The castle clock had struck eight, when Gilbert sprang from his
bed. Shall I confess that in dressing himself, when he came to tie
his cravat, he hesitated for a moment? However, after reflection,
he adjusted the knot as before, and would you believe it, he tied
this famous, this regular knot without concentrating any attention
upon it? His toilet finished, he went to the window. A sudden
change had taken place in the weather; a cold, drizzly rain was
falling noiselessly; very little wind; the horizon was enveloped in
a thick fog; a long train of low clouds, looking like gigantic
fish, floated slowly through the valley of the Rhine; the sky of a
uniform gray, seemed to distill weariness and sadness; land and
water were the color of mud. Gilbert cast his eyes upon his dear
precipice: it was but a pit of frightful ugliness. He sank into an
armchair. His thoughts harmonized with the weather; they formed a
dismal landscape, over which a long procession of gloomy fancies
and sinister apprehensions swept silently, like the trail of low
clouds which wandered along the borders of the Rhine.
"No, a thousand times no!" mused he, "I can't stay in this place
any longer; I shall lose my strength here, and my spirit and my
health, too. To be exposed to the blind hatred of an unhappy child
whose sorrows drive him to insanity; to be the table companion of a
priest without dignity or moral elevation, who silently swallows
the greatest outrages; to become the intimate, the complaisant
friend of a great lord, whose past is suspicious, of an unnatural
father who hates his son, of a man who at times transforms himself
into a specter, and who, stung by remorse, or thirsting for
revenge, fills the corridors of his castle with savage howlings--
such a position is intolerable, and I must leave here at any cost!
This castle is an unhealthy place; the walls are odious to me! I
will not wait to penetrate into their secrets any further."
And Gilbert ransacked his brain for a pretext to quit Geierfels
immediately. While engaged in this research, some one knocked at
the door: it was Fritz, with his breakfast.
This morning he had the self-satisfied air of a fool who has worked
out a folly by the sweat of his brow, and reached the fortunate
moment when he can bring his invention to light. He entered
without salutation, placed the tray which he carried upon the
table; then, turning to Gilbert, who was seated, said to him,
winking his eye:
"Good-morning, comrade! Comrade, good-morning!"
"What do you say?" said Gilbert, astonished, and looking at him
steadily.
"I say: Good-morning, comrade!" replied he, smiling agreeably.
"And to whom are you speaking, if you please?"
"I am speaking to you, yourself, my comrade, and I say to you,
good-morning, comrade! good-morning."
Gilbert looked at him attentively, trying to find some explanation
of this strange prank, and this excessive and astounding insolence.
"And will you tell me," he continued, after a few moments' silence,
"will you be good enough to tell me, who gave you permission to
call me comrade?"
"It was . . . it was . . ." answered Fritz, hemming and hawing.
And he reflected a moment, as though trying to remember his lesson,
that he might not stumble in its recital. "Ah!" resumed he, "it
was simply his Excellency the Count, and I cannot conceive what you
see astonishing in it."
"Have you ever heard the Count," demanded Gilbert, who felt the
blood boiling in his veins, "call me your comrade?"
"Ah! certainly!" he answered with a long burst of laughter. "Every
day, when I come from him, M. le Comte says to me: 'Well! how is
your comrade Gilbert?' And isn't it very natural? Don't we eat at
the same rack? Are we not, both of us, in the service of the same
master? And don't you see. . . ."
He was not able to say more, for Gilbert bounded from his chair,
and crying:
"Go and tell your master that he is not my master!" He seized the
valet de chambre by the collar. He was at least a head shorter
than his adversary, but his grasp was like iron; and in spite of
appearances, great Fritz proved but a weak and nerveless body, and
greatly surprised at this unexpected attack, he could only open his
large mouth and utter some inarticulate sounds. Gilbert had
already dragged him to the top of the staircase. Then Fritz,
recovering from his first flurry, tried to struggle, but he lost
his footing, stumbled, and fell headlong down the staircase to the
bottom. Gilbert came near following him in his descent, but
fortunately saved himself by clinging to the balustrade. As he saw
him rolling, he feared that he had been too violent, but felt
reassured, when he saw him scramble up, feel himself, rub his back,
turn to shake his fist and limp away.
He returned to his chamber and breakfasted peaceably.
"Quite an opportune adventure," thought he. "Now, I shall be
inflexible, unyielding, and if my trunks are not packed before
night, I'm an idiot."
