CHAPTER III.
THE QUINTESSENTIAL STONE.
The old town of Geneva, pent in the angle between lake and river, andcramped for many generations by the narrow corselet of its walls, wasnot large; it was still high noon when Mercier, after paying hisreckoning at the "Bible and Hand," and collecting his possessions, foundhimself again in the Corraterie. A pleasant breeze stirred the leafybranches which shaded the ramparts, and he stood a moment beside one ofthe small steep-roofed watch-towers, and resting his burden on thebreast-high wall, gazed across the hazy landscape to the mountains,beyond which lay Chatillon and his home.
Yet it was not of his home he was thinking as he gazed; nor was it hismother's or his father's face that the dancing heat of mid-day mirroredfor him as he dreamed. Oh, happy days of youth when an hour and a facechange all, and a glance from shy eyes, or the pout of strange lipsblinds to the world and the world's ambitions! Happy youth! But alas forthe studies this youth had come so far to pursue, for the theology hehad crossed those mountains to imbibe--at the pure source and fount ofevangelical doctrine! Alas for the venerable Beza, pillar and pattern ofthe faith, whom he had thirsted to see, and the grave of Calvin, aim andend of his pilgrimage! All Geneva held but one face for him now, onepresence, one gracious personality. A scarlet blister on a round whitearm, the quiver of a girl's lip a-tremble on the verge of tears--theseand no longing for home, these and no memory of father or mother or thedays of childhood, filled his heart to overflowing. He dreamed with hiseyes on the hills, but it was not
Of Providence, foreknowledge, will and fate, Fixed fate, free will, foreknowledge absolute,
the things he had come to study; but of a woman's trouble and the secretlife of the house behind him, of which he was about to form part.
At length the call of a sentry at the Porte Tertasse startled him fromhis thoughts. He roused himself, and uncertain how long he had lingeredhe took up his cloak and bag and, turning, hastened across the street tothe door at the head of the four steps. He found it on the latch, andwith a confident air, which belied his real feelings, he pushed it openand presented himself.
For a moment he fancied that the room held only one person. This was ayoung man who sat at the table in the middle of the room and, surprisedby the appearance of a stranger, suspended his spoon in the air that hemight the better gaze at him. But when Claude had set down his bagbehind the door, and turned to salute the other, he discovered hiserror; and despite himself he paused in the act of advancing, unable tohide his concern. At the table on the hearth, staring at him in silence,sat two other men. And one of the two was Grio.
Mercier paused we have said; he expected an outburst of anger if not anassault. But a second glance at the old ruffian's face relieved him: astare of vacant wonder made it plain that Grio sober retained little ofthe doings of Grio drunk. Nevertheless, the silent gaze of thethree--for no one greeted him--took Claude aback; and it was butawkwardly and with embarrassment that he approached the table, andprepared to add himself to the party. Something in their looks as wellas their silence whispered him unwelcome. He blushed, and addressing theyoung man at the larger table--
"I have taken Tissot's room," he said shyly. "This is his seat, Isuppose. May I take it?" And indicating an empty bowl and spoon on thenearer side of the table, he made as if he would sit down before them.
In place of answering, the young man looked from him to the two on thehearth, and laughed--a foolish, frightened laugh. The sound ledMercier's eyes in the same direction, and he appreciated for the firsttime the aspect of the man who sat with Grio; a man of great height andvast bulk, with a large plump face and small grey eyes. It struckMercier as he met the fixed stare of those eyes, that he had enteredwith less ceremony than was becoming, and that he ought to make amendsfor it; and, in the act of sitting down in the vacant seat, he turnedand bowed politely to the two at the other table.
"Tissotius timuit, jam peregrinus adest!" the big man murmured in avoice at once silky and sonorous. Then ignoring Mercier, but lookingblandly at the young man who sat facing him at the table, "What is thisof Tissot?" he continued. "Can it be," with a side-glance at thenewcomer, "that we have lost our--I may not call him our quintessence oralcahest--rather shall I say our baser ore, that at the virgin touch ofour philosophical stone blushed into ruddy gold? And burned everbrighter and hotter in her presence! Tissot gone, and with him all thosefair experiments! Is it possible?"
