Kitabı oku: «Balsamo, the Magician; or, The Memoirs of a Physician», sayfa 6

CHAPTER XII
TAVERNEY'S PROSPECTS BRIGHTEN

The first to perceive the archduchess's fainting fit, was Baron Taverney who was on the lookout from being most uneasy about the interview. Hearing the scream and seeing Balsamo dart out of the bower he ran up.

The first word of the dauphiness was to call for the bewitched decanter: her second to bid no harm to be done the sorcerer. It was time to say it, for Philip Taverney had rushed after the latter.

She attributed the swoon to fever from the journey. She talked of sleeping for some hours, in Andrea's room, but the Governor of Strasburg arrived in hot haste with a dispatch from Versailles, and she had to receive Lord Stainville, who was brother in-law of the prime minister.

Opening this missive, the princess read:

"The court presentation of Lady Dubarry is fixed on, if she can find a patroness, which we hope will not be. But the surest method of blocking the project is to have your royal highness here, in whose presence none will dare suggest such an offense."

"Very good. My horses must be put to. We depart at once."

Cardinal Rohan looked at Lord Stainville as if for an explanation of this abrupt change.

"The dauphin is in a hurry to see his wife," whispered the latter with such cunning that the churchman thought it had slipped his tongue and was satisfied with it.

Andrea had been trained by her father to understand royal freaks; she was not surprised at the contradiction. So the lady saw only smoothness on her face as she turned to her, saying:

"Thank you; your welcome has deeply touched me. Baron, you are aware that I made the vow to benefit the first French gentleman and his family, whom I should meet on the frontier. But I am not going to stop at this point, and Mademoiselle Andrea is not to be forgotten. Yes, I wish her to be my maid of honor. The brother will defend the king in the army, the sister will serve me; the father will instruct the first in loyalty, the other in virtue. I shall have enviable servitors, do you not agree?" she continued to Philip, who was kneeling. "I will leave one of my carriages to bring you in my train. Governor, name somebody to accompany my carriage for the Taverneys, and notify that it is of my household."

"Beausire," called out the governor, "come forward."

A sharp-eyed cavalier, some twenty-four years old, rode out from the escort and saluted.

"Set a guard over Baron Taverney's coach, and escort it."

"We shall meet soon again, then," said the princess with a smile. "Let us be off, my lords and gentlemen."

In a quarter of an hour, all remaining of the whirling cavalcade was the carriage left in the avenue and the guardsman whose horse was cropping the dandelions.

"Where is the magician?" inquired Taverney.

"Gone, too, my lord."

"I never heard of the like – leaving all that valuable plate."

"He left a note which Gilbert is fretting to deliver."

"Father," said Andrea, "I know what is tormenting you. You know I have thirty gold pieces, and the diamond-set watch Queen Maria Leczinska gave my mother."

"That is well," said the baron, "but keep it, though we must hunt up means for a handsome robe for your court presentation. Hush! here is Labrie."

"The note, my lord, which was given Gilbert by the strange gentleman."

The baron snatched it from the servant and read in an undertone:

"My Lord: Since an august hand touched this service of plate under your roof, it belongs to your lordship, and I pray you to keep it as a memento, and sometimes to remember, your grateful guest, Balsamo."

"Labrie, is there a good goldsmith at Bar-le-Duc?"

"Yes, my lord, the one who mended our young lady's jewelry."

"Put aside the cup the princess used, and pack up the rest of the plate in our carriage. And then, haste to the cellar and serve that officer with all the liquor left. Come, come, Andrea, courage! We are going to court, a splendid place where the sun never fails. You are naturally lovely and have only to set the gem becomingly to outshine them all."

Nicole followed Andrea to her room.

"I am off to arrange my titles of nobility and proofs of service," continued the baron, trotting to his room briskly. "We shall be off from this den in an hour; do you hear, Andrea? And we leave by the golden gates, too. What a trump that magician is! Really, I have become as superstitious as the devil's own. But make haste, Labrie!" he cried to his man groping about in the cellar.

"I can't get on faster, master – we have not a candle left."

"It is plain that we are getting out in the right time," thought the baron.

CHAPTER XIII
NICOLE'S DOWER

Nicole aided her young mistress in her traveling preparations with ardor which speedily dissipated the cloud risen that morning between maid and mistress. The latter smiled as she found that she would have no need to scold her.

