Uncle Bernac: A Memory of the EmpireDoyle, Arthur Conan
History
Uncle Bernac: A Memory of the Empire
Doyle, Arthur Conan
France -- History -- Consulate and First Empire, 1799-1815 -- Fiction
'I was not sorry to have a chance of quietly observing what his English
education had done for my nephew. It might also have been harder for me
to stand your friend if my comrades had any reason to think that I was
personally interested in you. But you will permit me now to welcome you
heartily to France, and to express my regret if your reception has been
a rough one. I am sure that Sibylle will help me to atone for it.'
He smiled archly at his daughter, who continued to regard me with a
stony face.
I looked round me, and gradually the spacious room, with the weapons
upon the wall, and the deer's heads, came dimly back to my memory.
That view through the oriel window, too, with the clump of oaks in the
sloping park, and the sea in the distance beyond, I had certainly seen
it before. It was true then, and I was in our own castle of Grosbois,
and this dreadful man in the snuff-coloured coat, this sinister plotter
with the death's-head face, was the man whom I had heard my poor father
curse so often, the man who had ousted him from his own property and
installed himself in his place. And yet I could not forget that it was
he also who, at some risk to himself, had saved me the night before, and
my soul was again torn between my gratitude and my repulsion.
We had seated ourselves at the table, and as we ate, this newly-found
uncle of mine continued to explain all those points which I had failed
to understand.
'I suspected that it was you the instant that I set eyes upon you,' said
he. 'I am old enough to remember your father when he was a young
gallant, and you are his very double--though I may say, without
flattery, that where there is a difference it is in your favour.
And yet he had the name of being one of the handsomest men betwixt Rouen
and the sea. You must bear in mind that I was expecting you, and that
there are not so many young aristocrats of your age wandering about
along the coast. I was surprised when you did not recognise where you
were last night. Had you never heard of the secret passage of
Grosbois?'
It came vaguely back to me that in my childhood I had heard of this
underground tunnel, but that the roof had fallen in and rendered it
useless.
'Precisely,' said my uncle. 'When the castle passed into my hands, one
of the very first things which I did was to cut a new opening at the end
of it, for I foresaw that in these troublesome times it might be of use
to me; indeed, had it been in repair it might have made the escape of
your mother and father a very much easier affair.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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