NEW HOPES
Now, that I was well out of their way, it came to me to wonder what I
should do with myself until Jerome might please to seek me again, but
accident favored me with occupation. Passing through the hall I heard
a woman's shrill voice, lifted in anger, berating some unfortunate
attendant.
"You wretched hussy, to speak rudely to a guest of mine, who did but
make to you a pretty speech. I'd have you be most charming to Monsieur
Viard. Remember, you are only a hireling, and need give yourself no
such fine and unseemly airs."
The door just ahead of me was thrown violently open, and out strutted a
tiny lady in a most disproportionate rage. She was beautiful neither
in face nor figure; she was diminutive, and petulant of manner, but
bore herself with an air of almost regal pride. It was she whom I came
to know as Madame du Maine, a daughter of the proud and princely
Condes. Following her, weeping bitterly, came the sweet maid who had
spilled the tray of flowers on me at the door. I stepped back into an
alcove, lest, perchance, she look behind, and aimlessly I straggled out
into the gardens as best I might. The Villa being a strange ground, it
fretted me to be alone therein, with nothing to think of but this
trouble of my friends. And Madame de Chartrain, did I blame her?
Blame Jerome? Yes--no. I hardly knew. Viewed at a distance and
impartially, such things strike us with aversion, and we are quick to
condemn. But the more I thought the nearer I came to concluding it
took something more than a mere mummery to make a wife. All the
ceremonials and benedictions and lighted candles and high-sounding
phrases could not bind a woman's heart, where that heart was free, or
called some other man its lord. Yet the bare fact remained, this woman
was a wife, and to me, at least, that name had always been a sacred and
holy one.
To what vain or wise conclusions my cogitations may have led me, I
conceive not, for another small matter now quite absorbed my whole
attention. It was the beginning of that one dear hope which speedily
banished all others. It is said the trippant tread of Fate doth leave
no print upon the sand to mark its passage, nor doth she sound a note
of warning that the waiting hand may grasp her garments as she flies.
A gleam of white in one of the summer houses caught my roving eye, and
quite aimlessly I passed the door. A chit of a child crouched upon the
floor, and leaned forward on the benches, weeping as though each sob
were like to burst her little heart. I grant it was no affair of mine,
yet my tears were ever wont to start, and eyes play traitor to mine arm
at sight of woman's trouble. Without thinking one whit, I stepped in
beside her, and laying my hand gently upon the lassie's shoulder,
implored that she weep no more.
Up she sprang to face me, flushed and indignant. Verily was I abashed.
Yet there was that of sympathy and sincerity in my voice and mien--or
so she told me after--which turned her wrath aside.
"You, Monsieur; I thought it was old Monsieur Viard, he pursues me so."
It was the same little maid I had seen in the hall, and that was why I
trembled. She wept now for the scolding she had got. I caught my
breath to inquire why she wept.
"Oh, Madame, Madame--it is the humor of Madame to humiliate me of late;
she reminds me ever of my dependent position. And Monsieur," the child
straightened up proudly till she was quite a woman. "Monsieur, I come
of a race as old as her own--and as honored." "Charles is poor--the
Chevalier de la Mora, you know. But now he goes to the colonies, and
will take me with him."
It was a silly enough thing to do, but about here I stalked most
unceremoniously off, leaving her to her sorrow and her tears. Since
that day I have often smiled to think how foolishly do the wisest men
deport themselves when they first begin to love. Their little starts
of passion, their petty angers and their sweet repentances--all were
unexplored by me, for Love to me was yet an unread book.
At the door of the house M. Leroux hailed me graciously:
"Well met, my dear Captain; we go to the park, and would have you bear
us company. Where is M. de Greville?"
I explained as best I might his absence, and followed them in lieu of
better employment, forgetting for the time the threatened fete. Before
I could extricate myself, these new friends had led me into a brilliant
circle, and duly presented me to Madame, who sat on a sort of raised
platform in the center.
