Doctor Vladimir Paulitch arrived at the castle just in time to take
care of Gilbert. The wound was wide and deep, and in consequence
of the great heat which prevailed, it might easily have proved
serious; fortunately, Doctor Vladimir was a skillful man, and under
his care the wound was soon healed. He employed certain specifics,
the uses of which were known only to himself, and which he took
care to keep a secret from his patient. His medicine was as
mysterious as his person.
Vladimir Paulitch was forty years of age; his face was striking but
unattractive. His eyes had the color and the hard brightness of
steel; his keen glances, subject to his will, often questioned, but
never allowed themselves to be interrogated. Well made, slender, a
slight and graceful figure, he had in his gait and movements a
feline suppleness and stealthiness. He was slow, but easy of
speech, and never animated; the tone of his voice was cold and
veiled, and whatever the subject of conversation might be, he
neither raised nor lowered it; no modulations; everyone of his
sentences terminated in a little minor cadence, which fell sadly on
the ear. He sometimes smiled in speaking, it is true, but it was a
pale smile which did not light up his face. This smile signified
simply: "I do not give you my best reason, and I defy you to divine
it."
One morning when Ivan had come by order of the doctor to dress
Gilbert's wound, our friend questioned him as to the character and
life of Vladimir Paulitch. Of the man Ivan knew nothing, and
confined himself to extolling the genius of the physician; he
expressed himself in regard to him in a mysterious tone. The
imposing face of this impenetrable personage, the extraordinary
power of his glance, his impassible gravity, the miraculous cures
which he had wrought, it needed no more to convince the honest serf
that Vladimir Paulitch dealt in magic and held communications with
spirits; and he felt for his person a profound veneration mingled
with superstitious terror. He told Gilbert that since the age of
twenty-five, Vladimir had been directing a hospital and private
asylum which Count Kostia had founded upon his estates, and that,
thanks to him, these two establishments had not their equals in all
Russia.
"Last year," added the serf, "he came to attend the barine, and
told him that his malady would return this year, but more feebly,
and that this would be the last. You will see that all will come
to pass as he has said. Kostia Petrovitch is already much better,
and I wager that next summer will come and go without his feeling
his nerves."
As Ivan prepared to go, Gilbert detained him to ask news of
Stephane. The serf had been very discreet, and had related the
adventure upon the terrace to his master without compromising
anyone. The only trouble he had had was in persuading him that it
was not on a sign from Stephane that the dog had attacked Gilbert.
The next day Gilbert dined in the great hall of the castle with M.
Leminof and Father Alexis.
"Do not disturb yourself because Stephane does not dine with us,"
said the Count to him. "He is not sick; but he has a new grievance
against you; you have caused the death of his dog. I ask your
pardon, my dear Gilbert, for the irrational conduct of my son. I
have given him three days for the sulks. When that time has
passed, I intend that he shall put on his good looks for you, and
that he shall take his place at the table opposite you without
frowning."
"And how is it that Doctor Vladimir is not with us?"
"He has begged me to excuse him for a time. He finds himself much
fatigued with the care he has given me. A magnetic treatment, you
understand. I should inform you that every year, some time during
the summer, I am subject to attacks of neuralgia from which I
suffer intensely. By the way, you have seen our admirable doctor
several times. What do you think of him?"
"I don't know whether he is a great savant, but I am inclined to
think he is a first-class artist."
"You cannot pay him a finer compliment; medicine is an art rather
than a science. He is also a man capable of the greatest devotion.
I am indebted to him for my life, it was not as physician that he
saved me either. A pair of stallions ran away within twenty paces
of a precipice; the doctor, appearing from behind a thicket, darted
to the heads of the horses and hung on to them by their nostrils,
which he held in an iron grip. You have the whole scene from these
windows. What was amusing in it was, that having thanked him, with
what warmth you can imagine, he answered, in a tranquil tone, and
wiping his knees--for the horses in falling had laid him full
length in the dust--'It is I who am obliged to you; for the first
time I have been suspended between life and death, and it is a
singular sensation. But for you I should not have known it.' This
will give you an idea of the man and his sangfroid!"
