THE POWDER OF ATTRACTION.
Meanwhile, a few yards away, in the room of the astrolabe, Madame de
Vidoche sat, waiting and trembling, afraid to move from the spot where
the astrologer had placed her, and longing for his return. The minutes
seemed endless, the house a grave. The silence and mystery which
wrapped her round, the sombre hangings, the burning candles, the
cabalistic figures filled her with awe and apprehension. She was a
timid woman; nothing but that last and fiercest hunger of all, the
hunger for love, could have driven her to this desperate step or
brought her here. But she was here, it had brought her; and though
fear blanched her cheek, and her limbs shook under her, and she dared
not pray--for what was this she was doing?--she did not repent, or
wish the step untaken, or go back on her desire.
The place was dreadful to her; but not so dreadful as the cold home,
the harsh words, the mockery of love, the slowly growing knowledge
that there never had been love, from which she was here to escape. She
was alone, but not more lonely than she had been for months in her own
house. The man who daily met her with gibes and taunts, and seldom
spoke without reminding her how pale and colourless she showed beside
the florid witty beauties of the Court--_his friends_--was still her
all, and had been her idol. If he failed her, the world was empty
indeed. Only one thing remained therefore; by hook or crook, by all a
woman might do or dare, by submission, by courage, to win back his
love. She had tried. God knows she had tried! She had knelt to him,
and he had struck her. She had dressed and been gay, and striven to
jest as his friends jested: he had scourged her with a cutting sneer.
She had prayed, and Heaven had not answered. She had turned from
Heaven--a white-faced, pining woman, little more than a girl--and she
was here.
Only let the man be quick! Let him be quick and give her what she
sought; and then scarcely any price he could ask should strain her
gratitude. At last she heard his step, and in a moment he came in.
Against the black background, and seen by the gloomy light of the
candles, he looked taller, leaner, paler, more sombre than life. His
eyes glowed with unnatural lustre. Madame shuddered as he came towards
her; and he saw it, and grinned behind his cadaverous mask.
"Madame," he said gravely, bowing his head, "it is as I hoped. Venus
is in the ascendant for nine days from to-day, and in fortunate
conjunction with Mars. I am happy that you come to me at a time so
propitious. A very little effort at this season will suffice. But it
is necessary, if you would have the charm work, to preserve the most
absolute silence and secrecy in regard to it."
Her lips were dry, her tongue seemed to cleave to her mouth. She felt
shame as well as fear in this man's presence. But she made an effort,
and muttered, "It will work?"
"I will answer for it!" he replied bluntly, a world of dubious meaning
in his tone and eyes. "It is the powder of attraction, by the use of
which Diane de Poitiers won the love of the king, though she surpassed
him by twenty years; and Madame de Valentinois held the hearts of men
till her seventieth winter. Madame de Hautefort uses it. It is made of
liquid gold, etherealised and strengthened with secret drugs. I have
made up two packets, but it will be safer if madame will take both at
once, dissolved in good wine and before the expiration of the ninth
day."
Madame de Vidoche took the packets, trembling. A little red dyed her
pale cheeks. "Is that all?" she murmured, faintly.
"All, madame; except that when you drink it, you must think of your
husband," he answered. As he said this he averted his face; for, try
as he would, he could not check the evil smile that curled his lip.
_Dieu!_ Was ever so grim a jest known? Or so forlorn, so helpless, so
infantine a fool? He could almost find it in his heart to pity her. As
for her husband--ah, how he would bleed him when it was over!
"How much am I to pay you, sir?" she asked timidly, when she had
hidden away the precious packets in her bosom. She had got what she
wanted; she was panting to be gone.
"Twenty crowns," he answered, coldly. "The charm avails for nine
moons. After that----"
"I shall need more?" she asked; for he had paused.
"Well, no, I think not," he answered slowly--hesitating strangely,
almost stammering. "I think in your case, madame, the effect will be
lasting."
She had no clue to the fantastic impulse, the ghastly humour, which
inspired the words; and she paid him gladly. He would not take the
money in his hands, but bade her lay it on the great open book,
"because the gold was alloyed, and not virgin." In one or two other
ways he played his part; directing her, for instance, if she would
increase the strength of the charm, to gaze at the planet Venus for
half an hour each evening, but not through glass or with any metal on
her person. And then he let her out by the door which opened on the
quiet street.
