The next day--it was the second Sunday of September--Gilbert went
out at about ten o'clock in the morning, and directed his steps to
a wild and solitary retreat. It was a narrow glade upon the
borders of a little pond dried up by the summer heat, near which he
had often gathered plants for Stephane. Among groups of trees
which straggled up on all sides, under a patch of blue sky, a
ground of blackish clay, cracked and creviced, herbage, dried
rushes; here and there some patches of stagnant water, the surface
of which was rippled by the gambols of the aquatic spider; further
on a large tuft of long-plumed reeds, which shivered at the least
breath and rocked upon their trembling stems drowsy red butterflies
and pensive dragonflies; upon the steep banks of the pond, sad
flowers, pond weed, the marsh clover, the sand plantain; in a
corner, a willow with roots laid bare, which hung over the
exhausted pool as if looking for its lost reflection; around about,
nettles, briars, dry heather, furze, stripped of its blossoms; that
damp and heavy atmosphere which is natural to humid places; the
light of day thinly veiled by the exhalations from the earth; an
odor of decaying plants, long silence interrupted by dull sounds;
an air of abandonment, of idleness, of lassitude, the melancholy
languor of a life departing regretfully; the recollection of
something which was, and will never reappear, never! Such was the
word which this wild solitude murmured to Gilbert's ear. Never!
repeated he to himself, and his heart was oppressed by a sense of
the irretrievable. He seated himself upon the sward, a few steps
from the willow, his elbows upon his knees, and his head in his
hands, and lost himself in long and painful meditation. I shall
tell all; he felt at intervals in the depths of his being, in the
very depths, the agitation of a secret joy which he dared not
confess to himself; but it was a passing movement of his soul which
he did not succeed in defining in the midst of the whirlwind which
shook him. And then, in such a moment, he thought but little of
asking himself what he could or could not feel. His mind was
elsewhere. Sometimes he sought to picture to himself all the
successive phases of this unhappy existence, of which, henceforth,
he held the key; sometimes he felt a tender admiration for the
energy and elasticity of this young soul which unparalleled
misfortunes had not been able to crush. And now to abandon him, to
break such close and sweet ties, was it not to condemn him to
despair, to deliver him up a victim to the violence of his passions
rendered more violent by unhappiness? Ought he not at least to
attempt to draw from his impulsive heart this fatal arrow, this
baleful love which to his eyes was a danger, an extravagance, a
calamity? And from reflection to reflection, from anxiety to
anxiety, he always returned to deplore his own blindness. The
eccentricities of Stephane's conduct, certain salient points in his
character, the passionate ABANDON of his language; his face, his
hair, his glances, the charm of his smile; how was it that so many
of his indications had escaped him? And this want of penetration
which resulted from the rather unromantic character of his mind, he
attributed to bluntness of sensibility and charged himself with it
as a crime. He was profoundly absorbed in his reverie when the cry
of a raven aroused him. He opened his eyes, and when he had lost
sight of the croaking bird, which crossed the glade in rapid
flight, he looked for a moment at a handsome variegated butterfly
which fluttered about the willow; then noticing in the grass,
within reach of his hand, a pretty little marsh flower, he drew it
carefully from the soil with its root and set about its examination
with an attentive eye. He admired the purple tint of its pistil
and the gold of its stamens, which contrasted charmingly with the
brilliant whiteness of the petals, and said unconsciously: "There
is a lovely flower which I have not yet shown to my Stephane: I
must carry it to him."
But instantly recollecting himself, and throwing away the innocent
flower spitefully, he exclaimed:
"Oh, fortune, what singular games you play!"
"Yes, fortune is singular!" answered a voice which was not unknown
to him; and before he had time to turn, Dr. Vladimir was seated
beside him.
Vladimir Paulitch had employed his morning well. Scarcely out of
bed, he had given a private audience to Fritz, who, not daring to
address his master directly, for his frowns always made him
tremble, had come to ask the doctor to receive his revelations and
obligingly transmit them to his Excellency. When in an excited and
mysterious tone he had disclosed his important secret:
"There is nothing astonishing in that," replied Vladimir coldly.
"This young man is a somnambulist, and the conclusion of your
little story is, that his window must be barred. I will speak to
Count Kostia about it."
Upon which Fritz slunk away discomfited and much confused at the
turn the adventure had taken.
