Petticoat Rule
Page 31
CHAPTER XXXI
THE FINAL DISAPPOINTMENT
Lydie waited a few moments while her father's brisk steps died awayalong the stone-flagged corridors. In the silence of the evening, thequietude which rested on this distant portion of the palace, she couldhear his brief word of command to the valet who had been stationed inthe antechamber; then the Duke's quick, alert descent down the marblestaircase, and finally the call for his coach oft repeated, when hereached the terrace and began skirting the building on his way to themain paved yard, where, no doubt, his horses were awaiting his return.
When everything in and around the palace seemed quiet again, Lydierang for her maid.
"A dark hood and cloak," she ordered as soon as the girl appeared, andspeaking very rapidly.
"Madame la Marquise goes out again?" asked the maid a littleanxiously, seeing that the hour was late and she herself very sleepy.
"Only within the palace," replied Lydie. "Quick, girl! the cloak!"
Within two or three minutes she was enveloped from head to foot in acloak of dark woollen material, that effectually hid the beautifulgown beneath. Then she bade the girl wait for her in her boudoir, and,not heeding the latter's anxious protestations, she walked quickly outof the room.
The corridors and reception halls were now quite deserted. Even fromthe main building of the palace, where the King himself was wont tosup copiously and long, there no longer came the faintest echo ofrevelry, of laughter or of music. The vast chateau built at the costof a nation's heart's blood, kept up at the cost of her tears and herhumiliation, now lay wrapped in sleep.
In this remote West Wing the silence was almost oppressive. From herown apartments Lydie could reach those occupied by milor, withoutgoing through the ante-chamber and corridors, where a fewnight-watchmen were always stationed. Thus she could pass unperceived;a dark, ghost-like figure, silent and swift, gliding through anenchanted castle, inhabited mayhap only by a sleeping beauty and herCourt. From outside not a sound, save the occasional hoot of an owl orthe flap of a bat's wings against the projecting masonry.
Lydie drew her cloak closely round her figure; though the August nightwas hot and heavy with the acrid scent of late summer flowers she feltan inward shivering, whilst her temples throbbed and her eyes seemedmade of glowing charcoal. A few more rooms to traverse, a few momentslonger wherein to keep her trembling knees from giving way beneathher, and she would be in milor's rooms.
She was a little astonished to find them just as deserted as the restof the palace. The great audience chamber with its monumental bed, theantechamber wherein M. Durand's wizened figure always sat enthronedbehind the huge secretaire, and the worthy Baptiste himself was wontto hold intrusive callers at bay, all these rooms were empty, silentand sombre.
At last she reached the octagonal room, out of which opened the study.Here, too, darkness reigned supreme save for a thin streak of lightwhich gleamed, thin and weird, from beneath the study door. Darknessitself fought with absolute stillness. Lydie came forward, walking asif in her sleep.
She called to milor's valet: "Achille!" but only in a whisper, lestmilor from within should hear. Then as there was no sound, nomovement, she called once more:
"Achille! is milor still awake? Achille! are you here?"
She had raised her voice a little, thinking the man might be asleep.But no sound answered her, save from outside the cry of a birdfrightened by some midnight prowler.
Then she walked up to the door. There behind it, in that inner sanctumhung with curtains of dull gold, the man still sat whom she had sooften, so determinedly wronged, and who had wounded her to-night witha cruelty and a surety of hand which had left her broken of spirit,bruised of heart, a suffering and passionate woman. She put her handon the knob of the door. Nothing stirred within; milor was writingmayhap! Perhaps he had dropped asleep! And Gaston preparing to ride toLe Havre in order to send the swiftest ship to do its deed oftreachery!
No! no! anything but that!
At this moment Lydie had nerved herself to endure every rebuff, tosuffer any humiliation, to throw herself at her husband's feet,embrace his knees if need be, beg, pray and entreat for money, forhelp, anything that might even now perhaps avert the terriblecatastrophe.
Boldly now she knocked at the door.
"Milor! milor! open! . . . it is I! . . . ! Lydie. . . . !"
Then as there was no answer from within she knocked louder still.
"Milor! Milor! awake! Milor! in the name of Heaven I entreat you tolet me speak with you!"
At first she had thought that he slept, then that obstinate resentmentcaused him to deny her admittance. She tried to turn the knob of thedoor, but it did not yield.
"Milor! Milor!" she cried again, and then again.
Naught but silence was the reply.
Excitement grew upon her now, a febrile nervousness which caused herto pull at the lock, to bruise her fingers against the gilt ornamentsof the panel, whilst her voice, hoarse and broken with sobs, rent withits echoes the peace and solemnity of the night.
"Milor! Milor!"