The young man's grin showed that he savoured a jest. But, "I knownothing," he muttered sheepishly. "'Tis new to me."
"Tissot gone!" the big man repeated in a tone humorously melancholy. "Nomore shall we
Upon his viler metal test our purest pure, And see him transmutations three endure!
Tissot gone! And you, sir, come in his place. What change is here! Astranger, I believe?"
"In Geneva, yes," Claude answered, wondering and a little abashed. Theman spoke with an air of power and weight.
"And a student, doubtless in our Academia? Like our Tissot? Yes. It maybe," he continued in the same smooth tones wherein ridicule andpoliteness appeared to be so nicely mingled that it was difficult tojudge if he spoke in jest or earnest, "like him in other things! It maybe that we have gained and not lost. And that qualities finer and moresusceptible underlie an exterior more polished and an ease morecomplete," he bowed, "than our poor Tissot could boast! But here is
Our stone angelical whereby All secret potencies to light are brought!
Doubtless"--with a wave of the hand he indicated the girl who had thatmoment entered--"you have met before?"
"I could not otherwise," Claude answered coldly--he began to resent boththe man and his manner--"have engaged the lodging." And he rose to takefrom the girl's hand the broth she was bringing him. She, on her side,made no sign that she noticed a change, or that it was no longer Tissotshe served. She gave him what he needed, mechanically and withoutmeeting his eyes. Then turning to the others, she waited on them afterthe same fashion. For a minute or two there was silence in the room.
A strange silence, Claude thought, listening and wondering: as strangeand embarrassing as the talk of the man who shared with Grio the tableby the fireplace: as strange as the atmosphere about them, which hungheavy, to his fancy, and oppressive, fraught with unintelligiblerailleries, with subtle jests and sneers. The girl went to and fro, fromone to another, her face pale, her manner quiet. And had he not seen herearlier with another look in her eyes, had he not detected a sinistersomething underlying the big man's good humour, he would have learnednothing from her; he would have fancied that all was as it should be inthe house and in the company.
As it was he understood nothing. But he felt that a something was wrong,that a something overhung the party. Seated as he was he could notwithout turning see the faces of the two at the other table, nor watchthe girl when she waited on them. But the suspicion of a smile whichhovered on the lips of the young man who sat opposite him--whom he couldsee--kept him on his guard. Was a trick in preparation? Were they aboutto make him pay his footing? No, for they had no notice of his coming.They could not have laid the mine. Then why that smile? And why thissilence?
On a sudden he caught the sound of a movement behind him, the swirl of apetticoat, and the clang of a pewter plate as it fell noisily to thefloor. His companion looked up swiftly, the smile on his face broadeningto a snigger. Claude turned too as quickly as he could and looked, hisface hot, his mind suspecting some prank to be played on him; to hisastonishment he discovered nothing to account for the laugh. The girlappeared to be bending over the embers on the hearth, the men to beengaged with their meal; and baffled and perplexed he turned again and,his ears burning, bent over his plate. He was glad when the stout manbroke the silence for the second time.
"Agrippa," he said, "has this of amalgams. That whereas gold, silver,tin are valuable in themselves, they attain when mixed with mercury to acertain light and sparkling character, as who should say the bubbles onwine, or the light resis
tance of beauty, which in the one case and theother add to the charm. Such to our simple pleasures"--he continued witha rumble of deep laughter--"our simple pleasures, which I must now alsocall our pleasures of the past, was our Tissot! Who, running fluidhither and thither, where resistance might be least of use, was as itwere the ultimate sting of enjoyment. Is it possible that we have in ourfriend a new Tissot?"
The young man at the table giggled. "I did not know Tissot!" Claudereplied sharply and with a burning face--they were certainly laughing athim. "And therefore I cannot say."