After his departure, Vladimir Paulitch concluded to take a walk
upon the grassy hillock, and on his way said to himself: "Have my
suspicions, then, been well founded?"
He had passed an hour among the rocks, studying the spot, examining
the aspect of the castle from this side, and particularly the
irregularities of the roof. As his eyes rested on the square tower
which Stephane occupied, he saw him appear at the window, and
remain there some minutes, his eyes fixed upon Gilbert's turret.
"Aha! Now we see how matters stand!" said he, "but to risk his
head in this way, our idealist must be desperately in love. And
he'll carry it through! We must find him and have a little chat."
In reascending to the castle, Vladimir had seen Gilbert turn into
the woods, and without being perceived, had followed him at a
distance.
"Yes, fortune is singular!" repeated he, "and we must resist it
boldly and brave it resolutely, or submit humbly to its caprices
and die. This is but reasonable; half measures are expedients of
fools. As for me, I have always been the partisan of sequere Deum,
which I interpret thus: 'Take luck for your guide, and walk on
blindly.'"
And as Gilbert made no answer, he continued:
"May I presume to ask you what caused you to say, just now, that
fortune plays us odd tricks?"
"I was thinking," replied Gilbert, tranquilly, "of the emperor,
Constantine the Great, who you know--"
"Ah! that is too much," interrupted Vladimir. "What! on a
beautiful morning, in the midst of the woods, before a little
dried-up pond, which is not without its poetry, seated in the grass
with a pretty white flower in your hand--the emperor, Constantine,
the subject of your meditations? As for me, I have not such a
well-balanced head, and I will confess to you that just now, in
rambling among the thickets, I was entirely occupied with the
singular games of my own destiny, and what is more singular still,
I felt the necessity of relating them to someone."
"You surprise me," replied Gilbert; "I did not think you so
communicative."
"And who of us," resumed Vladimir, "never contradicts his own
character? In Russia the duties of my position oblige me to be
reserved, secret, enveloped in mystery from head to foot, a great
pontiff of science, speaking but in brief sentences and in an
oracular tone; but here I am not obliged to play my role, and by a
natural reaction, finding myself alone in the woods with a man of
sense and heart, my tongue unloosens like a magpie's. Let us see;
if I tell you my history do you promise to be discreet?"
"Undoubtedly. But if you must have a confidant, how happens it
that intimate as you are with Count Kostia--"
"Ah, precisely! when you know my history you will understand for
what reason in my interviews with Kostia Petrovitch I speak often
of him, but rarely of myself."
And at these words Vladimir Paulitch turned up his sleeves, and
showing his wrists to Gilbert; "Look!" he said. "Do you see any
mark, any scar?"
"No, I cannot detect any."
"That is strange. For forty years, however, I have worn handcuffs,
for such as you see me--I, Vladimir Paulitch; I, one of the first
physicians of Russia; I, the learned physiologist, I am the refuse
of the earth, I am Ivan's equal; in a word, I am a serf!"
"You a serf!" exclaimed Gilbert, astonished.
"You should not be so greatly surprised; such things are common in
Russia," said Vladimir Paulitch, with a faint smile. "Yes, sir,"
he resumed, "I am one of Count Kostia's serfs, and you may imagine
whether or not I am grateful to him for having had the goodness to
fashion from the humble clay of which nature had formed one of his
moujiks, the glorious statue of Doctor Vladimir Paulitch. However,
of all the favors he has heaped upon me the one which troubles me
most is, that, thanks to his discretion, there were but two men in
the world, himself and myself, who knew me for what I am. Now
there are three.
"My parents," continued he, "were Ukraine peasants, and my first
profession was taking care of sheep; but I was a born physician.
The sick, whether men or sheep, were to my mind the most
interesting of spectacles. I procured some books, acquired a
slight knowledge of anatomy and chemistry, and by turns I
dissected, and hunted for simples, the virtues of which I tried
with indefatigable ardor. Poor, lacking all resources, brought up
from infancy in foolish superstitions, from which I had the trouble
in emancipating myself; living in the midst of coarse, ignorant men
degraded by slavery, nothing could repulse me or discourage me. I
felt myself born to decipher the great book of nature, and to wring
from it her secrets. I had the good fortune to discover some
specifics against the rot and tag sore. That rendered me famous
within a circuit of three leagues. After quadrupeds, I tried my
hand on bipeds. I effected several happy cures, and people came
from all parts to consult me. Proud as Artaban, the little
shepherd, seated beneath the shade of a tree, uttered his
infallible oracles, and they were believed all the more implicitly,
as nature had given to his eyes that veiled and impenetrable
expression calculated to impose upon fools. The land to which I
belonged was owned by a venerable relative of Count Kostia. At her
death she left her property to him. He came to see his new domain;
heard of me, had me brought into his presence, questioned me, and
was struck with my natural gifts and precocious genius. He had
already proposed to found a hospital in one of his villages where
he resided during the summer, and it occurred to him that he could
some day make me useful there. I went with him to Moscow.
