THUNDER CLOUDS.
Gabrielle was stung to the quick. When _she_ taught the infants her
husband could never be lured into the nursery, and now--in so brief a
space of time--a stranger had succeeded in rousing his dormant
interest. In her jealousy she took to secretly watching the movements
of the governess, and discovered, to her dismay, that the steps of
Clovis were constantly wending towards the school-room. And this state
of things had been brought about by the non-performance of duties. It
was her own fault--of course it was her own fault for neglecting the
abbe's warning. Had he not said that Clovis required leading; had he
not even offered to assist her in leading him, and had she not replied
by inference that so long as he was guided judiciously, it might be by
another hand? But never, in wildest nightmare, had she conjured the
possibility of that hand being another woman's! She was a bad wife,
for she had neglected her duty, since, surely, it is a wife's first
duty to make herself pleasant to her husband. Oh! woe on sins of
omission! Instead of pampering her spouse's hobbies she had scoffed at
them, and punishment had swooped swiftly down on her.
But it was not too late to set the matter right. He was not a bad man,
though difficult to live with. A word of remonstrance at this juncture
was worth a homily later, and he would hearken to her words of
pleading, for since the arrival of the brothers at Lorge he had shown,
in a glimmering glow-worm way, that he admired and liked his wife. She
was satisfied that his sluggish nature was not capable of a warmer
feeling, and had brought herself meekly to accept that microscopic
meed of affection. She must take her courage in her hands, and open
her heart to him; declare that his new arrangement, which at the start
promised well enough, was making his wife wretched. When he came to
understand that she was miserable, he would apologise at once and send
the interloper packing.
Rising from the sofa on which she had fallen after pacing the room in
a fever, she moved rapidly along the corridor which led to the
marquis' study. Her fingers were on the door-knob, and her head was
whirling with persuasive arguments, when of a sudden her hand dropped
powerless. There were low voices murmuring within. The parquet all
around the closed door was strewn with straw and bottles, while on an
open packing-case was scrawled in large letters the name of Aglae
Brunelle. A cold shiver passed over her frame. She was with him now,
that woman. On familiar terms, indeed, since her boxes were unpacked
by Clovis! They were never weary of communing together, with heads
close and hair mingling, discussing subjects which absorbed them both,
but in which she would never have a part! The pride of the young
chatelaine rebelled. She could not complain before the domineering
adventuress. Would it not be humiliating enough to confess to _him_
that his beautiful and high-born wife was jealous of a stranger,
sprung from nowhere in particular, who was rather plain than
otherwise?
Reluctantly returning to the boudoir, she took a pen and, after a
pause of meditation, flung it down. Write to her fond father, begging
him to intervene? No. He believed that she was happy, and should
believe it to the end, however much she might be made to suffer. He
should share her joys, but not her sorrows, the good father who adored
her so. She must endeavour to remedy her own mistakes, fight this
rival single-handed, win back the errant husband by the female arts
which hitherto she had affected to despise, and understood so little.
Was she strong enough for the difficult task? Perchance the abbe would
assist; but was it not another bitter thing to summon one to the
rescue who, though repentant, had once so grievously forgotten
himself?
Meanwhile, though he kept up a show of airy levity, the cunning
Pharamond was, in a different way, almost as perturbed as she. The
strides of the affinity were prodigious, whereas his own siege of
Gabrielle made no advance at all. Unless he grappled with the
situation without delay, he would assuredly be worsted. But how to
grapple with it, by cajolery or threats? Or would it be advisable to
practise the arts of the bravo? Was the hand of cordial friendship to
be extended to the interloper, or was she forthwith to be stabbed in
the back? Pharamond considered himself a genius, and knew that one
attribute of genius is to know when to seize an opportunity. Consider
the knotty problem as he would, he could not come to a decision.
Perhaps, for the present, a waiting game would be the best to play.
The hand of friendship first, as an experiment; a stab with the
poignard by and by.
The abbe in his uncertainty took to dividing his valuable society
between the ladies. While the marquis and his affinity were fidgeting
over experiments, he read impassioned strophes to the marquise. When
the party went forth for a walk or drive he attached himself to the
skirt of Aglae. Her behaviour was irreproachable. She laughed slily at
his delicate hints, and seemed mightily amused by his compliments.
Once, when he thought he was really making progress in this direction,
she placed her two large hands upon her haunches, and wagging her
head, remarked, "Does monsieur think me blind?"
"Certainly not," replied the gallant abbe. "Those sparkling orbs shine
like fireflies."
