AN UNCONSCIOUS AVOWAL
Walking slowly, step by step, beside her whose power had so quickly and
so wholly subjugated him, watching over her removal with more than
paternal solicitude, Henri de Prerolles, sustained by a ray of hope,
drew a memorandum-book from his pocket, wrote upon a slip of paper a name
and an address, and, giving it to the groom, ordered him to go ahead of
the litter and telephone to the most celebrated surgeon in Paris,
requesting him to go as quickly as possible to the domicile of
Mademoiselle de Vermont, and, meantime, to send with the greatest
despatch one of the eight-spring carriages from the stables.
It was noon by the dial on the grand-stand when the litter was finally
deposited in a safe place. The surgeon could hardly arrive in less than
two hours; therefore, the General realized that he must rely upon his own
experience in rendering the first necessary aid.
He lifted Valentine's hand, unbuttoned the glove, laid his finger on her
pulse, and counted the pulsations, which were weak, slow, and irregular.
While the wife of the gate-keeper kept a bottle of salts at the nostrils
of the injured girl, Henri soaked a handkerchief in tincture of arnica
and sponged her temples with it; then, pouring some drops of the liquid
into a glass of water, he tried in vain to make her swallow a mouthful.
Her teeth, clenched by the contraction of muscles, refused to allow it to
pass into her throat. At the end of half an hour, the inhalation of the
salts began to produce a little effect; the breath came more regularly,
but that was the only symptom which announced that the swoon might soon
terminate. The landau with the high springs arrived. The General ordered
the top laid back, and helped to lift and place upon the cushions on the
back seat the thin mattress on which Zibeline lay; then he took his place
on the front seat, made the men draw the carriage-top back into its
proper position, and the equipage rolled smoothly, and without a jar, to
its destination. On the way they met the first carriages that had arrived
at the Auteuil hippodrome, the occupants of which little suspected what
an exciting dramatic incident had occurred just before the races.
Zibeline's servants, by whom she was adored, awaited their mistress at
the threshold, and for her maids it was an affair of some minutes to
undress her and lay her in her own bed. During this delay, the surgeon,
who had hastened to answer the call, found Henri nervously walking about
from one drawing-room to the other; and, having received information as
to the details of the fall, he soon entered the bedchamber. While
awaiting the sentence of life or of death which must soon be pronounced,
he who considered himself the chief cause of this tragic event continued
to pace to and fro in the gallery--that gallery where, under the
intoxication of a waltz, the demon of temptation had so quickly
demolished all his resolutions of resistance. A half-hour--an age!--
elapsed before the skilled practitioner reappeared. "There is no
fracture," he said, "but the cerebral shock has been such that I can not
as yet answer for the consequences. If the powerful reactive medicine
which I have just given should bring her back to her senses soon, her
mental faculties will suffer no harm. If not, there is everything to
fear. I will return in three hours," he added. Without giving a thought
to the conventionalities, Henri entered the bedchamber, to the great
astonishment of the maids, and, installing himself at the head of the
bed, he decided not to leave that spot until Valentine had regained her
senses, should she ever regain them. An hour passed thus, while Henri
kept the same attitude, erect, attentive, motionless, with stray scraps
of his childhood's prayers running through his brain. Suddenly the heavy
eyelids of the wounded girl were lifted; the dulness of the eyes
disappeared; her body made an involuntary attempt to change its position;
the nostrils dilated; the lips quivered in an effort to speak. Youth and
life had triumphed over death. With painful slowness, she tried to raise
her hand to her head, the seat of her pain, where, though half paralyzed,
thought was beginning to return. Her eyes wandered to and fro in the
shadowy room, seeking to recognize the surroundings. A ray of light,
filtering through the window-curtains, showed her the anxious face
bending tenderly over her. "Henri!" she murmured, in a soft, plaintive
voice. That name, pronounced thus, the first word uttered after her long
swoon, revealed her secret. Never had a more complete yet modest avowal
been more simply expressed; was it not natural that he should be present
at her reentrance into life, since she loved him? With women, the
sentiment of love responds to the most diverse objects. The ordinary
young girl of Zibeline's age, either before or after her sojourn in a
convent, considers that a man of thirty has arrived at middle age, and
that a man of forty is absolutely old. Should she accept a man of either
of these ages, she does it because a fortune, a title, or high social
rank silences her other tastes, and her ambition does the rest. But, with
an exceptional woman, like Mademoiselle de Vermont, brought up in view of
wide horizons, in the midst of plains cleared by bold pioneers, among
whom the most valorous governed the others, a man like General de
Prerolles realized her ideal all the more, because both their natures
presented the same striking characteristics: carelessness of danger, and
frankness carried to its extremest limit. Therefore, this declaration--
to use the common expression--entirely free from artifice or affectation,
charmed Henri for one reason, yet, on the other hand, redoubled his
perplexity. How could he conciliate his scruples of conscience with the
aspirations of his heart? The problem seemed then as insoluble as when
it had been presented the first time. But Valentine was saved. For the
moment that was the essential point, the only one in question. The
involuntary revelation of her secret had brought the color to her cheeks,
the light to her eyes, a smile to her lips, in spite of the leaden band
that seemed still pressing upon her head. "How you have frightened me!"
said Henri, in a low voice, seating himself on the side of the bed and
taking her hand. "Is that true?" she asked, softly pressing his fingers.
"Hush!" he said, making a movement to enjoin silence. She obeyed, and
they remained a few moments thus. Nevertheless, he reflected that the
account of the accident would soon be spread everywhere, that Valentine's
new friends would hear about it as soon as they arrived at the race-track
that day, and that he could no longer prolong his stay beside her.
"Are you leaving me so soon?" Valentine murmured, when he said that he
must go.
"I am going to tell my sister and the Chevalier de Sainte-Foy of your
mishap."
"Very well," she replied, as if already she had no other desire than to
follow his wishes.
He gave the necessary orders, and again took his place beside the bed,
awaiting the second visit of the doctor, whose arrival was simultaneous
with that of the Duchess.
This time the verdict was altogether favorable, with no mention of the
possibility of any aggravating circumstances. An inevitable
feverishness, and a great lassitude, which must be met with absolute
repose for several days, would be the only consequences of this dangerous
prank.
The proprieties resumed their normal sway, and it was no longer possible
for Henri to remain beside the charming invalid.