Concealing my position from everyone, he had me instructed with the
greatest care. Masters, books, money, I had in profusion. So
great was my happiness that I hardly dare to believe in it, and I
was sometimes obliged to bite my finger to assure myself that I was
not in a dream. When I reached the age of twenty, Kostia
Petrovitch made me enter the school of medicine, and some years
later I directed his hospital and a private asylum which he founded
by my advice. My talents and success soon made me known. I was
spoken of at Moscow, and was called there upon consultations. Thus
I was in a fair way to make a fortune, and what gratified me still
more, I was sought after, feted, courted, fawned upon. The little
shepherd, the moujik, had become King and more than King, for a
successful physician is adored as a god by his patients; and I do
not believe that a pretty woman gratifies her lovers with half the
smiles which she lavishes freely upon the magician upon whom depend
her life and her youth. At this time, sir, I was still religious.
Imagine the place Count Kostia held in my prayers, and with what
fervor I implored for him the intercession of the saints and of the
blessed Mary. Prosperity, nevertheless, has this much of evil in
it; it makes a man forget his former self.
"Intoxicated with my glory and success, I forgot too soon my youth
and my sheep, and this forgetfulness ruined me. I was called to
attend a cavalry officer retired from service. He had a daughter
named Pauline; she was beautiful and charming. I thought myself
insensible to love, but I had hardly seen her before I conceived a
violent passion for her. Bear in mind that I had lived until that
time as pure as an ascetic monk; science had been my adored and
lofty mistress. When passion fires a chaste heart, it becomes a
fury there. I loved Pauline with frenzy, with idolatry. One day
she gave me to understand that my folly did not displease her. I
declared myself to her father, obtained his consent, and felt as if
I should die of happiness. The next day I sought Count Kostia, and
telling him my story, supplicated him to emancipate me. He
laughed, and declared such an extravagant idea was unworthy of me.
Marriage was not what I required. A wife, children, useless
encumbrances in my life! Petty delights and domestic cares would
extinguish the fire of my genius, would kill in me the spirit of
research and vigor of thought. Besides, was my passion serious?
From what he knew of my disposition, I was incapable of loving. It
was a fantastic trick which my imagination had played me. Only
remain a week without seeing Pauline, and I would be cured. My
only answer was to throw myself at his feet. I glued my mouth to
his hands, watered his knees with my tears, and kissed the ground
before him. He laughed throughout, and asked me with a sneer, if
to possess Pauline it were necessary to marry her. My love was an
adoration. At these insulting words anger took possession of me.
I poured forth imprecations and threats. Presently, however,
recovering myself, I begged him to forgive my transports, and
resuming the language of servile humility, I endeavored to soften
that heart of bronze with my tears. Trouble lost; he remained
inflexible. I rolled upon the floor and tore my hair; and he still
laughed-- That must have been a curious scene. Recollect that at
this epoch I was quite recherche in my costume. I had an
embroidered frill and very fine ruffles of point d'Alencon. I wore
rings on every finger, and my coat was of the latest style and of
elegant cut. Fancy, also, that my deportment, my gait, my air
breathed of pride and arrogance. Parvenus try it in vain, they
always betray themselves. I had a high tone, an overbearing
manner. I enveloped myself in mysterious darkness, which obscured
at times the brightness of my genius, and as I had accomplished
several extraordinary cures, strongly resembling miracles, or
tricks of sorcery, my airs of an inspired priest did not seem out
of place, and I had devotees who encouraged these licenses of my
pride by the excess of their humility. And then, behold, suddenly,
this man of importance, this miraculous personage, flat upon his
face, imploring the mercy of an inexorable master, writhing like a
worm of the earth under the foot which crushed his heart! At last
Kostia Petrovitch lost patience, seized me in his powerful hands,
set me upon my feet, and pushing me violently against the wall,
cried in a voice of thunder, 'Vladimir Paulitch, spare me your
effeminate contortions, and remember who I am and who you are. One
day I saw an ugly piece of charcoal in the road. I picked it up at
the risk of soiling my fingers, and, as I am something of a
chemist, I put it in my crucible and converted it into a diamond.