"I am not surprised at his having the agility of a wildcat,"
replied Gilbert; "but I suspect the sangfroid is feigned, and that
his placidity of face is a mask which hides a very passionate
soul."
"Passionate is not the word, or at least the doctor knows only the
passions of the head. There was a time when he thought himself
desperately in love; an unpardonable weakness in such a
distinguished man; but he was not long in undeceiving himself, and
he has not fallen into such a fatal error since."
The night having come, Gilbert, who had inquiries to make, crossed
the yard of which the chapel formed one side, and gaining the rear
by a private door, went in search of Father Alexis. It was not
long before he discovered him, for the priest had left his shutters
open, and he was seated in the embrasure of the window, peaceably
smoking his pipe, when he perceived Gilbert.
"Oh, the good boy!" cried he, "let him come in quickly! My room
and my heart are open to him."
Gilbert showed him his arm in a sling, on account of which he could
not climb the window.
"Is that all, my child?" said Father Alexis. "I will hoist you up
here."
Gilbert raised himself by his right arm, and Father Alexis drawing
him up, they soon found themselves seated face to face, uniting to
their heart's content the blue smoke of their chibouques.
"Have you not noticed," said Father Alexis, "that Kostia Petrovitch
has been in a charming humor to-day? I told you that he had his
pleasant moments! Vladimir Paulitch has already done him much
good. What a physician this Vladimir is! It is a great pity that
he does not believe in God; but some day, perhaps, grace will touch
his heart, and then he will be a complete man."
"If I were in your place, father, I should be afraid of this
Vladimir," said Gilbert. "Ivan pretends that he is something of a
sorcerer. Aren't you afraid that some fine day he may rob you of
your secret?"
Father Alexis shrugged his shoulders.
"Ivan talks foolishly," said he. "If Vladimir Paulitch were a
sorcerer, would he not have long since penetrated the mystery which
he burns to fathom? for he does more than love Count Kostia; he is
devoted to him even to fanaticism. It is certain that having
discovered that the Countess Olga was enceinte, he had the
barbarity to become her denouncer; and that letter which announced
to Count Kostia his dishonor, that letter which made him return
from Paris like a thunder-clap, that letter in short which caused
the death of Olga Vassilievna, was written by him--Vladimir
Paulitch."
"And Morlof," said Gilbert, "was it this Vladimir who denounced him
to the unjust fury of the Count?"
"On the contrary, Vladimir pleaded his cause; but his eloquence
failed against the blind prejudices of Kostia Petrovitch. This
Morlof was, unfortunately for himself, a fashionable gentleman,
well known for his gallantries. A man of honor, however, incapable
of betraying a friend; this reputation for gallant successes, of
which he boasted, was his destruction. When Count Kostia
interrogated his wife, and she refused to denounce her seducer, it
occurred to him to name Morlof, and the energy with which she
defended him confirmed the Count's suspicion. To disabuse him, it
needed but that tragic meeting of which I was informed too late.
In breathing his last sigh, Morlof extended his hand to his
murderer and gasped 'I die innocent!' And in these last words of a
dying man, there was such an accent of truth that Count Kostia
could not resist it: light broke in upon his soul."
As the darkness increased, Father Alexis closed the shutters and
lit a candle.
"My child," said he, refilling and lighting his pipe, "I must tell
you something I learned to-day, a few moments before dinner, which
appeared to me very strange. Listen attentively, and I am sure you
will share in my astonishment."
Gilbert opened his ears, for he had a presentiment that Father
Alexis was about to speak of Stephane.
