Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 20

by A Double Life (v1. 1)

  “Adolph was right then — I also; it is well to know one’s enemies,” I said, as if to myself, and uttered not another word, but walked rapidly on.

  Silent also the prince went beside me, till, as we were about to cross the great square, a carriage whirled round the corner, causing me to step hastily back. An old crone, with a great basket on her head, was in imminent danger of being run over, when the prince sprang forward, caught the bit and forced the spirited horses back till the old creature gathered herself up and reached the pave in safety. Then he returned to me as tranquilly as if nothing had occurred.

  “Are you hurt?” 1 asked, forgetting my anger, as he pulled off and threw away the delicate glove, torn and soiled in the brief struggle.

  “Thanks — no; but the old woman?”

  “She was not injured, and went on her way, never staying to thank you.”

  “Why should she?” he asked, quietly.

  “One likes to see gratitude. Perhaps she is used to such escapes, and so the act surprised her less than it did me.”

  “Ah! you wonder that I troubled myself about the poor creature, mademoiselle. I never forget that my mother was a woman, and for her sake I respect all women.”

  I had never heard that tone in his voice, nor seen that look in his face before, as he spoke those simple words. They touched me more than the act, but some tormenting spirit prompted me to say: “Even when you threaten one of them with a — ”

  I got no further, for, with a sudden flash that daunted me, the prince cried imploringly, yet commandingly:

  “No — no; do not utter the word — do not recall the shameful scene. Be generous, and forget, though you will not forgive.”

  “Pardon, it was unkind, I never will offend again.”

  An awkward pause followed, and we went on without a word, till glancing at me as we passed a brilliant lamp, the prince exclaimed:

  “Mademoiselle, you are very pale — you are ill, over-wearied; let me call a carriage.”

  “By no means; it is nothing. In stepping back to avoid the horses, I hurt my ankle; but we are almost at the hotel, and I can reach it perfectly well.”

  “And you have walked all this distance without a complaint, when every step was painful? Ma foi! mademoiselle is brave,” he said, with mingled pity, anxiety and admiration in his fine eyes.

  “Women early learn to suffer in silence,” I answered, rather grimly, for my foot was in agony, and I was afraid I should give out before I reached the hotel.

  The prince hastened on before me, unlocked the side-door by which I usually entered, and helping me in, said earnestly:

  “There are many steps to climb; let me assist you, or call some one.”

  “No, no, I will have no scene; many thanks; I can reach my room quite well alone. Bon soir, Monsieur le Prince,” and turning from his offered arm, I set my teeth and walked steadily up the first seven stairs. But on reaching the little landing, pain overcame pride, and I sank into a chair with a stifled groan. I had heard the door close, and fancied the prince gone, but he was at my side in an instant.

  “Mademoiselle, I shall not leave you till you are safely in your apartment. How can I best serve you?”

  I pointed to the bell, saying faintly:

  “I cannot walk; let Pierre carry me.”

  “I am stronger and more fit for such burdens. Pardon, it must be so.”

  And before I could utter a refusal, he folded the cloak about me, raised me gently in his arms, and went pacing quietly along the corridors, regarding me with an air of much sympathy, though in his eyes lurked a gleam of triumph, as he murmured to himself:

  “She has a strong will, this brave mademoiselle of ours, but it must bend at last.”

  That annoyed me more than my mishap, but being helpless, I answered only with a defiant glance and an irrepressible smile at my little adventure. He looked keenly at me with an eager, yet puzzled air, and said, as he grasped me more firmly:

  “Inexplicable creature! Pain can conquer her strength, but her spirit defies me still.”

  I hardly heard him, for as he laid me on the couch in my own little Woe, I lost consciousness, and when I recovered myself, I was alone with my maid.

  “What has happened?” I asked.

  “Dear mademoiselle, I know not; the bell rings, I fly, I find you fainting, and 1 restore you. It is fatigue, alarm, illness, and you ring before your senses leave you,” cried Jacobine, removing my cloak and furs.