"Madame has, doubtless, her woman, or some attendant?" he said,
looking up and down. "Or I----"
"Oh, yes, yes!" she answered, gasping in the cold night air. "She is
here. Goodnight, sir."
He muttered some words in a strange tongue, and, as Madame de
Vidoche's attendant came out of the shadow to meet her, turned and
went in again.
The night was dark as well as cold, but madame, in the first fervour
of her spirits, did not heed it. She suffered her maid to wrap her up
warmly, and draw the cloak more closely round her throat; but she was
scarcely conscious of the attention, and bore it as a child might--in
silence. Her eyes shone in the darkness; her heart beat with a soft
subtle joy. She had the charm--the key to happiness! It was in her
bosom; and every moment, under cover of the cloak and night, her
fingers flew to it and assured her it was safe. The scruples with
which she had contemplated the interview troubled her no longer. In
her joy and relief that the ordeal was over and the philtre gained,
she knew no doubt, no suspicion. She lived only for the moment when
she might put the talisman to the test, and see love wake again in
those eyes which, whether they smiled or scowled, fate had made the
lodestones of her life.
The streets, by reason of the cold, were quiet enough. No one remarked
the two women as they flitted along under cover of the wall.
Presently, however, the bell of a church close at hand began to ring
for service, and the sound, startling madame, brought her suddenly,
chillily, sharply, to earth again. She stopped. "What is that?" she
said. "It cannot be compline. It wants three hours of midnight."
"It is St. Thomas's Day," the woman with her answered.
"So it is," madame replied, moving on again, but more slowly. "Of
course; it is four days to Christmas. Don't they call him the Apostle
of Faith, Margot?"
"Yes, madame."
"To be sure," madame rejoined thoughtfully. "To be sure; yes, we
should have faith--we should have faith." And with that she buoyed
herself up again (as people will in certain moods, using the strangest
floats), and went on gaily, her feet tripping to the measure of her
heart, and her hand on the precious packet that was to change the
world for her. On the foullest mud gleams sometimes the brightest
phosphorescence: otherwise it were not easy to conceive how even
momentary happiness could come of the house in the Rue Touchet!
The two women had nearly reached the Church of St. Gervais by the
Greve, when the sound of a swift stealthy footstep coming along the
street behind them caught the maid's ear. It was not a reassuring
sound at night and in that place. The dark square of the Greve, swept
by the icy wind from the river, lay before them; and though a brazier,
surrounded by a knot of men belonging to the watch, burned in the
middle of the open, the two women were reluctant to show themselves
where they might meet with rudeness. Margot laid her hand on her
mistress's arm, and for a few seconds the two stood listening, with
thumping hearts. The step came on--a light, pattering step. Acting on
a common impulse the women turned and looked at one another. Then
slipping noiselessly into the shadow cast by the church porch, they
pressed themselves against the wall, and stood scarcely daring to
breathe.
But fortune was against them, or their follower's eye was keen beyond
the ordinary. They had not been there many seconds before he came
running up--a stooping figure, slight and short. He slackened speed
abruptly, and stopped exactly opposite their lurking-place. A moment
of suspense, and then a pale face, rendered visible by a gleam from
the distant fire, looked in on them, and a thin, panting voice
murmured timidly, "Madame! Madame de Vidoche, if you please!"
[Illustration: "'MADAME! MADAME DE VIDOCHE, IF YOU PLEASE!'" (_p_.
112)]
"Saint Siege!" madame's woman gasped, in a voice of astonishment. "I
declare it is a child!"
Madame almost laughed in her relief. "Ah!" she said, "how you
frightened us! I thought you were a man dogging us--a thief!"
"I am not," the boy said simply.
This time Margot laughed. "Who are you, then?" she asked, briskly
stepping out, "and why have you been following us? You seem to have my
lady's name pretty pat," she added, sharply.
"I want to speak to her," the boy answered, his lip trembling. In
truth, he was trembling all over with fear and excitement. But the
darkness hid that.
