Who was it pointed out my house as a shelter?" queried the baron, holding up the light to spy the pilot to whom he was eager to show his gratitude, of course.

      "The youth bore the name of Gilbert, I believe."

      "Ugh! I might have guessed that. I doubted, though, he was good enough for that. Gilbert, the idler, the philosopher!"

      This flow of epithets, emphasized threateningly, showed the visitor that little sympathy existed between the lord and his vassal.

      "Be pleased to come in," said the baron, after a short silence more expressive than his speech.

      "Allow me to see to my coach, which contains valuable property," returned the foreign nobleman.

      "Labrie," said Lord Taverney, "put my lord's carriage under the shed, where it will be less uncovered than in the open yard, for some shingles stick to the roof. As for the horses, that is different, for I cannot answer for their supper; still, as they are not yours, but the post's, I daresay it makes no odds."

      "Believe me, I shall be ever grateful to your lordship——"

      "Oh, do not deceive yourself," said the baron, holding up the candle again to light Labrie executing the work with the aid of the foreign noble; "Taverney is a poor place and a sad one."

      When the vehicle was under cover, after a fashion, the guest slipped a gold coin into the servant's hand. He thought it a silver piece, and thanked heaven for the boon.

      "Lord forbid I should think the ill of your house that you speak," said Balsamo, returning and bowing as the baron began leading him through a broad, damp antechamber, grumbling:

      "Nay, nay, I know what I am talking about; my means are limited. Were you French—though your accent is German, in spite of your Italian title—but never mind—you would be reminded of the rich Taverney."

      "Philosophy," muttered Balsamo, for he had expected the speaker would sigh.

      The master opened the dining-room door.

      "Labrie, serve us as if you were a hundred men in one. I have no other lackey, and he is bad. But I cannot afford another. This dolt has lived with me nigh twenty years without taking a penny of wages, and he is worth it. You will see he is stupid."

      "Heartless," Balsamo continued his studies; "unless he is putting it on."

      The dining-room was the large main room of a farmhouse which had been converted into the manor. It was so plainly furnished as to seem empty. A small, round table was placed in the midst, on which reeked one dish, a stew of game and cabbage. The wine was in a stone jar; the battered, worn and tarnished plate was composed of three plates, a goblet and a salt dish; the last, of great weight and exquisite work, seemed a jewel of price amid the rubbish.

      "Ah, you let your gaze linger on my salt dish?" said the host. "You have

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