CHAPTER XIV.
"AND ONLY ONE DOSE IN ALL THE WORLD!"
In his picture of the life led by the two women on the upper floor ofthe house in the Corraterie, that picture which by a singular intuitionhe had conceived on the day of his arrival, Claude had not gone farastray. In all respects but one the picture was truly drawn. Than thelove between mother and daughter, no tie could be imagined at once moresimple and more holy; no union more real and pure than that which boundtogether these two women, left lonely in days of war and trouble in themidst of a city permanently besieged and menaced by an enduring peril.Almost forgotten by the world below, which had its own cares, itsalarums and excursions, its strivings and aims, they lived for oneanother. The weak health of the one and the brave spirit of the otherhad gradually inverted their positions; and the younger was mother, theelder, daughter. Yet each retained, in addition, the pious instincts ofthe original relation. To each the welfare of the other was the primethought. To give the other the better portion, be it of food or wine, offreedom from care, or ease of mind, and to take the worse, was to eachthe ground plan of life, as it was its chiefest joy.
In their eyrie above the anxious city they led an existence all theirown. Between them were a hundred jests, Greek to others; and whimsicalways, and fond sayings and old smiles a thousand times repeated. Andthings that must be done after one fashion or the sky would fall; andothers that must be done after another fashion or the world would end.When the house was empty of boarders, or nearly empty--though at suchtimes the cupboard also was apt to be bare--there were long hours spentupstairs and surveys of household gear, carried up with difficulty, andreviews of linen and much talk of it, and small meals, taken at the openwindows that looked over the Rhone valley and commanded the sunset view.Such times were times of gaiety though not of prosperity, and far fromthe worst hours of life--had they but persisted.
But in the March of 1601 a great calamity fell on these two. A fire,which consumed several houses near the Corraterie, and flung widethrough the streets the rumour that the enemy had entered, struck thebedridden woman--aroused at midnight by shouts and the glare offlames--with so dire a terror, not on her own account but on herdaughter's, that she was never the same again. For weeks at a time sheappeared to be as of old, save for some increase of weakness andtremulousness. But below the surface the brain was out of poise, andunder the least pressure of excitement she betrayed the change in amanner so appalling--by the loud negation of those beliefs which insaner moments were most dear to her, and especially by a denial of theProvidence and goodness of God--that even her child, even the being whoknew her and loved her best, shuddered lest Satan, visible andtriumphant, should rise to confront her.
Fortunately the fits of this mysterious malady were short as they wereappalling, and to the minds of that day, suspicious. And in thebeginning Anne had the support of an old physician, well-nigh their onlyintimate. True, even he was scared by a form of disease, new and beyondhis science; but he prescribed a sedative and he kept counsel. He wentfurther: for sufficiently enlightened himself to believe in theinnocence of these attacks, he none the less explained to the daughterthe peril to which her mother's aberrations must expose her were theyknown to the vulgar; and he bade her hide them with all the careimaginable.
Anne, on this would fain have adopted the safest course and kept thehouse empty; to the end that to the horror of her mother's fits ofdelirium might not be added the chance of eavesdropping. But to do thiswas to starve, as well as to reveal to Madame Royaume the fact of thoseseizures of which no one in the world was more ignorant than the goodwoman who suffered under them. It followed that to Anne's burden ofdread by reason of the outer world, whom she must at all costs deceive,was added the weight of concealment from the one from whom she had neverkept anything in her life. A thing which augmented immeasurably theloneliness of her position and the weight of her load.
Presently the drama, always pitiful, increased in intensity. The oldleech who had been her stay and helper died, and left her to face thedanger alone. A month later Basterga discovered the secret andhenceforth held it over her. From this time she led a life of whichClaude, in his dreams upon the hearth, exaggerated neither the tragedynor the beauty. The load had been heavy before. Now to fear was addedcontumely, and to vague apprehensions the immediate prospect ofdiscovery and peril. The grip of the big scholar, subtle, cruel,tightening day by day and hour by hour, was on her youth; slowly itparalysed in her all joy, all spirit, all the impulses of life and hope,that were natural to her age.