But just as I have set my jewel, and am about to wear it on my
finger, you ask me to give it up! Ah! my son, I do not know what
keeps me from sending you back to your sheep. Go, make an effort
to conquer your passion; be reasonable, be yourself again. Wait
until my death, my will shall emancipate you; but until then, even
at the risk of your displeasure, you shall be my THING, my
PROPERTY. Take care you do not forget it, or I will shatter you in
pieces like this glass;' and, seizing a phial from the table, he
threw it against the wall, where it broke in fragments.
"Sir, Count Kostia displayed a little too much energy at the time,
but at bottom he was right. Was it just that he should lose all
the fruits of his trouble? Think what a gratification it was to
his pride, to be able to say to himself, 'The great doctor, so
feted, so admired, is my thing and my property.' His words were
true; he wore me as a ring upon his finger. And then he foresaw
the future. For two consecutive years it has only been necessary
for him to move the end of his forefinger, to make me run from the
heart of Russia to soothe his poor tormented nerves. You know how
the heart of man is made. If he had had the imprudence to
emancipate me, I should have come last year out of gratitude; but
this time--"
While Vladimir spoke, Gilbert thought to himself, "This man is
truly the compatriot of Count Leminof."
And then recalling the amiable and generous Muscovite with whom he
had once been intimate, he justly concluded that Russia is large,
and that nature, taking pleasure in contrasts, produces in that
great country alternately the hardest and the most tender souls in
the world.
"One word more," continued Vladimir: "Count Kostia was right; but
unfortunately passion will not listen to reason. I left him with
death in my heart, but firmly resolved to cope with him and to
carry my point. You see that upon this occasion I observed but
poorly the great maxim, Sequere fatum. I flattered myself I should
be able to stem the current. Vain illusion!--but without it would
one be in love? Pauline lived in a small town at about two leagues
from our village. Whenever I had leisure, I mounted a horse and
flew to her. The third day after the terrible scene, I took a
drive with this amiable girl and her father. As we were about to
leave the village, I was seized with a sudden trembling at the
sight of Count Kostia on the footpath, holding his gold-headed cane
under his arm and making his way quietly toward us. He recognized
us, smiled agreeably, and signed to the coachman to stop and to me
to descend.
"Plague upon the thoughtless fellow! whip up, coachman!" cried
Pauline gayly.
But I had already opened the door.
"Excuse me," said I, "I will be with you in a moment." And while
saying these words I was so pale that she became pale, too, as if
assailed by a dark presentiment. Kostia Petrovitch did not detain
me long. After saluting me with ceremonious politeness, he said in
a bantering tone:
"Vladimir, faith she is really charming. But I am sorry to say
that if your engagement is not broken off before this evening, to-
morrow this pretty girl will learn from me who you are."
After which, saluting me again, he walked away humming an aria.
"Money, sir, had always appeared to me so small a thing compared
with science and glory; and besides, my love for Pauline was so
free from alloy, that I had never conceived the idea of informing
myself in regard to her fortune, or the dowry which she might bring
to me. That evening, as we took tea together in the parlor of my
expected father-in-law, I contrived to bring up this important
question for consideration, and expressed views of such a selfish
character, and displayed such a sordid cupidity, that the old
officer at last became indignant. Pauline had a proud soul; she
listened to us some time in silence, and then rising, she crushed
me with a look of scorn, and, extending her arm, pointed me the
door. That devil of a look, sir, I have not forgotten; it has long
pursued me, and now I often see it in my dreams.
"Returning home, I tried to kill myself; but so awkwardly that I
failed. There are some things in which we never succeed the first
time. I was prevented from renewing the attempt by the Sequere
fatum, which returned to my memory. I said to the floods which
beat against my exhausted breast: 'Carry me where you please; you
are my masters, I am your slave.'
