IN WHICH THE PATIENT PROGRESSES FAVOURABLY.
His qualities were beauteous as his form,
For maiden-tongued he was, and thereof free;
Yet, if men moved him, he was such a storm
As oft twixt May and April we may see.
_A Lover's Complaint._
Aided by his youth and strength, and doubtless by his native air,
which blew upon his pale face through the northern windows of his
chamber, when the breeze waved the ripening corn and wafted the
perfume of the heather and the yellow broom-bells across the North
Loch, Florence recovered rapidly. His wounds soon healed, under the
soothing influence of the medicinal balsams applied to them, and of
the subtle opiates which he received from the hands of his two fair
attendants, and from those of the white-bearded physician, who, with
a pardonable vanity, cared not to conceal _his_ name, but soon
announced himself to be Master Peter Posset, chirurgeon to the late
King James V. of blessed memory (whose deathbed he had soothed at
Falkland Palace), and deacon of the chirurgeon-barbers of
Edinburgh--a body who, in virtue of their office, were exempted by
their charter from serving on juries, and from the duties of keeping
watch and ward within the city.
Master Posset was a man of venerable aspect, with a voluminous white
beard. He was measured in tone, pedantic in manner, and bled and
blistered, according to the rule of the age, only when certain stars
and signs which were believed to influence the human body, were in
certain mansions of the firmament,--for he was a deep dabbler alike
in alchemy and astrology. Yet in 1533 he had studied and practised
at Lyons as hospital physician under Rabellais, and been the medical
attendant of Jean du Bellay, Bishop of Paris, when that distinguished
prelate travelled to Rome concerning the divorce of Henry VIII. of
England in 1534. The residence of Master Posset was at the head of a
forestair in the Lawn-market, where his uncouth sign,--a dried
alligator, swung from an iron bracket, exciting fear and awe in the
heart of country folks who came to buy or sell, and where the
armorial cognizance of his craft,--_argent_, a naked corpse fessways
_proper_, between a hand with an eye in its palm, the thistle and
crown,--informed all that it was the domicile of the Deacon of the
Chirurgeon-Barbers.
By his pedantry and prosy recollections of MM. Rabellais and Jean du
Bellay, this worthy leech proved an intolerable bore to his patient;
but he had evidently received due instructions to be reserved; for by
no effort of cunning, of tact, and by no power of entreaty, could
Fawside draw from him the secret of whose house they were in, and who
were these two women so highly bred, so courtly, and so beautiful who
attended him like sisters, and to whom he owed his life and rapid
recovery. From a French valet who also attended him he was likewise
unable to extract a syllable; for M. Antoine, though an excellent
musician on the viol, made signs that he was dumb.
"Master Posset, good, kind Master Posset," said Florence one day, "I
have exhausted all offers of bribes such as a gentleman in my present
circumstances might make, and you have nobly rejected them all. Now
I cast myself upon your pity, your humanity, to tell me who and what
those two kind fairies are!"
"Who they are I dare not tell; _what_ they are I may," replied the
cautious leech.
"Say on, then. What are they?"
"A widow and a maid."
"The widow?" asked Florence impetuously.
"Is she with the hazel eyes and chestnut hair."
"The maid?"
"Of course the other, she with the darker hair and violet-blue eyes,
and who, violet-like, secludes herself from all."
"The loveliest, thank Heaven!"
"Why thank you Heaven so fervently?" asked Master Posset with
surprise.
"Ask me not!--ask me not!" exclaimed Fawside, in whose heart every
glance, every action, and every trivial question or remark of the
younger lady had made a deep impression.
"Their rank?"
"I may not, must not tell you," interrupted the physician hastily.
"It is high?"
"Few are nobler in the land."
"Ah! Master Posset, each looks like a queen."
"Perhaps they are so,--queens of Elfen," replied Master Posset, with
a smile which his heavy white moustache concealed.
"You are most discreet, Master Apothecary," sighed Florence with
impatience.
"To be discreet was one of my chief orders, and I am in the mansion
of those who brook no trifling; and, as the great Rabellais was wont
to say, discretion to a physician was as necessary as a needle to a
compass."
