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2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
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THE MAID OF HONOUR
THE MAID OF HONOUR
A Tale of the Dark Days of France
BY
THE HON. LEWIS WINGFIELD
AUTHOR OF
"LADY GRIZEL," "THE LORDS OF STROGUE," "ABIGEL ROWE"
ETC.
_IN THREE VOLUMES_
VOL. III.
LONDON
RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON
Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen.
1891
[_All Rights Reserved_]
TO
WILLIAM HENRY WELDON.
A TRIBUTE
OF OLD FRIENDSHIP.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER XX.
Diplomacy.
CHAPTER XXI.
The Spiders Spin.
CHAPTER XXII.
Domestic Cookery.
CHAPTER XXIII.
A Passage of Arms.
CHAPTER XXIV.
Madame de Breze is Nervous.
CHAPTER XXV.
Will the Sword Fall?
CHAPTER XXVI.
Will Jean Boulot Come?
CHAPTER XXVII.
The Decks are Cleared for Action.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
The Baron is Energetic.
CHAPTER XXIX.
Noblesse Oblige.
THE MAID OF HONOUR.
CHAPTER XX.
DIPLOMACY.
It was a matter of imperative necessity to beat down at once the
protecting barriers within which the victim had ensconced herself, and
here was the first difficulty to be conquered. It was evident that
Gabrielle's written ultimatum called for a reply. At the suggestion,
Clovis fairly winced. Was he to grovel in the mud, and accept her
humiliating terms? Never! And in writing, too! He would rather cut off
his hand. What did Providence mean by creating marquises unfurnished
with necessary adjuncts? Are not fowls provided with plumes and polar
bears with fur? Why for years had the purse yawned for him, and then
suddenly shut itself up? Not the purse exactly, for there existed that
hateful allowance, which he would never, never soil his fingers with;
but the marital authority and position which go with unstinted means!
They had both shrivelled away, and the Marquis de Gange smarted as if
he had been tarred and feathered. What would people say when the last
whimsey of the chatelaine leaked out? She posed as a martyr, but took
good care to protect herself against martyrdom. And what was the awful
grievance? That the exigencies of his scientific studies (of which she
was too ignorant and stupid to know aught) required the professional
assistance of a diplomaed disciple of the prophet, and that the adept
selected by the prophet chanced to be a woman! Was ever anything so
low and paltry as this ridiculous assumption of jealousy? Had he,
Clovis, ever made love to Mademoiselle Brunelle? Never. Delighting in
like pursuits, they were dear and trusted friends after the manner of
male friendship, and none but a base nature could take umbrage at such
an alliance.
Judging from her absurd precautions of changed locks and newly-opened
doors, the martyr seemed to consider herself in peril--evidently meant
the country to suppose so. Her husband was an ogre--a roaring
Fee-fo-fum--would by and by serve up her tender limbs on toast, with
rich and luscious gravy. The abbe might argue till he was black in the
face, but if Mistress Gabrielle could be haughty, so could he. He
declined to answer the letter.
"Dear me! a scandal!" objected the abbe in distress, "an inevitable
scandal! Might his attached and ever-devoted brother go forth and play
the ambassador?"
Pharamond might do what he deemed right, on the clear understanding
that the head of the house would not consent to anything that should
hold him up to ridicule.
Armed thus with maimed powers, Pharamond went on his mission. He had
almost traversed the length of the long saloon, ere Gabrielle, looking
up from her embroidery, beheld the intruder. The blood rushed to her
face, then slowly ebbed. They would not accept her terms, then, but
would force their presence on her?
Bidding the girl and boy who were romping on the floor, to retire to
their school-room, she laid her work upon the table, and with crossed
hands waited.
"Madame must try and pardon this intrusion," began the abbe, meekly,
"because it could not be avoided. I am here to speak, for my brother
would not write, and it is rude not to answer a letter. Will madame be
so courteous as to hear me out?"
Gabrielle, after a moment's reflection, pointed to a seat, but
Pharamond shook his head.
"Madame does not accept me as a friend," he observed, drily, "so I
have no desire to stay a moment more than I'm obliged."
