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pubOne.info present you this new edition. True heart and strong, with love to light-

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Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	06 novembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819933731
Langue	English

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ROADS OF DESTINY
by
O. Henry
Author of “The Voice of the City,”
“The Trimmed Lamp, ” “Strictly Business, ”
“Whirligigs, ” “Sixes and Sevens, ” Etc.
1919
I
ROADS OF DESTINY
> I go to seek on many roads
What is to be.
True heart and strong, with love to light—
Will they not bear me in the fight
To order, shun or wield or mould
My Destiny?
Unpublished Poems of David Mignot .
The song was over. The words were David's; the air,one of the countryside. The company about the inn table applaudedheartily, for the young poet paid for the wine. Only the notary, M.Papineau, shook his head a little at the lines, for he was a man ofbooks, and he had not drunk with the rest.
David went out into the village street, where thenight air drove the wine vapour from his head. And then heremembered that he and Yvonne had quarrelled that day, and that hehad resolved to leave his home that night to seek fame and honourin the great world outside.
“When my poems are on every man's tongue, ” he toldhimself, in a fine exhilaration, “she will, perhaps, think of thehard words she spoke this day. ”
Except the roisterers in the tavern, the villagefolk were abed. David crept softly into his room in the shed of hisfather's cottage and made a bundle of his small store of clothing.With this upon a staff, he set his face outward upon the road thatran from Vernoy.
He passed his father's herd of sheep, huddled intheir nightly pen— the sheep he herded daily, leaving them toscatter while he wrote verses on scraps of paper. He saw a lightyet shining in Yvonne's window, and a weakness shook his purpose ofa sudden. Perhaps that light meant that she rued, sleepless, heranger, and that morning might— But, no! His decision was made.Vernoy was no place for him. Not one soul there could share histhoughts. Out along that road lay his fate and his future.
Three leagues across the dim, moonlit champaign ranthe road, straight as a ploughman's furrow. It was believed in thevillage that the road ran to Paris, at least; and this name thepoet whispered often to himself as he walked. Never so far fromVernoy had David travelled before.
THE LEFT BRANCH
Three leagues, then, the road ran, and turnedinto a puzzle. It joined with another and a larger road at rightangles. David stood, uncertain, for a while, and then took the roadto the left.
Upon this more important highway were, imprinted inthe dust, wheel tracks left by the recent passage of some vehicle.Some half an hour later these traces were verified by the sight ofa ponderous carriage mired in a little brook at the bottom of asteep hill. The driver and postilions were shouting and tugging atthe horses' bridles. On the road at one side stood a huge,black-clothed man and a slender lady wrapped in a long, lightcloak.
David saw the lack of skill in the efforts of theservants. He quietly assumed control of the work. He directed theoutriders to cease their clamour at the horses and to exercisetheir strength upon the wheels. The driver alone urged the animalswith his familiar voice; David himself heaved a powerful shoulderat the rear of the carriage, and with one harmonious tug the greatvehicle rolled up on solid ground. The outriders climbed to theirplaces.
David stood for a moment upon one foot. The hugegentleman waved a hand. “You will enter the carriage, ” he said, ina voice large, like himself, but smoothed by art and habit.Obedience belonged in the path of such a voice. Brief as was theyoung poet's hesitation, it was cut shorter still by a renewal ofthe command. David's foot went to the step. In the darkness heperceived dimly the form of the lady upon the rear seat. He wasabout to seat himself opposite, when the voice again swayed him toits will. “You will sit at the lady's side. ”
The gentleman swung his great weight to the forwardseat. The carriage proceeded up the hill. The lady was shrunk,silent, into her corner. David could not estimate whether she wasold or young, but a delicate, mild perfume from her clothes stirredhis poet's fancy to the belief that there was loveliness beneaththe mystery. Here was an adventure such as he had often imagined.But as yet he held no key to it, for no word was spoken while hesat with his impenetrable companions.
In an hour's time David perceived through the windowthat the vehicle traversed the street of some town. Then it stoppedin front of a closed and darkened house, and a postilion alightedto hammer impatiently upon the door. A latticed window above flewwide and a nightcapped head popped out.
“Who are ye that disturb honest folk at this time ofnight? My house is closed. 'Tis too late for profitable travellersto be abroad. Cease knocking at my door, and be off. ”
“Open! ” spluttered the postilion, loudly; “open forMonsiegneur the Marquis de Beaupertuys. ”
“Ah! ” cried the voice above. “Ten thousand pardons,my lord. I did not know— the hour is so late— at once shall thedoor be opened, and the house placed at my lord's disposal. ”
Inside was heard the clink of chain and bar, and thedoor was flung open. Shivering with chill and apprehension, thelandlord of the Silver Flagon stood, half clad, candle in hand,upon the threshold.