"All this mystery seems rather peculiar and unnecessary; but thus
much I can discern, that the younger gentlewoman treats the other
with such deference and respect, that her rank must be inferior,
though her beauty is second to none that I have seen even at the
court of France."
"You are an acute observer, sir," replied the leech, reddening, and
with some alarm; "but may not such deference and respect arise from
her junior years?"
"Scarcely; for I can perceive that the elder is barely thirty years
of age."
"Yet she has buried a second husband and at least two children."
"I shall soon discover _her_ if you give me but one or two more such
other details," said Florence laughing.
"You will not attempt it, I hope," said Master Posset, with growing
alarm, and preparing to withdraw.
"Most worthy doctor, what is that which succeeds best in this world?"
"I know not."
"Shall I tell you?"
"Yes."
"_Success_. I have great faith in it."
"The very words of the great Rabelais!"
"The devil take Rabelais!" said Florence with annoyance.
"Shame on you, young sir!" said Master Posset, who considered this
rank blasphemy.
"Pardon me; but by this faith in success I shall never fail," replied
Fawside laughing. "I shall soon be gone from here, where I have
played the owl too long, and when well enough I shall soar like the
lark. Ah! good Master Posset, most worthy deacon, dost think I have
spent seven years of my life between Paris and Vendome without being
able to discover a pretty demoiselle's name when I had the wish to do
so. She cannot conceal herself long from me, be assured of that."
"Is it gallant to talk thus of those gentlewomen whose roof shelters
you, and from whom you also conceal your own name?" asked Posset
angrily.
"It is not; and yet, by my faith, _three_ sword wounds have given me
more reason for caution than I ever thought would fall to my lot.
But I will take patience, for time unravelleth all things."
"As I have heard the divine Jean de Bellay preach in Notre Dame at
Paris many a time--yea, sir, verily time unravelleth all things."
"Yea, and _avengeth_ all things," said a soft voice on the other side
of his couch; and on turning, Fawside met the bright eyes of the lady
and her friend fixed upon him.
The young man was very handsome. His features were regular, but
striking and marked; his hair was cut short, but was black and curly;
his nose was straight, with a well-curved nostril; his chin was well
defined, and fringed by a short-clipped French beard. His
shirt-collar being open, displayed a muscular chest, white as the
marble of Paros, but crossed by the ligatures and bandages which
retained the healing balsams on his wounds. His features had all the
freshness and charm of youth, but over them was spread the languor of
recent suffering and loss of blood; thus his fine eyes were
unnaturally bright and restless. Finding that the noble lady had
overheard his heedless remarks, Fawside made efforts to rise to bow,
and, reddening deeply, said,--
"Pardon me, madam, I knew not that you were so near; nor _you_, sweet
mistress," he added in a tremulous voice, as he addressed the younger
and more beautiful of those striking women, in whose charming society
he had been thrown, and to whose care he had found himself confided
for more than a week.
Long conscious of the power of her beauty, it was impossible for this
young lady not to perceive and feel pleased with the interest she was
exciting in the breast of Florence, the expression of whose dark eyes
and the tone of whose voice too surely revealed it.
This morning her sweetly feminine face was more than usually lovely
in an ermined triangular hood, trimmed with Isla pearls from Angus,
and these were not whiter than her delicate neck and ring-laden
fingers; she seldom spoke, save when addressed by her friend, and her
replies were always brief.
"I heard you mention Paris and the Vendomois," said the latter to the
patient, as she bent her clear hazel eyes upon him, and as Master
Posset respectfully withdrew from the chamber by retiring backwards
through the arras. "I know the latter well, and every bend of the
beautiful Loire, with the old castle of the Comtes de la Marche and
the ducal mansion of Charles of Bourbon----"
"And the great old abbey of the Holy Trinity, with its huge towers,
its pointed windows, and the reliquary----"
"Where the Benedictines keep in a crystal case the Holy Tear----"
"Wept by our Blessed Saviour over the grave of Lazarus."
"Ah, I see we shall have some recollections in common," said the
proud lady, smiling; "and fair Paris--how looketh it?"
"Gay and great as ever, forming, to my eyes,--in its life, bustle,
and magnitude,--a wondrous contrast to our grim Scottish burghs, with
their barred houses, their walls and gates, and steep streets
encumbered by stacks of peat and fuel and heather."
