"Don't trouble yourself about my groom," replied Stephane, beating down with his whip the foliage which obstructed his path."In the first place, he knows but little French; and it is useless to tell him in Russian that I despise him,--he would be none the worse for it.He is well lodged, well fed, and well clothed; what matters my scorn to him? And besides, let me tell you for your guidance, that my groom is not a groom, he is my jailer.I am a prisoner under constant surveillance; these woods constitute a yard, where I can walk but twice a week, and this excellent Ivan is my keeper.
Search his pockets and you will find a scourge."Gilbert turned to examine the groom, who answered his scrutinizing look by a jovial and intelligent smile.Ivan represented the type of the Russian serf in all his original beauty.He was small, but vigorous and robust; he had a fresh complexion, cheeks full and rosy, hair of a pale yellow, large soft eyes and a long chestnut beard, in which threads of silver already mingled.It was such a face as one often sees among the lower classes of Slavonians;indicating at once energy in action and placidity in repose.
When Gilbert had looked at him well, he said, "My dear sir, I do not believe in Ivan's scourge.""Ah! that is like you bookworms," exclaimed Stephane with an angry gesture."You receive all the monstrous nonsense which you find in your old books for Gospel truth, and without any hesitation, while the ordinary matters of life appear to you prodigious absurdities, which you refuse to believe.""Don't be angry.Ivan's scourge is not exactly an article of faith.One can fail to believe in it without being in danger of hell-fire.Besides, I am ready to recant my heresy; but I will confess to you that I find nothing ferocious or stern in the face of this honest servant.At all events, he is a jailer who does not keep his prisoners closely, and who sometimes gives them a relaxation beyond his orders; for the other day, it seems to me, you scoured the country without him, and really the use you make of your liberty--""The other day," interrupted Stephane, "I did a foolish thing.For the first time I amused myself by evading Ivan's vigilance.It was an effort that I longed to make, but it turned out badly for me.
Would you like to see with your own eyes what this fine exploit cost me?"Then pushing up the right sleeve of his black velvet blouse, he showed Gilbert a thin delicate wrist marked by a red circle, which indicated the prolonged friction of an iron ring.Gilbert could not repress an exclamation of surprise and pity at the sight, and repented his pleasantry.
"I have been chained for a fortnight in a dungeon which I thought Ishould never come out of again," said Stephane, "and I indulged in a good many reflections there.Ah! you were right when you accused me of repeating a lesson I had learned.The pretty bracelet which I bear on my right arm is my thought-teacher, and if I dared to repeat all that it taught me--" Then interrupting himself:
"A lie!" exclaimed he in a bitter tone, drawing his cap down over his eyes."The truth is, that I came out of the dungeon like a lamb, flexible as a glove, and that I am capable of committing a thousand base acts to save myself the horror of returning there.Iam a coward like the rest, and when I tell you that I despise all men, do not believe that I make an exception in my own favor."And at these words he drove the spurs into his horse's flank so violently that the fiery chestnut, irritated by the rude attack, kicked and pranced.Stephane subdued him by the sole power of his haughty and menacing voice; then exciting him again, he launched him forward at full speed and amused himself by suddenly bringing him up with a jerk of the rein, and by turns making him dance and plunge; then urging him across the road he made him clear at a bound, the ditch and hedge which bordered it.After several minutes of this violent exercise, he trotted away, followed by his inseparable Ivan, leaving Gilbert to his reflections, which were not the most agreeable.
He had experienced in talking with Stephane an uneasiness, a secret trouble which had never oppressed him before.The passionate character of this young man, the rudeness of his manners, in which a free savage grace mingled, the exaggeration of his language, betraying the disorder of an ill-governed mind, the rapidity with which his impressions succeeded each other, the natural sweetness of his voice, the caressing melody of which was disturbed by loud exclamations and rude and harsh accents; his gray eyes turning nearly black and flashing fire in a paroxysm of anger or emotion;the contrast between the nobility and distinction of his face and bearing, and the arrogant scorn of proprieties in which he seemed to delight--in short, some painful mystery written upon his forehead and betrayed in his smile--all gave Gilbert much to speculate upon and troubled him profoundly.The aversion he had at first felt for Stephane had changed to pity since the poor child had shown him the red bracelet, which he called his "thought-teacher,"--but pity without sympathy is a sentiment to which one yields with reluctance.Gilbert reproached himself for taking such a lively interest in this young man who had so little merited his esteem, and more especially as with his pity mingled an indefinable terror or apprehension.In fact, he hardly knew himself; he so calm, so reasonable, to be the victim of such painful presentiments! It seemed to him that Stephane was destined to exercise great influence over his fate, and to bring disorder into his life.
Suddenly, he heard once more the sound of horse's hoofs and Stephane re-appeared.Perceiving Gilbert, the young man stopped his horse and cried out, "Mr.Secretary, I am looking for you."And then, laughing, continued:
