CHAPTER XXV.
WILL THE SWORD FALL?
Perchance that well-meaning, but mole-like, person, Madame de Breze,would have felt less comfortable if she had been aware of herdaughter's attitude as the carriage rolled away. She stood at an upperwindow and strained her eyes, striving to follow the casket whichcontained her treasures, long after it was out of sight. Tears werestreaming down her cheeks, and, turning away at length with aconvulsive sob, she murmured, "They at least are safe, thank Heavenfor that mercy," and retired to weep in her chamber. Toinon, enteringsoon after, found her mistress lying on her face upon the bed instrong hysterics, with fingers tightly clasped about her neck. HonestToinon was unable to solve the riddle of such singular behaviour. Hermistress seemed to be under some spell, her power of volitionsuspended, acting like a marionnette in obedience to invisible wires.If it was such agony to part from her children, why have done so? Whenshe put the question, the answer staggered Toinon. With her head onher foster-sister's breast, her emotion calmed by contact of a lovinghand, Gabrielle replied simply, "What greater anguish than to partfrom dear ones whom you know you will never see again?"
Exhorted to courage and hope, she only sighed and murmured, "Even mymother has deserted me in my extremity. I look beyond the world andfix my faith in God."
He or she who can bid a genuine farewell to hope is forlorn indeed. Ifthis mental condition was to continue, the conspirators had nought todo but to sit with idle hands and wait. Either their victim wouldbecome insane, or fade and die without assistance from them. It issaid that the fascinated bird feels neither pain nor fear, but looksforward with complacency to being swallowed. Toinon, being wrought ofstronger stuff, had no idea of abandoning hope. She boiled withhealthy wrath against the selfish old hag who was gone, and anger wasa fillip to her energy. The abigail had laid herself out to beparticularly agreeable during the last few days, had permitted acertain lacquey of the marechale's sundry liberties, had even kissedhim in the dark, and vowed to be his alone. This reprehensible levityserved various ends. It kept up her spirits, and was a satisfactoryrevenge on absent Jean; passed time agreeably, and made of the man herslave. Having settled to eat humble pie with regard to therecalcitrant Boulot, and condone his enormities, a difficulty arose asto how he was to be communicated with. She knew that since theaccusation about the cakes her steps had been dogged, her movementswatched; and were she to openly indite epistles to the Jacobin, theywould surely be intercepted by the conspirators. Gracefully groupedtogether on the stairs after the household were abed, the abigail andher admirer whispered fervid vows, and embraced each other tenderly.She could not leave her lady's service just at present, she explained,but would seek the earliest opportunity if the swain would promise tobe true. She was full of crotchets. Never, no never, would she giveher hand without the consent of her dearest brother, who was at Blois.He loved his little sister too well, however, to withhold consentwhere her heart was entirely given. But his consent must be obtained,and till it came, there must be no further dallying. How was hisconsent to be speedily obtained? She would indite a little letter toher brother, and, lest there should be delays she would not put herletter in the post. The invaluable missive should be confided to theswain, and money with it, that at the first posthouse on the road,when the marechale's party left Lorge, he should transmit it by thehand of a horseman. Toinon was not above taking a lesson from hermistress and sending a summons to Jean on the sly, as the marquise hadto her father. The old lady was gone, and the swain was gone, andnaughty Toinon felt not the least compunction for fooling the simplefellow. If some day he were to make inconvenient claims, was not JeanBoulot burly enough to protect her? She had adjured the latter in themost solemn manner to leave all and come at once if he ever felt aspark of love for her or a scintilla of respect for her mistress.
"France has sufficient champions without you," she concluded; "and youwill never regret having been the means of saving two innocenthelpless women."
Though she chose to gibe and be mighty indignant over Jean'sdefection, she never felt the smallest doubt that, the political feverpast, he would return to his allegiance. She had despatched an urgentsummons, and she knew that he would come; and this being so, she wasinclined to be cheerful, keeping a wary eye on the conspirators.
Now it was a grievous thing that her mistress should collapse, commendher soul to Heaven, await the impending stroke with the air of asacrificial lamb. Resignation is the attribute of slaves unendowedwith the holy birthright of freedom. Our natural condition is that ofcontest, the form of which but varies according to the thickness ofthe civilized veneer. He who cannot gird his loins for the fray goesto the wall, and he who has gone to the wall is a deserving object forcontempt. Toinon could fight, and would, with teeth and nails if needwere, and she was prepared to do battle with the conspirators whilstawaiting the advent of Jean.