  A sudden pang in my foot recalled me to myself at once, and bidding the girl apply certain remedies, I was soon comfortable. Not a word was said of the prince; he had evidently vanished before the maid came. I was glad of this, for I had no desire to furnish food for gossip among the servants. Sending Jacobine with a message to the princess, I lay recalling the scene and perplexing myself over several trifles which suddenly assumed great importance in my eyes.

  My bonnet and gloves were off when the girl found me. Who had removed them? My hair was damp with eau-de-cologne; who had bathed my head? My injured foot lay on a cushion; who placed it there? Did I dream that a tender voice exclaimed, “My little Sybil, my heart, speak to me”? or did the prince really utter such words?

  With burning cheeks, and a half-sweet, half-bitter trouble in my heart, I thought of these things, and asked myself what all this was coming to. A woman often asks herself such questions, but seldom answers them, nor did I, preferring to let time drift me where it would.

  The amiable princess came herself to inquire for me. I said nothing of her brother, as it was evident that he had said nothing even to her.

  “Alexis has returned, ma chere; he w’as with me when Jacobine told me of vour accident; he sends his compliments and regrets. He is in charming spirits, and looking finely.”

  I murmured my thanks, but felt a little guilty at my want of frankness. Whv not tell her the prince met and helped me? While debating the point within myself, the princess was rejoicing that my accident would perhaps still longer delay the dreaded journey.

  “Let it be a serious injury, my friend; it will permit you to enjoy life here, but not to travel; so suffer sweetly for my sake, and I will repay you with a thousand thanks,” she said, pleadingly.

  Laughingly I promised, and having ordered every luxury she eould imagine, the princess left me with a joyful heart, while 1 vainly tried to forget the expression of the prince’s face as he said low to himself:

  “Her spirit defies me still.”

  CHAPTER V

  For a week I kept my room and left the princess to fabricate what tales she liked. She came to me every day reporting the preparations for departure were begun, but the day still remained unfixed, although April was half over.

  “He waits for you, I am sure; he inquires for you daily, and begins to frown at the delay. To appease him, come down to-morrow, languid, lame, and in a charming dishabille. Amuse him as you used to do, and if anything is said of Russia, express your willing- less to go, but deplore your inability to bear the journey now.” Very glad to recover my liberty, I obeyed the princess, and entered her room next day leaning on Jacobine, pale, languid, and in my most becoming morning toilet. The princess was reading novels on her sofa by the fire; the prince, in the brilliant costume in which I first saw him, sat in my chair, busy at my embroidery frame. The odd contrast between the man and his employment struck me so ludicrously that a half laugh escaped me. Both looked up; the prince sprang out of his chair as if about to rush forward, but checked himself, and received me with a silent nod. The princess made a great stir over me, and with some difficulty was persuaded to compose herself at last. Having answered her eager and the prince’s polite inquiries, I took up my work, saying, with an irresistible smile as I examined the gentleman’s progress:

  “My flowers have blossomed in my absence, I see. Does M. le Prince possess all accomplishments?”

  “Ah, you smile, but I assure you embroidery is one of the amusements of Russian gentlemen, and they often excel us in it.
My brother scorned it till he was disabled with a wound, and when all other devices failed, this became his favorite emplovment.”

  As the princess spoke the prince stood in his usual attitude on the rug, eving me with a suspicious look, which annoyed me intensely and destroyed my interesting pallor bv an uncontrollable blush. I felt terriblv guiltv with those piercing black eves fixed on me, and appeared to be absorbed in a fresh bit of work. The princess chattered on till a salver full of notes and cards was brought in, when she forgot evervthing else in reading and answering these. The prince approached me then, and seating himself near my sofa, said, with somewhat ironical emphasis on the last two words:

  “I congratulate mademoiselle on her recovery, and that her bloom is quite untouched by her severe-sufferings."

  “The princess in her amiable svmpathy doubtlessly exaggerated my pain, but I certainly have suffered, though mv roses may belie me.”

