TEMPTATION.
The eccentric schemer was true to his word, as grateful Phebus
acknowledged with eyes more watery than usual. What a blessed thing it
was to have so accommodating a brother as Pharamond! The chevalier
grew hot and cold as he considered the chance that was about to be
thrown in his way, a golden chance--and between whimsical little
prayers for success, he gazed furtively now and then at the other
brother, whose honour he was so ready to smirch.
The prodigies having been sent to bed, and the evening meal being
leisurely discussed, the abbe became inquisitive anent the latest
intelligence from Spa. Was it true that the genius of the prophet had
achieved yet greater marvels? What were these rumours as to a further
magnetic development, accompanied by fresh triumphs? Clovis snapped
eagerly at the bait, and proceeded to explain that something amazing
had indeed been discovered such as should transform the world of
science. Persons afflicted with ailments were in future to be ranged
around a series of large buckets or tubs containing a mixture of
broken glass, iron shavings, and cold water. How simple a treatment,
and yet how efficacious! Talk of ancient miracles! No wonder that all
the doctors were mad with spite, as well as all the apothecaries, and
that they should thirst for the blood of him who had exposed their
disgraceful cheating!
"Most amazing! Most wonderful!" echoed the abbe, leaning back in his
chair. "The wicked spirits conquered, and those who were afflicted
through their malice being cured by means of the tub, what was there
left of the curse bequeathed by Adam? If somebody would only go a step
or two further and discover the elixir of life, and a method of making
gold, the world would be quite a pleasant place to live in, and he for
one would positively decline to leave it."
Gabrielle listened, mystified, glancing from one to another of the
trio. Clovis was quite animated. His eyes sparkled, his cheeks were
flushed, and his tongue loosened. What power was this of the abbe's,
which could melt an icicle, bring a corpse to life? She was awed and
uneasy.
Was Pharamond making fun of Clovis--fooling him to the top of his
bent--in mischief? Surely not, for did he not owe to his brother's
kindness a secure asylum, a refuge in an awkward strait, and pocket
money also? For Gabrielle, in her kindness of heart, had guessed that
the fugitives were out at elbows, and had quietly handed two neatly
enveloped packets to her husband, with a request that he would pass
them on. Clovis took the packets without surprise or even thanks, and
his wife smiled to herself at his carelessness in money matters. Since
his marriage he had always been well provided without the asking, and
had come--how like a dreamer--to look on coin as convenient manna,
which somehow dropped from heaven just at the auspicious moment.
What could so sensible a man as the abbe mean by encouraging him in
his nonsense? He was sitting there now with head thrown back, and the
placid air of one who knows how to enjoy digestion, rapping out now
and then a leading question, such as would put Clovis on his mettle.
Was she, Gabrielle, in the wrong to despise these things? It seemed
so. Her husband dabbled in philanthropy; the abbe was an excellent
man, bent on doing good to his fellows; and this was the reason for
the interest of both in Mesmer.
"Just think!" the marquis was observing with regret, "what good work
might be done in the district if we could inaugurate a magic tub! The
mists rising from the Loire generate rheumatism and paralysis, to say
nothing of fevers, all of which, by means of a blessed bucket, might
cease to exist except in fable. Why! this gloomy old prison-house
might become a central office from which benefits would be scattered
broadcast; its primaeval bloodstains might come in time to be washed
away with Mesmer's tincture of iron!"
"Why not?" murmured the abbe, with increasing interest.
"Alas!" sighed Clovis. "The arrangement of the tub, it seems, is a
matter of the most delicate nicety, which cannot be described by
letter. If Mesmer would only visit us? But he is afraid now, he says,
to venture into France."
"Why not go to him--Mahomet and the mountain, you know," suggested
Pharamond. "Or get him to lend you for a time one of his cultured
adepts."
"Ah! if he would do that!" echoed Clovis, eagerly. "If he would lend
me somebody who knows."
"Our dear Gabrielle would not stand an adept!" cried the abbe, with
laughter. "See how distressed she looks at my poor suggestion! Nay,
sweet sister; I was only jesting. In sooth, this new-fangled bucket is
too large a bolus to swallow. The idea of sensible people squatting
round a tub with glass wands pressed against their temples!"
Pharamond's access of facetiousness nettled the marquis, who remarked
peevishly, "What a puzzle you are! Too gifted and too learned, I
should have thought, to mock as the ignorant do at all that they
cannot fathom."
"Nay! I did not mean to anger you!" cried Pharamond, still laughing.
"But I was bound to reassure our hostess as to an irruption of adepts.
Come, come. Let her enjoy the evening air. Show me the plans and
instructions, and while I endeavour to decipher them, play me a tune
on the 'cello."
Oh! clever abbe, who knew so well how to twitch his puppet-strings! It
certainly was a delightful evening, and Gabrielle, with the pursy
chevalier trotting by her side, flung open a casement and stepped
forth upon a balcony. As she gazed across the shadowy river, she was
too absorbed with the consideration of a riddle to remark the
condition of her companion, who panted nervously. Was Clovis
mad--victim of a monomania--or did she wrong him? Why should he lie to
her, and to Pharamond? He had declared, and the abbe accepted the
statement without cavil, that the magic tub had already produced
miraculous cures. No doubt it is both ignorant and stupid to contemn
what you cannot understand. Clovis was always saying so, and he was
right. If the discovery was genuine, then, as he had said, how
wonderful a boon wherewith to endow the province! It was quite true
that the peasantry were a prey to rheumatic pains and aches. In her
rides she often went among the poor distributing simple remedies, and
had been dubbed by them the "White Chatelaine," in contradistinction
to some of dark and unsavoury memory who had gone before. But then, an
irruption of adepts. What sort of a creature was an adept? The idea
had revolted her, she scarce knew why; and yet, was she not
unreasonable? If the prophet or a selection from his following were to
take up their quarters at Lorge, what then? There was room enough in
the great building, and the abbe would doubtless make himself useful
in seeing that they kept to themselves. Ah! But the cherished hope
which had been the means of bringing the chatelaine to Lorge; the hope
to which she clung with the tenacity of love. Surrounded by an army of
dreamers more dreamy than himself, the half-recovered Clovis would
drift away again, be farther than ever from her yearning arms,
engrossed in his magical operations. How unsteady a seat is that
between the horns of a dilemma. If she refused to countenance the tub
and its attendant sprites, she might be withholding from the sick a
saving and certain cure. If she encouraged the new theory and its
satellites, instinct told her that she would be raising a wall between
herself and her husband which she would never be able to scale. She
was wicked and selfish to hesitate. The marquise felt with humble
conviction the extent of her badness; but human nature at the best is
rickety, and she was unlucky enough to adore her husband. At this
point, as she stood on the balcony reflecting, with the red hot
chevalier by her side, she shivered, for plaintive sounds were
floating on the breeze.
"This is intolerable!" she murmured. "If Clovis would only oblige me
by sacrificing that dreadful 'cello!"
"It does set one's teeth on edge," agreed the chevalier.
"Because it contains a soul in torment," returned the marquise,
pressing her fingers in her ears. "I can manage to endure other
implements of music, but I cannot bear a 'cello."
"We have a remedy at hand," wheezed the amorous chevalier. "It is as
balmy as a summer's night, and winter will soon be upon us. Put on a
hood and scarf, and let me row you for an hour on the river."