It behoved her to show that she was not afraid of them, and sheaccordingly tripped into the kitchen on the day of the marechale'sdeparture, and scornfully announced that, considering what wretchesthey all were, former precautions must be resumed. Madame would takeher meals in her apartments. Toinon would carry the plateau with herown hands, and M. Bertrand would be good enough to taste of every dishunder her close inspection before confiding it to her care. Vainlythat worthy blew himself out and beat his chest, and gesticulated, andtalked of honour.
"Pooh!" scoffed the abigail, "you may spare your breath. I choose totake the precaution, though I have no dread of your attempting topoison us. A dirty cooking-plate may serve as an excuse for once. Asecond mistake of the sort would go hard with you, for I would haveyou remember that the marechale and all her servants know the story ofthe cakes, and a secluded lady is not poisoned twice _by accident!_"
Toinon prattled gaily of these things to the marquise, but could notsucceed in raising her spirits. The latter, to please her devotedfriend, summoned up a ghostly smile, which resembled moonlight on atomb.
"Fate is fate," she sighed. "For some inscrutable reason we aredoomed. Madame de Lamballe first; the queen or I, who knows which ofus will be the second?"
It is hard work being always cheery when others groan in thedoldrums. It is not easy to shake off the grip of fatalism in thesociety of a fatalist. Toinon, despite her efforts, receiving noencouragement--feeding as it were on her own fuel--in spite of braveresolutions, grew jaded and despondent. Flirtations were not to bethought of with any members of the existing household. Firstly,because the doughty Jean was to be expected at any moment, anduntoward consequences might ensue; secondly, because the young ladyknew, for certain, that many of the domestics were creatures of theabbe, if not all of them. There are few feelings less pleasant than aconviction that you are surrounded by spies, that you are always underobservation like a struggling insect under a microscope. Common roughmalefactors in gaol suffer more from unsleeping surveillance thanwould be supposed possible in persons with low-strung nerves.
The weather grew too cold for sitting-out, even if wrapped in furs,and Toinon had much ado to coax her wan mistress to take the air atall, for was not the favourite pleasaunce, called the moat-garden,redolent of distracting memories; did not each flower-bed recall someprank of the absent ones, each bush re-echo with the laughter, whichwas to be heard no more at Lorge? It was even disagreeable to gazefrom the balconies of the long saloon, for the Loire flowed on insilent placidity, its bosom no longer ruffled by the eccentricmovements of the wherry propelled by infant hands. The wherry swung inthe tide, a useless bit of lumber, for no one dreamed of using it, ofunknotting its rusty chain.
Gabrielle sat day by day in a low _causeuse_, intent on someembroidery like a fading Penelope, who works on and weaves, a dullmachine, though she has learned that Ulysses is no more. The earth issteady underfoot, the sky above; the soul yet beats against itschain--how long? Some kind of mechanical occupation is imperative tokeep overwrought nerves from twanging--to maintain on the lips the bitof silence,
and hold back the wailing of despair. When all illusionsare gone--every one--when, search as carefully as we will, there is nograin of comfort left to make existence bearable, we long for death inany hideous shape, well knowing that if the Pilgrim came, we shouldinvoluntarily shrink from him. Love of life, for the sake of living,is a phenomenon which orientals do not share with the white races,happily for them; whether they go or stay is a matter of indifference,from which they may thank their faith, since death means to them but achange of envelope, a single stage upon a journey.
It is not uncommon in the east for men who are cast for execution tosit by the wayside, almost unguarded, awaiting the advent of theexecutioner, while the ease and cheapness with which a substitute maybe bought in China is notorious. By a strange paradox, it is reservedfor the disciples of Christ, the Prince of Peace, to live in terror ofdeath. No doubt there are many whose burthens are so disproportionateto their strength that, _coute que coute_, they are impelled to shakethem off, but students of statistics are surprised at the small numberof sane suicides, slowly and deliberately carried out, compared tothose brought about by passion.
Gabrielle knew, or thought she knew, as surely as that night followsday, that the frayed string which held the sword was worn almostthrough, and that at any moment it might fall.