"Then why arrange a trap--and such a clumsy one--for my poor big
simple feet to fall into?"
It is disconcerting to the astute to be twitted with lack of
skill. The tactics that served for Gabrielle would not do with this
shrewder lady. Since she guessed his hand, why not show the cards?
Dangerous--but a hazardous game not unfrequently coerces Fortune.
"Why can't you trust me, mademoiselle," he murmured. "Cannot one so
sharp perceive that I'm her friend?"
"A thousand thanks. I am indeed blessed," simpered the lady, raising
her bushy brows. "A fortunate wanderer on life's rugged road. The
marquis is all goodness. Have I also found favour with his brother?"
"I have helped you already," pursued the abbe, fibbing. "I have
explained to the marquise that she must no longer interfere with the
children; that Mademoiselle Brunelle is to have absolute and complete
control."
Aglae shot at the speaker a suspicious glance. An ally and not an
enemy? To what end? If it were really so, a friend in the camp would
be extremely useful. A snare--surely a snare--for this man had every
reason to dislike the intruder.
"What motive have you for befriending a poor insignificant creature
such as I?" bluntly demanded the governess. "People do nothing for
nothing in this world, and I know that I am not a beauty."
"I have my reasons."
"What are they?"
"Eve was too prying. Accept the lesson and trust."
Aglae looked straight at Pharamond; then laughing her great rolling
laugh playfully shook her head.
"No. Trust You? Thank you," she said. "You overreach yourself, for you
are a dreadfully sharp-witted gentleman who can see through a wall and
round a corner. You think I have grand plans, when I have none; for I
am only a guileless wandering waif who enjoys the good things of this
world."
There was a sly look of covert malice in her sparkling eyes which
belied her words, "You do not believe me?" she continued. "I am not
quite young, so I have learned to know the world and its funny little
snares. Flies are only eaten by spiders because their lives are so
short, that they've no time to learn experience."
"You take me for a spider?" inquired Pharamond, uncertain what to make
of the lady.
"You are certainly a wee bit like, for you want to gobble up poor me!"
"I assure you that both I and the chevalier are friends, whom you
would do well to trust."
"You take me for a cuckoo, and all the while I am a dove," cried
lively Aglae. Then seeing that the abbe was nonplussed, she spoke
musingly, as though discussing a grave matter with herself. "What a
pity," she observed regretfully to the landscape, "that the dear man
cannot be explicit. He is afraid that the lowly governess may supplant
him with his brother, and would like to tumble me neck and crop into
his yawning gaping trap! In so shrewd a gentleman stupidity is sad."
She pretended not to see the gleam of menace in the abbe's eyes, or
the sharp clenching of his hands, and turned with an ingenuous look of
artless innocence when he blurted out in anger,--
"Afraid! I am afraid of no one. I can speak more plainly, if you
will."
"No need," replied the governess, carelessly, "for I can see round
corners quite as well as you. I can read your character up to a point,
and beyond that I confess I am baffled. I have changed my mind--women
have the right, haven't they?--and will give you a lesson in candour.
There is no witness to our cosy chat, for the birds are gone
a-picnicing, so why should we beat about the bush? Stick to the truth,
abbe. You say you are afraid of none, the while you are afraid of me.
You look with fear on my growing influence over the marquis, and in
that you are right, for I intend that he shall be my slave, unable to
live out of my company. See how plain spoken I am, whilst you are full
of artifice! When I came here I had no projects, being content to
drift like a cork, leaving events to sort themselves, and my plans
even now are of the vaguest. The marquis is rich. Do not suppose for a
moment that I propose to become his mistress. Never, never, never! _ce
serait trop bete!_ If his puling wife were to die I might condescend
to succeed her, but that is not just now within the limits of the
probable. I like the marquis, and I like the grey old chateau, and I
enjoy the sweets of wealth. Why trouble about the morrow, then?
Whatever I may choose to do I shall succeed in it, for patience is one
of my pet virtues--not but what I love them all--and success is made
of patience as the sea of drops."
"You are a singular woman!" remarked the abbe.
"Am I not? Frankness is so nice when no one's by. My long speech is
not finished yet, for I would like to add that I like you too, and
should regret to have you for an enemy. Here is my point of doubt. I
saw before I had been here a day that you were enamoured of the pretty
doll. I do not blame you, for most men are idiots. They cannot learn
that good looks are provokingly transient, while intellect bears wear
and tear."
