Early in the month of June, the month of roses, the wedding of Paul and Lucie came off. The civil wedding occurred one day, but the great event was the religious ceremony on the next day. It took place in the garrison chapel, which was beautifully decorated for the occasion. It was a very grand wedding, for the Bernards were great people, but it was likewise a very happy wedding. A great many persons wondered why a girl of Lucie Bernard’s beauty, fortune and position should marry a little sublieutenant of dragoons, but when they came to see and know the little sublieutenant, and how much liked and respected he was by everybody, it did not seem remarkable at all. Lucie’s most valued wedding present was a huge amethyst bracelet, bought by the voluntary subscriptions of the men in Paul’s own troop out of their small pay. Lucie wore it at her wedding, her only other ornament being a modest pearl brooch which was Paul’s gift.
It was a glorious June day when Lucie Bernard became Lucie Verney. The garrison chapel was packed, and Sergeant Duval commanded the guard of honor. Toni, who had helped to dress Paul for the great occasion, scampered off, with Powder under his arm, to the church, where he met Denise and her aunt. He escorted them to seats of honor reserved for them, a compliment to Toni which materially improved his standing with Mademoiselle Duval. The church was filled with music from the great organ, and outside the air was melodious with the song of birds and the rustling of leaves and the swaying of blossoms. Among the happiest faces in the church were those of Monsieur and Madame Verney, and also two persons that Toni had not seen for a long time, Captain and Madame Ravenel. Madame Ravenel was, for once, not in black, and her pale beauty was set off by a white gown. Her usually sad face wore a happy and tremulous smile. She felt herself the forgiven sinner and was not, as most sinners are, proud of her sins and contemptuous of their forgiveness. Lucie had demanded that Sophie and her husband be asked to the wedding and even to stay as guests at the Château Bernard. Madame Bernard, after having protested, vowed and declared for six months that such should not be the case, promptly capitulated three weeks before the wedding. This meant the complete rehabilitation of Captain and Madame Ravenel and their return to that world from which their own desperate act had hurled them for a time. They had humbled themselves and had been punished, and had taken their punishment as proud and honorable souls do, acknowledging its justice and making no outcry. But now it was over, and forgiveness had been won for them by Lucie Bernard’s generous and determined little hand, which had never ceased to labor for them since she was ten years old.
While the church full of people was awaiting the entrance of the bride and bridegroom, Toni whispered to Denise that they would be married in the same church and that he expected to be as happy as Monsieur Paul, who was the happiest man he had ever seen. Paul’s countenance, when he stood before the altar with Lucie on his arm, fully sustained this. Many bridegrooms wear a hunted and dejected appearance, but not so Paul Verney, although he had been hunted and captured by the charming creature at his side. Lucie, for once, was subdued, but her pallor and the tears that trembled in her dark eyes did her as much honor as Paul’s happy countenance. She was asking herself all the time if she were really worthy of a man like Paul. But she recovered all her composure when they turned and marched out of the church together and passed under the uplifted swords of the guard of honor, and she was quite smiling and self-possessed, looking about her with the laughing, playful, penetrating glance peculiarly her own, and holding up her arm on which the big bracelet shone, to the delight of the honest hearts of the soldiers.
There was a large wedding breakfast at the Château Bernard, which was at its loveliest in June, with its broad, green terraces, its plashing fountains and the riot of color in its prim flower beds. The guests sat at many little tables on the broad terrace, where the bride and groom and the wedding party had a very gorgeous one in the middle, just by the fountain, which sparkled brilliantly in the sunshine. A little way off, in a grove of elm trees, a table was set for the soldiers who had acted as the guard of honor at the wedding ceremony. Their wives and sweethearts were included, and here Toni was the great man, second only to Sergeant Duval, who was the ranking non-commissioned officer present. Toni was the bridegroom’s humble friend and everybody knew the closeness of the tie which had existed between them since boyhood.
Toni made a speech which was a marvel of elegance and correctness. It had been written for him by Paul Verney two weeks before, and he had spent the whole fortnight getting it by heart. But at the end Toni suddenly burst into an impromptu speech of his own.
