"She has gone, she has left us," said Jacques, pacing the floor, raising his eyes to the ceiling, clenching his fists, and pausing now and then to stamp the floor violently.

"She has gone!" repeated the whole family sadly.

"Oh! that ain't possible," said Guillot.

"Here, read this;" and Jacques threw down in front of the farmer the paper that Adeline had left. Guillot took it and gazed at it earnestly for some moments.

"Well!" said Sans-Souci, walking toward him, "what does she say?"

"You see, I don't know how to read," replied Guillot, still staring at the paper. Sans-Souci s.n.a.t.c.hed it from his hands and read it aloud.

"You see she tells us not to be worried about her absence," said Louise; "she will come back soon, I'm sure."

"Oh! so far as that goes, I will answer for it too," said Guillot; "she wouldn't leave us without saying good-bye to us, that's sure!"

Sans-Souci agreed with the peasants, and he tried to comfort his friend.

"But where has she gone?" said Jacques. "Why this sudden departure? She didn't seem to have any idea of it yesterday; and for a young woman, weak as she is, to travel with a child that has to be carried--She will make herself sick. Ah! she must have had some news from Paris. Ten thousand bayonets! If I knew that anything had been kept from me----"

As he said this, Jacques's eyes turned toward Sans-Souci, who looked at the floor, twisted his moustache and utterly failed to conceal his embarra.s.sment.

"Come, come, Brother Jacques, let us wait before we lose hope," said the farmer's wife, urging the honest plowman to go to bed; "perhaps she will be back to-morrow."

"Yes," said Guillot, "and we will have a famous soup to celebrate, and we will drink some of last year's wine, which is beginning to be just right."

Sans-Souci dared not say anything; he was afraid of becoming confused and betraying himself; his comrade's glances closed his mouth.

"I will wait a few days," said Jacques; "but if she doesn't come back, then I will go to find her, even if I have to go to the end of the world."

They parted for the night sadly enough. Several days pa.s.sed, and Adeline did not return. All pleasure and peace of mind had vanished from the farm; Jacques neglected his work, Guillot his fields, the farmer's wife her household duties; Sans-Souci neglected the farmer's wife, and everybody was unhappy. No more ballads, merry meals, amusing stories, or descriptions of battles. Sans-Souci was losing hope of Adeline's return; he bitterly repented having told her of her husband, and he hovered about Jacques, but dared not confess the truth to him.

On the eighth day Jacques announced that he was going to start out in search of his sister. Sans-Souci decided then to speak; he took his comrade aside and began by tearing out a handful of hair, and heaving a profound sigh.

"What is the meaning of all this groaning?" asked Jacques; "speak, and stop your nonsense."

"Look you, comrade, I am an infernal brute! I am corked up like the barrel of Guillot's gun, and yet I did everything for the best."

"What do you mean?"

"I am the cause of your dear sister's leaving the farm."

"You! you villain!"

"If you don't forgive me, I'll put five pounds of lead between my eyebrows."

"Nonsense! Speak, I implore you."

"I found out that your brother was in prison; I didn't dare to tell you and I didn't mean to tell his wife either; but she urged me so hard, and you know that women do whatever they want to with me, especially the ones that I respect; and then I thought that she might comfort her husband a little."

"And do you think that I have an iron heart? My brother is unfortunate, that ends it; I forget the way he received me; I too must comfort him."

"Poor Jacques! I was sure of it."

"And yet you kept your mouth shut, you idiot, and you left me consumed with anxiety--Poor woman! Perhaps she is with him!"

"Parbleu! there's no doubt of that!"

"Is he in prison in Paris?"

"Yes--wait--he is at the Conciergerie."

"He must have spent and sold everything, and his creditors had him arrested!--Ah! if I were rich, brother, how happy I would be to be of some use to you! But fate has willed it otherwise.--No matter; I can at least prove to you that you still have a friend.--Sans-Souci, I am going to Paris."

"So am I; morbleu! I will go with you; I don't propose to leave you."

"Very well. We won't say anything to the peasants about my brother's imprisonment; those excellent people would be quite capable of insisting upon doing still more to a.s.sist us, and we must not accept it; they have done enough for us already."

"You are always right. I agree with you; let us go and say good-bye to them; forward!"

Jacques and Sans-Souci embraced the peasants and told them that they were going to look for Adeline; then they started for Paris, where they arrived that afternoon.

"You know the way," said Jacques to his comrade; "take me to the prison.

I will ask to speak to the commander, the captain, the governor; in fact, to speak to everybody, if necessary; this honorable decoration will serve as my safe-conduct."

"Look you, I don't know the prison any better than you do, but I'll take you to my old friend, who is the messenger to the prisoners; he will tell us how we must go to work to see your brother."

"Very well, let us speak to your friend; I trust that we may find him."

"Yes," said Sans-Souci; "I see him now, over yonder."

They quickened their pace and accosted the messenger, who recognized his friend, and shook hands with him, asking him what brought him to Paris.

"Let us sit down on this stone bench and talk," said Sans-Souci; "this is my comrade, a fine fellow----"

"He has some scars and a bit of ribbon which say enough.--Can I help you in any way, messieurs?"

"Yes, we have come on important business--we want to see a prisoner. You know, that Edouard Murville, whom you mentioned to me the last time I saw you; well, my comrade is his brother."

"You are his brother?" said the messenger, looking at Jacques with compa.s.sion. "I am sorry for you."

"I am not the one to be sorry for," said Jacques; "he is the one, since he is unfortunate; for he has not been guilty of any dishonorable act, I trust?"

"What have you come here for?" said the messenger, without answering Jacques's question.

"Morbleu! we have come to see my brother; his wife and child have been here already to console him."

"No woman has been here to see him, I a.s.sure you; in fact, no woman has attempted to see him."

"Is it possible?"