"And believe me, sir, this unhappy adventure benefited me. It led
me to salutary reflection. For the first time I ventured to think,
I eradicated from my mind every prejudice which remained there, I
took leave of all chimeras, I saw life and the world as they are,
and decided that Heaven is a myth. My manners soon betrayed the
effect of the enlightenment of my mind. No more arrogance, no more
boasting. I did not divest myself of pride, but it became more
tractable and more convenient; it renounced ostentation and vain
display; the peacock changed into a man of good breeding. This,
sir, is what experience has done for me, assisted by Sequere fatum.
It has made me wise, an honest man and an atheist. So I said a
little while afterwards to Count Kostia:
"'Of all the benefits I have received from you, the most precious
was that of delivering me from Pauline. That woman would have
ruined me. Ah, Count Kostia, how I laugh to myself when I recall
the ridiculous litanies with which I once regaled your ears. You
knew me well. A passing fancy--a fire of straw. Thanks to you,
Kostia Petrovitch, my mind has acquired a perspicuity for which I
shall be eternally grateful to you.
"This declaration touched him; he loved me the more for it. He has
always had a weakness for men who listen to reason. Until then,
notwithstanding the marks of affection which he lavished upon me,
he had always made me feel the distance between us. But from that
day I became intimate with him; I participated in his secrets, and,
what cemented our friendship still more, was that one day I had an
opportunity of saving his life at the risk of my own."
"And Pauline?" said the inquisitive and sympathetic Gilbert.
"Ah! Pauline interests you! Comfort yourself. Six months after
our rupture she made a rich marriage. She still lives in her
little town; she is happy, and has lost none of her beauty. I meet
her sometimes in the street with her husband and children, and I
have the pleasure of seeing her turn her head always from me. And
I, too, sir, have children; they are my pupils. They are called in
Moscow THE LITTLE VLADIMIRS, and one of them will become some of
these days a great Vladimir. I have revealed all my secrets to
him, for I do not want them to die with me, and my end may be near.
I have yet an important work to accomplish; and when my task is
finished, let death take me. The life of the little shepherd of
Ukraine has been too exciting to last long. 'Short and sweet,' is
my motto."
And at these words, leaning suddenly towards Gilbert, and looking
him in the eye:
"Apropos," said he, "were you really thinking of Constantine, the
emperor, when you exclaimed: 'Oh, fortune! what strange tricks you
play?'"
Gilbert was nearly disconcerted by this sudden attack, but promptly
recovered himself.
"Ah! ah!" thought he, "it was not for nothing, then, that you told
me your history; you had a purpose! Who knows but that Count
Leminof has sent you to get my confidence?"
Vladimir employed all the skill he possessed to make Gilbert speak;
his insidious questions were inexhaustible: Gilbert was
impenetrable. From time to time they looked steadily at each
other, each seeking to embarrass his adversary, and to surprise his
secret, but in vain; they fenced with glances, but they were both
so sure in the parries, that not a thrust succeeded. At last
Vladimir lost patience.
"My dear sir," exclaimed he, "I have the weakness to put faith in
dreams, and I had one the other night which troubled me very much.
I dreamed that Count Kostia had a daughter, and that he made her
very unhappy, because she had the twofold misfortune of not being
his daughter, and of resembling in a striking manner a woman whose
remembrance he did not cherish. You see that dreams are as
singular as the tricks of fortune. But the most serious matter
was, that the unhappiness and beauty of this child had strongly
touched your heart and that you had conceived an ardent passion for
her.
"'What must I do?' you said to me one day.
"Then I related my story to you, and said: 'You know the character
of Kostia Petrovitch. Do not hope to move him, it would be an
amusement for him to break your heart. If I had been as much in
love as you are, I should have carried off Pauline and fled with
her to the ends of the world. An elopement!--that is your only
resource. And mark (it was in my dream that I spoke thus), and
mark--if you perform this bold stroke successfully, the Count, at
first furious to see his victim escape him, will at last be
reconciled to it. The sight of this child is a horror to him; even
the tyranny which he exercises over her excites him and disorders
his nerves. After she has left him, he will breathe more freely,
will enjoy better health, and will pardon the ravisher, who will
have relieved his life of the ferment of hatred which torments him.
Then you can treat with him, and I shall be much mistaken if it is
long before your dear mistress becomes your wife.' It was thus I
repeat, that I spoke to you in my dream, and I added: 'Do not lose
an instant; there is danger in remaining here. Kostia Petrovitch
has suspicions; to-morrow perhaps it will be too late!'"