“The lieutenant,” he said, “is the best lieutenant, he is the best man, he is the best master, he is the best of everything—”
Here Toni, without the least expectation on his part, suddenly found the tears rolling down his cheeks. He laughed and could not imagine what he was crying for and then his fellows all applauded him vociferously, and Toni sat down and was not able to say another word. And then, when they were through with their breakfast, they saw the bride and groom approaching, Lucie holding up her dainty white skirts, her filmy veil floating about her and with nothing on her dark hair except her wedding veil and wreath. Paul carried his helmet with its horse-hair plume in his hand, and the sun shone on his happy sunburned face as he led Lucie to where their humble friends were making merry. Toni had hauled out, from under the table, a mysterious box filled with ice and with long-necked bottles, and champagne was soon bubbling in every glass. The sergeant made a speech quite out of his own head, and much better than Toni’s, in which he assured Paul Verney of what he knew before—that his troop would die for him to a man. Paul returned thanks and declared that he was conscious of commanding the finest troop in the French army, and then Lucie said a few pretty words of thanks and held up her arm with the great bracelet on it and showed that she had worn no other ornament except that and the bridegroom’s gift. Then there were more cheers, more champagne, more of everything. It was a very happy wedding because it made many persons happy.
The very happiest person at the wedding, next to Paul and Lucie, was Madame Verney. That excellent woman was fully persuaded that by her efforts alone and single-handed, she had brought about this match between Paul and Lucie, which otherwise never would have taken place. The relatives and friends of the Bernards were very grand people, indeed, but Paul had no reason to be ashamed of his family contingent.
When the guests were all gone and only the family remained, Toni requested Paul to let the party from Bienville, consisting of himself and the Duvals, speak to the Bienville persons present—the Verneys and the Ravenels,—and this Paul very gladly did. The Ravenels and the Verneys were very kind, as was their nature, to their humbler friends from their native town. Paul did Toni a very good service by proclaiming before all the Bienville people, in Sergeant Duval’s presence, that Toni was the best fellow alive and the sergeant was doing well to betroth his daughter to such an excellent fellow. This was accepted by the Bienville people because on that glorious day everything went well. They could not but observe, however, that Toni was clean instead of being dirty, and Paul assured them that he had become as industrious as he had before been idle.
When the carriage drove off, in the summer dusk, with the bride and groom starting on their wedding journey, Toni was the last person with whom they shook hands, as he arranged them comfortably, and then Toni whispered to Denise:
“We will be just as happy as they some day.”
The next morning Toni waked up with a feeling of happiness which had been gradually growing on him ever since he had become a private soldier under Paul Verney. This made him long to whistle and sing like a blackbird had not the regulations forbidden soldiers to sing like blackbirds while at their duties. But the first sight that greeted him, as he marched on the parade ground, gave him an unpleasant shock. There were Nicolas and Pierre in the ranks. Their term of imprisonment had expired, and these two unworthy citizens were restored to their duties.
Toni avoided them all day long as much as he could, and in the evening, being off duty, he went into the town to see Denise. After spending half an hour with her, sitting on a bench in the public square while Mademoiselle Duval read her inevitable religious newspaper, a drizzle of rain coming on, he escorted his fiancée and his future aunt-in-law to their lodging, then walked down into the town to spend the hour that yet remained to him before he was obliged to turn in. The night had grown dark and stormy and the rain had become a determined downpour. The street lamps shone fitfully out of the gloom, but the windows of the cheap cafés, where the soldiers congregated, were resplendent with lights.
Toni was standing before one of these and debating whether he should go in when he felt an arm on each side of him. He looked around and Nicolas’ red head was close to his ear, while Pierre’s monkey face was on the other side of him.
“Come,” said Nicolas, “I know where we can get a good bottle of wine and have a game of cards.”
Toni could easily have wrenched himself free from them, but his old cowardice returned to him with a rush. He went sullenly with them under a moral compulsion which he could not have explained to save his life. He hated and feared their company; nevertheless, he went with them. They turned into a dark and narrow side street and then, diving into a blind alley so dark and noisome that Toni’s heart sank within him at the thought of the crimes that could be committed there, they climbed a rickety outside stair by the side of a tumble-down old house. Toni found himself presently in a garret room, dimly lighted by a malodorous oil lamp. It was evidently a place of entertainment for a low class of persons. There were sounds of voices below them and next them, but this room was unoccupied. There was a table in the middle of the floor and wine and glasses on it. Toni sat down, much against his will, and Pierre, pouring out some of the wine, which was vile, began to expatiate on the delights of liberty.
“This is a million times better,” he said, “than being locked up in prison with the devil of a sentry keeping his eye on one perpetually and three days on bread and water for sneezing.”
Toni longed to say that that was what both of them richly deserved, but dared not. Then Nicolas began:
“We should not have been imprisoned at all but for that scoundrel, Lieutenant Verney. He has a spite against us and takes it out as only an officer can on a private soldier.”