That through all she showed an indomitable spirit, we know. We have seenhow she bore herself when threatened from an unexpected quarter on themorning when Claude Mercier, after overhearing her mother's ravings, hadhis doubts confirmed by the sight of her depression on the stairs. Howboldly she met his attack, unforeseen as it was, how bravely sheshielded her other and dearer self, how deftly she made use of thechance which the young man's soberer sense afforded her, will beremembered. But not even in that pinch, no, nor in that worse hour whenBasterga, having discovered his knowledge to her, gave her--as a catplays with a mouse which it is presently to tear to pieces--a little lawand a little space, did she come so near to despair as on this eveningwhen the echo of her mother's insane laughter drew her from theliving-room at an hour without precedent.
For hitherto Madame Royaume's attacks had come on in the night only.With a regularity not unknown in the morbid world they occurred aboutmidnight, an hour when her daughter could attend to her and when thehouse below lay wrapped in sleep. A change in this respect doubled thedanger, therefore. It did more: the prospect of being summoned at anyhour shook, if it did not break, the last remains of Anne's strength. Tobe liable at all times to such interruptions, to tremble while serving ameal or making a bed lest the dreadful sound arise and reveal all, tolisten below and above and never to feel safe for a minute, never!never!--who could face, who could endure, who could lie down and rise upunder this burden?
It could not be. As Anne ascended the stairs she felt that the end wascoming, was come. Strive as she might, war as she might, with all theinstinct, all the ferocity, of a mother defending her young, the end wascome. The secret could not be kept long. Even while she administered themedicine with shaking hands, while with tears in her voice she stroveto still the patient and silence her wild words, even while sherestrained by force the feeble strength that would and could not, whilein a word she omitted no precaution, relaxed no effort, her heart toldher with every pulsation that the end was come.
And presently, when Madame was quiet and slept, the girl bowed her headover the unconscious object of her love and wept, bitterly,passionately, wetting with her tears the long grey hair that strewed thepillow, as she recalled with pitiful clearness all the stages ofconcealment, all the things which she had done to avert this end.Vainly, futilely, for it was come. The dark mornings of winter recurredto her mind, those mornings when she had risen and dressed herself byrushlight, with this fear redoubling the chill gloom of the cold house;the nights, too, when all had been well, and in the last hour beforesleep, finding her mother sane and cheerful, she had nursed the hopethat the latest attack might be the last. The evenings brightened bythat hope, the mornings darkened by its extinction, the rare hours ofbrooding, the days and weeks of brave struggle, of tendance neverfailing, of smiles veiling a sick heart--she lived all these again,looking pitifully back, straining tenderly in her arms the dear beingshe loved.
And then, stabbing her back to life in the midst of her exhaustion, thethought pierced her that even now she was hastening the end by herabsence. They would be asking for her below; they must be asking for heralready. The supper-time was come, was past, perhaps; and she was notthere! She tried to picture what would happen, what already must behappening; and rising and dashing the tears from her face she stoodlistening. Perhaps Claude would make some excuse to the others; or,perhaps--how much had he guessed?
Her mother was passive now, sunk in the torpor which followed th
eattack and from which the poor woman would awake in happyunconsciousness of the whole. Anne saw that her charge might be left,and hastily smoothing the tangle of luxuriant hair which had fallenabout her face, she opened the door. Another might have stayed to allaythe fever of her cheeks, to remove the traces of her tears, to stay thequivering of her hands; but such small cares were not for her, nor forthe occasion. She could form no idea of the length of time she had spentupstairs, a half-hour, or an hour and a half; and without more ado sheraised the latch, slipped out, and turning the key on her patient randown the upper flight of stairs.
She anticipated many things, but not that which she encountered--silenceon the upper landing, and below when she had descended and opened thestaircase door--an empty room. The place was vacant; the tables were asshe had left them, half laid; the pot was gently simmering over thefire.
What had happened? The supper-hour was past, yet none of the four whoshould have sat down to the meal were here. Had they overheard hermother's terrible cry--those words which voiced the woman's despair onfinding, as she fancied, the city betrayed? And were they gone todenounce her? The thought was discarded as soon as formed; and beforeshe could hit on a second explanation a hasty knocking on the doorturned her eyes that way.