"Your candour is half confidence disguised," laughed Pharamond. "What
can you be aiming at if you disdain to become his mistress?"
"Have I not said I do not know? I have not thought. I am open to be
led by circumstances. Candour for candour. I burn to discover what you
are aiming at with regard to the pretty doll? Why are you so anxious
to make a friend of me? Am I to be the scourge to lash her to
obedience? Yes? A crooked compliment, but let that pass. I have no
pity for that sort of woman, and if you promise not to stand in my way
when I discover what it is, I will accept the role to serve you. If I
help you now I may claim your assistance later, A bargain! We
understand each other quite, I think? We will make the fool so
wretched that in despair she'll seek refuge on your breast."
It was evident that tortuous ways did not find favour with
mademoiselle, who preferred making for a goal with straight
uncompromising march, kicking down barriers with her big broad feet.
It was to be an alliance, then? Well and good; but it was somewhat
nettling that the proposal should come from her, as if her own idea.
When the caprice seized her, she could take things with so high a hand
as to be bewildering. The abbe resolved to accept her terms, but would
have the last word on the subject.
Bending over Aglae's dusky fingers, he lightly touched them with his
lips. "You are a monstrous clever lady," he said, "and my admiring
respect increases hourly. Trust us as we trust you, and each party
will be the stronger for the union. We are both skilful players, you
and I, who, antagonistic, might spoil each other. Loyalty and trust.
It's understood." With that he made a low obeisance and left the lady
to her thoughts.
Mademoiselle Brunelle revolved the course of the conference, and was
satisfied. When first engaged, knowing the marquise to be a beauty,
she had, as she explained, formed no definite design. That which was
working in her brain had grown out of a survey of the situation. On
the whole, there was nothing to find fault with. For a wage, the abbe
was to throw all his weight into her scale--a wage which cost her
nothing. He had correctly pointed out that as foes they would hurt
each other; but she was far from admitting that in a contest it would
be she who would succumb. Her contempt for the culpable helplessness
of the marquise was so intense that it cost her much to be civil. What
a pleasure, then, to stick pins into her quivering flesh! To have a
woman always at one's elbow who sighs like the east wind, and weeps
like a cataract, as Gabrielle had taken to do of late, was vastly
irritating. There is naught more trying to strong nerves than the
fecklessness of one that can do nothing to help itself but scream--not
that Gabrielle screamed, or made any uproar. She was far too haughty
for that, and veiled her pain as closely as weakness permitted; but
Aglae knew as well as faithful and indignant Toinon, that the hapless
lady's grief found vent in midnight vigil, and earnest prayer and
bitter tears, which in the morning left their mark. Entangled
in an intrigue with Pharamond, such claws as she possessed for
self-protection, would be cut. If by skilful handling the ripened
cherry could be dropped into his mouth, it would be the better for
everyone. Though Aglae, for some eccentric reason, declined to be
herself a mistress, she saw no reason why another should not. If
Gabrielle and Pharamond could be brought together, all would be
satisfied. The wind would change; the cataract dry up; a serious
source of annoyance would be removed; and the lovers sufficient unto
themselves, would not trouble about the subsequent proceedings of the
marquis and his affinity.
But supposing that weeping Niobe proved obdurate--weak people are
pigheaded--and was inconvenient enough to be inconsolable? There is no
use in erecting castles till we know the ground they are to be built
on. The abbe was a spiteful little wretch, and, baulked, there was no
guessing how he would act, or of what he would be capable. Sufficient
unto the day is the evil. To oblige him, Gabrielle should receive the
lash, and it would be amusing to watch the result.
As week followed week, life seemed to run so oilily at Lorge, that
onlookers would have envied the unruffled lot of the tranquil lotus
eaters. And yet what fierce currents were beginning to battle under
the smooth surface--currents of hate and sorrow, and envy and
despair--some ensanguined, some black as winter night. The only member
of the party who was not pining for something different--whose
aspirations and desires were satisfied--was Clovis, Marquis de Gange.