"A friend? Who has never done me anything but harm!"
"Are we to discuss all that again?" he replied. "You have yourself
admitted, more than once, that you owed much to me, and yet you
compelled me by your own conduct reluctantly to withdraw what I had
given."
"You do well to remind me!" returned Gabrielle, swelling with
contempt. "Your terms of peace were that your brother's wife was to
become your mistress! You are right to stand. Say what you have to
say, and quickly."
"I have, in the first place, to point out to Madame la Marquise the
result of her present course of action. Does a wife, think you, gain
in the world's esteem by constantly insulting her husband?"
"I have never insulted my husband."
"Not by making a fool of him before all his class--by treating him
like an ill-bred child, that may not be trusted? By driving him from
beneath the roof which should be his?"
"What?" ejaculated Gabrielle, amazed.
"That is what you have done, and, believe me, the world will be
against you, however plausible a tale you may invent."
"Is he going away?" faltered the marquise, beginning to see the
position in another light.
"Is it probable that so proud a man would stay to be made the
laughing-stock of all Touraine? Of course not. Beggary were better
than such deep disgrace as that. His name is yours, and yet to your
own shame you wilfully drag it in the mire. We are all going away, so
you will have your chateau to yourself, and when we arrive in Paris it
is you who will be the laughing-stock."
"Going away! How will you all live?" asked the marquise, pondering.
"Expelled from the home that should have been our brother's, the
chevalier and I will return to Montpelier. The marquis will retreat to
Spa, and take service with the mesmerists. He will be happy there in
congenial society, for though very poor, he will be freed from dread
of insult."
Gabrielle was bewildered. She was being held up to herself in the most
natural manner possible, as a tyrant, an insulter of the poor, in whom
dwelt neither justice nor compassion. It was not true, she knew that
right well; but perhaps without intent, she had been harsh. Yet
no--with a remembrance of the crowning outrage of that woman's return,
came renewed courage.
The abbe concluded he had gained a point and followed it swiftly with
another thrust.
"Madame will excuse me, if I remark that she is given to
hallucinations, such as are common in hysterical subjects. She suffers
from delusions, invents charges against her sorely-stricken husband,
which at expense of his private feelings must be rebutted. His
position having been rendered untenable by his wealthy wife, he is
compelled to leave her house, and in doing so refrains from the one
punishment which lies within easy reach. If he chose, he could remove
his children, but he will not, for he has learned with pain that one
of madame's chief delusions is that she has herself been divided from
her offspring. That he may not be placed in the wrong, by any more
such idle fancies, he consents to sacrifice himself, and will leave
them with madame _for the present_. I think I have followed all my
instructions, and with madame's permission will retire."
The abbe who had spoken with dispassionate calm, made a low reverence,
and without looking at the lady moved slowly down the saloon. Would
she call him back? No. Better to leave her to chew the cud of bitter
and perplexing thought. The arrow was planted, and now would fester.
Toinon would surely appear with another letter in the evening. His
fingers were on the door handle when a low, sad voice called, "Abbe!"
Did he hear aright? He turned with manifest reluctance. "Madame
deigned to speak?"
"Yes. Come back, I pray you."
With a slight but eloquent shoulder shrug of deprecation, the cunning
churchman moved up the saloon again, very slowly, as if under protest.
"Madame would wish to know," he asked, "how soon she will be quit of
us? Alas! we must crave indulgence, for my brother's scientific
instruments will take long to pack. They are brittle and expensive
articles which, under the new conditions, he could never afford to
replace."
The marquise was visibly troubled, and the abbe had some ado to keep
his countenance. The man was a human chameleon, and poor Gabrielle had
not the weapons wherewith to smite such animals. His manner was so
staid and stern, yet meek withal, that she could scarce believe that
it was over this same passionless face that she had seen pass and fade
dissolving views of such deep-dyed iniquity. Was this the satyr who
had inflicted scorching kisses; who had by turns cajoled and brutally
threatened her--the man of whom she had grown to be mortally afraid?
He had just held up for contemplation a portrait of herself, which,
though hideously distorted, was like. But was it? It was, and yet it
was not. He had made her out a monster.