"She is a good, devoted girl and grateful," she mused; "only she has weaknesses, like all womankind. Let us forget."

On her part, Nicole was not the girl not to watch her mistress' face, and she saw the kindliness increasing.

"I was a fool nearly to get into a scrape with her for that rascal Gilbert, when she is going to town, where everybody makes a fortune."

"Put my lace in my box. Stop! I gave you that box, I remember; and you will want it, as you are going to set up housekeeping."

"Oh, my lady," said Nicole, reddening, and replying merrily, "my wedding garments will be easily kept in no great space."

"How so? I want you to be well off when you wed."

"Have you found me a rich match?"

"No, but a dower of twenty-five gold pieces."

"You would give me such a treasure!" Emotion followed her surprise, and tears gushed into her eyes as she kissed Andrea's hand.

Nicole began to think that Gilbert had rejected her from fear of poverty, and that now she had funds, she had better marry the ambitious spark to whom she would appear more desirable. But a germ of pride mingled with the generosity, as she wanted to humble one who had jilted her.

"It looks as though you really loved your Gilbert," observed the lady. "How incredible for something in the lad to please you. I must have a look at this lady-killer next time I see him."

Nicole eyed her with lingering doubt. Was this deep hypocrisy or perfect ignorance?

"Is Gilbert coming to Paris with us?" she inquired, to be settled on the point.

"What for? he is not a domestic and is not fitted for a Parisian establishment. The loungers about Taverney are like the birds which can pick up a living on their own ground; but in Paris a hanger-on would cost too much, and we cannot tolerate that. If you marry him, you must stay here. I give you an hour to decide between my household or your husband's. I detest these connubial details and will not have a married servant. In any case, here is the money; marry, and have it as dower; follow me, and it is your first two years' wages, in advance."

Nicole took the purse from her hand and kissed it.

The lady watched her go away and muttered: "She is happy, for she loves."

Nicole in five minutes was at the window of Gilbert's room, at the back of which he was turning over his things.

"I have come to tell you that my mistress wants me to go with her to Paris."

"Good!" said the young man.

"Unless I get married and settled here."

"Are you thinking still of that?" he asked, without any feeling.

"Particularly, since I am rich from my lady dowering me," and she showed the bright gold.

"A pretty sum," he said drily.

"That is not all. My lord is going to be rich. He will rebuild the castle, and the house will have to be guarded – "

"By the happy mate of Nicole," suggested Gilbert with irony, not sufficiently wrapped up not to wound the girl, though she contained herself. "I refuse the offer, for I am not going to bury myself here when Paris is open to me also. Paris is my stage, do you understand?"

"And mine, and I understand you. You may not regret me; but you will fear me, and blush to see to what you drive me. I longed to be an honest woman, but, when I was leaning over the verge, you repulsed me instead of pulling me back. I am slipping and I shall fall, and heaven will ask you to account for the loss. Farewell, Gilbert!"

The proud girl spun round without anger now, or impatience, having exhausted all her generosity of soul.

Gilbert quietly closed the window and resumed the mysterious business which Nicole's coming had interrupted.

She returned to her mistress with a deliberate air.

"I shall not marry," she said.

"But your great love?"

"It is not worth the kindness your ladyship has done me. I belong to you and shall ever so belong. I know the mistress which heaven gave me; but I might never know the master whom I give myself."

Andrea was touched by this display of emotion, which she was far from expecting in the maid. She was of course ignorant that Nicole was making her a pillow to fall back upon. She smiled to believe a human creature was better than she estimated.

"You are doing right," she said. "If bliss befalls me, you shall have your share. But did you settle with your sweetheart?"

"I told him that I would have no more to do with him."

She was restored to her former suspicions, and it was fated that the two should never understand each other – one with her diamond purity and the other with her tendency to evil.

Meanwhile, the baron had packed up his scanty valuables, and Labrie shouldered the half-empty trunk, containing them, to accompany his master out to where the corporal of guards was finishing the wine to the last drop.

This soldier gallant had remarked the fine waist and pretty limbs of Nicole, and he was prowling round the pool to see her again. He was drawn from his reverie by the baron calling for his carriage. Saluting him, he called in a ringing voice for the driver to come up the avenue. Labrie put the trunk on the rack behind with unspeakable pride and delight.