"_Mon Dieu_, yes; one may caracole a horse along the Rue St. Jacques
or the Rue St. Honore without meeting such uncouth obstructions as
these. Is the Hotel de Ville finished yet?"
"Nearly so."
"Are those four delightful monsters of M--M--oh, I forget his
name--completed on the tower of St. Jacques de la Boucharie?"
"Yes, madam, and grin over Paris all day long."
"You see, I know Paris, sir."
"Madame is doubtless only Scottish by adoption."
The lady smiled sadly, while her friend laughed aloud.
"I can see it before me now, in fancy," said she while her fine eyes
dilated and sparkled, "smiling amid the plain that is covered with
golden corn, and bounded by the vine-clad hills that spread from Mont
l'Hery to Poissy; Paris with its busy streets of brick-fronts and
stone-angles, of slated roofs and many-coloured houses--the huge
masses of the _cité_, the _ville_, the great Bastile, and the double
towers of mighty Notre Dame! I see them all glittering in the
cloudless sun of noon, as one day my little daughter shall see them
too!"
"A daughter--you have a daughter, madam," said Fawside with growing
interest, "and are a widow; in pity tell me who you are?"
"We two have our little secrets, fair sir," she replied, holding up a
slender finger with a waggish expression.
"By the cross on my dagger, I swear to you, madam----"
"But your dagger is lost."
"I regret that deeply, for it was the present of a noble dame."
"Since we are so bent on fruitlessly questioning each other, may I
ask _her_ name?" said the younger lady.
"Diana de Poictiers, the Duchess of Valentinois; it bears her three
crescents engraved upon the hilt; but I left it in some knave's body
on the night of the brawl. If he lives, the diamonds in the pommel
may perhaps prove a salve for his sores; if he dies, a fund for his
funeral--but a pest on't! my brave dagger is gone."
"Accept this from me," said the taller lady, taking from an ebony
buffet that stood near, a jewelled poniard, and presenting it to
Florence.
"A thousand thanks, madam--a lady's gift can never be declined; but
what do I see? The cipher of James V.--of his late majesty."
"'Twas his dagger," said the lady gloomily, "and with it he
threatened to stab Sir James Hamilton of Finnart, the
inquisitor-general of Scotland; but I arrested his hand and took away
the weapon; for the gentle King James would never refuse aught to a
woman, a priest, or a child."
"And so you were known to the fair mistress of Francis I.?" asked the
young lady with a slightly disdainful pout on her pretty lip.
"Nay, madam, I cannot say that she knew me; but once when she and her
royal lover quarrelled, I bore a letter from her to Francis, and at a
time when no other person would venture to approach him, his majesty
being furious on the arrival of tidings that his fleet before Nice
had been destroyed by the galleys of Andrew Doria."
"This was three years ago."
"I was loitering one day in the gallery of the Louvre, when she
approached me, 'M. le Page,' said she, placing a little pink note in
my hand, 'will you do a service for me?'
"'I belong to Madame la Duchesse d'Albany,' said I; 'yet I shall
gladly obey you, madam.'
"'Then you shall have ten golden crowns.'
"'Ten crowns! Ah, madam,' said I, gallantly, 'I would rather have
ten gifts less tangible.'
"'You shall have both, boy,' said she, laughing merrily; 'the crowns
now and the kisses hereafter.'
"Her note to Francis proved successful: in less than ten minutes that
princely monarch was at her feet. But with her kiss, she gave me a
Parmese dagger, which she wore at her girdle, the gift of her present
lover, Henry of Valois, and which you, madam, have so nobly replaced
by this."
As he spoke, Florence, with the true loyal devotion of the olden
time, kissed the cipher which was engraved on its hilt.
At that moment Master Posset reappeared, and whispered in the ear of
the lady of the mansion.
"Excuse me, sir," said she; "there are those without who would speak
with me."
And on her retiring suddenly with the physician, Florence, somewhat
to his confusion, found himself for a time left alone with the
younger and, as we have more than once said, more attractive of his
two attendants, and in whom, though as yet nameless, we have little
doubt the sagacious reader has already recognized the heroine of our
story.