So they were going away and would leave her in peace with the
children? How unexpected a _denouement_. It never entered the simple
head of Gabrielle to suspect that the man was lying. Proud as she was
herself, she could understand and appreciate, and even applaud the
feeling which preferred independent poverty to gilded bondage. And she
had meant so well in what she had done! But put as it had just been,
it did seem wrong to make a husband--even a bad one--so dependent. A
man dependent on a woman is always a subject for ridicule. Woman
governed by her feelings is so easily misled!
Ah me! Permit me to moralize for just a minute. Why is it that the
more angelic we are--the more ready to moult our earthy plumage--we
should be the less fit to combat those of earth? The more guileless
and innocent a woman is--quite fit to soar aloft with newly-sprouted
wings--the more abjectly pitiable a victim. Perhaps it means that
earth should be left to the earthy, and that angels have no business
here at all.
The marquise, while arranging bolts and barriers was quite under the
impression that she was a martyr, that a menacing sword was dangling
overhead which would fall and pierce her skull, and now she was
told--and there seemed some truth in it--that she had been carried
away by imagination. According to the abbe she stood convicted of
hysteria! If their method of showing displeasure took the form of
retreat with bag and baggage, leaving her the solitary mistress of the
field, how could she be in danger? They would leave presently,
declaring that the heiress had flung her money in their faces in so
vulgar a fashion that self-respect compelled departure. Draped in the
picturesque dignity of rags, they, not she, would wear the auriole of
martyrdom--a consideration as new as disconcerting. It was
satisfactory to find that Clovis, bad as she knew him to be, could be
so proud. There must be much latent good in a selfish man who, to
shield his manhood from smirching, will cheerfully abandon flesh-pots.
His wife had calculated (and justly, too) that though he might whine
and grumble, he would accept any conditions which did not withdraw the
comforts which made life worth living. His wife fully intended that he
should have ample means to play ducks and drakes with, but, surrounded
as he was by a bad _entourage_, he must not be permitted to be master.
And, lo and behold, he snapped his fingers at the money, and elected
to wear the rags!
Rapidly reviewing the situation, Gabrielle's heart warmed in a tepid
manner to the man whom she had wrongly read. She approved the attitude
he had assumed, but could not allow him to retain it.
The abbe had rightly appraised the exceeding generosity of her nature
and had played on it. When she called him back he was pleased to mark
how clouded was her brow, how shaken was her fixed resolve.
"Clovis has judged me harshly," she observed. "I never wished to drive
him from his home."
Things were going well. The outraged one was apologizing for her
conduct.
"Que voulez-vous!" replied the abbe with a shrug. "He has my full
approval. It is not well to place an honourable man in a false
position."
"Nor an honourable woman either," aptly retorted the marquise.
"That brings us to the burning question," said the abbe, drawing a
step nearer, in his earnestness. "The fault, if fault it was, was
mine, not Clovis's, and I am prepared to bear the blame of my own
actions. A little more blame or less," he added, lightly, "cannot make
much difference, since I know you consider me a demon. That is all
dead and buried--blown away and done with." By a graceful gesture the
churchman blew away the past. "It was I who brought back Mademoiselle
Brunelle for prudential reasons, which I admit humbly now were
unjustifiable. I thought your objection to the lady was founded on her
interference in the nursery and nothing more, and, as you know, she
quite understands that in future she has no place there. If your
memory serves you, you will remember my pointing out once that a man
like Clovis requires to be led by a woman. You could not or would not
lead him--that is your affair; and I felt convinced that we were
fortunate in his having a leader whose relations with him were
platonic. What if, deprived of her, he had pitched on an affinity of
exactly the opposite stamp?"
This was true also. Gabrielle felt that it was.
"As it is by your line of action you lead the world to suppose that
you deem them guilty, and you know as well as I do that although she
once talked nonsense in bravado, they are innocent. You drive us from
the house and we go. Need I remark that mademoiselle goes with us?
Thus you accentuate the suggestion of impropriety which you are aware
does not exist, instead of showing by your behaviour that you are
satisfied of the innocence of both."