  Why my eves should fill and my lips tremble was a mystery to me, but thev did, as I looked up at him with a reproachful face. I spoke the truth. I had suffered, not bodily but mental pain, trying to put awav forever a tempting hope which suddenly came to trouble me. Astonishment and concern replaced the cold, suspicious expression of the prince’s countenance, and his voice was very kind as he asked, with an evident desire to divert my thoughts from myself:

  “For what luxurious being do you embroider these splendid slippers of purple and gold, mademoiselle? Or is that an indiscreet question?”

  “For my friend Adolph Vernay.”

  “They are too large, he is but a bov,” began the prince, but stopped abruptly, and bit his lip, with a quick glance at me.

  Without lifting my eyes I said, coolly:

  “M. le Prince appears to have observed this gentleman with much care, to discover that he has a handsome foot and a youthful face.”

  “Without doubt I should scrutinize any man w ith whom I saw mademoiselle walking alone in the twilight. As one of my household, I take the liberty of observing your conduct, and for my sister’s sake ask of you to pardon this surveillance.”

  He spoke gravely, but looked unsatisfied, and feeling in a tormenting mood, I mystified him still more by saying, with a bow of assent:

  “If M. le Prince knew all, he would see nothing strange in my promenade, nor in the earnestness of that interview. Believe me, I may seem rash, but I shall never forget what is due to the princess while I remain with her.”

  He pondered over my words a moment with his eyes on my face, and a frown bending his black brows. Suddenly he spoke, hastily, almost roughly:

  “I comprehend what mademoiselle would convey. Monsieur Adolph is a lover, and the princess is about to lose her friend.”

  “Exactly. M. le Prince has guessed the mystery,” and I smiled with downcast eyes.

  A gilded ornament on the back of the chair against which the prince leaned snapped under his hand as it closed with a strong grip. He flung it away, and said, rapidly, with a jar in his usually musical voice:

  “This gentleman will marry, it seems, and mademoiselle, with the charming freedom of an English woman, arranges the affair herself.”

  “Helps to arrange; Adolph has sense and courage; I leave much to him.”

  “And when is this interesting event to take place, if one may ask?”

  “Next week, if all goes well.”

  “I infer the princess knows of this?”

  “Oh, yes. I told her at once.”

  “And she consents?”

  “Without doubt; what right would she have to object?”

  “Ah, I forgot; in truth, none, nor any other. It is incomprehensible! She is to lose you and yet is not in despair.”

  “It is but for a time. I join her later if she desires it.”

  “Never, with that man!” and the prince rose with an impetuous gesture, which sent my silks flying.

  “What man?” I asked, affecting bewilderment.

  “This Adolph, whom you are about to marry”

  “M. le Prince quite mistakes; I fancied he knew more of the affair. Permit me to explain.”

  “Quick, then; what is the mystery? who marries? who goes? who stays?”

  So flushed, anxious and excited did he look, that I was satisfied w ith my test, and set about enlightening him w ith alacrity. Having told why I met the young man, I added:

  “Adolph will demand the hand of Adele from her parents, but if they refuse it, as I fear they will, being prejudiced against him by Madame Bayard, he will effect his purpose in another manner. Though I do not approve of elopements in general, this is a case where it is pardonable, and I heartily wish him success.”

  While I spoke the princes brow had cleared, he drew a long breath, reseated himself in the chair before me, and when I paused, said, with one of his sudden smiles and an air of much interest:

  “Then you would have this lover boldly carry off his mistress in spite of all obstacles?”

  “Yes. I like courage in love as in war, and respect a man who conquers all obstacles.”

  “Good, it is well said,” and with a low' laugh the prince sat regarding me in silence for a moment. Then an expression of relief stole over his face as he said, still smiling:

  “And it was of this you spoke so earnestly when you fancied I w'atched you in the gardens?”

  “Fancied! nay, M. le Prince has confessed that it was no fancy.”

  “How if I had not confessed?”

  “I should have believed your word till you betrayed yourself, and then — ”

  I paused there w ith an uncontrollable gesture of contempt. He eyed me keenly, saying in that half-imperious, half-persuasive voice of his:

  “It is well then that I obeyed my first impulse. To speak truth is one of the instincts which these polished Frenchmen have not yet conquered in the ‘barbarian,’ as they call me.”