"Mercury, which completes the amalgam," the stout man muttered absentlyand as if to himself, "when heated sublimes over!" Then turning after amoment's silence to the girl, "What says our Quintessential Stone tothis?" he continued. "Her Tissot gone will she still work her wonders?Still of base Grios and the weak alloys red bridegrooms make?Still--kind Anne, your hand!"
Silence! Silence again. What were they doing? Claude, full of suspicion,turned to see what it meant; turned to learn what it was on which thegreedy eyes of his table-fellow were fixed so intently. And now he saw,more or less. The stout man and Grio had their heads together and theirfaces bent over the girl's hand, which the former held. On them,however, Claude scarcely bestowed a glance. It was the girl's face whichcaught and held his eyes, nay, made them burn. Had it blushed, had itshowed white, he had borne the thing more lightly, he had understood itbetter. But her face showed dull and apathetic; as she stood lookingdown at the men, suffering them to do what they would with her hand, astrange passivity was its sole expression. When the big man (whose nameClaude learned later was Basterga), after inspecting the palm, kissed itwith mock passion, and so surrendered it to Grio, who also pressed hiscoarse lips to it, while the young man beside Claude laughed, no changecame over her. Released, she turned again to the hearth, impassive. AndClaude, his heart beating, recognised that this was the hundredthperformance; that so far from being a new thing it was a thing so old asto be stale to her, moving her less, though there were insult andderision in every glance of the men's eyes, than it moved him.
And noting this he began in a dim way to understand. This was the thingwhich Tissot had not been able to bear; which in the end had driven theyoung man with the small chin from the house. This was the pleasantry towhich his feeble resistance, his outbursts of anger, of jealousy, or ofprotest had but added piquancy, the ultimate sting of pleasure to thejaded palate of the performers. This was the obsession under which shelay, the trial and persecution which she had warned him he would find ithard to witness.
Hard? He believed her, trifling as was the thing he had seen. For behindit he had a glimpse of other and worse things, and behind all of someshadowy brooding mystery which compelled her to suffer them and forbadeher to complain. What that was he could not conceive, what it could behe could not conceive: nor had he long to consider the question. Hefound the shifty eyes of his table-fellow fixed upon him, and, thoughthe moment his own eyes met them they were averted, he fancied that theysped a glance of intelligence to the table behind him, and he hastenedto curb, if not his feelings, at least the show of them. He had hiswarning. It was not as Tissot he must act if he would help her, but morewarily, more patiently, biding her time, and letting the blow, when thetime came, precede the word. Unwarned, he had acted it is probable asTissot had acted, weakly and stormily: warned, he had no excuse if hefailed her. Young as he was he saw this. The fault lay with him if hemade the position worse instead of better.
Whether, do what he would, his feelings made themselves known--for theshoulders can speak, and eloquently, on occasion--or the reverse was thecase, and his failure to rise to the bait disappointed the tormentor,the big man, Basterga, presently resumed the attack.
"Tissotius pereat, Tissotianus adest!" he muttered with a sneer. "Butperhaps, young sir, Latinity is not one of your subjects. The tongue ofthe immortal Cicero----"
"I speak it a little," Claude answered quietly. "It were foolish toapproach the door of learning without the key."
"Oh, you are a wit, young sir! Well, with your wit and your Latinity canyou construe this:--
Stultitiam expellas, furca tamen usque recurret Tissotius periit terque quaterque redit!"
"I think so," Claude replied gravely.
"Good, if it please you! And the meaning?"
"Tissot was a fool, and you are another!" the young man returned. "Willyou now solve me one, reverend sir, with all submission?"
"Said and done!" the big man answered disdainfully.
"Nec volucres plumae faciunt nec cuspis Achillem! Construe me that thenif you will!"
Basterga shrugged his shoulders. "Fine feathers do not make fine birds!"he said. "If you apply it to me," he continued with a contemptuous face,"I----"
"Oh, no, to your company," Claude answered. Self-control comes hardly tothe young, and he had already forgotten his _role_. "Ask him whathappened last night at the 'Bible and Hand,'" he continued, pointing toGrio, "and how he stands now with his friend the Syndic!"