He had found his affinity, had caught his adept, and had succeeded,
without remonstrance, in making her one of the family. His brother,
instead of objecting in any way to the presence of an interloper, was
constantly congratulating him on his good luck in having unearthed so
desirable a specimen. "Just think," he cried, beaming with
satisfaction; "you might have saddled us with a tatterdemalion who
would have stolen the family plate and have cut our throats while we
were asleep, instead of which you have produced a bundle of charms,
big enough for two!" Clovis was grateful to his brother for chiming in
so promptly with his whim. "She is indeed a charmer," he purred, "so
good-natured and obliging; never cross or malevolent, with no touch
of venom on her tongue. There's nothing more dreadful than a spiteful
or scheming woman. The very thought of such an anomaly makes me
shudder." And then he sighed a little. If Gabrielle could only be as
good-humoured as Aglae, and as accommodating as Pharamond. Despite his
efforts, he could not help remarking that piteously sad face every
morning at _dejeuner_. She was pale and thin, and her beauty was on
the wane. Her eyes loomed unnaturally large. Never a talker, she
rarely opened her lips now, but sat drumming her fingers on the
table-cloth in the most uninteresting way, staring across the Loire as
if she did not know each detail of that landscape. How different from
Aglae, who could prattle on for ever on any subject.
On the grand principle that we hate persons whom we have injured
almost as much as those from whom we have received benefits, the sight
of melancholy Gabrielle began to tell upon the nerves of Clovis. She
was guilty of the great crime of boring him and of pinching
conscience, and was unfortunate enough not to show advantageously by
the side of the new foil. A moist statue of Endurance established at
one's breakfast-table is an overpoweringly cumbersome piece of
furniture, however immaculate its contours. Poor Gabrielle was no
actress. If her heart was bursting, she had not the art to grin, and
smirk, and caper to conceal the unpleasant fact. If her dimmed eyes
were surrounded by _bistre_ circles like a rainy moon, if her lip
quivered and her cheek was wan, she could not help it, for the modicum
of courage she possessed was oozing, and she cared not if she lived or
died. Her heart was slowly withering. When looking on the man upon
whom she had bestowed her love, for better or worse for life, his
image was blurred by distance. She saw him across a wide gulf that was
ever widening. Our unlucky heroine's mind, as we have learned, was not
well stocked. The sometimes skittish Brunelle's square head was so
stocked with lore that doubtless in moments of woe she could
unpigeonhole an array of valuable statistics and build with them a
bulwark against trouble. Gabrielle was incapable of any such
proceeding. She loved her husband with the loyalty of the simple woman
who loves once. She worshipped the prodigies, who under the new
_regime_ were becoming even more prodigious. Her husband turned away
from her; the darlings were estranged from their own mother. Seeing
her so little, and pampered and flattered by the brilliant governess,
they learned to dote on the funny tall brown woman with the voice like
a deep-toned bell, who was ever ready, when they danced into the room,
to cast aside her occupation and teach them a new game, or invent for
them a new story. Her resources were endless, for her spirits were
inexhaustible, and, like Richelieu and his kittens, she found the
gambols of childhood entertaining.
Gabrielle rarely saw the darlings now. They were isolated in a remote
wing, to which she dared not penetrate for fear of some covert insult.
Wearied by the ever-present reproach of her sad face, Clovis changed
his habits. For the future, he would breakfast in his study, he
declared, so as not to interrupt his experiments.
How fortunately affairs were turning, to be sure! Clovis was
enchanted. His neighbour, the Comte de Vaux, usually such an old
nuisance with his prate of the _grande noblesse_, was opportunely
attacked with acutest sciatica. What a chance to try the _bucket!_
Thanks to that admirable Aglae, it was complete. The exact placing of
the various bottles; the quantity of iron filing in each; the modicum
of liquid; the length of the glass wands: all was known and arranged
to a fraction. The rheumatism of the respectable De Vaux would be sent
packing. Glory would cover Mesmer and his two disciples.
Gabrielle had sought refuge from despair in good works, as most
stricken women do. She was indefatigable amongst the poor, and the
advent of the "White Chatelaine" produced always a chorus of blessing.
When departing on her rounds, Aglae, gazing down upon her from her
window, had often been heard to give vent to growls and ribald
thunderclaps.
"Just look at mawkish pale-face," she cried one day to the chevalier,
who nodded and smiled, pretending to be intelligent. "There's not a
thing she can do right. Fool! making friends with the weak instead of
with the strong! I know better than that."
Toinon, who chanced to overhear, smiled maliciously. "Indeed?" she
chuckled to herself. "If Jean Boulot speaks truth, it is the strong
who have been slumbering, while the weak danced and sang. Wait a bit,
and you will get your deserts, milady. And, oh! won't I help you on
your road!"
This matter of the completed bucket was one in which the chatelaine
might assist with propriety in an endeavour to please her husband. She
had heard so much of it as almost to be convinced of its efficacy.
