The carriage which had stopped before the gate was that which brought Roland back to his family, accompanied by Sir John.
The family was so far from expecting him that, as we have said, all the lights in the house were extinguished, all the windows in darkness, even Amélie’s. The postilion had cracked his whip smartly for the last five hundred yards, but the noise was insufficient1 to rouse these country people from their first sleep. When the carriage had stopped, Roland opened the door, sprang out without touching2 the steps, and tugged3 at the bell-handle. Five minutes elapsed, and, after each peal4, Roland turned to the carriage, saying: “Don’t be impatient, Sir John.”
At last a window opened and a childish but firm voice cried out: “Who is ringing that way?”
“Ah, is that you, little Edouard?” said Roland. “Make haste and let us in.”
The child leaped back with a shout of delight and disappeared. But at the same time his voice was heard in the corridors, crying: “Mother! wake up; it is Roland! Sister! wake up; it is the big brother!”
Then, clad only in his night robe and his little slippers5, he ran down the steps, crying: “Don’t be impatient, Roland; here I am.”
An instant later the key grated in the lock, and the bolts slipped back in their sockets6. A white figure appeared in the portico7, and flew rather than ran to the gate, which an instant later turned on its hinges and swung open. The child sprang upon Roland’s neck and hung there.
“Ah, brother! Brother!” he exclaimed, embracing the young man, laughing and crying at the same time. “Ah, big brother Roland! How happy mother will be; and Amélie, too! Every body is well. I am the sickest—ah! except Michel, the gardener, you know, who has sprained8 his leg. But why aren’t you in uniform? Oh! how ugly you are in citizen’s clothes! Have you just come from Egypt? Did you bring me the silver-mounted pistols and the beautiful curved sword? No? Then you are not nice, and I won’t kiss you any more. Oh, no, no! Don’t be afraid! I love you just the same!”
And the boy smothered9 the big brother with kisses while he showered questions upon him. The Englishman, still seated in the carriage, looked smilingly through the window at the scene.
In the midst of these fraternal embraces came the voice of a woman; the voice of the mother.
“Where is he, my Roland, my darling son?” asked Madame de Montrevel, in a voice fraught10 with such violent, joyous11 emotion that it was almost painful. “Where is he? Can it be true that he has returned; really true that he is not a prisoner, not dead? Is he really living?”
The child, at her voice, slipped from his brother’s arms like an eel12, dropped upon his feet on the grass, and, as if moved by a spring, bounded toward his mother.
“This way, mother; this way!” said he, dragging his mother, half dressed as she was, toward Roland. When he saw his mother Roland could no longer contain himself. He felt the sort of icicle that had petrified13 his breast melt, and his heart beat like that of his fellowmen.
“Ah!” he exclaimed, “I was indeed ungrateful to God when life still holds such joys for me.”
And he fell sobbing14 upon Madame de Montrevel’s neck without thinking of Sir John, who felt his English phlegm disperse15 as he silently wiped away the tears that flowed down his cheeks and moistened his lips. The child, the mother, and Roland formed an adorable group of tenderness and emotion.
Suddenly little Edouard, like a leaf tossed about by the wind, flew from the group, exclaiming: “Sister Amélie! Why, where is she?” and he rushed toward the house, repeating: “Sister Amélie, wake up! Get up! Hurry up!”
And then the child could be heard kicking and rapping against a door. Silence followed. Then little Edouard shouted: “Help, mother! Help, brother Roland! Sister Amélie is ill!”
Madame de Montrevel and her son flew toward the house. Sir John, consummate16 tourist that he was, always carried a lancet and a smelling bottle in his pocket. He jumped from the carriage and, obeying his first impulse, hurried up the portico. There he paused, reflecting that he had not been introduced, an all-important formality for an Englishman.
However, the fainting girl whom he sought came toward him at that moment. The noise her brother had made at the door brought Amélie to the landing; but, without doubt, the excitement which Roland’s return had occasioned was too much for her, for after descending18 a few steps in an almost automatic manner, controlling herself by a violent effort, she gave a sigh, and, like a flower that bends, a branch that droops19, like a scarf that floats, she fell, or rather lay, upon the stairs. It was at that moment that the child cried out.
But at his exclamation20 Amélie recovered, if not her strength, at least her will. She rose, and, stammering21, “Be quiet, Edouard! Be quite, in Heaven’s name! I’m all right,” she clung to the balustrade with one hand, and leaning with the other on the child, she had continued to descend17. On the last step she met her mother and her brother. Then with a violent, almost despairing movement, she threw both arms around Roland’s neck, exclaiming: “My brother! My brother!”
Roland, feeling the young girl’s weight press heavily upon his shoulder, exclaimed: “Air! Air! She is fainting!” and carried her out upon the portico. It was this new group, so different from the first, which met Sir John&............