"The Syndic?"
"The Syndic Blondel!"
The moment the words had passed his lips, Claude repented. He saw thathe had struck a note more serious than he intended. The big man did notmove, but over his fat face crept a watching expression; he was plainlystartled. His eyes, reduced almost to pin-points, seemed for an instantthe eyes of a cat about to spring. The effect was so evident indeed thatit bewildered Claude and so completely diverted his attention from Grio,the real target, that when the bully, who had listened stupidly to theexchange of wit, proved by a brutal oath his comprehension of thereference to himself, the young man scarcely heard him.
"The Syndic Blondel?" Basterga muttered after a pregnant pause. "Whatknow you of him, pray?"
Before the young man could answer, Grio broke in. "So you have followedme here, have you?" he cried, striking his jug on the table and glaringacross the board at the offender. "You weren't content to escape lastnight it seems. Now----"
"Enough!" Basterga muttered, the keen expression of his face unchanged."Softly! Softly! Where are we? I don't understand. What is this? Lastnight----"
"I want not to rake up bygones if you will let them be," Claude answeredwith a sulky air, half assumed. "It was you who attacked me."
"You puppy!" Grio roared. "Do you think----"
"Enough!" Basterga said again: and his eyes leaving the young man fixedthemselves on his companion. "I begin to understand," he murmured, hisvoice low, but not the less menacing for that, or for the cat-like purrin it. "I begin to comprehend. This is one of your tricks, Messer Grio.One of the clever tricks you play in your cups! Some day you'll do thatin them will--No!" repressing the bully as he attempted to rise. "Havedone now and let us understand. The 'Bible and Hand,' eh? 'Twas there, Isuppose, you and this youth met, and----"
"Quarrelled," said Claude sullenly. "That's all."
"And you followed him hither?"
"No, I did not."
"No? Then how come you here?" Basterga asked, his eyes still watchful."In this house, I mean? 'Tis not easy to find."
"My father lodged here," Claude vouchsafed. And he shrugged hisshoulders, thinking that with that the matter was clear.
But Basterga continued to eye him with something that was not farremoved from suspicion. "Oh," he said. "That is it, is it? Your fatherlodged here. And the Syndic--Blondel, was it you said? How comes he intoit? Grio was prating of him, I suppose?" For an instant, while he waitedthe answer to the question, his eyes shrank again to pin-points.
"He came in and found us at sword-play," Claude answered. "Or justfalling to it. And though the fault was not mine, he would have sent meto prison if I had not had a letter for him."
"Oh!" And returning with a manifest effort to the tone and manner of afew minutes before:--
"Impiger, Iracundus, Inexorabilis, acer Jura neget sibi nata, nihil non arroget armis,"
he hummed. "I doubt if such manners will be appreciated in Geneva, youngman," and furtively he wiped
his brow. "To old stagers like my friendhere who has given his proofs of fidelity to the State, some indulgenceis granted----"
"I see that," Claude answered with sarcasm.
"I am saying it. But you, if you will not be warned, will soon find ormake the town too hot for you."
"He will find this house too hot for him!" growled his companion, whohad made more than one vain attempt to assert himself. "And that to-day!To-day! Perdition, I know him now," he continued, fixing his bloodshoteyes on the young man, "and if he crows here as he crowed last night,his comb must be cut! As well soon as late, for there will be no livingwith him! There, don't hold me, man! Let me at him!" And he tried torise.
"Fool, have done!" Basterga replied, still restraining him, but only bythe exertion of considerable force. And then in a lower tone but onepartially audible, "Do you want to draw the eyes of all Geneva thisway?" he continued. "Do you want the house marked and watched and everygossip's tongue wagging about it? You did harm enough last night, I'llanswer, and well if no worse comes of it! Have done, I say, or I shallspeak, you know to whom!"
"Why does he come here? Why does he follow me?" the sot complained.
"Cannot you hear that his father lodged here?"