True, the abbe had told her that it was a delusion, that the bottom of
the whole scheme was imagination; that the mechanical effect of
friction in disorders of a convulsive nature will produce startling
results; that there is a well-known law which impels one excited
animal to imitate another in a similar situation to himself, and that
this would satisfactorily account for the phenomena of Mesmer's cures.
But this was some time ago, and since then Pharamond had affected to
come round, and when he beheld the completed tub he gave way to spasms
of rapture.
When the newly-wedded wife in pique had worried her spouse with
scenes, they were only the ebullitions of a much-admired woman
irritated by the loved one's coolness. Now she had trod the path of
trouble so far that those days were out of ken. In her efforts to win
back her husband she would even conciliate the mischief-maker. Some
women seem specially created for martyrdom. Otherwise insignificant,
we should not see them but for the dazzling whiteness of their robes.
I dare say that many of the canonized young ladies whose legends
thrill us would, had they not been called to march over the
ploughshare of trial, have remained as much in obscurity as any other
ordinary young persons, who are too stupid to make a pudding or darn a
stocking. They would have passed utterly unnoticed in the crowd but
for the martyr's nimbus.
"The woman does not like me, and is rude," argued too guileless
Gabrielle, as she considered her resolve, "but she is such a general
favourite that surely she can't be a bad woman; she is only vulgar,
and given to self-assertion. Perhaps the fault lies in myself."
Bravely, then, the meek saint uprose and went straight to Aglae's
apartment, bearing with her a peace-offering, bent on the making up of
differences.
But the sublime and the angelic were beyond the comprehension of
mundane Aglae, who since infancy had known nothing but the sordid;
whose childhood had been passed in a beast-like tussle, a constant
struggle for food. To her thinking, the maxim anent the turning of the
cheek is an insult to common sense, considering the world whereon we
were placed without consent of ours. In Saturn or Jupiter, perhaps,
such inflated theories may be appropriate. Those worlds may be
pleasant places to dwell in. There, no doubt, a police force is not
required, while the wily but necessary detective is pictured as a
curiosity, an extinct monster, like the Dodo and the Mammoth on this
globe.
Mademoiselle Brunelle, an unromantic lady of middle age, too
commonplace to enjoy the fantastic, looked on eccentricities with a
jaundiced eye, and the contemplation made her peevish.
When the wan marquise knocked and gently entered the sanctum, where
she should have known there was no place for her, the ire of Aglae was
kindled, and sulkily regarding the invader, she assumed her most
offensive attitude. What could the abject, grovelling, brow-beaten
creature want, coming here to bother? How dared she take such a
liberty? She deserved a setting down--a drubbing. Here was a chance
for the lash! The mere sight of the wide opened violet eyes of the
marquise, with their eloquent depth of ineffable sadness, acted on her
nerves as the flag of the toreador does upon the bull. We must not
blame her, for those who have struggled up somehow without educated
help, must judge for themselves according to their lights, and they
are beset with insoluble riddles, as ill-cultured fields are choked
with weeds. To women such as Aglae, true pride is an unknown quantity.
Instead of considering it as an organ of extremest delicacy, with
ramifications as minute and various as that most amazing of creations,
the nerve system--she, like others of her kidney, understood nothing
more than an aggressive haughtiness, with an accompaniment of sledge
hammers. To her, the refined pride which can afford to pass slights
unnoticed and ignored impertinence, was a mystery which might not be
deciphered.
Gabrielle--so misread by Aglae--had bestirred herself to achieve an
object, and was prepared to forgive and obliterate the ugly past. The
pugnacious and low-souled Aglae could only perceive a lady of high
rank, who, out of cowardice, abdicated her position to grovel like a
beggar in the dirt. Such an one obviously merited castigation;
deserved to be rudely shown that being so mean-spirited she should
cower into a corner and hide away her shame.
This was the occasion for judicious pin-sticking. The alliance
demanded an operation. What would the abbe say, who had prated so
seraphically about loyalty, if he came to know that his ally and his
recalcitrant lady love had made a compact under the rose? Oh, dear no!
A reconciliation between the marquise and her governess would never do
at all! A consummation injudicious and undesirable. The purveyor of
impossible theories must be well-rapped on the knuckles. The cheek
that was turned to the smiter must be soundly thwacked to prevent a
recurrence in the future of ill-judged and degrading mawkishness.
Aglae, therefore, on the advent of the conciliatory marquise, made a
pettish movement of studied impertinence, and yawned slowly in her
face like a dyspeptic hippopotamus.