"And then you awoke," interrupted Gilbert, laughing.
Then rising, he continued:
"Your dreams have no common sense, my dear Doctor; for without
taking into consideration that M. Leminof has no daughter, the
faculty of loving has been denied to me by nature, and the only
abduction of which I am capable is that of ink spots from a folio.
With a little chlorine you see--"
He took a few steps to pick up the little flower which he had
thrown away, and continued as he retraced with Vladimir the path
which led to the castle. "Let us speak of more serious things. Do
you know the family of this pretty flower?"
Thus walking on they conversed exclusively upon botany, and having
arrived at the terrace, separated amicably. Vladimir saw Gilbert
move away, and then muttered between his teeth:
"Ha! you won't speak, you refuse me your confidence, and you only
take off spots of ink! Then let your fate work itself out!"
Shall I describe the feelings which agitated Gilbert's heart? They
will readily be divined. In addition to the anxiety which preyed
upon him, a further and greater source of uneasiness was the fear
that all had been discovered. "In spite of my precautions,"
thought he, "some spy stationed by the Count may have seen me
running over the roof, but it is very improbable.
"I am inclined to believe rather, that the lynx eyes of Vladimir
Paulitch have read Stephane's face. At the table he has watched
her narrowly. Perhaps, too, my glances have betrayed me. This
mind, coarse in its subtilty, has taken for a common love the
tender and generous pity with which a great misfortune has inspired
me. Doubtless he has informed the Count, and it was by his order
that he attempted to force my confidence and to draw out my
intentions. Stephane, Stephane, all my efforts then will have but
resulted in heaping upon your head new misfortunes!" He was calmed
a little, however, by the reflection that she had authorized him of
her own accord to remain away from her for at least two weeks.
"Before that time expires," thought he, "I shall have devised some
expedient. It is, first of all, important to throw this terrier,
who is upon our track, off the scent. Fortunately he will not be
here long. His departure will be a great relief to me, for he is a
dangerous person. If only Stephane will be prudent!"
Dinner passed off well! Vladimir did not make his appearance. The
Count was amiable and gay. Stephane, although very pale, was as
calm as on the preceding days, and his eyes did not try to meet
those of Gilbert, who felt his alarm subsiding; but when they had
risen from the table, Kostia Petrovitch having left the room first,
his daughter had time, before following him, to turn quickly, draw
from her sleeve a little roll of paper, and throw it at Gilbert's
feet; he picked it up, and what was his chagrin when, after having
locked himself in his room, he read the following lines: "The
spirit of darkness has returned to me! I could not close my eyes
last night. My head is on fire. I fear, I doubt, I despair. My
Gilbert, I must at any cost see you this evening, for I feel myself
capable of anything. Oh, my friend! come at least to console me--
come and take from my sight the knife which remains open on my
table."
Gilbert passed two hours in indescribable anguish. Whilst day
lasted, he stood leaning upon his window sill, hoping all the time
that Stephane would appear at hers, and that he could communicate
to her by signs; but he waited in vain, and already night began to
fall. He deliberated, wavered, hesitated. At last, in this
internal struggle, one thought prevailed over all others. He
imagined he could see Stephane, pale, disheveled, despair in her
eyes; he thought he could see a knife in her hands, the slender
blade flashing in the darkness of the night. Terrified by these
horrible fancies, he turned a deaf ear to prudential counsels,
suspended his ladder, descended, crossed the roofs, clambered up
the window, and sprang into the room. Stephane awaited him,
crouching at the feet of the saints. She rose, bounded forward,
and seized the knife lying upon the table with a convulsive motion,
turned the point towards her heart, and cried in a vibrating voice:
"Gilbert, for the first and last time, do you love me?"
Terrified, trembling, beside himself, Gilbert opened his arms to
her. She threw the poniard away, uttered a cry of joy, of
delirium, leaped with a bound to her friend, threw her arms about
him, and hanging upon his lips she cried:
"He loves me! he loves! I am saved."
Gilbert, while returning her caresses, sought to calm her
excitement; but all at once he turned pale. From the neighboring
alcove came a sigh like that he had heard in one of the corridors
of the castle.
"We are lost!" gasped he in a stifled voice. "They have surprised
us."
But she, clinging to him, her face illuminated by delirious joy,
answered:
"You love me! I am happy. What matters the rest?"