She showed no traces of her recent anger and spite, vented upon that
patient girl who now claimed all my thought. Her ladies, some
languishing literary notables of the day, and officers, stood about
discussing the news, and talked of naught but some fetching style or
popular play, through all of which I struggled as bravely as my dazed
condition would permit. It seemed I would never grow accustomed to the
like, though it is said many men find great delight in such gatherings.
But one thing I searched for most eagerly.
Behind Madame's chair, after a little, appeared the sweet shy face of
my weeping Niobe of the park. I felt she saw and recognized me, and my
face grew warmer at the thought. I made bold to ask one of the
gentlemen standing near me who the lady might be, and not desiring to
point at her, simply described her as well as possible, and as being in
attendance upon Madame.
"That, Monsieur, is Madame Agnes, wife of the Chevalier de la Mora; the
wittiest and most beautiful woman at Sceaux, and the chilliest."
Noting the change of countenance which I sought in vain to control, he
went on banteringly.
"Beware M. le Capitaine, half the men at Sceaux are in love with her,
but she has the execrable taste to prefer her own husband. Such women
destroy half the zest of living. Beside, the Chevalier has a marvelous
sword and a most unpleasant temper. Bah! how ludicrous it is for men
to anger at trifles."
"But," I faltered, "she seems a mere child."
"Yes, but none the less charming," and he turned away to continue his
interrupted conversation with the daring young Arouet, the same who was
to acquire universal fame under the name Voltaire.
Thus rudely were my new-awakened hopes of love cast down. A wife, and
the wife of a friend! She had spoken to me of "Charles," and of going
with him to the colonies. A wife, yet for all that, I knew I loved her.
They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. My intentions
were the best that ever made excellent cobblestones toward the infernal
gate. Only a few days and I would be gone; surely those could be
passed through in peace. She was a wife--I would never let her know
that all my heart was hers. This I determined. But man is weak, and
the very atmosphere of France dried up the springs of every honest
impulse. Everywhere was scoffing, raillery and disbelief. Honor,
friendship and virtue were regarded as the vain chimeras of a fool.
Why should not I enjoy life while I might?
Directly Madame Chartrain entered without intruding, and composedly
took her place among the ladies who made room for her near Madame.
Nothing in her manner bore evidence of her recent conflict. It was
really marvelous how the life these women led schooled them to a
stoicism any Choctaw brave daring the stake might envy. She nodded to
me gaily, and I stopped to touch her hand.
"Where is M. de Greville? Is he not to be with us this afternoon?"
I looked her in the face, wondering, for could she not answer her own
question far better than I? She read my meaning, but her glance never
wavered.
"Ah! There he is, among the gentlemen. I feared he found Sceaux too
dull after Paris, and he had promised us a bit of his work. You know
he composes famous verses to some fair and distant inamorata."
"Indeed, Madame, I suspected not his talents," I replied. Our
conversation lagged, for the programme had already commenced, and we
gave our attention to the reading of some curious letters, said to have
been written by two Persians of distinction then traveling in Europe,
which were being published anonymously in Paris. At first, I could not
bring myself to listen to such twaddle, dubiously moral, which, under
the guise of light, small talk, struck at the foundations of
government, religious beliefs, and all which I had before held sacred.
Listening only to contradict, I grew interested in spite of myself, and
only at some allusion more than usually out of place, as it seemed to
me, among so many ladies, did I take my eyes from the reader's
countenance, and suffer them to roam about the company.
Feeling again the subtle influence of Agnes' gaze fixed full upon me,
it caused my cheeks to flush, my knees to quake, and verily, my legs
were as like to carry me away as to sustain me where I leaned against a
tree. The girl was looking straight at me; I dared not return her
stare which had something more than mere curiosity in it, and disturbed
me greatly.
The reading was finished without my knowledge, a piece of buffoonery,
or play acting gone through with, which I did not see, when my own
name, called by Madame, brought me to my proper good sense again.
I found myself, before I was quite aware, bending before Madame and
receiving her command that I should do something for the amusement of
the company.
"M. Jerome has favored us, you know--we have no drones here," she went
on pleasantly, "and it is the rule at Sceaux that all must join our
merriment."