"Do you think to persuade me," asked the marquise, with sad wonder, in
which was a tinge of bitterness, "to accept the woman's presence? The
son of the Church calls for too lavish a display of Christian
charity."
"I call on you for nothing," returned the abbe, meekly, "since in a
week we shall be gone. The scandal of disruption will lie with you; we
are not responsible."
So the man persisted in proving her to be in the wrong!
"I do not desire that you should go away, and I will admit that I have
been precipitate. What does Clovis want? I am ready to do all I can to
meet his views, but he must not suppose that I will accept that
woman."
The marquise's barriers were tottering. Even the abbe had not expected
that she would show such feebleness of purpose. His point of
refraining to strike at her through her offspring, by removing them,
was cleverly imagined, and had told. Would it be prudent to administer
another stroke now, to attempt by a vigorous charge to carry the
citadel at once, or would it be wiser to wait? It would not do to
present the appearance of taking too much upon himself. Clovis must be
forced to come forward and play his part. The ground was well
prepared. The wife felt compunctious visitings, and so the husband
might say his say without loss of dignity. The abbe resolved,
therefore, that it was time for him to retire into shadow. So he
echoed quietly, "What does he want? Nothing, since as you yourself
wrote, 'all is over.' When you first propounded the notion to me, I
knew he would not forgive that testament."
So that was at the bottom of it all. Who could have guessed that a
dreamy man, wrapped in scientific mists, should so hotly resent an
infringement of marital authority? She appeared to have wandered
unwittingly so far into the thicket of error, that it seemed vain to
grope after the right; and yet, as she repeated to herself again and
again, she had meant so extremely well!
The presentiment was proved to be idle wind, since they were all ready
to go without a struggle. Had not M. Galland declared it to be due to
morbid fancy? The scandal of an open separation must be avoided for
the children's sake. What answer could she make to Victor when, grown
to manhood, he asked why his father was a beggar? The proposed exodus
must be stopped at all hazards. What if the white-robed marquise were
to dabble the hem of her skirt in the mire of deception for a little,
or, to put it more nicely, make use of diplomatic arts? Supposing that
she were to allow herself to be persuaded into cancelling the will,
had she not arranged for the contingency? The unlucky will had somehow
produced the worst of effects upon the marquis, and there could be no
possibility of peace till that question was set at rest. The idea of
so deceiving her husband, brought a guilty tingle to her cheek, but
there seemed no other way to cut the knot. Infatuated as he was with
the woman who had behaved so abominably, and had made her life so
wretched, she would never really consent to leave the future of the
darlings in his hands; but might she not pretend to do so? A signature
with a cross appended would speak for itself. For the sake of future
harmony, it might be judicious to appear to give way. Though it is
naughty to do wrong, we all know that the naughtiness becomes a virtue
when it is clear that it will result in good. Raising her deep blue
eyes to meet the abbe's, she remarked that she would consider all that
he had said, and let him know her decision later.
Pharamond bowed. "Decision--on what point?" he inquired.
"Oblige me," replied the marquise, "by requesting M. le Marquis to
leave things as they are until he hears again from me."
The interview had been most satisfactory, and Pharamond's face beamed
as he went down the staircase. What an admirable inspiration that had
been about their enforced departure, with bag and baggage--and with
Aglae! And how easily the poor soul had tumbled into the specious
snare. And then he laughed aloud at the fancied picture of Clovis in
his poverty. That he of all men should sacrifice his comforts! Before
his marriage with the heiress, he had been used to a measure of it,
but since he had lain on roses, their perfume had become a necessity.
Moreover, his own heavily-cumbered estates were in one of the most
turbulent provinces, where landlords might whistle for their rents.
Were he in sober earnest to resign his position of prince consort,
black bread and a garret would be his fate. To think that Gabrielle
should be so hoodwinked! What was she going to consider? and how long
would she be about it?
As Clovis listened to his brother's report, he rubbed his nose in
perplexity, glancing askance at Algae, who nodded her head in
approval.
