One more drop makes the cup run over, says the proverb. In like manner,
the scene that had occurred on the mall at Pont Brillant on St. Hubert's
Day had caused the rancour that filled Frederick Bastien's heart to
overflow.
In the chastisement which the young marquis had inflicted upon his
horse, Frederick saw an insult, or rather a pretext, that would enable
him to manifest his hatred toward Raoul de Pont Brillant.
After a night spent in gloomy reflections, Madame Bastien's son wrote
the following note:
"If you are not a coward, you will come to Grand Sire's Rock
to-morrow morning with your gun loaded. I shall have mine. Come
alone, I shall be alone.
"I hate you. You shall know my name when I have told you to your
face the reason of my hatred.
"Grand Sire's Rock stands in a lonely part of your forest. I shall
be there all the morning, and all day if necessary, waiting for
you: so you will have no excuse for failing to come."
This absurd effusion can be explained only by Frederick's youth and
intense animosity, as well as his utter lack of experience and the
isolation in which he had lived.
This effusion written and posted, the youth feigned unusual calmness all
day, so no one would suspect his designs.
When night came, he told Madame Bastien that he felt very tired and
intended to stay in bed all the next forenoon, and that he did not want
any one to come to his room until after he got up; so the mother, hoping
rest would prove beneficial to her son, promised his request should be
complied with.
At daybreak Frederick cautiously made his escape through his bedroom
window and hastened to the place of rendezvous. As he approached it his
heart throbbed with ferocious ardour, feeling confident that Raoul de
Pont Brillant would hasten to avenge the insult contained in this
insulting note he had received.
"He shall kill me, or I will kill him," Frederick said to himself. "If
he kills me, so much the better. What is the use of dragging out a life
poisoned with envy? If I kill him--"
He shuddered at the thought, then, ashamed of his weakness, he
continued:
"If I kill him, it will be better yet. He will cease to enjoy the
pleasures and luxuries that arouse my envy. If I kill him," added the
unfortunate youth, trying to justify this bloodthirsty resolve on his
part, "his luxury will no longer flaunt itself before my poverty and the
poverty of many others who are even more to be pitied than I am."
The name of Grand Sire's Rock had been bestowed centuries before on a
pile of big granite boulders only a short distance from one of the least
frequented paths in the forest, and, as a number of large chestnut and
pine trees had sprung up between the moss-covered rocks, it was a wild
and lonely spot, well suited for a hostile meeting.
Frederick deposited his gun in a sort of natural grotto formed by a deep
opening half concealed by a thick curtain of ivy. This spot was only
about forty yards from the road by which the marquis must come if he
came at all, so Frederick stationed himself in a place where he could
see quite a distance down the road without being seen.
One hour, two hours, three hours passed and Raoul de Pont Brillant did
not come.
Unable to believe that the young marquis could have scorned his
challenge, Frederick, in his feverish impatience, devised all sorts of
excuses for his adversary's delay. He had not received the letter until
that morning; he had doubtless been obliged to do some manoeuvring to be
able to go out alone; possibly he had preferred to wait until nearer
evening.
Once Frederick, thinking of his mother and of her despair, said to
himself that perhaps in less than an hour he would have ceased to live.
This gloomy reflection rather weakened his resolution for a moment, but
he soon said to himself:
"It will be better for me to die. My death will cost my mother fewer
tears than my life, judging from those I have already compelled her to
shed."
While he was thus awaiting the arrival of the marquis, a carriage that
had left the chateau about three o'clock in the afternoon paused at the
intersection of the footpath not far from the so-called Grand Sire's
Rock.
When this low, roomy equipage drawn by two magnificent horses stopped at
the cross-roads, two tall, powdered footmen descended from their perch,
and one of them opened the carriage door, through which the
Dowager-Marquise de Pont Brillant alighted quite nimbly in spite of her
eighty-eight years; after which another woman, quite as old as the
dowager, also stepped out.
The other footman, taking one of the folding-chairs which invalids or
very old people often use during their walks, was preparing to follow
the two octogenarians when the marquise said, in a clear though rather
quavering voice:
"Remain with the carriage, which will wait for me here. Give the
folding-chair to Zerbinette."
To answer to the coquettish, pert name of Zerbinette at the age of
eighty-seven seems odd indeed, but when she entered the service of her
foster-sister, the charming Marquise de Pont Brillant, seventy years
before, as assistant hair-dresser, her retrousse nose, pert manner, big,
roguish eyes, provoking smile, trim waist, small foot, and dimpled hand
richly entitled her to the sobriquet bestowed upon her at that time by
the marquise, who, married direct from the convent at the age of
sixteen, was already considerably more than flirtatious, and who, struck
by her assistant hair-dresser's boldness of spirit and unusual
adaptability for intrigue, soon made Zerbinette her chief maid and
confidante.