David followed the Marquis out of the carriage.“Assist the lady, ” he was ordered. The poet obeyed. He felt hersmall hand tremble as he guided her descent. “Into the house, ” wasthe next command.
The room was the long dining-hall of the tavern. Agreat oak table ran down its length. The huge gentleman seatedhimself in a chair at the nearer end. The lady sank into anotheragainst the wall, with an air of great weariness. David stood,considering how best he might now take his leave and continue uponhis way.
“My lord, ” said the landlord, bowing to the floor,“h-had I ex-expected this honour, entertainment would have beenready. T-t-there is wine and cold fowl and m-m-maybe— ”
“Candles, ” said the marquis, spreading the fingersof one plump white hand in a gesture he had.
“Y-yes, my lord. ” He fetched half a dozen candles,lighted them, and set them upon the table.
“If monsieur would, perhaps, deign to taste acertain Burgundy— there is a cask— ”
“Candles, ” said monsieur, spreading hisfingers.
“Assuredly— quickly— I fly, my lord. ”
A dozen more lighted candles shone in the hall. Thegreat bulk of the marquis overflowed his chair. He was dressed infine black from head to foot save for the snowy ruffles at hiswrist and throat. Even the hilt and scabbard of his sword wereblack. His expression was one of sneering pride. The ends of anupturned moustache reached nearly to his mocking eyes.
The lady sat motionless, and now David perceivedthat she was young, and possessed of pathetic and appealing beauty.He was startled from the contemplation of her forlorn loveliness bythe booming voice of the marquis.
“What is your name and pursuit? ”
“David Mignot. I am a poet. ”
The moustache of the marquis curled nearer to hiseyes.
“How do you live? ”
“I am also a shepherd; I guarded my father's flock,” David answered, with his head high, but a flush upon hischeek.
“Then listen, master shepherd and poet, to thefortune you have blundered upon to-night. This lady is my niece,Mademoiselle Lucie de Varennes. She is of noble descent and ispossessed of ten thousand francs a year in her own right. As to hercharms, you have but to observe for yourself. If the inventorypleases your shepherd's heart, she becomes your wife at a word. Donot interrupt me. To-night I conveyed her to the château ofthe Comte de Villemaur, to whom her hand had been promised. Guestswere present; the priest was waiting; her marriage to one eligiblein rank and fortune was ready to be accomplished. At the alter thisdemoiselle, so meek and dutiful, turned upon me like a leopardess,charged me with cruelty and crimes, and broke, before the gapingpriest, the troth I had plighted for her. I swore there and then,by ten thousand devils, that she should marry the first man we metafter leaving the château , be he prince, charcoal-burner, orthief. You, shepherd, are the first. Mademoiselle must be wed thisnight. If not you, then another. You have ten minutes in which tomake your decision. Do not vex me with words or questions. Tenminutes, shepherd; and they are speeding. ”
The marquis drummed loudly with his white fingersupon the table. He sank into a veiled attitude of waiting. It wasas if some great house had shut its doors and windows againstapproach. David would have spoken, but the huge man's bearingstopped his tongue. Instead, he stood by the lady's chair andbowed.
“Mademoiselle, ” he said, and he marvelled to findhis words flowing easily before so much elegance and beauty. “Youhave heard me say I was a shepherd. I have also had the fancy, attimes, that I am a poet. If it be the test of a poet to adore andcherish the beautiful, that fancy is now strengthened. Can I serveyou in any way, mademoiselle? ”
The young woman looked up at him with eyes dry andmournful. His frank, glowing face, made serious by the gravity ofthe adventure, his strong, straight figure and the liquid sympathyin his blue eyes, perhaps, also, her imminent need of long-deniedhelp and kindness, thawed her to sudden tears.
“Monsieur, ” she said, in low tones, “you look to betrue and kind. He is my uncle, the brother of my father, and myonly relative. He loved my mother, and he hates me because I amlike her. He has made my life one long terror. I am afraid of hisvery looks, and never before dared to disobey him. But to-night hewould have married me to a man three times my age. You will forgiveme for bringing this vexation upon you, monsieur. You will, ofcourse, decline this mad act he tries to force upon you. But let methank you for your generous words, at least. I have had none spokento me in so long. ”
There was now something more than generosity in thepoet's eyes. Poet he must have been, for Yvonne was forgotten; thisfine, new loveliness held him with its freshness and gr