"She will come to her senses, and all will be well," declared that
lady. "She will know that the vulgar _intriguante_ is a poor,
harmless, humble friend of milord's, who only asks for the opportunity
to forgive. Va! I bear no malice to jealous mad women. She hunted me
away with ignominy, yet did I not clasp her to me afterwards? It was
for monsieur's sake, for whom he knows I would spill my blood, I
forced myself to do so. What is she to me? Except for your sake,
nothing!"
Clovis bit his nails to the quick as he walked about the room. That
she had changed her mind was well, but would she not insist upon some
conditions which he could not, as a man, accept? He was not going to
kneel in the dust. They must all make up their minds to that. He was
ready to meet her half-way if she would promise to behave better in
the future, but as to any more school-boy treatment, he would submit
to nothing of the kind.
It was pitiable to see the weak, unstable man fluttering in borrowed
plumes, blown out with a proud conviction in his heroic strength of
character.
"Monsieur!" cried Algae, in her rolling tones of thunder, "oblige me
by sitting down. Since I was so disgraced here, my nerves are not what
they were. Clovis, I was going to say--" she added, with a great roar,
clapping her large hands together in guileless glee--"Monsieur le
Marquis and I," she went on needlessly to explain to the abbe, "are
such _bons camarades_ that if I was not conscious of lowly descent,
and in terror of the jealous mad woman, I should almost think I was
his sister! But, oh! mon Dieu, what rashness! If the servants were to
hear me call him Clovis, and report the awful delinquency to the pale
nun upstairs, what shrieks and screams! When saints condescend to
human frailties, they are very much like other mortals."
"Always call me Clovis. I insist on it," observed, with benign
authority, the bird in borrowed plumes.
Algae, with one of those impulsive movements, which in so massive a
woman were charming, because unexpected, jumped up and kissed the
marquis's hand, and pressed it to her bosom. "Clovis. To me always
Clovis--when we are alone with the abbe," she murmured, gratefully,
"but not in public--for your sake. Since you are so kind--so
kind--cannot I put up with annoyance from the nun? So far as I am
concerned, accept all, and any of her conditions. If she drives me
forth again, I can take up my residence at Blois, which is not so very
far, and you will sometimes come and see me."
Algae was vastly improved. With delighted admiration Clovis had, since
her return, become assured of it. Her spirits were more airy, her
humour more refined; and she fairly bubbled over with good nature, and
she never made remarks now that were unpleasantly pithy. What an
advantage large women have over small ones! It is given to the small
to be querulous and vixenish. The large and stout ones are conspicuous
for indulgent charity, You rarely find them speaking ill of their
neighbours. Clovis was quite convinced that Algae was a dusky pearl,
and blamed himself severely for mistrusting her at the time of the
attempted suicide.
Gabrielle was not long in coming to a decision. Having been admittedly
precipitate, and having looked at things from their worst point of
view, it was her place to show generosity. What could she lose by
falling in with the wishes of the men, and making a new will to please
them, which, in the event of her death, would be no better than
waste-paper? Since Clovis could show a proper pride, such as became
his rank, it would not be well to torment him. It had been a noble
trait that in the same breath, he should have proposed to retire from
the scene, and yet not distress her about the children. Supposing he
had gone, along with Algae, and had taken the dear ones with him?
Legally, she would have had no remedy. It never should be said that he
could be more generous than she. The baleful woman whose evil spells
had wrecked her content must go, of course; but she should be allowed
to take her time, and not be expelled violently, as before.
Ostensibly, she had come on a visit. Let her remain for a week or two
longer, and quietly withdraw. No harm would be done. No scandal would
arise. The acute incident would be closed, giving way to a prospect of
tranquillity.
His wife sent a short note to the marquis, begging his attendance in
the boudoir. He made a wry face, for it was terribly like a
schoolboy's summons to receive a flogging.
But Algae, the large-hearted, placed her brown hands upon his
shoulders and shook him amicably. "You are indeed a child, my Clovis,
and deserve the flogging!" she said, cheerily. "Fi donc! A gentleman
obeys a lady's bidding. Would you have her come down here and sing
peccavi before me, whom she detests? Infant! go to her and make it up,
and if she proposes stipulations about me, be sure to accede to them
all."