The four who lodged in the house were not in the habit of knocking, forthe door was only locked at night when the last retired. She approachedit then, wondering, hesitated an instant, and at last, collecting hercourage, raised the latch. The door resisted her impulse. It was locked.
She tried it twice, and it was only as she drew back the second timethat she saw the key lying at the foot of the door. That deepened themystery. Why had they locked her in? Why, when they had done so, hadthey thrust the key under the door and so placed it in her power? HadClaude Mercier done it that the others might not enter to hear what hehad heard and discover what he had discovered? Possibly. In which casethe knocker--who at that instant made a second and more earnest attackupon the door--must be one of the others, and the sooner she opened thedoor the less would be the suspicion created.
With an apology trembling on her lips she hastened to open. Then shestood bewildered; she saw before her, not one of the lodgers, but MesserBlondel. "I wish to speak to you," the magistrate said with firmness.Before she knew what was happening he had motioned to her to go beforehim into the house, and following had locked the door behind them.
She knew him by sight, as did all Geneva; and the blood, which surpriseat the sight of a stranger had brought to her cheeks, fled as sherecognised the Syndic. Had they betrayed her, then, while she lingeredupstairs? Had they locked her in while they summoned the magistrate? Andwas he here to make inquiries about--something he had heard?
His voice cut short her thoughts without allaying her fears. "I wish tospeak to you alone," he said. "Are you alone, girl?" His manner wasquiet, but masked excitement. His eyes scrutinised her and searched theroom by turns.
She nodded, unable to speak.
"There is no one in the house with you?"
"Only my mother," she murmured.
"She is bedridden, is she not? She cannot hear us?" he added, frowning.
"No, but I am expecting the others to return."
"Messer Basterga?"
"Yes."
"He will not return before morning," the Syndic replied with decision,"nor his companion. The two young men are safe also. If you are alone,therefore, I wish to speak to you."
She bowed her head, trembling and wondering, fearing what the nextmoment might disclose.
"The young man who lodges here--of the name of Gentilis--he came to yousome time ago and told you that the State needed certain letters whichthe man Basterga kept in a steel box upstairs? That is so, is it not?"
"Yes, Messer Syndic."
"And you looked for them?"
"Yes, I--I was told that you desired them."
"You found a phial? You found a phial?" the Syndic repeated, passing histongue over his lips. His face was flushed; his eyes shone with apeculiar brightness.
"I found a small bottle," she answered slowly. "There was nothing else."
He raised his hand. If she had known how the delay of a second torturedhim! "Describe it to me!" he said. "What was it like?"
Wondering, the girl tried to describe it. "It was small and of a strangeshape, of thin glass, Messer Syndic," she said. "Shot with gold, orthere was gold afloat in the liquid inside. I do not know which."
"It was not empty?"
"No, it was three parts full."
His hand went to his mouth, to hide the working of his lips. "And therewas with it--a paper, I think?"
"No."
"A scrap of parchment then? Some words, some figures?" His voice roseas he read a negative in her face. "There was something, surely?"
"There was nothing," she said. "Had there been a scrap even ofwriting----"
"Yes, yes?" He could not control his impatience.
"I should have sent it to you. I should have thought," she continuedearnestly, "that it was that you needed, Messer Syndic; that it was thatthe State needed. But there was nothing."
"Well, be there papers with it or be there not, I must have that phial!"
Anne stared. "But I do not think"--she ventured with hesitation--andthen as she gained courage, she went on more firmly--"that I can takeit! I dare not, Messer Syndic."
"Why not?"
"Papers for the State--were one thing," she stammered in confusion; "butto take this--a bottle--would be stealing!"
The Syndic's eyes sparkled. His passion overcame him. "Girl, don't playwith me!" he cried. "Don't dare to play with me!" And then as she shrankback alarmed by his tone, and shocked by this sudden peeping forth ofthe tragic and the real, lo, in a twinkling he was another man,trembling, and holding out shaking hands to her. "Get it for me!" hesaid. "Get it for me, girl! I will tell you what it is! If I had toldyou before, I had had it now, and I should be whole and well! whole andwell. You have a heart and can pity! Women can pity. Then pity me! I amrich, but I am dying! I am a dying man, rising up and lying down,counting the days as I walk the streets, and seeing the shroud risehigher and higher upon my breast!"