Gathering up under his arm a bundle of papers which were needed for
the day's work, he left the room, his head erect and his spirits
animated; but he had hardly descended the first flight of steps
before his exaltation gave way to very different feelings. He
could not look without shuddering at the place where he had stood
like one petrified, listening to the horrible groans of the
somnambulist. He stopped, and, looking at the packet which he held
under his arm, thought to himself that it was with a specter he was
about to discuss Byzantine history. Then resuming his walk, he
arrived at M. Leminof's study, where he almost expected to see the
formidable apparition of last night appear before his eyes, and
hear a sepuchral voice crying out to him: "Those eyes behind the
door were yours!" He remained motionless a few seconds, his hand
upon his heart. At last he knocked. A voice cried: "Come in.
He opened the door and entered. Heavens! how far was the reality
from his fancy.
M. Leminof was quietly seated in the embrasure of the window,
looking at the rain and playing with his monkey. He no sooner
perceived his secretary than he uttered an exclamation of joy, and
after shutting up Solon in an adjoining room, he approached
Gilbert, took both his hands in his and pressed them cordially,
saying in an affectionate tone:
"Welcome, my dear Gilbert, I have been looking for you impatiently.
I have been thinking a great deal since yesterday on our famous
problem of the Slavonic invasions, and I am far from being
convinced by your arguments. Be on your guard, my dear sir! Be on
your guard! I propose to give you some thrusts that will trouble
you to parry."
Gilbert, who had recovered his tranquillity, seated himself, and
the discussion commenced. The point in dispute was the question of
the degree of importance and influence of the establishment of the
Slavonians in the Byzantine empire during the middle ages. Upon
this question, much debated at present, Count Kostia had espoused
the opinion most favorable to the ambitions of Muscovite policy.
He affected to renounce his country and to censure it without
mercy; he had even denationalized himself to the extent of never
speaking his mother tongue and of forbidding its use in his house.
In fact, the idiom of Voltaire was more familiar to him than that
of Karamzin, and he had accustomed himself for a long time even to
think in French. In spite of all this, and of whatever he might
say, he remained Russian at heart: this is a quality which cannot
be lost.
Twelve o'clock sounded while they were at the height of the
discussion.
"If you agree, my dear Gilbert," said M. Leminof, "we will give
ourselves a little relaxation. Indeed you're truly a terrible
fellow; there's no persuading you. Let us breakfast in peace, if
you please, like two good friends; afterwards we will renew the
fight."
The breakfast was invariably composed of toast au caviar and a
small glass of Madeira wine; and every day at noon they suspended
work for a few moments to partake of this little collation.
"Judge of my presumption," suddenly said M. Leminof, underscoring,
so to speak, every word, "I passed LAST NIGHT [and he put a wide
space between these two words] in pleading against you the cause of
my Slavonians. My arguments seemed to me irresistible. I beat you
all hollow. I am like those fencers who are admirable in the
training school, but who make a very bad figure in the field. I
had prodigious eloquence LAST NIGHT; I don't know what has become
of it; it seems to have fled like a phantom at the first crowing of
the cock."
As he pronounced these words, Count Kostia fixed such piercing eyes
on Gilbert, that they seemed to search through to the most remote
recesses of his soul. Gilbert sustained the attack with perfect
sangfroid.
"Ah! sir," replied he coolly, "I don't know how you argue at night;
but I assure you by day you're the most formidable logician I
know."
Gilbert's tranquil air dissipated the suspicion which seemed to
weigh upon M. Leminof.
"You act," said he gayly, "like those conquerors who exert
themselves to console the generals they have beaten, thereby
enhancing their real glory; but bah! arms are fickle, and I shall
have my revenge at an early day."
"I venture to suggest that you do not delay it long," answered
Gilbert in a grave tone. "Who knows how much longer I may remain
at Geierfels?"
These words re-awakened the suspicions of the Count.
"What do you mean?" exclaimed he.
Whereupon Gilbert related in a firm, distinct tone the morning's
adventure. As he advanced in the recital, he became warmer and
repeated with an indignant air the remark which Fritz had
attributed to the Count, and strongly emphasized his answer:
"Go and tell your master that he is not my master."
He flattered himself that he would pique the Count; he saw him
already raising his head, and speaking in the clouds. He was
destined to be mistaken today in all his conjectures. From the
first words of his eloquent recital, Count Kostia appeared to be
relieved of a pre-occupation which had disturbed him. He had been
prepared for something else, and was glad to find himself mistaken.
He listened to the rest with an undisturbed air, leaning back in
his easy-chair with his eyes fixed on the ceiling. When Gilbert
had finished--
"And tell me, pray," said he, without changing his posture, "how
did you punish this rascal?"
"I took him by the collar," replied Gilbert, "and flung him down
head first."
"Peste!" exclaimed the Count, raising himself and looking at him
with an air of surprise and admiration. "And tell me," resumed he,
smiling in his enjoyment, "did this domestic animal perish in his
fall?"
"He may perhaps have broken his arms or legs. I didn't take the
trouble to inquire."