"I am going to ride in the royal coaches," he muttered.

"But up behind, my old boy," corrected Beausire, with a patronizing smile.

"Who is to keep Taverney if you take Labrie, father?" inquired Andrea.

"That lazy philosopher, Gilbert; with his gun he will have ample to eat, I warrant, for there is plenty of game at Taverney."

Andrea looked at Nicole, who laughed and added:

"He is a sly dog; he will not starve."

"Leave him a trifle," suggested Andrea.

"It will spoil him. He is bad enough now. If he wants anything we will send him help."

"He would not accept money, my lord."

"Your Gilbert must be pretty proud, then?"

"Thank heaven, he is no longer my Gilbert!"

"Deuse take Gilbert, whoever's property he is," said Taverney, to cut short what annoyed his selfishness. "The coach is stopping the way; get in, daughter."

Andrea gave the house a farewell glance and stepped into the vehicle. The baron installed himself next her; Labrie in his glorious livery and Nicole got upon the box, for the driver turned himself into a postillion and bestrode one of the horses.

"But the corporal?" queried the baron.

"I ride my charger," responded Beausire, ogling Nicole, who colored up with pleasure at having so soon replaced the rustic lad with a stylish cavalier.

Gilbert stood with his hat off at the gate, and, without seeming to see, looked on Andrea alone. She was bending out of the opposite window to watch the house to the last.

"Stop a bit," ordered Baron Taverney; "hark you, master idler," he said to Gilbert, "you ought to be a happy dog to be left by yourself, as suits a true philosopher, with nobody to bother you or upbraid you. Don't let the house catch afire while you brood, and take care of the watchdog. Go ahead, coachman!"

Gilbert slammed the gates, groaning for want of oil, and ran back to his little room, where he had his little bundle ready. It also contained his savings in a silver piece.

Mahon was howling when he came out, and straining at his chain.

"Am I not cast off like a dog? why should not a dog be cast off like a man? No, you shall at least be free to seek your livelihood like myself."

The liberated dog ran round the house, but finding all the doors closed, he bounded the ruins.

"Now we are going to see who fares the better – man or dog," said Gilbert. "Farewell, mansion where I have suffered and where all despised me! where bread was cast to me with the reproach that I was stealing it by making no return. Farewell – no, curses on you! My heart leaps with joy at no longer being jailed up in your walls. Forever be accursed, prison, hell, lair of tyrants!"

CHAPTER XIV
THE OUTCAST'S LUCK

But in his long journey to Paris he had often to regret this abode which he had cursed. Sore, wearied, famished – for he had lost his coin – he fell in the dusty highway, but with clenched fists and eyes glaring with rage.

"Out of the way, there!" yelled a hoarse voice, amid cracking of a whip.

He did not hear, for his senses left him. He remained before the hoofs of the horses, drawing a postchaise up a side road between Vauclere and Thieblemont, which he had not perceived.

A scream pealed from inside the carriage, which the horses were whirling along like a feather on the gale. The postboy made a superhuman effort and managed to keep his horses from trampling on the boy, though one of the leaders gave him a kick.

"Good God!" screamed a woman again; "you have crushed the unhappy child."

The lady traveler got out, and the postillion alighted to lift Gilbert's body from under the wheel.

"What luck!" said the man; "dashed if he be hurted – only swooned."

"With fright, I suppose."

"I'll drag him to the roadside, and let us go on, since your ladyship is in hot haste."

"I cannot possibly leave this poor boy in such a plight. So young, poor little thing! It is some truant scholar undertaking a journey beyond his powers. How pale he is – he will die. No, no! I will not abandon him. Put him inside, on the front seat."

The postboy obeyed the lady, who had already got in the berlin, as were called such carriages. Gilbert was put on a good cushion with his back supported by the padded sides.

"Away you go again," said the lady. "Ten minutes lost, for which you must make up, while I will pay you the more."

When Gilbert came to his senses he found himself in the coach, swept along by three posthorses. He was not a little surprised, too, to be almost in the lap of a young woman who attentively studied him.