He paused for breath, endeavouring to gain some command of himself;while she, carried off her feet by this rush of words, stared at him instupefaction. Before he came he had made up his mind to tell her thetruth--or something like the truth. But he had not intended to tell thetruth in this way until, face to face with her and met by her scruples,he let the impulse to tell the whole carry him away.
He steadied his lips with a shaking hand. "You know now why I want it,"he resumed, speaking huskily and with restrained emotion. "'Tis life!Life, girl! In that"--he fought with himself before he could bring outthe word--"in that phial is my life! Is life for whoever takes it! It isthe _remedium_, it is strength, life, youth, and but one--but one dosein all the world! Do you wonder--I am dying!--that I want it? Do youwonder--I am dying!--that I will have it? But"--with a strange grimaceintended to reassure her--"I frighten you, I frighten you."
"No!" she said, though in truth she had unconsciously retreated almostto the door of the staircase before his extended hands. "But I--Iscarcely understand, Messer Blondel. If you will please to tell me----"
"Yes, yes!"
"What Messer Basterga--how he comes to have this?" She must parley withhim until she could collect her thoughts; until she could make up hermind whether he was sane or mad and what it behoved her to do.
"Comes to have it!" he cried vehemently. "God knows! And what matter?'Tis the _remedium_, I tell you, whoever has it! It is life, strength,youth!" he repeated, his eyes glittering, his face working, and theimpulse to tell her not the truth only, but more even than the truth, ifhe might thereby dazzle her, carrying him away. "It is health of body,though you be dying, as I am! And health of mind though you bepossessed of devils! It is a cure for all ills, for all weaknesses, alldiseases, even," with a queer grimace, "for the Scholar's evil! Thinkyou, if it were not rare, if i
t were not something above the common, ifit were not what leeches seek in vain, I should be here! I should havemore than enough to buy it, I, Messer Blondel of Geneva!" He ceased,lacking breath.
"But," she said timidly, "will not Messer Basterga give it to you? Orsell it to you?"
"Give it to me? Sell it to me? He?" Blondel's hands flew out and clawedthe air as if he had the Paduan before him, and would tear it from him."He give it me? No, he will not. Nor sell it! He is keeping it for theGrand Duke! The Grand Duke? Curse him; why should he escape more thananother?"
Anne stared. Was she dreaming or had her brain given way? Or was thisreally Messer Blondel the austere Syndic, this man standing before her,shaking in his limbs as he poured forth this strange farrago of_remedia_ and scholars and princes and the rest? Or if she were not madwas he mad? Or could there be truth, any truth, any fact in the medley?His clammy face, his trembling hands, answered for his belief in it. Butcould there be such a thing in nature as this of which he spoke? She hadheard of panaceas, things which cured all ills alike; but hitherto theyhad found no place in her simple creed. Yet that he believed she couldnot doubt; and how much more he knew than she did! Such things might be;in the cabinets of princes, perhaps, purchasable by a huge fortune andby the labour, the engrossment, the devotion of a life. She did notknow; and for him his acts spoke.
"It was this that Louis Gentilis was seeking?" she murmured.
"What else?" he retorted, opening and shutting his hands. "Had I toldhim the truth, as I have told you, the thing had been in my grasp now!"
"But are you sure," she ventured to ask with respect, "that it will dothese things, Messer Blondel?"
He flung up his hands in a gesture of impatience. "And more! And more!"he cried. "It is life and strength, I tell you! Health and youth! Forbody or mind, for the old or the young! But enough! Enough, girl!" heresumed in an altered tone, a tone grown peremptory and urgent. "Get itme! Do you hear? Stand no longer talking! At any moment they may return,and--and it may be too late."
Too late! It was too late already. The door shook even as he spoke underan angry summons. As he stiffened where he stood, his eyes fixed uponit, his hand still pointing her to his bidding, a face showed white atthe window and vanished again. An instant he imagined it Basterga's; andhand, voice, eyes, all hung frozen. Then he saw his mistake--towhomsoever the face belonged, it was not Basterga's; and finding voiceand breath again, "Quick!" he muttered fiercely, "do you hear, girl? Getit! Get it before they enter!"