“It’s a lie,” cried Toni. This aspersion on their honor was not in the least resented by either Pierre or Nicolas, who knew, as only they and God did, what liars they were.
“Well, Toni,” Nicolas continued, “I understand that you are to marry the sergeant’s daughter. My faith, you look prosperous. Count Delorme’s money must have done you a lot of good.”
“I never had any of Count Delorme’s money!” burst out Toni.
“Who is lying now?” murmured Nicolas softly. “What about the twenty-franc piece?”
“That was certainly a very neat job of yours, Toni,” said Pierre. “I have never seen a man done for quicker than you did for Count Delorme. One blow like this—” He drew off and went through a pantomime of giving Nicolas a blow on the side of the head. Nicolas, likewise pretending, tumbled over in his chair as Count Delorme had fallen over in the dark at the Château Bernard. It made Toni sick to see them. They laughed, after they had gone through with this mimic tragedy, and began to drink their wine. Then they again abused Paul Verney, and Toni said nothing. He scorned to defend his friend from two such scoundrels as those before him and he longed to get away, but that strange and inscrutable fear of them nailed him to his chair. Presently Nicolas said to him:
“Toni, we might as well tell you the truth. Lieutenant Verney is to die.”
To die! Paul, so full of life, so happy, only yesterday married! He saw Paul’s smiling face as he waved his hand back to Toni when he drove off in the open carriage with Lucie, through the golden dusk of the June evening. But he did not quite take in what Nicolas meant.
“Yes,” said Pierre, “have you never heard, my man, of officers who abused and ill-treated their men, who were found dead like Count Delorme?—I won’t say murdered—that’s an ugly word to say. But it isn’t altogether safe for an officer to persecute a man, particularly a couple of men—it’s just as well to make an example of an officer like that once in a while.”
A cold horror came upon Toni. After a moment he spoke.
“So you mean to waylay Lieutenant Verney as you did Count Delorme?” he asked.
“No indeed, my dear fellow,” briskly responded Nicolas. “It will be quite a different affair from that little one of yours. We mean to kill him, however, but we will try our chances among the three of us. We don’t care to take the whole risk ourselves, and I think, considering how quiet we have kept about that little affair of yours in the park of the Château Bernard that you ought to help us out. So we will play a game of cards and the loser is to finish up Lieutenant Verney or be finished up himself. That is quite fair. Don’t you agree to that, Pierre?”
Pierre nodded and grinned. Toni sat looking at them stupidly by the light of the oil lamp. He took in instantly what they meant—they intended that he should kill Paul Verney or else be killed himself. Nicolas took out of his pocket a greasy pack of cards and said:
“What shall it be—écarté?”
“As you please,” responded Pierre.
Toni would have given his soul, almost, to have rushed out of the room, but he was Toni still as boy and man. He had been cowed and enslaved by certain strange fears which many persons exercised over him, and these scoundrels in particular. He thought of himself as murdered by these wretches, who, he knew, would do it with as little compunction as they would wring the neck of a chicken. He thought of Denise, of Paul Verney, and he was overwhelmed with sorrow for them and pity for himself, for he understood that he must die.
The cards were dealt and Toni took his up. He was in a horrible dream, but he retained enough of his faculties to know how the game was going. Nicolas and Pierre were quite cheerful and they squabbled merrily over the game and took all the tricks. When they had finished, Nicolas slapped Toni on the back and said jovially:
“Well, my man, you have got the job.”
Toni made no reply. He was too frightened to speak, and then Nicolas, suddenly growing perfectly serious, said:
“You know we begin our practice marches in about a fortnight. Now, on our first practice march you are to be ill and drop out of the ranks—see?—when the lieutenant is riding by the side of the troop where he can see you, and you must select a place where there is a thicket in which a man’s body can be hid from the observation of the people passing by. Now, when the lieutenant comes back to see what is the matter with you, it will be quite easy—he will be completely off his guard—and then—you had better do it with a knife—a knife makes no noise, you know, and if you don’t know how to use a knife on Lieutenant Verney—well, we’ll use it on you—that’s all—and on Lieutenant Verney later.”
Toni’s arms dropped by his side and he uttered a low groan. What folly ever had thrown him with these men—what madness was his not to have come out and told the truth about Count Delorme! And now his life must pay the penalty for it, and just as it was growing so sweet to him. He staggered to his feet and groped his way to the door, Pierre and Nicolas making no effort to stop him. They saw that they had fully impressed him with what they meant to do.