"What's that you are bringing me?" she grunted. "You know that I don't
want to be worried with you? A present? From you? Oh dear! How you
annoy me! As if I wished for your present!"
Nothing daunted, Gabrielle held out the olive-branch. "It is a
bracelet my father gave me," she said, calmly, "and I would like you
to wear it, that you may be assured each time you look on it, that I
bear no malice for your roughness."
"Nice enough. Your father had good taste," the governess remarked,
with another portentous yawn. "But what do I want with your trinkets?
Eh? I have only to say the word to be bedecked with the family
jewels."
First pin, plunged well into the flesh. Gabrielle turned white, but
did not abandon her purpose.
"What harm have I ever done you?" she asked, quietly.
"Harm!" echoed Aglae. "The harm of coming into the world, and making
of yourself a perpetual nuisance. Nobody here wants you. Why can't you
go out of it?"
"I wish to be taught about Mesmer and his theories," pursued
Gabrielle, with a courage which should have compelled respect. "Give
me lessons and I will pay you."
"_You_ pay me?" laughed Aglae amused. "My price might be too high for
your purse."
The marquise looked at the governess in mild surprise. Could it be
that she did not know how the case stood with regard to money? It was
not for her to enlighten the interloper. The fact was, that as the
marquis received what he wanted, the subject of filthy lucre was never
mentioned in the household.
"The carriage has been ordered, and I will go with you to-day." She
decided quietly.
"What!" shrieked Aglae, tired of the interview. "You want to go to
Montbazon? Do you know that we are going to operate upon old de Vaux?
My poor soul! You would only be most desperately in the way, seeing
how ignorant and in experienced you are. Come. Saints prefer the
truth, I'm told, though I don't find it always pleasant; but then I'm
not a saint, you see. I would have you realise that your method is
deplorable. You have managed so ill as to drive the marquis from his
own breakfast-table with your ridiculous woful airs. The luckless
master of the house has been hunted from the dining-hall. For a saint,
I call that ungenerous." Pin No. 2.
"I may be incompetent to amuse--that is my misfortune," sighed the
marquise; "but it is strange that one with so good a heart as he,
should treat her so harshly who loves him with all her soul."
"Love!" laughed the governess with insolence, much tickled. "You don't
know what it means. How just it is that one so fair should be so
brainless! All you could give him was the clammy affection of a fish.
No wonder that anything so chilly should be returned with thanks."
Gabrielle's cheeks began to burn, her eyes to sparkle. "It is not for
you who eat my bread to shower insults on me! Till you came," she
said, "we got on well enough. I took what he had to give with
gratitude. I have endured too much from you, and know now that you are
wicked. Beware lest you push me to extremity."
"Till I came?" echoed the governess. "Till then it was the worthy
abbe's tact that kept things going, no thanks to you. One of the few
just rules of this bad world is that as we make our bed we lie on it.
Your bed is full of creases? Too late, my dear, to smooth them. So I
am the kill-joy, am I? Ask your husband whether he was ever so happy
as since my coming? You poor, puling, whining bat!" pursued Aglae,
surveying her victim with withering scorn. "You could not perceive
that natures such as his require a master--a strong hand to lead, an
iron will to guide, a whip to drive, if need be. Here is the hand to
which he has learnt to cling and shall cling to--to the end."
Mademoiselle flourished the large square-fingered hand so close to the
marquise's face that she recoiled.
"Why, even your children care more for me than you," she scoffed. Pin
No. 3. "No doubt I have bewitched them? You should get me burned as a
sorceress, and start your life afresh. I freely give you this advice,
so never say I am ill-natured. Puling and whining adds loathing to
indifference. Cheerfully accept the fate you've carved, and make the
best of it. Now you must really excuse me; I must dress, for I never
keep the marquis waiting;" and with that she firmly pushed the
marquise from the room and slammed the door in her face.
It was cruelly put, but true--all of it. With sinking heart the pale
chatelaine admitted it was true. Too late now for remedy. The woman
had taken Clovis in that powerful hand of hers, and twisted him round
her little finger. Would it be of any use to make the appeal to him
from which she had shrunk so long? No. The woman had laid stress on
the fact that he had come actually to avoid her presence, would not
even sit at table with her. Nothing short of absolute aversion could
deprive her thus of every privilege of wife and mother. What had she
done to deserve it?
