The Doctor declared that evening that Esperance had congestion of the
brain, and that specialists who were sent for from Paris confirmed the
diagnosis. The Dowager would not hear of having her taken away. The
Tower of Saint Genevieve was put entirely at the Darbois's disposal.
Twos sister were sent for, and Jeanette volunteered to do the heavy
work. All the other servants were forbidden to approach the Tower.
The Countess Styvens, accompanied by the Duke de Castel-Montjoie, the
Prince and Princess de Bernecourt, and the Baron van Berger, had taken
the body of her son to be buried in the great family mausoleum which
she had raised to the memory of her husband at her country place of
Lacken.
Maurice and Genevieve were greatly relieved when they learned that the
Countess had not remained. In her crises of delirium Esperance talked
and talked....
"Albert, no, no, I do not love him ... I love the Duke.... Yes, he
saved my life, but my father is going to tell him.... I cannot keep
this collar.... It is cold, cold, it strangles me, I am stifling.... I
am going to die.... Yes, Albert, you shall clasp the chain every
morning ... and every evening.... No, my head is not too low, I can see
the beauty of Perseus better. He is coming?... He is coming to cut off
the long arms that hold me.... The blood, there, the blood running
slowly!... No, Albert, do not die, I will love you, the Duke will
go!..."
In spite of her trusting confidence, the poor mother must have come to
wonder and perhaps to understand.
When Esperance regained consciousness the worst danger was over. Only
Genevieve and Mlle. Frahender had heard the complete revelation.
Jeanette knew too, but Genevieve, who understood that she was there to
keep the Duke informed, found her very docile and repentant and did
not send her away. The Countess, to whom they had sent a daily
bulletin for three weeks, found that Esperance, if not cured, was at
least on the way to convalescence. She would still pass many hours
when she failed to recognize people. A kind of coma took possession of
her every now and then and kept her for days together in a kind of
lethargy.
The season was getting late, and all the house guests had left. The
Dowager Duchess did not wish to return to Paris, although her son, who
had become a deputy as she wished, invited her to come and stay with
him. The Prince de Bernecourt had had to once more take up his post,
but his wife had stayed to keep her friend company, and because she
loved the "little Darbois," as she called her. The Duke de Morlay was
visiting friends whose Château was about an hour's journey away. He
came every day for news from the Duchess, and from his goddaughter
Jeanette.
A month went by. The young girl, now convalescent, was strong enough
to be moved.
"We will take her to Penhouet for a month," said François Darbois's
note to the Countess, "and when she is quite cured we will send her to
you in Brussels."
The Duke was in despair at the idea of hearing that Esperance was to
go away. He complained to Maurice whom he saw every day, "Can I not
see Esperance?"
"Yes, but only for a few seconds," said the young painter. "I believe
that you will have to wait several months before you can renew your
love. She is convalescent, but not cured. Here is a proposal for you:
I am going to marry Mlle. Hardouin in two months. Come to our wedding.
Your presence will seem quite natural, for you have treated me as a
friend. I am very much attached to you and I am sure that my cousin
will be very happy with you when you are married."
"But will she be well in two months?"
"The Doctor assures us that she will be quite herself, and it is by
his advice that we have set that date for our marriage."
"Do you think Mlle. Hardouin would accept me as a witness?"
She will be delighted, and I thank you. Genevieve has no relations
except her elder sister, who brought her up."
"I hope that this marriage will recall Esperance's promise to her.
Meantime I shall go to Italy for about the two months. Will you see if
I may say good-bye to her?"
"I will go now."
He was soon back again.
"My cousin expects you."
It was more than a month since the Duke had seen Esperance. He was
painfully shocked by the change in her pretty face. She looked hardly
real. Her eyes were enormous. Genevieve and Mlle. Frahender were with
her.
"Here is the Duke de Morlay-La-Branche who has come to say good-bye to
you."
Esperance turned her eyes towards the Duke.
"It is a long time since I have seen you," she said simply.
And her voice sounded like the tone of a distant harp.
"You have been very ill!"
"I have been very ill, I believe, but I cannot remember very well. I
feel as if I had had heavy blows in my brain; sometimes I hear
dreadful calls and then everything is quiet again. And then sometimes
I see a piece of a picture, no beginning, no end, sometimes horrible,
sometimes lovely. Why, now I remember," she spoke gently with a
charming smile, "that you are part of all my visions, but I do not
know any more how, or why.... And Albert, where is he? Why does he not
come? He must come and undo the collar.... Ah! my God, my God, I am
wandering you see, nothing is clear yet."
She raised her arms.
"My God, my God, have pity on me or take me at once. I do not want to
lose my mind!"
She took the Duke's hand.
"Say you are not sorry that you loved me?"
"I love you always!"
She clapped her hands with a silvery laugh, "Genevieve, Genevieve, he
loves me still."
And she hid her head on the young girl's arm. Maurice led the Duke
away, overcome. He looked questioningly at the painter.
"No, she will not be light-headed long, the Doctors all agree about
that, but her memory will have to come back by degrees a little at a
time. She recognized you. She remembered her love and yours. That is a
great step. Her youth, her love, and time will be, I believe, certain
restorers."
The Duke left soon after they had taken Esperance away.
In Belgium the Countess had prepared for her beloved daughter. This
beautiful woman of forty, so charming, so handsome in her mauve
mourning, had already become an old woman whose movements were ever
slow and sad. Her back was bent, from constantly kneeling beside her
son's grave. Her black clothes reflected the deeper gloom of her
expression. And to those who had seen her a few months before, she was
almost unrecognizable.
Poor little Esperance regained her health very slowly. Her mind seemed
entirely clear only on one subject, the theatre. Little by little she
remembered everything connected with her art. She repeated with
Genevieve and Jean Perliez the scenes they had given at the
Competition. She worked hard on Musset's _On ne badine pas avec
l'amour_; then busied herself with preparations for her friend's
marriage. She did not know that the Duke was to be a witness.
"But," she would often object, "you must have two witnesses, and you
have only one."
"I have two," said Genevieve, "but you must guess the name of the
second."