At this moment the door of the alcove opened and Count Kostia
appeared upon the threshold, terrible, threatening, his lips
curling with a sinister smile. At this sight his daughter slowly
raised her head, then took a few steps towards him, and for the
first time dared to look that father in the face, who for so many
years had held her bowed and shuddering under his iron hand. Then
like a young lion with bristling mane, her hair floating in
disorder upon her shoulders, her body quivering, her brows
contracted, with flashing eyes and in a thrilling voice, she cried:
"Ah! it really is you then, sir!
"You are welcome. You here, great God! Truly these walls ought to
be surprised to see you. Yes, hear me, deaf old walls: the man you
see there upon the threshold is my father! Ah, tell me, would you
not have divined it by the tenderness in his face, by that smile
full of goodness playing about his lips?" And then she added:
"Unnatural father, do you remember yet that you once had a
daughter? Search well, you will find her, perhaps, at the bottom
of your memory. Very well! this daughter whom you killed, has just
left her coffin, and he who resuscitated her is the man before
you." Then more excitedly still: "Oh, how I love him, this divine
man! and in loving him, obedient daughter that I am, what have I
done but execute your will? for was it not you yourself who one day
threw me at his feet? I have remained there."
At these words, exhausted by the excess of her emotion, her
strength deserted her. She uttered a cry, closed her eyes, and
sank down. Gilbert, however, had already sprang towards her; he
raised her in his arms and laid her inanimate form in an armchair;
then placing himself before her, made a rampart of his body. When
he turned his eyes upon the Count again, he could not repress a
shudder, for he fancied he saw the somnambulist. The features of
Kostia Petrovitch were distorted, his eyes bloodshot, and his fixed
and burning pupils seemed almost starting from their sockets. He
bent down slowly and picked up the knife, after which he remained
some time motionless without giving any signs of life except by
passing his tongue several times over his lips, as if to assuage
the thirst for blood which consumed him. At last he advanced, his
head erect, his arm holding the knife suspended in the air, ready
to strike. As he drew near, Gilbert recovered all his composure,
and in a clear, strong voice, cried out:
"Count Leminof, control yourself, or you will lose your reason."
And as the frightful phantom still advanced, he quickly uncovered
his breast, and exclaimed in a still louder voice:
"Count Kostia, strike, here is my heart, but your blows will not
reach me,--the specter of Morlof is between us."
At these words the Count uttered a cry like a fallow deer, followed
by a long and plaintive sigh. A terrible internal struggle
followed; his brow contracted; the convulsive movements which
agitated his body, and the flakes of foam which stood upon his
lips, testified to the violence of the effort he was making.
Reason at length returned; his arms fell and the knife dropped, the
muscles of his face relaxed, and his features by degrees resumed
their natural expression. Then turning in the direction of the
alcove, he called out:
"Ivan, come and take care of your young mistress, she has fainted."
Ivan appeared. Who could describe the look which he threw upon
Gilbert? Meanwhile the Count had reentered the alcove; but
returned immediately with a candle, which he lighted quietly, and
then, with an easy gesture, said to Gilbert:
"My dear sir, it seems to me we are in the way here. Be good
enough to leave with me by the staircase; for please God, you do
not return by the roof. If an accident should happen to you, the
Byzantines and I would be inconsolable!"
Gilbert was so constituted, that at this moment M. Leminof inspired
him more with pity than anger. He obeyed, and preceding him a few
steps, crossed the alcove and the vestibule and descended the
stairs. When at the entrance of the corridor, he turned, and
placing his back against the wall, said sadly:
"I have a few words to say to you!"
The Count, stopping upon the last step, leaned nonchalantly over
the balustrade and answered, smiling:
"Speak, I am ready to hear you; you know it always gives me
pleasure to talk with you."
"I beg you, sir," said Gilbert, "to pardon your daughter the
bitterness of her language. She spoke in delirium. I swear to you
that at the bottom of her heart, she respects you, and that you
have only to wish it to have her love you as a father."
M. Leminof answered only by a shrug of the shoulders, which
signified--"What matters it to me?"
"I am bound to say further," resumed Gilbert, "that your anger
ought to fall upon me alone. It was I who sought this child, who
hated me; and I constrained her to receive me. I pressed my
attentions upon her and had no peace or rest until I had gained her
affection."
The Count shrugged his shoulders again, as much as to say: "I
believe you, but how does that change the situation?"