Painfully the chatelaine reviewed her empty life. If she had gone too
far with one of the Paris swains she could not have been more
completely ostracised. He was indifferent even then, heeding not her
incomings or outgoings, and yet he must once have cared a little for
his young wife, for then his eyes were sometimes fixed on her with
genuine satisfaction. Never now. By what intangible, invisible degrees
had things come to this grievous pass? Must she take the woman's
advice, and strive to look with cheerfulness on the inevitable? A
wife, yet no wife! What was to be the end of it? Only twenty-five
years old. How wide a waste of barren dreariness in front ere she
might hope for rest.
A sound of wheels on the gravel--the carriage was gone. On the box was
a wondrous array of parcels. Clovis and Aglae were engaged in so
animated a discussion that the children on the front seat crowed and
clapped hands with glee, marking the gesticulations of papa and the
dear, funny, brown woman. Their elfin laughter reverberated among the
grim pinnacles and turrets, and as the carriage turned into a woody
glade, Gabrielle saw from her seat in the moat-garden little Camille
climb upon the woman's knee and press her rosy face against the brown
one. The action smote the marquise as with a knife-stab, and she
moaned as if in bodily pain. "She usurps my place completely,"
murmured the hapless lady, deadly pale. "I am as little a mother as a
wife. Oh, God grant me strength to endure! Though I be without the
gate, teach me to be thankful that they are happy."
She was aware of a long shadow on the grass, and a gentle voice by her
side echoed her own thought.
"Alone--always alone," the suave abbe said, scrutinizing with lazy
satisfaction the delicacy and whiteness of his hands. "How is it, dear
marquise, that you only of our coterie are heavy-hearted? You need
rousing. What will you gain by moping except a loss of beauty and a
bad digestion? They've gone off to Montbazon, Clovis and his affinity
and the babes--twittering like so many sparrows. I should like to
survey the scene there, it will be most entertainingly ridiculous, but
they won't let us miserable scoffers assist at the incantation. Our
presence would annul the charm. What a divine day!" he continued,
flinging himself on the grass in a graceful attitude at the feet of
the chatelaine. "How swiftly the seasons pass! These glorious summer
days! How we enjoy the sun although we seek the shade, apparently
ungrateful. We forget that the leaves will turn sallow and swirl down
and die, and that we shall pine for warmth in vain. Why not? Why
trouble about the future when the present is brimming with delight?"
The abbe, his hands clasped behind his head, was peering straight up
into the blue, and what he saw there must have been pleasing, for he
seemed as satisfied with everything in general as the cat that purrs
before the fire.
"Why so dismal, my dear Gabrielle, on so perfect a morning as this; it
savours of ingratitude to heaven?"
Gabrielle glanced down at him. Was he playing with her in malice, as
the cat does with the mouse? Dismal, forsooth, when your heart
overflows with misery!
Pharamond was in a retrospective mood, and dreamily surveyed the past
as he might some moving panorama.
"Let me see," he said. "How long have we dwelt here a model family? A
year and a half--rather more than a year and a half."
"Only that?" sighed Gabrielle. "It seems a lifetime."
"You are discontented? Yearn for the frippery of court life? I am not
surprised. It is horribly selfish of us all to lock up such peerless
beauty as yours to gloat over among ourselves."
"A worse than useless gift," remarked Gabrielle, with conviction,
"bestowed on us by nature in her most malicious mood. Happiness is
given to the ugly ones."
"At least they are saved the pang that accompanies the first wrinkle,"
asserted Pharamond. "You refer to Mademoiselle Brunelle, I suppose;
our charming Aglae. She appears to be happy enough indeed. Those large
women of stoutish build possess a power of assimilation--of selecting
what is best, and chewing the cud of its enjoyment. Ages ago, before I
appeared on the scene, you were discontented. Yes, you were, dear
Gabrielle. It was my privilege then to bring back sunshine to this
gloomy spot. You might have rewarded me but you were unkind. I did not
complain, but endured your cruelty without a murmur. It was my
solicitude that unwrinkled your rose-leaves. You might have rewarded
me, I say, and you would not, and yet I bore no malice."
A foreboding of new evil darkened around Gabrielle's heart. "Why refer
to that episode that was condoned, and dead, and buried?"
Without changing his attitude, the abbe pursued purringly--
"For those halcyon days you had me to thank--me only, remember that,
and you could not be grateful. Ingratitude must be gently chidden, for
it goes ill with beauty--as a mother gently chides a well-beloved one.
I crumpled the leaves again, deliberately squeezed them into tiny
roughnesses, that you might learn how much you owed me. I confess it
was my doing. It was for your own good I did it."