Her hand was on the latch of the inner door. Another second and, swayedby his will, she would have gone up and got the thing he needed, and thestout door would have shielded them, and within the staircase he mighthave taken it from her and no one been the wiser. But as she turned,there came a second attack on the door, so loud, so persistent, sofurious, that she faltered, remembering that the duplicate key ofBasterga's chamber was in her mother's room, and that she must mount tothe top of the house for it.
He saw her hesitation, and, shaken by the face which had looked in outof the night, and which still might be watching his movements, hisresolution gave way. The habit of a life of formalism prevailed. Thething was as good as his, she would get it presently. Why, then, causetalk and scandal by keeping these persons--whoever they were--outside,when the thing might be had without talk?
"To-night!" he cried rapidly. "Get it to-night, then! Do you hear, girl?You will be sure to get it?" His eyes flitted from her to the door andback again. "Basterga will not return until to-morrow. You will get itto-night!"
She murmured some form of assent.
"Then open the door! open the door!" he urged impatiently. And with astifled oath, "A little more and they will rouse the town!"
She ran to obey, the door flew open, and into the room bundled firstLouis without his cap; and then on his heels and gripping him by thenape, Claude Mercier. Nor did the latter seem in the least degreeabashed by the presence in which he found himself. On the contrary, helooked at the Syndic, his head high; as if he, and not the magistrate,had the right to an explanation.
But Blondel had recovered himself. "Come, come!" he said sternly. "Whatis this, young man? Are you drunk?"
"Why was the door locked?"
"That you might not interrupt me," Blondel replied severely, "while Iasked some questions. I have it in my mind to ask you some also. Youtook him to my house?" he continued, addressing Louis.
Louis whined that he had.
"You were late then?" His cold eye returned to Claude. "You were late, Iwarrant. Attend me to-morrow at nine, young man. Do you hear? Do youunderstand?"
"Yes."
"Then have a care you are there, or the officers will fetch you. Andyou," he continued, turning more graciously to Anne, "see, young woman,you keep counsel. A still tongue buys friends, and is a service to theState. With that--good-night."
He looked from one to the other with a sour smile, nodded, and passedout.
He left Claude staring, and something bewildered in the middle of theroom. The love, the pity, the admiration of which the lad's heart hadbeen full an hour before, still hungered for expression; but it was noteasy to vent such feelings before Louis, nor at a moment when theSyndic's cold eye and the puzzle of his presence there chilled for thetime the atmosphere of the room.
Claude, indeed, was utterly perplexed by what he had seen; and before hecould decide what he would do, Anne, ignoring the need of explanation,had taken the matter into her own hands. She had begun to set out themeal; and Louis, smiling maliciously, had seated himself in his place.To speak with any effect then, or to find words adequate to the feelingsthat had moved him a while before, was impossible. A moment later, theopportunity was gone.
"You must please to wait on yourselves," the girl said wearily. "Mymother is not well, and I may not come down again this evening." As shespoke, she lifted from the table the little tray which she had prepared.
He was in time to open the door for her; and even then, had she glancedat him, his eyes must have told her much, perhaps enough. But she didnot look at him. She was preoccupied with her own thoughts; pressingthoughts they must have been. She passed him as if he had been astranger, her eyes on the tray. Worshipping, he stood, and saw her turnthe corner at the head of the flight; then with a full heart he wentback to his place. His time would come.
And she? At the door of Basterga's room she paused and stood long inthought, gazing at the rushlight she carried on the tray--yet seeingnothing. A sentence, one sentence of all those which Blondel had pouredforth--not Blondel the austere Syndic, who had set the lads aside as ifthey had been schoolboys, but Blondel the man, trembling, holding outsuppliant hands--rang again and again in her ears.
"It is health of body, though you be dying as I am, and health of mind,though you be possessed of devils!" Health of body! Health of mind!Health of body! Health of mind! The words wrote themselves before hereyes in letters of fire. Health of Body! Health of Mind!
And only one dose in all the world. Only one dose in all the world! Sherecalled that too.
The Long Night Page 14
