CHAPTER LVIII
DYING WORDS
Drivers of vehicles in the rue Royale turned aside before two slightbarriers spanning the way, one at the corner below, the other at thatabove, the house where the aged high-priest of a doomed civilization laybleeding to death. The floor of the store below, the pavement of thecorridor where stood the idle volante, were covered with straw, andservants came and went by the beckoning of the hand.
"This way," whispered a guide of the four ladies from the Grandissimemansion. As Honore's mother turned the angle half-way up the muffledstair, she saw at the landing above, standing as if about to part, yetin grave council, a man and a woman, the fairest--she noted it even inthis moment of extreme distress--she had ever looked upon. He hadalready set one foot down upon the stair, but at sight of the ascendinggroup drew back and said:
"It is my mother;" then turned to his mother and took her hand; they hadbeen for months estranged, but now they silently kissed.
"He is sleeping," said Honore. "Maman, Madame Nancanou."
The ladies bowed--the one looking very large and splendid, the othervery sweet and small. There was a single instant of silence, and Auroraburst into tears.
For a moment Madame Grandissime assumed a frown that was almost areminder of her brother's, and then the very pride of the Fusiliersbroke down. She uttered an inaudible exclamation, drew the weeper firmlyinto her bosom, and with streaming eyes and choking voice, but yet withmajesty, whispered, laying her hand on Aurora's head:
"Never mind, my child; never mind; never mind."
And Honore's sister, when she was presently introduced, kissed Auroraand murmured:
"The good God bless thee! It is He who has brought us together."
"Who is with him just now?" whispered the two other ladies, while Honoreand his mother stood a moment aside in hurried consultation.
"My daughter," said Aurora, "and--"
"Agamemnon," suggested Madame Martinez.
"I believe so," said Aurora.
Valentine appeared from the direction of the sick-room and beckoned toHonore. Doctor Keene did the same and continued to advance.
"Awake?" asked Honore.
"Yes."
"Alas! my brother!" said Madame Grandissime, and started forward,followed by the other women.
"Wait," said Honore, and they paused. "Charlie," he said, as the littledoctor persistently pushed by him at the head of the stair.
"Oh, there's no chance, Honore, you'd as well all go in there."
They gathered into the room and about the bed. Madame Grandissime bentover it.
"Ah! sister," said the dying man, "is that you? I had the sweetest dreamjust now--just for a minute." He sighed. "I feel very weak. Where isCharlie Keene?"
He had spoken in French; he repeated his question in English. He thoughthe saw the doctor.
"Charlie, if I must meet the worst I hope you will tell me so; I amfully prepared. Ah! excuse--I thought it was--
"My eyes seem dim this evening. _Est-ce-vous_, Honore? Ah, Honore, youwent over to the enemy, did you?--Well,--the Fusilier blood wouldal--ways--do as it pleased. Here's your old uncle's hand, Honore. Iforgive you, Honore--my noble-hearted, foolish--boy." He spoke feebly,and with great nervousness.
"Water."
It was given him by Aurora. He looked in her face; they could not besure whether he recognized her or not. He sank back, closed his eyes,and said, more softly and dreamily, as if to himself, "I forgiveeverybody. A man must die--I forgive--even the enemies--of Louisiana."
He lay still a few moments, and then revived excitedly. "Honore! tellProfessor Frowenfeld to take care of that _Philippique Generale_. 'Tis agrand thing, Honore, on a grand theme! I wrote it myself in one evening.Your Yankee Government is a failure, Honore, a drivelling failure. Itmay live a year or two, not longer. Truth will triumph. The oldLouisiana will rise again. She will get back her trampled rights. Whenshe does, remem'--" His voice failed, but he held up one finger firmlyby way of accentuation.
There was a stir among the kindred. Surely this was a turn for thebetter. The doctor ought to be brought back. A little while ago he wasnot nearly so strong. "Ask Honore if the doctor should not come." ButHonore shook his head. The old man began again.
"Honore! Where is Honore? Stand by me, here, Honore; and sister?--onthis other side. My eyes are very poor to-day. Why do I perspire so?Give me a drink. You see--I am better now; I have ceased--to throw upblood. Nay, let me talk." He sighed, closed his eyes, and opened themagain suddenly. "Oh, Honore, you and the Yankees--you and--all--goingwrong--education--masses--weaken--caste--indiscr'--quarrels settl'--byaffidav'--Oh! Honore."
"If he would only forget," said one, in an agonized whisper, "that_philippique generale_!"
Aurora whispered earnestly and tearfully to Madame Grandissime. Surelythey were not going to let him go thus! A priest could at least do noharm. But when the proposition was made to him by his sister, he said:
"No;--no priest. You have my will, Honore,--in your iron box. ProfessorFrowenfeld,"--he changed his speech to English,--"I have written you anarticle on--" his words died on his lips.
"Joseph, son, I do not see you. Beware, my son, of the doctrine of equalrights--a bottomless iniquity. Master and man--arch and pier--archabove--pier below." He tried to suit the gesture to the words, but bothhands and feet were growing uncontrollably restless.
"Society, Professor,"--he addressed himself to a weeping girl,--"societyhas pyramids to build which make menials a necessity, and Naturefurnishes the menials all in dark uniform. She--I cannot tell you--youwill find--all in the _Philippique Generale_. Ah! Honore, is it--"
He suddenly ceased.
"I have lost my glasses."
Beads of sweat stood out upon his face. He grew frightfully pale. Therewas a general dismayed haste, and they gave him a stimulant.
"Brother," said the sister, tenderly.
He did not notice her.
"Agamemnon! Go and tell Jean-Baptiste--" his eyes drooped and flashedagain wildly.
"I am here, Agricole," said the voice of Jean-Baptiste, close beside thebed.
"I told you to let--that negress--"
"Yes, we have let her go. We have let all of them go."
"All of them," echoed the dying man, feebly, with wandering eyes.Suddenly he brightened again and tossed his arms. "Why, there you werewrong, Jean-Baptiste; the community must be protected." His voice sankto a murmur. "He would not take off--'you must remem'--" He was silent."You must remem'--those people are--are not--white people." He ceased amoment. "Where am I going?" He began evidently to look, or try to look,for some person; but they could not divine his wish until, with piteousfeebleness, he called:
"Aurore De Grapion!"
So he had known her all the time.
Honore's mother had dropped on her knees beside the bed, dragging Auroradown with her.
They rose together.
The old man groped distressfully with one hand. She laid her own in it.
"Honore!
"What could he want?" wondered the tearful family. He was feeling aboutwith the other hand.
"Hon'--Honore"--his weak clutch could scarcely close upon his nephew'shand.
"Put them--put--put them--"
What could it mean? The four hands clasped.
"Ah!" said one, with fresh tears, "he is trying to speak and cannot."
But he did.
"Aurora De Gra--I pledge'--pledge'--pledged--this union--to yourfa'--father--twenty--years--ago."
The family looked at each other in dejected amazement. They had neverknown it.
"He is going," said Agamemnon; and indeed it seemed as though he wasgone; but he rallied.
"Agamemnon! Valentine! Honore! patriots! protect the race! Beware ofthe"--that sentence escaped him. He seemed to fancy himself haranguing acrowd; made another struggle for intelligence, tried once, twice, tospeak, and the third time succeeded:
"Louis'--Louisian'--a--for--ever!" and lay still.
; They put those two words on his tomb.
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