She had fallen on her knees, exhausted mentally and physically, theblood beating against her temples until the blackness around herseemed to have become a vivid red. In her ear was a sound like that ofa tempestuous sea breaking against gigantic rocks, with voices callingat intervals, voices of dying men, loudly accusing her of treachery.The minutes were speeding by! Anon would come the dawn when Gastonwould to horse, bearing the hideous message which would mean herlifelong infamy and the death of those who trusted her.
"Milor! milor! awake!" She now put her lips to the keyhole, breathingthe words through the tiny orifice, hoping that he would hear. "Gastonwill start at dawn . . . They will send _Le Monarque_, and she isready to put to sea . . . Milor! your friend is in deadlyperil. . . ! I entreat you to let me enter!"
She beat her hands against the door, wounding her delicate flesh. Shewas not conscious of what she was doing. A mystic veil divided herreasoning powers from that terrible mental picture which glowed beforeher through the blood-red darkness. The lonely shore, the angry sea,the French ship _Le Monarque_ flying the pennant of traitors!
Then suddenly an astonished and deeply horrified voice broke in uponher ears.
"Madame la Marquise, in the name of Heaven! Madame la Marquise!"
She heard quick footsteps behind her, and left off hammering againstthe door, left off screaming and moaning, but she had not the power toraise herself from her knees.
"Madame la Marquise," came in respectful, yet frightened accents,"will Madame la Marquise deign to allow me to raise her--I fear Madamela Marquise is not well!"
She recognized the voice of Achille, milor's valet, yet it neverentered her mind to feel ashamed at being found by a lacquey, thuskneeling before her husband's door. The worthy Achille was very upset.Etiquette forbade him to touch Madame la Marquise, but could he leaveher there? in that position? He advanced timidly. His behaviour wassuperlatively correct even in this terrible emergency, and there wasnothing in his deferential attitude to indicate that he thoughtanything abnormal had occurred.
"I thought I heard Madame la Marquise calling," he said, "and Ithought perhaps Madame la Marquise would wish to speak with milor. . ."
But at the word she quickly interrupted him; rising to her feet evenas she spoke.
"Yes! yes . . . ! milor . . . I do wish to speak with him . . . openthe door, Achille . . . quick . . ."
"The door is locked on the outside, Madame la Marquise, but I have thekey by me," said M. Achille gravely. "I had fortunately recollectedthat mayhap milor had forgotten to put out the lights, and would inany case have come to see that all was safe . . . if Madame laMarquise will deign to permit me . . ."
It was a little difficult to reconcile utmost respect of movement anddemeanour with the endeavour to open the door against which Madame laMarquise was still standing. However, everything that was deferentialand correct was possible to Monsieur Achille; he fitted the key in theloc
k and the next moment had thrown the door wide open, whilst hehimself stood immediately aside to enable Madame la Marquise to enter.
Four candles were burning in one of the candelabra; milor hadevidently forgotten to extinguish them. Everything else in the roomwas perfectly tidy. On the secretaire there were two or three heavybooks similar to those Monsieur Durand usually carried about with himwhen he had to interview milor, also the inkpot and sand-well, withtwo or three quills methodically laid on a silver tray. One windowmust have been open behind the drawn curtains, for the heavy damaskhangings waved gently in the sudden current of air, caused by theopening of the door. The candles too, flickered weirdly in thedraught. In the centre of the room was the armchair on which Lydie hadsat a while ago, the cushion of red embroidery which milor had put toher back, and below the little footstool covered in gold brocade onwhich her foot had rested . . . a while ago.
And beside the secretaire his own empty chair, and on the table thespot where his hand had rested, white and slightly tremulous, when sheproffered her self-accusation.
"Milor?" she murmured inquiringly, turning glowing eyes, dilated withthe intensity of disappointment and despair on the impassive face ofAchille, "milor . . . ? where is milor?"
"Milor has been gone some little time, Madame la Marquise," repliedAchille.
"Gone? Whither?"
"I do not know, Madame la Marquise . . . Milor did not tell me . . .Two gentlemen called to see him at about ten o'clock; as soon as theyhad gone milor asked for his outdoor clothes and Hector booted andspurred him . . . whilst I dressed his hair and tied his cravat . . .Milor has been gone about half an hour, I think."
"Enough . . . that will do!"
That is all that she contrived to say. This final disappointment hadbeen beyond the endurance of her nerves. Physically now she completelybroke down, a mist gathered before her eyes, the candles seemed toflicker more and more weirdly until their lights assumed strangeghoul-like shapes which drew nearer to her and nearer; faces in thegloom grinned at her and seemed to mock, the walls of the room closedin around her, her senses reeled, her very brain felt as if itthrobbed with pain, and without a cry or moan, only with one long sighof infinite weariness, she sank lifeless to the ground.