She was not more than twenty-five. She had cheeks scorched by the southern sun, with a turn-up nose and gray eyes. A clear character of cunning and circumspection was given to her open and jovial countenance by the little mouth of delicate and fanciful design. Her arms, the finest in the world, were molded in violet velvet sleeves adorned with gilt buttons. Nearly the whole vehicle was filled up by the wavy folds of her large flower-patterned gray silk dress.

As the countenance was smiling and expressed interest, Gilbert stared for fear he was in a dream.

"Well, are you better, my little man?" asked she.

"Where am I?" counter-queried Gilbert, who had learned this phrase from novels, where alone it is used.

"In safety, my dear little fellow," replied the lady in a southern accent. "A while ago you ran great risk of being smashed under my carriage wheels. What happened you, to drop on the highroad right in the middle?"

"I swooned from having walked some eighteen leagues since four yesterday afternoon, or, rather, run."

"Whither are you bound?"

"To Versailles, lady. I come from Taverney, a castle between Pierrefitte and Bar-le-Duc."

"Did you not give yourself time to eat?"

"I had neither the time nor the means, for I lost a bit of money, and I soon ate the crusts I carried."

"Poor boy! but you might have asked for more bread."

"I am too proud, lady," said Gilbert, smiling loftily.

"Pride is all very well, but not when it lets one die of hunger."

"Death before disgrace!"

"Hello! where did you learn such talk?"

"Not at home, for I am an orphan. My name is Gilbert, and no more."

"Some by-blow of a country squire," thought the woman. "You are very young to roam the highway," she continued.

"I was not roaming," said the youth, who thought the truth would recommend him to a woman. "I was following a carriage."

"With your lady love in it? Dear me! there is a romance in your adventure?"

Gilbert was not enough his own master not to redden.

"What was the carriage, my little Cato?"

"One of the dauphiness' retinue."

"What, is she ahead of us?" exclaimed the woman. "Are they not making a fuss over her along the route?"

"They wanted to, but she pressed on after having talked of staying for rest at Taverney Castle, for a letter came from Versailles, they said, and she was off in three-quarters of an hour."

"A letter?"

"Brought by the Governor of Strasburg."

"Lord Stainville? Duke Choiseul's brother? The mischief! Whip on, postillion! faster, faster!"

The whip snapped and Gilbert felt the vehicle jump with more velocity.

"We may outstrip her if she stops for breakfast, or at night," meditated the woman. "Postillion, which is the next town of any account?"

"Vitry."

"Where do we change horses?"

"Vauclere."

"Go on; but tell me if you see a string of carriages on the main road. Poor child!" she continued, seeing how pale Gilbert was; "it is my fault for making him chatter when he is dying of hunger and thirst."

To make up for the lost time, she took out a traveling flask with a silver cap as stopper, into which she poured a cordial.

"Drink that and eat a cake," she said, "until you can have a substantial breakfast in an hour or two. Now, as you are a whit refreshed, tell me, if you have any trust in me, what interest you have in following the carriage belonging to the dauphiness' train?"

He related his story with much clearness.

"Cheer up," she said. "I congratulate you. But you must know that one cannot live on courage at Versailles or Paris."

"But one can by toil."

"That's so. But you have not the hands of a craftsman or laborer."

"I will work with my head."

"Yes, you appear rather knowing."

"I know I am ignorant," said Gilbert, recalling Socrates.

"You will make a good doctor, then, since a doctor is one who administers drugs of which he knows little into a body of which he knows less. In ten years I promise you my custom."

"I shall try to deserve the honor, lady," replied Gilbert.

The horses were changed without their having overtaken the royal party, which had stopped for the same and to breakfast at Vitry. The lady offered bounteously for the distance between to be covered, but the postillion dared not outstrip the princess – a crime for which he would be sent to prison for life.

"If I might suggest," observed Gilbert, "you could cut ahead by a by-road."

The vehicle therefore turned off to the right and came out on the main road at Chalons. The princess had breakfasted at Vitry, but was so tired that she was reposing, having ordered the horses to be ready to start again at three or four P. M. This so delighted the lady traveler that she paid the postboy lavishly and said to Gilbert:

"We shall have a feast at the next posting house."

But it was decreed that Gilbert should not dine there.

The change of horses was to be at Chaussee village. The most remarkable object here was a man who stood in the mid-road, as if on duty there. He looked along it and on a long-tailed barb which was hitched to a window shutter and neighed fretfully for its master to come out of the cottage.

