Next morning, by daylight, the whole region was aroused. Count Delorme had been found dead, robbed and murdered, in the park of the Château Bernard. The police appeared in swarms1. No one had seen him at the château, and old Madame Bernard had fainted when told of the murdered man being found in the park, and had taken to her bed very ill, so she could not be disturbed. Delorme’s identity was easily established, and it was surmised2 that he was on his way to the château when he had met his fate.
Toni listened, with a blanched3 face, to all the excited talk and colloquy4 that went on among the villagers as well as the circus people about the strange murder. Suspicion at once fell on the circus people, but Pierre and Nicolas were old hands at the business and knew how to manage such little affairs. They had promptly5 proceeded, the first thing next morning, to try for an advance of money from the manager of the circus, and being refused, they had tried to borrow money from several of their fellow employees to disguise the fact that their pockets were well-lined at that very moment with Delorme’s money. Toni had never thought of this subterfuge6, and did not attempt to borrow a franc. He spent the day in one long spasm7 of terror, and in the evening, when the performance was over and he was going back to his lodging8, his two friends joined him.
“Toni,” said Nicolas, with a laughing devil in his eye as he spoke9, “you must be very careful, for suspicion might fall on you for the part you took in our little escapade. You struck the blow, you know.”
Toni stopped, stared, and threw his arms up above his head in a wild passion of despair.
“I did not—I did not—I did not,” he cried.
Then Nicolas, slipping his hand in Toni’s pocket, drew out a twenty-franc gold piece, a coin which Toni had seldom in his life owned.
“This was what you took out of the man’s pocket,” said Pierre. It was too much for Toni. They were walking along the highway toward the village, in the soft May evening. Toni, quite unsteady on his legs, sat down by the roadside. He was so stunned10 and dazed that he could neither move nor think nor speak. Pierre and Nicolas walked off laughing, Pierre, meanwhile having put the twenty-franc piece in Toni’s pocket. When Toni felt this, he threw the money after them frantically11, and it fell in the road behind them, but they did not see it. Toni, without knowing this at the time, thereby13 accomplished14 a stroke of justice to these wretches15.
He sat there a long time after his two friends had left him. Presently the power of thought returned to him, and he said to himself:
“Toni, here is another terrible secret for you to carry—heavier than any yet that you have carried—too heavy for you to carry alone. Toni, you are a coward. If you were not, you would have got away from Nicolas and Pierre a long time ago. Now see what they have led you into. Toni, you must go to Paul Verney and make a clean breast of it, otherwise, you will live to be guillotined.”
He had no friend to whom he could go for counsel, unless he could find Paul Verney. He took Jacques out of his pocket, and Jacques looked at him in a friendly way and agreed with him as he always did, saying:
“Toni, unless you take some steps you will certainly be guillotined or sent to prison for life; so make up your mind to find Paul Verney and tell him all about it.”
Toni took this resolution, but the courage which inspired him to make it did not inspire him, at once, to carry it into effect. He meant to do it the first thing next day, but when the next morning came he put it off until the afternoon, and when the afternoon came he again delayed. A secret like that is frightful16 to keep and more frightful to tell. And then suddenly their week was up at Beaupré.
After leaving Beaupré, they gave performances in the small towns round about. Interest in the murder of Delorme had by no means died out, but rather increased as time passed on and no clue to the murderer was discovered. Toni had an instinctive17 feeling that the police were watching the circus people. He felt that every one of them was under suspicion, but he had no tangible18 proof of this. It made him long, however, to get away from the circus. He knew that he was of an age when his army service might begin at any moment, as his twentieth birthday was close at hand. He had, in fact, already been served with notice. He could have got off, being the only son of a widowed mother, but it had occurred to him that by serving his time in the army he might get rid, for a while, of his two friends, Nicolas and Pierre. A dream came to him that after his service he would get a place as teacher in a riding-school. Then he would still have horses for his friends and companions, but there would be nothing of Nicolas and Pierre in his life. The dream grew brighter the more he dwelt on it. He would go back to Bienville and ask his mother’s pardon, which he had done in every letter that he had written her, and then she would forgive him. And he would make her ask for the hand of Denise for his wife.
Oh, how happy he could be if only he had not this terrible secret about Count Delorme to carry, which stayed with him day and night. If he could get away from the circus, he thought this secret might then be less terrible to bear. The first step toward this was soon accomplished by the strong arm of the law, because Toni found himself, one June morning, drawn19 in the conscription. He had no thought of getting off, because he was his mother’s only son, and presently he found, to his immense joy, that he was to be one of the number of recruits who were to report at the cavalry20 depot21 at Beaupré.
Beaupré was like Bienville in one way, having a small garrison22 and being a cavalry depot, but it was new and modern, unlike Bienville. Although quite as bright, the barracks and stables were all new and shining with fresh paint. And oh, what joy was Toni’s when he recalled that Paul Verney was stationed there! It seemed to him as if what is called the good God, who had neglected and forgotten him for seven whole years, had at last relented and was directing his destiny and showing him the path to peace.
It was almost two months after Toni’s little adventure in the park of the Château Bernard that, one morning, Sergeant23 Duval, the father of Denise, heaved a heavy sigh as he paced the tan-bark in the riding-school at Beaupré and mournfully surveyed the group of recruits who were to take their first lesson in voltige or circus riding. There were about fifty of them. They all came from Paris, and recruits from Paris are notoriously hard to break in. They feel a profound contempt for the “rurals,” a term which they apply to everybody outside of Paris. The sergeant, running his eye over them, had no difficulty in sorting them out, so to speak, according to their different degrees of incapacity. About half were clerks, waiters, and artisans’ apprentices24, town-bred and certain never to get over their fear and respect for horses. The other half were porters and laborers25 and the like, who could be taught to stick on a horse’s back, but would never acquire any style in riding.
Among them was a stupid-looking young fellow, rather short but well-made, with very black eyes and a closely-cropped black poll, whom Sergeant Duval did not recognize in the least as his old friend Toni, the unknown aspirant26 for the hand of Denise. Toni’s apparent fear and dread27 in the company of the horses had kept the troopers in a roar of laughter ever since he had joined. His awkwardness in the simple riding lesson of the day before showed what a hand he would make of it in the more difficult voltige, and his companions had hustled28 him to the first place in the line, so they could see the fun.
Just then Sublieutenant Verney walked into the riding-hall. He was the same Paul Verney, only he was twenty-two years old, and was known and loved by every man and by every horse in the regiment30. This triumph was something to be laid at the feet of Lucie Bernard, whom he had loved ever since that August afternoon in the park at Bienville, when she had taken his book away from him and his heart went with the book. Sublieutenant Verney was always present at the riding-drill, whether it was his turn or not, and he dreamed dreams in which he saw ............