"It is a singular fact," resumed the priest, "and one that I should
not wish to relate to the first-comer, but I am very glad to impart
it to you, because you have a serious and reflective mind, though
unfortunately you are not orthodox; would to God you were. Know
then, my child, that to-day, Saturday, I went according to my
custom to Stephane to catechize him, and for reasons which you
know, I redoubled my efforts to impress his unruly head with the
holy truths of our faith. Now it appears that without intending
it, you have caused him sorrow; and you can believe that such a
character, far from having pardoned you, has taken the greatest
pains to get me to espouse his side in the difficulty. However he,
who will usually fly into a passion and talk fiercely if a fly
tickles him, recited his griefs to me with an air of moderation and
a tranquillity of tone which astonished me to the last degree. As
I endeavored to discover a reason for this, I happened to raise my
eyes to the images of St. George and St. Sergius which decorate one
of the corners of his room, and before which he was in the habit of
saying his prayers every morning. What was my surprise, my grief,
when I perceived that the two saints had suffered shameful
outrages. One had no legs, the other was disfigured by a horrible
scar. With hands raised to Heaven, I threatened him with the
thunder of God. Without being excited, without changing
countenance, he left his chair, came to me and placed his hand on
my mouth. 'Father,' said he, with an air of assurance which awed
me, 'listen to me. I have been wrong, if you wish it so, and
still, under the same circumstances, I should do it again, for
since I have chastised them, the two saints have decided to come to
my aid, and the very day after their punishment, without any change
in my life, all at once I felt my heart become lighter; for the
first time, I swear to you, a ray of celestial hope penetrated my
soul.' What do you say to that, my child? I had often heard
similar things related, but I did not believe them. Little boys
may be whipped, but as for saints!--Ah! my dear child, the ways of
God are very strange, and there are many great mysteries in this
world."
Father Alexis had such an impressive air in speaking of this great
mystery, that Gilbert was tempted to laugh; but he controlled
himself; he was too grateful for his obliging narrative, and could
have embraced him with all his heart.
"Good news!" said he to himself. "That heart has become lighter;
that 'ray of celestial hope.' Ah! God be praised, my effort has
not been thrown away. St. George, St. Sergius, you rob me of my
glory, but what matters it? I am content!"
"And what reply did you make to Stephane?" said he to the priest.
"Did you reprimand him? Did you congratulate him?"
"The case was delicate," said the good father, with the air of a
philosopher meditating on the most abstruse subject; "but I am not
wanting in judgment, and I drew out of the affair with honor."
"You managed admirably," cried I, looking at him with admiration;
then immediately putting on a serious face, "but the sin is
enormous."
The third day after, Gilbert didn't wait for the bell to ring for
dinner before going down to the great hall. He was not very much
surprised to find Stephane there. Leaning with his back against
the sideboard, the young man, on seeing him appear, lost his
composure, blushed, and turned his head towards the wall. Gilbert
stopped a few steps from him. Then in an agitated manner, and with
a voice at once gentle and abrupt, he said:
"And your arm?"
"It is nearly well. To-morrow I shall take off my sling."
Stephane was silent for a moment. Then in a still lower voice:
"What do you mean to do?" murmured he; "what are your plans?"
"I wait to know your good pleasure," replied Gilbert.
The young man covered his eyes with both hands, and, as Gilbert
said no more, he seemed to feel a thrill of impatience and
vexation.
"His pride demands some mercy," thought Gilbert. "I will spare him
the mortification of making the first advances."
"I should like very much to have a conversation with you," said he
gently. "This cannot be upon the terrace, Ivan will not leave you
alone there. Does he keep you company in your room in the
evening?"
"Are you jesting?" answered Stephane, raising his head. "After
nine o'clock Ivan never comes near my room."
"And his room, if I am not mistaken," answered Gilbert, "is
separated from you by a corridor and a staircase. So we shall run
no risk of being overheard."
Stephane turned towards him and looked him in the face. "You think
of everything," said he, with a smile, sad and ironical.
"Apparently, to reach me, you will be obliged to mount a swallow.
Have you made your arrangements with one?"
"I shall come over the roofs," said Gilbert quietly.
"Impossible!" cried Stephane. "In the first place, I do not wish
you to risk your life for me again. And then--"
"And then you do not care for my visit?"
Stephane only answered him by a look.
At this moment steps sounded in the vestibule. When the Count
entered, Gilbert was pacing the further end of the hall, and
Stephane, with his back turned, was attentively observing one of
the carved figures upon the wainscoting. M. Leminof, stopping at
the threshold of the door, looked at them both with a quizzical
air.
"It was time for me to arrive," said he, laughing. "This is an
embarrassing tete-a-tete."