------------------------------------------------------------------------
Once more my eyes were tracing the figures upon the curtains: the
knights and dames, the hounds, hawks, and horses. But my brain had
become clearer, and music was flowing into it. I lay silent, and
listened.
The voice was a female's. It was soft and finely modulated. Someone
played upon a stringed instrument. I recognised the tones of the
Spanish harp, but the song was French, a song of Normandy; and the words
were in the language of that romantic land. I wondered at this, for my
consciousness of late events was returning; and I knew that I was far
from France.
The light was streaming over my couch; and, turning my face to the
front, I saw that the curtains were drawn aside.
I was in a large room, oddly but elegantly furnished. Human figures
were before me, seated and standing.
After looking steadily for a while, my vision became more distinct and
reliable; and I saw that there were but three persons in the room, a man
and two females.
I remained silent, not certain but that the scene before me was only
some new phase of my dream. My eyes wandered from one of the living
figures to another, without attracting the attention of any of them.
They were all in different attitudes, and occupied differently.
Nearest me was a woman of middle age, seated upon a low ottoman. The
harp I had heard was before her, and she continued to play. She must
have been, I thought, when young, a woman of extreme beauty. She was
still beautiful in a certain sense. The noble features were there,
though I could perceive that they had been scathed by more than ordinary
suffering of the mind.
She was a Frenchwoman: an ethnologist could have told that at a glance.
Those lines, the characteristics of her highly gifted race, were easily
traceable. I thought there was a time when that face had witched many a
heart with its smiles. There were no smiles on it now, but a deep yet
intellectual expression of melancholy. This I perceived, too, in her
voice, in her song, in every note that vibrated from the strings of the
instrument.
My eye wandered farther. A man of more than middle age stood by the
table, near the centre of the room. His face was turned towards me, and
his nationality was as easily determined as that of the lady. The high,
florid cheeks, the broad front, the prominent chin, the small green cap
with its long peak and conical crown, the blue spectacles, were all
characteristics. He was a German.
His occupation was also characteristic of his nationality. Before him
were strewed over the table, and upon the floor, the objects of his
study--plants and shrubs of various species. He was busy with these,
classifying and carefully laying them out between the leaves of his
portfolio. It was evident that the old man was a botanist.
A glance to the right, and the naturalist and his labours were no longer
regarded. I was looking upon the loveliest object that ever came before
my eyes, and my heart bounded within me, as I strained forward in the
intensity of its admiration.
Yet it was not a woman that held my gaze captive, but a child--a girl--a
maid--standing upon the threshold of womanhood, ready to cross it at the
first summons of Love!
My eyes, delighted, revelled along the graceful curves that outlined the
beautiful being before me. I thought I had seen the face somewhere. I
had, but a moment before, while looking upon that of the elder lady.
They were the same face--using a figure of speech--the type transmitted
from mother to daughter: the same high front and facial angle, the same
outline of the nose, straight as a ray of light, with the delicate
spiral-like curve of the nostril which meets you in the Greek medallion.
Their hair, too, was alike in colour, golden; though, in that of the
mother, the gold showed an enamel of silver.
I will desist and spare details, which to you may be of little interest.
In return, do me the favour to believe, that the being who impressed me
then and for ever was beautiful, was lovely.
"Ah! it wod be ver moch kindness if madame and ma'm'selle wod play la
Marseillaise, la grande Marseillaise. What say mein liebe fraulein!"
"Zoe, Zoe! take thy bandolin. Yes, doctor, we will play it for you with
pleasure. You like the music. So do we. Come, Zoe!"
The young girl, who, up to this time, had been watching intently the
labours of the naturalist, glided to a remote corner of the room, and
taking up an instrument resembling the guitar, returned and seated
herself by her mother. The bandolin was soon placed in concert with the
harp, and the strings of both vibrated to the thrilling notes of the
Marseillaise.
There was something exceedingly graceful in the performance. The
instrumentation, as I thought, was perfect; and the voices of the
players accompanied it in a sweet and spirited harmony. As I gazed upon
the girl Zoe, her features animated by the thrilling thoughts of the
anthem, her whole countenance radiant with light, she seemed some
immortal being--a young goddess of liberty calling her children "to
arms!"
The botanist had desisted from his labours, and stood listening with
delighted attention. At each return of the thrilling invocation, "Aux
armes, citoyens!" the old man snapped his fingers, and beat the floor
with his feet, marking the time of the music. He was filled with the
same spirit which at that time, over all Europe, was gathering to its
crisis.
"Where am I? French faces, French music, French voices, and the
conversation in French!" for the botanist addressed the females in that
language, though with a strong Rhenish patois, that confirmed my first
impressions of his nationality. "Where am I?"
My eye ran around the room in search of an answer. I could recognise
the furniture: the cross-legged Campeachy chairs, a rebozo, the
palm-leaf petate. "Ha, Alp!"
The dog lay stretched along the mattress near my couch, and sleeping.
"Alp! Alp!"
"Oh, mamma! mamma! ecoutez! the stranger calls."
The dog sprang to his feet, and throwing his fore paws upon the bed,
stretched his nose towards me with a joyous whimpering. I reached out
my hand and patted him, at the same time giving utterance to some
expressions of endearment.
"Oh, mamma! mamma! he knows him. Voila."
The lady rose hastily, and approached the bed. The German seized me by
the wrist, pushing back the Saint Bernard, which was bounding to spring
upward.
"Mon Dieu! he is well. His eyes, doctor. How changed!"
"Ya, ya; moch better; ver moch better. Hush! away, tog! Keep away,
mine goot tog!"
"Who? where? Tell me, where am I? Who are you?"
"Do not fear! we are friends: you have been ill!"
"Yes, yes! we are friends: you have been ill, sir. Do not fear us; we
will watch you. This is the good doctor. This is mamma, and I am--"
"An angel from heaven, beautiful Zoe!"
The child looked at me with an expression of wonder, and blushed as she
said--
"Hear, mamma! He knows my name!"
It was the first compliment she had ever received from the lips of love.
"It is goot, madame! he is ver moch relieft; he ver soon get over now.
Keep away, mine goot Alp! Your master he get well: goot tog, down!"
"Perhaps, doctor, we should leave him. The noise--"
"No, no! if you please, stay with me. The music; will you play again?"
"Yes, the music is ver goot; ver goot for te pain."
"Oh, mamma! let us play, then."
Both mother and daughter took up their instruments, and again commenced
playing.
I listened to the sweet strains, watching the fair musicians a long
while. My eyes at length became heavy, and the realities before me
changed into the soft outlines of a dream.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
My dream was broken by the abrupt cessation of the music. I thought I
heard, through my sleep, the opening of a door. When I looked to the
spot lately occupied by the musicians, I saw that they were gone. The
bandolin had been thrown down upon the ottoman, where it lay, but "she"
was not there.
I could not, from my position, see the whole of the apartment; but I
knew that someone had entered at the outer door, I heard expressions of
welcome and endearment, a rustling of dresses, the words "Papa!"
"My little Zoe"; the latter uttered in the voice of a man. Then
followed some explanations in a lower tone, which I could not hear.
A few minutes elapsed, and I lay silent and listening. Presently there
were footsteps in the hall. A boot, with its jingling rowels, struck
upon the tiled floor. The footsteps entered the room, and approached
the bed. I started, as I looked up. The Scalp-hunter was before me!