At length the man knocked on the shutter, and called.

"I say, sir," he demanded of the man who showed his head at the window, "if you want to sell that horse, here is the customer."

"Not for sale," replied the peasant, banging the shutter to.

This did not satisfy the stranger, who was a lusty man of forty, tall and ruddy, with coarse hands in lace ruffles. He wore a laced cocked hat crosswise, like soldiers who want to scare rustics.

"You are not polite," he said, hammering on the shutter. "If you do not open, I shall smash in the blind."

The panel opened at this menace and the clown reappeared.

"Who does this Arab belong to?"

"A lady lodging here, who is very fond of it."

"Let me speak with her."

"Can't; she is sleeping."

"Ask her if she wants five hundred pistoles for the barb."

"That is a right royal price." And the rustic opened his eyes widely.

"Just, so; the king wants the creature."

"You are not the king."

"But I represent him, and he is in a hurry."

"I must not wake her."

"Then I shall!" and he swung up a cane with a gold head in his herculean fist.

But he lowered it without hitting, for at the same instant he caught sight of a carriage tearing up the slope behind three fagged horses. The skilled eye of the would-be buyer recognized the vehicle, for he rushed toward it with a speed the Arabian might have envied.

It was the post carriage of Gilbert's guardian angel, which the postboy was enchanted to stop, on seeing the man wave him to do so, for he knew the nags would never reach the post house.

"Chon, my dear Chon," said the stranger. "What joy that you turn up, at last!"

"It is I, Jean," replied the lady to whom was given this odd name; "what are you doing here?"

"A pretty question, by Jove! I was waiting for you."

The Hercules stepped on the folding-step, and kissed the lady through the window. Suddenly he caught sight of Gilbert, and turned as black as a dog from which is snatched a bone, from not knowing the terms between the pair in the berlin.

"It is a most amusing little philosopher whom I picked up," returned Chon, caring little whether she wounded the pet's feelings or not, "on the road – but never mind him."

"Another matter indeed worries us. What about the old Countess of Bearn?" asked Jean.

"I have done the job, and she will come. I said I was her lawyer's daughter, Mademoiselle Flageot, and that, passing through Verdun, I repeated from my father that her case was coming on. I added that she must appear in person, whereupon she opened her gray eyes, took a pinch of snuff, and saying Lawyer Flageot was the first of business men, she gave orders for her departure."

"Splendid, Chon! I appoint you my ambassador extraordinary. Come and have breakfast!"

"Only too glad, for this poor boy is dying of hunger. But we must make haste, for the dauphiness is only three leagues off."

"Plague! that changes the tune. Go on to the posting house, with me hanging on as I am."

In five minutes the coach was at the inn door, where Chon ordered cutlets, fowl, wine and eggs, as they had to be off forthwith.

"Excuse me, lady, but it will have to be with your own horses, for all mine are out. If you find one at the manger, I will eat it."

"You ought to have some, for the regulations require it. Let me tell you," thundered Jean with a hectoring air, "I am not the man to jest."

"If I had fifty in the stable it would be the same as none, for they are all held on the dauphiness' service."

"Fifty, and you would not let us have three?" said Jean; "I do not ask for eight, to which number royal highnesses are entitled, but three."

"You shall not have one," returned the post master, springing in between the stables and the obstinate gentleman.

"Blunderhead, do you know who I am?" cried the other, pale with rage.

"Viscount," interposed Chon, "in heaven's name, no disorder."

"You are right, my dear; no more words; only deeds." He turned to the innkeeper, saying, "I shall shield you from responsibility by taking three horses myself."

"It must not be done, I tell 'ee."

"Do not help him harness," said the posting house keeper to the grooms.

"Jean," said Chon, "don't get into a scrape. On an errand one must put up with anything."

"Except delay," replied Viscount Jean with the utmost ease.

And he began taking down three sets of harness, which he threw on three horses' backs.

"Mind, master," said the post master, as he followed Jean, leading the horses out to the coach, "this is high treason."

"I am not stealing the royal horses but taking them on loan."

The innkeeper rushed at the reins but the strong man sent him spinning.

"Brother, oh, brother!" screamed Chon.

"Only her brother!" muttered Gilbert.