The marquise sat like stone. What was this new gulf slowly
yawning--and she who looked to him for help!
"Did you never guess that it was I? No? How singular. Your intellect
works slowly. I never say what I don't mean, and I warned you, unless
I mistake sadly, that it depended on yourself whether I was to be
friend or foe. Does you memory serve you? Yes? So glad."
"I had learned to trust you as a friend," murmured Gabrielle, huskily.
"A dear friend on whom to lean in trouble. Alas--alas! my only one!"
"Why, alas? You are, excuse me, so very foolish. As our sensible Aglae
is so fond of saying, 'We do nothing for nothing in this world.' To
sit at these dainty feet is in itself a privilege, but ardent men,
made of hot flesh and blood, crave more. It's human nature to be
grasping."
"If you have mercy, peace!" implored the pale lady in growing terror.
The abbe raised himself on his elbow and surveyed Gabrielle--as lovely
as a startled fawn in her distress--with a smile that was quite
paternal, and belied the green glitter from beneath the lids. "What a
naughty girl," he chuckled, "to tempt a weak mortal with such charms.
I swear to you that with that marble skin, and those widely-opened
eyes of violet, like eyes that see a phantom, and ruby lips just
slightly parted, and that fluttering heaving bosom, you are ten times
more beautiful than I have ever seen you yet! Tut, tut! Calm yourself.
Do not take me for that uncomfortable thing, a basilisk. I am not
going to touch you, so don't look horrified. I am going away. That is
why I spoke. I wished you to know how matters stand, and to reflect
during my absence. It is desirable that you should quite comprehend
that for weal or woe your future depends on me."
"Going away," echoed Gabrielle, relieved, and yet dismayed.
"It is necessary. Was it not delicately imagined to speak, as I had to
speak, just on the eve of departure? Am I not considerate? We have
lately had letters of strange purport from Paris. Outrageous rumours
are abroad, which, if a whit of them is true, may mean serious peril
to our class. Over the affair of the Bastile the king was lamentably
misguided. He and his ministers know now and bitterly regret their
lack of purpose, for the scum, as was to be expected, has taken heart
of grace and waxes impudent with impunity. So I am going to make a
little trip to the capital, just to reconnoitre. Do not be alarmed. I
think that the agitation is all moonshine. Reflect on what I have
said, and remember that there's a limit to man's patience. Your
future, whether for comfort or the reverse, depends entirely on me. I
repeat it for the sake of emphasis. I gave you peace, then at my whim
withdrew it. Have I made it clear that what I have done I can undo?"
"There are limits to a woman's patience as well as a man's," Gabrielle
observed, grimly.
"Quite so," acquiesced the other. "Mademoiselle Brunelle has been a
thorn in your flesh, which I regret. You have endured its irritation
with fortitude, for which you deserve all praise. It depends upon
yourself whether or no the thorn be pruned away. For that you need my
aid, which shall be freely tendered--on conditions that you wot of.
During my absence I have instructed the chevalier to watch, that you
may be shielded from assaults of the enemy. A useful watchdog is the
chevalier, faithful and obedient, who will report to me everything
that passes. It is a sad pity that he takes to drink. I have observed
lately that he takes more and more to the bottle. Of that by and by he
must be cured. Meanwhile, I would have you consider the case from
every point of view, and yourself deliver the verdict."
The Abbe Pharamond rose to his feet, and kissing his finger tips,
departed.
Pressure from all quarters to the same end. You have made your
bed--make the best of it; accept the inevitable cheerfully. What the
fates decree we fight against in vain. Unfortunate Gabrielle.
Patience? Good heavens--how long-suffering was hers! And what had she
gained by it? Rebuff. Persecution. Torture. Out of the labyrinth they
had planted about her there were two exits. She might appeal to the
marechal for protection, return to the shelter of his roof. But to let
him learn that her life was shattered, that the marriage he had
himself arranged had turned out so disastrously; it would break the
old man's heart.
The other passage? Through the gates of Death. No. That method of
escape might not be employed either. What would the old man's feelings
be if he discovered that she had been driven to suicide? And yet--to
fall into the maw of the abbe. Never--never--never. Why not? Why
should she care what happened? To her it mattered little now what
chanced, bereft of all. Her father need never know. Perhaps, if she
gave way they would in pity grant her peace? Sure she was going crazy.
Peace? The peace of guilt? Peace where there was no peace? No--no. It
should never come to that.