D A Novel (George Right) - By George Right Page 0,78
often much more painful, however it excites nobody; but if a shot thunders anywhere, people immediately crowd together to shake in horror."
Jeannette didn't dare to insist further, understanding that it would only anger Dubois; but his cold logic couldn't dispel her melancholy and heavy presentiments. However, Jeannette's maid (she had a maid now like a real aristocrat), a humorous hoyden named Marie, didn't share the anxiety of her mistress and eventually even managed to make her laugh. But in the evening the fear began to overtake Jeannette again. The last reflection of the sun faded in the west; murky night fell on the house. The wind wandered in the foliage of the large garden; a lonely branch scraped a window as if someone unknown asked: "Let me... let me in..." From the windows of the bedrooms, there was only a view of the night forest; not a single spark was visible in that direction. Somewhere in the house old floor boards squeaked.
At last the door was opened, and Dubois entered Jeannette's bedroom where she was shivering with fear.
"Darling, how glad I am that you came!"
"I didn't come to talk," Dubois purred, untying the belt of his dressing gown.
Suddenly the moon came out of the clouds, illuminating the room with ghastly light; and at the same moment a high-pitched and lingering sound, dreary as the cry from a restless soul, reached from somewhere afar.
"My God, Jacques, what is it?!" Jeannette exclaimed in horror.
"A dog howled, nothing more," Dubois answered in an irritated voice, lowering himself heavily onto her. But in a few minutes he had to acknowledge with shame and disgust that he couldn't perform: the damned howl had distracted him and prevented him from concentrating. Upset and red with rage, Dubois left Jeannette's bedroom.
The next morning, having looked out of a window, Dubois noticed the groom walking through the yard with a bucket in his hand. The master called the servant and asked whether there were dogs on the estate.
"No, monsieur!" the fellow answered, coming closer to the window.
"No? But the village is quite far; what dog then howled last night?"
"Dog, monsieur?"
"Yes, of course; didn't you hear the howl?"
"It was not a dog, monsieur. It was a wolf howling in the forest."
"Wolf?" Dubois was surprised. "Are there wolves in this area?" He suddenly remembered that a wolf was on de Montreux's coat of arms and, sneering, he assumed he was going to hear a rural legend about a werewolf howling every time somebody from the count's family died. But instead of a legend the fellow simply answered:
"There are, monsieur, though not so many of them. Usually they don't bother us, especially now, at the end of summer, when there is still is enough food in the woods."
"Well, so I'll have something to hunt," Dubois said. Hitherto he hadn't participated in this landowners' entertainment, but he intended to make up for lost time.
Several days passed. Life in the estate became routine; nobody remembered, at least aloud, the tragic incident which had marred the arrival of the new owner. Dubois received mail reports from his managers, according to whom his business affairs were excellent. Even the wolf howl didn't disturb inhabitants of the house anymore. However, the feeling of vague anxiety still hadn't left Jeannette completely; she found it difficult to explain its reason herself, while Dubois believed that the cause was the baleful architecture of the ancient building and ordered it to be lit better in the evenings. However, he made no other changes in the archaic furnishings, wishing to keep the style of "an authentic home of a noble family." He was especially tender with Jeannette these days, and, in order not to look ungrateful, she hid from him her lingering feeling of discomfort.
But early one morning Dubois was awakened by a loud knock at the door.
"Monsieur, a very unpleasant incident!" he heard the majordomo's voice.
"What happened?"
"The gardener, monsieur... Usually in the mornings he came to the kitchen to drink a glass of milk and to chat with the cook. But today he didn't come, and the cook was worried whether he fell ill..."
"Briefly, what's the matter with him?"
"It looks like he is dead, monsieur..."
Swearing angrily, Dubois got out from under his blanket. Walking down the corridor, he saw Jeannette standing in a dressing gown at the threshold of her bedroom. Her face was pale and fear could clearly be read in her eyes.
"I hope, this time it's not a violent death?" Dubois inquired.