"Jerome?" I answered in a bewildered fashion, for I had no recollection
of seeing aught he did; then I remembered hearing him recite some
languishing verses about a white rose, a kiss, a lady's lips--some
sighs, and such other stuff that now escapes me--but I had paid no
attention to it all.
Jerome, the villain, seconded Madame's request so vigorously I could
not decline, though he well knew I was no carpet knight capable of
entertaining ladies fair on the tourney field of wit.
"The Captain sings divinely, Madame, but is becomingly modest, as you
see." The wretch laughed in his sleeve; I could have strangled him.
"Ah, so rare," she retorted, "you men are vainer than my ladies."
I knew myself the target for dozens of curious eyes, under the heat of
which I near melted away.
"Sing, comrade, sing some sweet love ditty of a lonely forest maiden
and her lover, robed in the innocence of Eden."
Had the fool no sense? I caught the imploring expression of interest
on the girl's sweet face behind Madame, and determined at all hazards
they should not have the laugh at me. I saw it all then; they were in
league with Jerome to play a game of "bait the bear," with me for bear.
So I pitched in and sang, such a song I warrant as my lords and ladies
had never bent their ears to hear before, a crooning death incantation
of the Choctaws, which fell as naturally from my lips as my own mother
tongue.
Their laughter hushed, for even in the court of France, sated as it was
with novelties, laying a world under tribute for amusements, that wild,
weird melody never rose before nor since. One stanza I sang translated
into French that they might understand;
"Yuh! Listen. Quickly you have drawn near to hearken;
Listen! Now I have come to step over your soul;
You are of the Wolf Clan;
Your name is Ayuni;
Toward the Black Coffin of the upland, in the upland of the
Darkening Land your path shall stretch out.
With the Black Coffin and the Black Slabs I have come to
cover you.
When darkness comes your spirit shall grow less and dwindle
away never to reappear. Listen."
And they did listen; yea, attentively did they hearken, for a great
pall of silence lowered upon them, so new, so strange to them was the
song.
When I had quite finished, the soft, Indian words dropping as the
splash of unknown, unseen waters, Madame besought me with earnestness
to tell her more, and the others crowded round to hear. I do not know
what evil genius of folly prompted the childish deed, but feeling safe
in having found what we wanted, and moved more than I would admit by
the now admiring eyes of the girl, I gathered up half a dozen daggers
from the gentlemen who stood about. Selecting those whose weight and
balance commended themselves most to my purpose, I cleared a small
space, and having sent a serving man for a pack of cards, chose a five
spot and pinned it to a tree. Standing back some ten to fifteen paces,
I cast the four knives at the corner pips in quick succession, piercing
them truly, then paused a minute and cast the fifth knife at the
center, striking accurately between the other four. It was an act of
idle vanity, yet I hated for Jerome to taunt me on the way home.
By these petty means I gained a cheap applause from the belles and
gallants at Sceaux, and Jerome opened not his lips to jibe me, as I
feared, but like the rest, applauded.
I had now quite regained my courage, but for the girl. I loved to
think of her as but a girl; that she was also a wife I barred out of
our castle in Spain. Why should I be afraid of such a timid child?
Verily, I knew not.
My folly had one result I could not then foresee; it told some of those
present, whose hand it was had cast the hunting knife which struck
Yvard. I did not learn this for days after.
The approving and pleased look on the little lady's face fired me with
an insane desire to further win her notice, whereat I chided myself for
a vain coxcomb, and drew imperceptibly away from the company, until I
gained a shady and secluded walk which led to a retired nook
overlooking the valley.
The quietude of the evening's close jarred on my turbulence of spirit.
For the first time a woman's voice lingered in my ears after her speech
was done, a woman's smile played as the fitful summer's lightning
before my eyes. Oh, fool, fool! What place had women in a soldier's
life. What a discordant harmony would one angel create amid the rough
denizens of Biloxi. So I reasoned, forgetful that reasons never yet
convinced the heart.