When on waking she saw Toinon fling back the heavy curtains of amorning to let in the light, she wondered that she should be alive andwell. What object did her existence fulfil upon the earth? Why was shespared to crawl on aimlessly? Without husband, without children,without a friend in the world except this simple foster-sister, whydid she linger thus? Surely her fitting place was in the fragrantearth, sheltered by waving grass from carking cares. The string wasworn through, and yet it would not break. Day followed day, nightfollowed night, nothing new occurred. She went her dismal way, and noone troubled her or seemed to know or care whether she were alive ordead, or well or dying. Algae was still in the chateau, but made nosign. Toinon looked forth in vain for Jean Boulot. He neither wrotenor came; what if the letter had miscarried?
The conspirators were quiescent because they were in a quandary. Therewas no news of Clovis, or of what he was doing at Blois. His continuedsilence was incomprehensible. Had any hitch occurred in thenegociations? Surely not, or he would have communicated with hisbrother. Kept in suspense, the latter knew not what course to adopt,and had much ado to endure the persistent girding of Algae. Theex-governess found the situation quite intolerable, and was forgrappling with it at all hazards, and at once. Clovis had made somemuddle, which might place the heads of all of them in jeopardy. He wasnot a man to be despatched on any mission requiring delicacy or tact.What he was pleased to call his feelings (mere pusillanimity) had beentoo much considered. _It_ should have been carried out to the end, ifnot actually in his presence, at least while he was dwelling in thechateau. What was to prevent him now, supposing that anything wentwrong, from declaring that his brothers had acted entirely without hisknowledge or consent? It was a grand mistake to have let him fly offalone, and the abbe, who plumed himself so much on his astuteness, andwho was for ever finding fault with others, had been guilty of thebiggest blunder of all.
Thus mademoiselle querulously droning with increasing fretfulness, andthe wrath of her fellow-conspirator was kindled against her. In hisheart he could admit that there had been a grave mistake, but was thata reason for bearing taunts from Algae? She had been called in to actas conscience keeper to the marquis, and a pretty way she had carriedout the task. Instead of bringing him round to active co-operation,she had only so far blinded him as to procure the tacit consent ofconvenient temporary absence. It had been a foolish plan, too, toraise money on the will, during the marquise's life. Better far tohave announced her sudden and much-to-be-regretted demise, to haveperformed decorous obsequies, and then quietly have taken possession.But then Clovis was so untrustworthy. He was just the sort ofprovoking man to veer round suddenly, to place obstacles instead ofadding all his weight to keep the wheel revolving. Then the visit ofthe Marplot Marechale had so altered the complexion of affairs, andswallowed precious time. Were the marquise to succumb suddenly, thestory of the unlucky cakes might be raked up again, unpleasantquestions be asked. The schemers must fall back upon the idea oftyphus, and that brought the scheme round in a circle to the originalstarting point--the providing of necessary funds in specie to tideover a period of months.
The complaints and jeremiads of Algae overshot their mark, and sostirred the ire of the abbe that his active mind went off at atangent, and his wits began to weave another pattern. Oh! if by somecunning device it were possible to circumvent that odious woman--aloneto carry off the prize, leaving her and her weak-kneed admirer tognash their teeth in vain. How sweet a vengeance--how savoury atriumph! Revolving the matter in a brain quickened to activity byspite, Pharamond made up his mind once more, at the eleventh hour, toattempt to carry the citadel. The mental and physical condition of themarquise was vastly different now from what it was when last he failedto storm the outworks. To mark her listless movements, her hopelessheaviness of gait, was to be assured that the ramparts were crumbling,that the walls were insufficiently manned. The armour of the warriorwas worn into holes, through which it would surely be possible toinsert an arrow. At all events it was worth trying, for success wouldmow down the hopes of Algae, and thus punish her presumption andimpertinence.
Having decided to try again, the abbe donned his most becoming suit ofviolet silk with gold embroidered buttonholes, arranged his hair withextreme nicety, and placed a patch close to his favourite dimple. Thisdone, he surveyed himself in the mirror, contemplated with approvalthe harmonious contour of his leg, and sallied forth satisfied, armed_cap-a-pie_ for conquest. Swiftly he sped up the stairs, and meetingToinon on the landing, well-nigh choked that damsel with indignationby playfully chucking her chin. "It is too bad," he cried, "that soripe a cherry should yet hang upon the bough. You must leave this dullhouse and seek more congenial society. There are sweethearts galorewaiting for you beyond the frontier."