  “I respected you for that truthful ‘yes,’ more than for anything you ever said or did,” I cried, forgetting myself entirely.

  “Then, mademoiselle has a little respect for me?”

  He leaned his chin upon the arm that lay along the back of his chair, and looked at me with a sudden softening of voice, eye, and manner.

  “Can M. le Prince doubt it?” I said, demurely, little guessing what was to follow.

  “Does mademoiselle desire to be respected for the same virtue?” he asked.

  “More than for any other.”

  “Then will she give me a truthful answer to the plain question I desire to ask?”

  “I will;” and my heart beat rebelliously as I glanced at the handsome face so near me, and just then so dangerously gentle.

  “Has not mademoiselle feigned illness for the past week?”

  The question took me completely by surprise, but anxious to stand the test, I glanced at the princess, still busy at her writing- table in the distant alcove, and checking the answer which rose to my lips, I said, lowering my voice:

  “On one condition will I reply.”

  “Name it, mademoiselle?”

  “That nothing be said to Madame la Princesse of this.”

  “I give you my word.”

  “Well, then, I answer, yes;” and I fixed my eyes full on his as I spoke.

  His face darkened a shade, but his manner remained unchanged.

  “Thanks; now, for the reason of the ruse?”

  “To delay a little the journey to Russia.”

  “Ha, I had not thought of that, imbecile that I am!” he exclaimed with a start.

  “What other reason did M. le Prince imagine, if I may question in my turn?”

  His usually proud and steady eyes wavered and fell, and he made no answer, but seemed to fall into a reverie, from which he woke presently to ask abruptly:

  “What did you mean by saying you were to leave mv sister for a time, and rejoin her later?”

  “I must trouble you with the relation of a little affair which will probably detain me till after the departure, for but a w eek now remains of
April.”

  “I listen, mademoiselle.”

  “Good Madame Bayard is unfortunately the victim of a cruel disease, which menaces her life unless an operation can be successfully performed. The time for this trial is at hand, and I have promised to be with her. If she lives I can safely leave her in a few davs; if she dies I must remain till her son can arrive. This sad duty will keep me for a week or two, and I can rejoin madame at anv point she may desire.”

  “But why make this promise? Madame Bayard has friends — why impose this unnecessary sacrifice of time, nerve, and sympathy upon you, mademoiselle?” And the prince knit his brows, as if ill-pleased.

  “When I came to Paris long ago a poor, friendless, sorrowful girl, this good woman took me in, and for five years has been a mother to me. I am grateful, and would make any sacrifice to serve her in her hour of need.”

  I spoke with energy; the frown melted to the smile which always ennobled his face, as the prince replied, in a tone of forgetful acquiescence:

  “You are right. I say no more. If you are detained I w ill leae Vacil to escort you to us. He is true as steel, and will guard you well. W hen must you go to the poor lady?”

  “To-morrow; the princess consents to my wish, and I devote myself to my friend till she needs me no longer. May I ask when you leave Paris?” I could not resist asking.

  “On the last day of the month,” was the brief reply, as the prince rose, and roamed away with a thoughtful face, leaving me to ponder over many things as I wrought my golden pansies, wondering if I should ever dare to offer the purple velvet slippers to the possessor of a handsomer foot than Adolph.

  On the follow ing day I went to xMadame Bayard; the operation was performed, but failed, and the poor soul died in my arms, blessing me for mv love and care. I sent tidings of the event to the princess, and received a kind reply, saying all was ready, and the day irrevocably fixed.

  I passed a busy week; saw my best friend laid to her last rest; arranged such of her affairs as I could, and impatiently awaited the arrival of her son. On the second day of May he came, and I was free.

  As soon as possible I hastened to the hotel, expecting to find it deserted. To my surprise, however, I saw lights in the salon of the princess, and heard sounds of life everywhere as I went wonderingly toward my own apartments. The windows were open, flowers filled the room with spring odors, and everything wore an air of welcome as if some one waited for me. Some one did, for on the balcony, which ran along the whole front, leaned the prince in the mild, new-fallen twilight, singing softly to himself.