"Oh!" Madame de Vidoche said graciously. "Well, you may speak. But
tell me first who you are, and be quick about it. It is cold and
late."
"I am from the house where you have been," Jehan answered bravely.
"You saw me at Les Andelys, too, when you were at supper, madame. I
was the boy at the door. I want to speak to you alone, please."
"Alone!" madame exclaimed.
The boy nodded firmly. "If you please," he said.
"Hoity-toity!" Margot exclaimed; and she was for demurring. "He only
wants to beg," she said.
"I don't!" the boy cried, with tears in his voice.
"Then it is a present he wants!" she rejoined, scornfully. "They
expect their vales at those places. And we are to freeze while he
makes a tale."
But madame, out of pity or curiosity, would hear him. She bade the
woman wait a few paces away. And when they were alone: "Now," she said
kindly, "what is it? You must be quick, for it is very cold."
"_He_ sent me after you--with a message," Jehan answered.
Madame started, and her hand went to the packet. "Do you mean M.
Notredame?" she murmured.
The boy nodded. "He--he said he had forgotten one thing," he
continued, halting between his sentences and shivering. "He--he said
you were to alter one thing, madame."
"Oh!" Madame answered frigidly, her heart sinking, her pride roused by
this intervention of the boy, who seemed to know all. "What thing, if
you please?"
Jehan looked quickly and fearfully over his shoulder. But all was
quiet. "He said he had forgotten that your husband was dark," he
stammered.
"Dark!" madame muttered in astonishment.
"Yes, dark-complexioned," Jehan continued desperately. "And that being
so, you were not to take the--the charm yourself."
Madame's eyes flashed with anger. "Oh!" she said, "indeed! And is that
all?"
"But to give it to him, without telling him," the boy rejoined, with
sudden spirit and firmness.
Madame started and drew a deep breath. "Are you sure you have made no
mistake?" she said, trying to read the boy's face. But it was too dark
for that.
"Quite sure," he answered hardily.
"Oh," madame said, slowly and thoughtfully; "very well. Is that all?"
"That is all," he replied, drawing back a step; but reluctantly, as it
seemed.
Margot, who had been all the time moving a little nearer and a little
nearer, came right up at this. "Now, my lady," she said sharply, "I
beg you will have done. This is no place for us at this time of night,
and this little imp of Satan ought to be about his business. I am sure
I am perishing with cold, and the sound of those creaking boats on the
river makes me think of nothing but gibbets and corpses, till I have
got the creeps all down my back! And the watch will be here
presently."
"Very well, Margot," madame answered; "I am coming." But still she
looked at the boy and lingered. "You are sure there is nothing else?"
she murmured.
"Nothing," he answered.
She thought his manner odd, and wondered why he lingered; why he did
not hurry off, since the night was cold and he was bareheaded. But
Margot pressed her again, and she turned, saying reluctantly, "Very
well, I am coming."
"Ay, and so is Christmas!" the woman grumbled. And this time she
fairly took her by the arm and hurried her away.
"That is not a good retort, Margot!" madame said presently, when they
had gone a few paces, and were flitting hand-in-hand across the Greve,
with heads bent to the wind, "for it wants only four days to
Christmas. You had forgotten that!"
"I think you are fey, my lady!" the woman replied, in an ill-temper.
"I have not seen you so gay these twelve months; and what with the
cold, and fear of the watch and monsieur, I am ready to sink. You must
have heard fine news down there."
But madame did not answer. She was thinking of last Christmas. Her
husband had gone to the revels at the Palais Cardinal, which was then
in building. She had offered to go with him, and he had told her, with
an oath, that if she did she should remember it. So she had stopped at
home alone--her first Christmas in Paris. She had gone to mass, and
then had sat all day in the cold, splendid house, and cried. Half the
servants had played truant, and her woman had been cross, and for
hours together no one had gone near her.
This Christmas it was to be different.
Madame's eyes began to shine again, and her heart to beat a pleasant
measure. If she had her will, they would go to no pageants or
merry-makings. But then he liked such things, and showed to advantage
in them. Yes, they would go, and she would sit quiet as a mouse; and
listening while they praised him, would feed all the time on the sweet
knowledge that now he was hers--her own.