"Are you in such a hurry to get rid of me?" gasped Toinon. "Whateverhappens to us, my place is beside my mistress."
"Of course it is, you suspicious little fool!" laughed Rene. "If shetravels, you will not wish to be left behind?"
If she travels! What new phase of the complication was this? It wasdistracting. Whatever it might be she was sure it boded injury to boththe foster-sisters.
"Travel, poor soul!" the abigail observed, sourly. "It was a longjourney the other day that you strove to send her on!"
Pharamond frowned, then seizing the buxom figure before him, hepressed upon the lips a kiss. "There!" he said; "that is yourpunishment for unworthy and unjust suspicions of one who means youwell. I promise that the dose shall be repeated twentyfold if youpresume to talk such nonsense any more."
Toinon struggled and recoiled, crimson to the roots of her hair, herdark eyes flashing. "How dare you--how dare you!" she panted. "Twohelpless women are a fit butt for outrage. I am not so friendless asyou think. Jean Boulot shall know of this."
"Oho! Jean Boulot, the terrible Jacobin. Are we to be threatened withthat bugbear? You can have but little pride, mistress, to prate of onewho toyed with and then deserted you."
Scalding tears welled into the eyes of Toinon, and rolled in greatdrops upon her cheeks. Alas! it was too true. He was an idle bugbear,a stuffed bogey to frighten babes withal. Had she not sacrificed hervanity and besought him to come at once, and he had never deigned toanswer? The abbe might do what he chose, the two women were indeeddefenceless.
"I wish to speak to the marquise upon an urgent matter. Go and saythat I await her pleasure," commanded Pharamond.
Toinon glanced askance at him, and answered shortly, "She will not seeyou."
"Will she not? If you will not take a civil message, I will enter herboudoir unannounced."
What was to prevent him? Nothing. Reluctantly the abigail obeyed, andwhile he stood waiting, the abbe considered her
words. "Jean Boulot!Remembered still? If she sent for him it might prove awkward. I mustsee that they do not communicate."
Toinon earnestly begged for permission to tell the abbe that themarquise refused to see him; but the latter shook her head and smiledher dreary smile. "Go to," she sighed, "if the man wishes me evil howshall I protect myself? If he has aught to say it is better that Ishould hear it."
The visitor found Gabrielle sitting on a low sofa, and as, unbidden,he sank into the place by her side, a thrill passed along his nerves,for the statuesque composure of her mien was exactly suited to herbeauty.
"Dear Gabrielle," he murmured, "you are more beautiful than ever."
"You have intruded here to-day to tell me so?" she inquired, coldly.
"Take care! You burn and freeze at the same time. Such loveliness asyours may account for any rashness."
Alas! how ghastly a mockery had this same beauty been! Thefairest woman of her time--her affections withered, her heartbroken--deserted, friendless, desolate. At thought of it Gabriellesmiled, and the abbe considered himself encouraged.
"Gabrielle," he said, taking her unwilling hand, "in what I am aboutto say you must not deem me harsh. It is sometimes for the best tospeak quite openly. I am a very forgiving man, as you shall have causeto know. You flouted, scorned, insulted me, and yet, though youdeliberately chose my hate, I have nothing but deep love for you."
Again! The marquise wondered in a hazy way what could be the motivefor this comedy.
"Love," she observed, reflecting, quite unruffled. "A strange form oflove, is it not, which injures the object that is adored? Wherein liesthe difference betwixt such love and the hate you promised?"
"An ardent, hot-headed man may be goaded by desperation to acts thathe afterwards deplores in sackcloth and in ashes."
"An odd form of love that kills and crushes!"
"Hear me out quietly, and you will be convinced that I have striven invain to hate you--that my carefully barbed darts have fallen blunted.Your position here is desperate. It is, believe me; and yet, thoughyou are walled about by triple barriers, against which it would beidle to buffet, yet there is a loophole by which you may escape."
Gabrielle turned her deep blue eyes upon the speaker, and raised herbrows inquiringly.