"As for me," continued Gilbert, "I assure you, upon my honor, that
it was only yesterday I drew from your daughter her secret."
The Count answered:
"I believe you readily; but tell me, if you please, is it true that
you now love this little girl as she loves you?"
Gilbert reflected a moment; then considering only the dignity and
interests of Stephane, he replied:
"Yes, I love her with a pure, deep love."
A sarcastic joy appeared upon the Count's face.
"Admirable!" said he; "that is all I wish to know. We have nothing
more to say."
Gilbert raised his head: "One word more, sir!" he exclaimed. "I do
not leave you until you have sworn to me that you will not touch a
hair of your daughter's head, and that you will not revenge
yourself upon her for my well-meant imprudence."
"Peste!" said the Count, laughing, "you are taking great airs; but
I owe you some gratitude, inasmuch as your coolness has saved me
from committing a crime which would have been a great folly, for
only fools avenge themselves with the knife. So I shall grant you
even more than you ask. Hereafter, my daughter shall have no cause
to complain of me, and I will interest myself paternally in her
happiness. It displeases her to be under Ivan's charge; he shall
be only her humble servant. I intend that she shall be as free as
air, and all of her caprices will be sacred to me. I will begin by
restoring her horse, if he is not already sold. I will do more: I
will permit her to resume the garments of her sex. But for these
favors I exact two conditions: first, that you shall remain here at
least six months; second, that you will try neither to see, speak,
nor write to my doll, without my consent."
Gilbert breathed a deep sigh.
"I swear it, on my honor!" replied he.
"Enough! Enough!" resumed M. Leminof, "I have your promise, and I
believe in it as I do in the Gospels."
When the Count reentered his study, Doctor Vladimir, who was
patiently awaiting him, examined him from head to foot, as if
seeking to discover upon his garments or his hands some stain of
blood, then controlling his emotion:
"Well," said he coolly, "how did the affair terminate?"
"Very well," said the Count, throwing himself in a chair. "I have
not killed anyone. This young man's reason restored mine."
Vladimir Paulitch turned pale.
"So," said he, with a forced smile, "this audacious seducer gets
off with a rating."
"You haven't common sense, Vladimir Paulitch! What are you saying
about seduction? Gilberts are an enigma to you. They are not born
under the same planets as Doctors Vladimir and Counts Leminof.
There is a mixture in them of the humanitarian, the knight-errant,
the gray sister, and the St. Vincent de Paul, added to all which,
our philanthropist has a passion for puppets, and from the time of
his arrival he has forewarned me that he intended to make them
play. He must have wanted, I think, to give himself a
representation of some sacramental act, of some mystery play of the
middle ages. The piece began well. The principal personages were
faith, hope, and charity. Unfortunately, love got into the party,
and the mystery was transformed into a drama of cloak and sword. I
am sorry for him; these things always end badly."
"You are mistaken, Count Kostia!" replied Vladimir ironically;
"they often end with a wedding."
"Vladimir Paulitch!" exclaimed the Count, stamping his foot, "you
have the faculty of exasperating me. Today you spent an hour in
kindling the fire of vengeance in my soul. You hate this young
man. I believe, on my honor, that you are jealous of him. You are
afraid, perhaps, that I may put him in my will in place of the
little shepherd of Ukraine? Think of it as you please, my dear
doctor; it is certain that if I had had the awkwardness to kill
this admirable companion of my studies, I should lament him now in
tears of blood, for I know not why, but he is dear to me in spite
of all. But who loves well, chastises well, and I cannot help
pitying him in thinking of all the sufferings which I shall make
him undergo. Now go to bed, doctor. To-morrow morning you will go
on your nimble feet, three leagues from here, on the other side of
the mountain, to a little inn, which I will direct you how to find.
I will follow on horseback. I need exercise and diversion. We
will meet there and dine together. At dessert we will talk
physiology, and you will exert yourself to entertain me."
"But what are you thinking of?" exclaimed Vladimir, surprised to
the last degree. "Will you permit these two lovers--"
"Oh! you have but a dull mind, in spite of your wisdom,"
interrupted the Count. "In matters of vengeance, you only know the
calicoes and cottons. Mine I prefer to weave of silk and threads
of gold."
On returning to his room, Vladimir Paulitch said to himself:
"These two men are too rational. The piece moves too slowly. I
must hasten the denouement."