She had not done dreaming when they reached the house. The porter was
drowsing in his lodge, the gate was ajar. They slipped into the dark
silent courtyard, and, flitting across it, entered the house. Two
servants lay stretched asleep in the hall, and in a little room to the
left of the door they could hear others talking; but no one looked
out. Fortune could not have aided them better. With a little laugh of
relief and thankfulness madame tripped up the grand staircase and
under the great lamp which lit it and the hall.
Marmot followed, but neither she nor her mistress saw who followed
them: who had followed them across the windy Greve, through street and
lane and byway; even, after a moment's hesitation, over the threshold
of the court and into the house. A servant who heard the stairs creak
as they went up, and looked out, fancied he saw a small black figure
glide out of sight above; but as there were no children in the house,
and this was a child, if anything, he thought his eyes deceived
him--he was half-asleep--and, crossing himself, went back, yawning.
The boy could never quite explain--though often asked in
after-years--what led him to run this risk. It is true he dared not
return to the Rue Touchet; and he was only twelve years old, and knew
nowhere else to go. But---- However, that is all that can be said. He
did follow them.
He paused at the head of the stairs, and stood shivering under the
great lamp. In front of him hung a pair of heavy curtains. After a
moment's hesitation he crept between them and found himself in a
splendid apartment, spacious though sparely furnished, lit from
the roof, and in character half-hall, half-parlour. A high marble
chimney-piece in the new Italian mode faced him, and on either hand
were two lofty doorways screened by curtains. The floor was of
parquet, the walls were panelled in chestnut wood. On each side of the
fire, which smouldered low between the dogs and was nearly out, a long
bench, velvet-covered, ran along the wall. A posset-cup stood on a
tripod on the hearth, and in the middle of the room a marble table
bore a dish of sweetmeats and a tray of flasks and glasses. In that
day, when people dined at eleven and supped at six, it was customary
to take _les epices et le vin du coucher_ before retiring at nine.
The boy stood cowering and listening--a strange, pale-faced little
figure, reflected in a narrow mirror which decked one wall. It was
very cold even here; outside he must die of cold. He heard the two
women moving and talking in one of the rooms on the left; otherwise
the house was still. He looked about, hesitated, and at last stole on
tip-toe across the floor to one of the doors on his right. The curtain
which hid it trailed a yard on the ground. He sat down between it and
the door, and, winding one corner of the thick heavy stuff round his
frozen limbs, uttered a sigh of relief. He had found a refuge of a
kind.
He meant to sleep, but he could not, for all his nerves were tense
with excitement. Not a sound in the house escaped him. He heard the
soft ashes sink on the hearth; he heard one of the men who slept in
the hall turn and moan in his sleep. At last, quite close to him, a
door opened.
Jehan moved a little and peered from his ambush. The noise had come
from madame's room. He was not surprised when he saw her face thrust
out. Presently she put the curtain quite aside and came out, and stood
a little way from him, listening intently. She wore a loose robe of
some soft stuff, and he fancied she was barefoot, for she moved
without noise.
She stood listening a full minute, with her hand to her bosom. Then
she nodded, as if assured that all was well, and, going to the table,
looked down at the things it held. Her face wore a subtle smile, her
cheeks flamed softly, there was a shy sparkle in her eyes. The lamp
seemed to lend her new loveliness.
Apparently she did not find what she wanted on the table, for in a
moment she turned and went to the fireplace. She took the posset from
the trivet, and, lifting the lid of the cup, looked in. What she saw
appeared to satisfy her, for with a quick movement she carried the cup
to the table and set it down open. She had her back to Jehan now, and
he could not see what she was doing, though he watched her every
motion and partly guessed. When she had finished whatever it was, she
raised the cup to her lips, and the boy's heart stood still. Ay, stood
still! He half rose, his face white. But he was in error. She only
kissed the wine and covered it, and took it back to the trivet,
murmuring something over it as she set it down.
[Illustration: HE WATCHED HER EVERY MOTION "(_p_. 124).]
The boy lay still, like one fascinated, while madame, clasping two
little silk bags to her bosom, stole back to her door. As she raised
the curtain with one hand she turned on a sudden impulse and kissed
the other towards the hearth. Slowly the curtain fell and hid her
shining eyes.