Heaven only knows the good times and larks of every sort this pair had
enjoyed in their palmy days, and the devotion, presence of mind, and
fertility of resource Zerbinette had displayed in assisting her mistress
to deceive the three or four lovers she had had at one time.
The deceased husband of the marquise need be mentioned only incidentally
in this connection; in the first place because one did not take the
trouble to deceive a husband in those days, and in the second place
because the high and mighty seigneur
Hector-Magnifique-Raoul-Urbain-Anne-Cloud-Frumence, Lord Marquis of Pont
Brillant and half a dozen other places, was too much of a man of his
time to interfere with madame, his wife, in the least.
From this constant exchange of confidences on the part of the marquise
and of services of every sort and kind on the part of Zerbinette there
had resulted a decided intimacy between mistress and maid. They never
left each other, they had grown old together, and their chief pleasure
now consisted in talking over the escapades and love affairs of former
years, and it must be admitted that each day had its saint in their
calendar.
The dowager-marquise was small, thin, wrinkled, but very straight. She
dressed in the most elaborate fashion and was always redolent with
perfumes. She wore her hair crimped and powdered, and there was a bright
red spot on each cheek that increased the brilliancy of her large black
eyes, which were still bold and lustrous in spite of her advanced age.
She carried a small gold-headed ivory cane, and a richly jewelled
snuff-box from which she regaled herself from time to time.
Zerbinette, who was a little taller than her mistress, but equally thin,
wore her white hair in curls, and was attired with simple elegance.
"Zerbinette," said the dowager, after turning to take another look at
the footman who had opened the carriage door, "who is that tall,
handsome fellow? I don't remember to have seen him before."
"I doubt if you have, madame. He was just sent down from Paris."
"He's a fine-shaped fellow. Did you notice what broad shoulders he has,
Zerbinette? Handsome lackeys always remind me"--the marquise paused to
take a pinch of snuff--"handsome lackeys always remind me of that little
devil the Baroness de Montbrison."
"Madame la marquise has forgotten. It was the French Guards the
baroness--"
"You are right, and the Duc de Biron, their colonel--You remember M. de
Biron, don't you?"
"I should think I did. You had a pass-key to his little house on the
Boulevard des Poissonniers, and for your first rendezvous you dressed in
the costume of Diana, the huntress, exactly as in that handsome pastel
portrait of yourself. And how beautiful, ravishingly beautiful, you
looked in the costume, with your slim waist and white shoulders and
gleaming eyes!"
"Yes, my girl, yes. I had all those, and I made a good use of what the
Lord gave me. But to return to my story; you are right, Zerbinette, in
regard to the little baroness, it was the French Guards she went so
crazy about, so much so, in fact, that M. de Biron, their colonel, went
to the king and complained that his regiment was being ruined. 'I can't
have that,' replied the king, 'I want my French Guards for myself.
Montbrison got money enough by his wife to buy a regiment for her if she
wants it.'"
"Unfortunately, M. de Montbrison was not a sufficiently gallant
gentleman to do that. And speaking of handsome lackeys, madame must be
thinking of President de Lunel's wife, for--"
"Lunel!" exclaimed the dowager, pausing and glancing around her. "Say,
we are not far from Grand Sire's Rock, are we?"
"No, madame."
"I thought not. Do you remember that story of the osprey and poor
President de Lunel?"
"I only remember that monsieur le president was as jealous as all
possessed of the Chevalier de Bretteville, and he had good cause to be.
So it used to afford madame no end of amusement to invite them both to
the castle at the same time."
"Yes, and that was what reminded me of that affair of the osprey."
"I really have no idea what you mean."
"Ah, Zerbinette, you are growing old."
"Alas, yes, madame!"
"Well, we might as well walk in one direction as another, so suppose we
pay a visit to Grand Sire's Rock. The sight of the dear old rock will
rejuvenate me. Let me see, Zerbinette," added the marquise, taking
another pinch of snuff, "when was it that poor Lunel and the chevalier
were--"
"In October, 1779," responded Zerbinette, promptly.
"Sixty-odd years ago. Come and let us go and take a look at the famous
rock. It will make me feel young again."
"Very well, madame, but won't you find the walk too fatiguing?"
"I have the legs of fifteen this morning, girl, but if they should fail
me, you have my chair, you know."