Clovis obeyed with a bad grace, and entered his wife's boudoir with
the sorry air of a malefactor who pleads guilty--a condition that was
not improved by the dignified courtesy of his reception. With a serene
smile, Gabrielle bade him sit by her side.
"We seem doomed to have misunderstandings," she sighed; "and I am fain
to confess that the blame is equally divided. I unwittingly offended
you on a money question. I often wish that there was no such thing as
money."
The exordium was promising, and Clovis plucked up his spirits. With a
polite bow he remained silent.
"What would you have me do?" she asked.
"Release me from the possible prospect of being held up to ridicule by
my children."
"It shall be done--upon conditions."
Ah! There were to be conditions then? The anger of the marquis rose.
His face assumed so sullen an expression that Gabrielle felt less
compunction as to her pious fraud. Such men as her husband and his
brother were not fit to have the custody of children; as to that she
had no doubt. When she proceeded to explain that he might send for a
notary, and she would sign another will on condition that a certain
person undertook to withdraw from the circle, Clovis could scarce
contain his passion.
When the marechal's solicitors had forced him to obedience it was bad
enough--but now--to receive peremptory orders from his wife! He was
not such a ninny as to be taken in by the little sop. That Algae was
to be allowed to stay on for a week or two just to keep up appearances
made no difference. He had chosen to engage a female secretary and
helper concerning whose relations with himself there could be no
suspicion in any healthy mind, and he was to be deprived of her
assistance in his work through a morbid and unworthy suspicion.
"What if I refuse?" he said, sulkily. "You will play the martyr, I
suppose?"
"I will place the matter before the Seigneurie and magistrates of
Blois," Gabrielle quietly replied. "The line they counsel I will
take."
The wrath of the marquis boiled over. His hands shook, and his fingers
twitched as though he would like to strike her.
"You will do that?" he muttered, harshly. "You will wash our linen in
public to make me a fool before the province? You will deliberately
create a public _esclandre_ at so dangerous a moment?"
"Alas!" returned his wife, mournfully, "the scandal is made by you.
All I ask is to be treated with respect. Rid me for ever of her who
has been the shadow across our path, and I will carry out your wishes.
Refuse, and I will seek the protection of the Seigneurie, who shall
arbitrate between us."
"I will return you a written answer," Clovis said, abruptly rising and
making for the door. He could not and would not be ordered thus to
part with Algae; and yet he was sorely anxious for the cancelling of
the hateful document. He was not capable of steering his bark alone
among rocks and shallows, but must seek counsel from the others. They
were awaiting him, and in a white heat of vexation he poured out to
them his woes.
Mademoiselle Brunelle laughed merrily, directing sly looks of
intelligence at the abbe, who frowned over his brother's shoulder, and
pursed his lips.
Appeal to the Seigneurie, indeed! It was well to know of such a
project in order to circumvent it. Clovis had been awkward and
unskilful; and he, the abbe, must assume henceforth more openly the
command of operations. Inopportune stiff necks are productive of no
end of worry. Why could not the silly zany have done as he was bid,
have accepted every suggestion, leaving further action to the others?
The all-important object was to secure a proper will, and that point
gained, both Pharamond and Algae were well aware of what the next step
would have to be. Clovis, the shilly-shally, must henceforth be
excluded from a hand in the management of affairs. The lucky fellow
should reap his share of profit by and by without the sweat of labour.
His abortive interview with his wife had produced one good result. He
was more than ever exasperated against her, and swore, with needless
oaths, that he would never look on her or speak to her again.
"In that he must please himself," Pharamond remarked with
indifference; "but he must take up his pen and write. If he would
cease fretting and fidgeting, and sit down, his obliging brother would
dictate, and the epistle should be of the shortest. Would mademoiselle
kindly listen and suggest, since for her there were no secrets?"
The letter placed an hour later in the hand of Gabrielle ran thus:--
"Madame,--Your instructions shall be obeyed. I have sent to Blois for
a notary.
"Your affectionate husband,
"Clovis."