"Your case is desperate because all are combined against you; all areresolved upon your death--all, except me, and why? Because my lovestands between you and them, a saving plank in the approachinghurricane. Your husband and his friend are bent on your destruction.He has left the house until it is accomplished. You are hemmed aboutwith foes. Every servant in this household is suborned. They are men,carefully selected, who know no pity--on whose shoulders, were theybared, you would see the galleys-brand--men who would one and all lookon your death struggle with indifference--as callous as the bravo ofromance. I have before told you, and it is more true than ever now,that my love is your only safeguard. I hold the door ajar to Hope.Yield to my suit and grant me the boon I ask, and I swear that theshackles will fall from off your limbs; that your troubles will cease,for you'll be free. Free to depart with me to a distant land where infreshly-flowing happiness, the past shall be as a dream. Sorceress!What is this witchcraft that you exert over me? I love you all themore ardently for the long siege. Be mine the grateful task to rescueyou from the clutches of these wretches. Say the word. We will quitFrance secretly together, and leave _them_ to the fate which theydeserve."
In the eagerness of his pleading, the abbe had edged close toGabrielle. She could feel his hot breath--the beating of his heartagainst her arm--and she shivered from top to toe, as Toinon outsidewas shivering, her eyes distended by alarm.
The frayed string was about to snap. The long-expected moment wascome. Thank God that suspense was over.
"I thank you for your engaging candour," Gabrielle said in a voicethat was clear and steady. "I had learned to know you for a villain,but had not gauged the deeps of your rascality. False to the core.True to nothing but your own devilish passions. A Judas even to yourconfederates!"
There was so sharp a ring of scorn in the tone in which she spoke--aflash of such unmeasurable contempt in the dark blue eyes--thatPharamond, though he had smarted under the lash before, felt hiswithers wrung, while Toinon without was torn by fear and admiration.Was he, before whose fascinations many a fair dame had willinglysuccumbed, so vile a reptile as to warrant the storm of disgust thatracked this haughty woman? She loathed him worse than death since,seeing her impending fate with crystalline vision, she cheerfullypreferred its chill embrace to his ardent one. And now with eyesflashing and delicately chiselled nostrils distended, and a tinge ofrose on either pallid cheek, her beauty had gained once more theanimation that it so frequently lacked. She was lovelier at thismoment than he had ever seen her--and in her direful plight she shrankfrom his touch as though he were hideously diseased. It was writtenthen, that he was never to attain the full measure of revenue for therebuffs he had endured at her hands? He was not to sully this fairform, suck the orange dry then fling its rind into the gutter? What apity! How complete the triumph would have been if she, at thiseleventh hour could have been persuaded to seek safety with him inflight. He would have carried off for his own use alone the goose thatlaid golden eggs. How he would have snapped his fingers at Clovis andAlgae--mean grovelling worms--with their ridiculous testament whichwas not to be the last! What a refined pleasure it would have been,when sated, and weary of the toy, to break it slowly! He would havecarried the marechal's heiress to some secure and distant spot, haveforced her by famine or other torment to execute yet another will--inhis sole favour this time--and then he would have gloated over hersuffering and degradation as he compelled her to sink to the lowestdepths of female infamy and shame, ere, drop by drop, he squeezed awayher life! And it was not to be--actually might never be, thisexhilarating programme--he realized that now as he gazed in her proudface, each string of his evil nature tingling. Baffled anddisappointed, he must even be content to share with the others, tocarry out the plan as previously arranged, to sweep her from the path.Oh, what a grievous pity, for the other arrangement would have beendeliciously complete and satisfactory.
There was nothing to be gained by continuing the interview, since ithad fallen to his lot to play the _role ridicule_. He rose, therefore,flinging the hand from him which he had so ardently been pressing witha movement of muffled fury.
"On your own head be the consequences," he growled. "You have spokenyour own sentence. Amen!"
"My life," replied Gabrielle, drearily, "has been fraught with painand overlong, although I'm not five and twenty! The death you threatenme withal, I will accept with thanks as a release."
"You shall be released, nor will you have long to wait," the abberemarked with a dry laugh. "You, who are alive, may count yourself asdead and buried." With that he left her to her reflections, bangingthe door behind him.
The Maid of Honour: A Tale of the Dark Days of France. Vol. 3 (of 3) Page 6