"A lie!" Grio cried vehemently. "He is spying on us! First at the 'Bibleand Hand' last night, and then here! It is you who are the fool, man.Let me go! Let me at him, I say!"
"I shall not!" the big man answered firmly. And he whispered in theother's ear something which Claude could not catch. Whatever it was itcooled Grio's rage. He ceased to struggle, nodded sulkily and sat back.He stretched out his hand, took a long draught, and having emptied hisjug, "Here's Geneva!" he said, wiping his lips with the air of a man whohad given a toast. "Only don't let him cross me! That is all. Where isthe wench?"
"She has gone upstairs," Basterga answered with one eye on Claude. Heseemed to be unable to shake off a secret doubt of him.
"Then let her come down," Grio answered with a grin, half drunken, halfbrutal, "and make her show sport. Here, you there," to the young man whoshared Claude's table, "call her down and----"
"Sit still!" Basterga growled, and he trod--Claude was almost sure ofit--on the bully's foot. "It is late, and these young gentlemen shouldbe at their themes. Theology, young sir," he turned to Claude with theslightest shade of over-civility in his pompous tone, "like the pursuitof the Alcahest, which some call the Quintessence of the Elements,allows no rival near its throne!"
"I attend my first lecture to-morrow," Claude answered drily. And hekept his seat. His face was red and his hand trembled. They would callher down for their sport, would they! Not in his presence, nor again inhis absence, if he could avoid it.
Grio struck the table. "Call her down!" he ordered in a tone whichbetrayed the influence of his last draught. "Do you hear!" And he lookedfiercely at Louis Gentilis, the young man who sat opposite Claude.
But Louis only looked at Basterga and grinned.
And Basterga it was plain was not in the mood to amuse himself. Whateverthe reason, the big man was no longer at his ease in Mercier's company.Some unpleasant thought, some suspicion, born of the incident at the"Bible and Hand," seemed to rankle in his mind, and, strive as hewould, betrayed its presence in the tone of his voice and the glance ofhis eye. He was uneasy, nor could he hide his uneasiness. To the lookwhich Gentilis shot at him he replied by one which imperatively bade theyoung man keep his seat. "Enough fooling for to-day," he said, andstealthily he repressed Grio's resistance. "Enough! Enough! I see thatthe young gentleman does not altogether understand our humours. He willcome to them in time, in time," his voice almost fawning, "and see wemean no harm. Did I understand," he continued, addressing Claudedirectly, "that your father knew Messer Blondel?"
"Who is now Syndic? My uncle did," Claude answered rather curtly. He wasmore and more puzzled by the change in Basterga's manner. Was the bigman a poltroon whom the bold front shown to Grio brought to heel? Or wasthere something behind, some secret upon which his words had unwittinglytouched?
"He is a good man," Basterga said. "And of the first in Geneva. Hisbrother too, who is Procureur-General. Their father died for the State,and the sons, the Syndic in particular, served with high honour in thewar. Savoy has no stouter foe than Philibert Blondel, nor Geneva a moredevoted son." And he drank as if he drank a toast to them.
Claude nodded.
"A man of great parts too. Probably you will wait on him?"
"Next week. I was near waiting on him after another fashion," Claudecontinued rather grimly. "Between him and your friend there," with aglance at Grio, who had relapsed into a moody glaring silence, "I waslike to get more gyves than justice."
The big man laughed. "Our friend here has served the State," heremarked, "and does what another may not. Come, Messer Grio," hecontinued, clapping him on the shoulder, as he rose from his seat. "Wehave sat long enough. If the young ones will not stir, it becomes theold ones to set an example. Will you to my room and view theprecipitation of which I told you?"
Grio gave a snarling assent, and got to his feet; and the party broke upwith no more words. Claude took his cap and prepared to withdraw, wellcontent with himself and the line he had taken. But he did not leave thehouse until his ears assured him that the two who had ascended thestairs together had actually repaired to Basterga's room on the firstfloor, and there shut themselves up.
The Long Night Page 3
