THE MAID AND THE MISTRESS.
Gilbert had passed this time in unspeakable anguish. Balsamo was but a
man, but he was a strong one, and the youth was weak: He had attempted
twenty times to mount to the assault of the guest room, but his
trembling limbs gave way under him and he fell on his knees.
Then the idea struck him to get the gardener's ladder and by its means
climb up outside to the window, and listen and spy. But as he stooped
to pick up this ladder, lying on the grass where he remembered, he
heard a rustling noise by the house, and he turned.
He let the ladder fall, for he fancied he saw a shade flit across the
doorway. His terror made him believe it, not a ghost--he was a budding
philosopher who did not credit them--but Baron Taverney. His conscience
whispered another name, and he looked up to the second floor. But
Nicole had put out her light, and not another, or a sound came from all
over the house--the guest's room excepted.
Seeing and hearing nothing, convinced that he had deluded himself,
Gilbert took up the ladder and had set foot on it to climb where he
placed it, when Andrea came down from Balsamo's room. With a lacerated
heart, Gilbert forgot all to follow her into the parlor where again she
sat at the instrument; her candle still burned beside it.
Gilbert tore his bosom with his nails to think that here he had kissed
the hem of her robe with such reverence. Her condescension must spring
from one of those fits of corruption recorded in the vile books which
he had read--some freak of the senses.
But as he was going to invade the room again, a hand came out of the
darkness and energetically grasped him by the arm.
"So I have caught you, base deceiver! Try to deny again that you love
her and have an appointment with her!"
Gilbert had not the power to break from the clutch, though he might
readily have done so, for it was only a girl's. Nicole Legay held him a
prisoner.
"What do you want?" he said testily.
"Do you want me to speak out aloud?"
"No, no; be quiet," he stammered, dragging her out of the antechamber.
"Then follow me!" which was what Gilbert wanted, as this was removing
Nicole from her mistress.
He could with a word have proved that while he might be guilty of
loving the lady, the latter was not an accomplice; but the secret of
Andrea was one that enriches a man, whether with love or lucre.
"Come to my room," she said; "who would surprise us there! Not my young
lady, though she may well be jealous of her fine gallant! But folks in
the secret are not to be dreaded. The honorable lady jealous of the
servant,--I never expected such an honor! It is I who am jealous, for
you love me no more."
In plainness, Nicole's bedroom did not differ from the others in
that dwelling. She sat on the edge of the bed, and Gilbert on the
dressing-case, which Andrea had given her maid.
Coming up the stairs, Nicole had calmed herself, but the youth felt
anger rise as it cooled in the girl.
"So you love our young lady," began Nicole with a kindling eye. "You
have love-trysts with her; or will you pretend you went only to consult
the magician?"
"Perhaps so, for you know I feel ambition----"
"Greed, you mean?"
"It is the same thing, as you take it."
"Don't let us bandy words: you avoid me lately."
"I seek solitude----"
"And you want to go up into solitude by a ladder? Beg pardon, I did not
know that was the way to it."
Gilbert was beaten in the first defenses.
"You had better out with it, that you love me no longer, or love us
both."
"That would only be an error of society, for in some countries men have
several wives."
"Savages!" exclaimed the servant, testily.
"Philosophers!" retorted Gilbert.
"But you would not like me to have two beaux on my string?"
"I do not wish tyrannically and unjustly to restrain the impulses of
your heart. Liberty consists in respecting free will. So, change your
affection, for fidelity is not natural--to some."
Discussion was the youth's strong point; he knew little, but more than
the girl. So he began to regain coolness.
"Have you a good memory, Master Philosopher?" said Nicole. "Do you
remember when I came back from the nunnery with mistress, and you
consoled me, and taking me in your arms, said: 'You are an orphan like
me; let us be brother and sister through similar misfortune.' Did you
mean what you said?"
"Yes, then; but five months have changed me; I think otherwise at
present."
"You mean you will not wed me? Yet Nicole Legay is worth a Gilbert, it
seems to me."
"All men are equal; but nature or education improves or depreciates
them. As their faculties or acquirements expand, they part from one
another."
"I understand that we must part, and that you are a scamp. How ever
could I fancy such a fellow?"
"Nicole, I am never going to marry, but be a learned man or a
philosopher. Learning requires the isolation of the mind; philosophy
that of the body."
"Master Gilbert, you are a scoundrel, and not worth a girl like me.
But you laugh," she continued, with a dry smile more ominous than his
satirical laugh; "do not make war with me; for I shall do such deeds
that you will be sorry, for they will fall on your head, for having
turned me astray."
"You are growing wiser; and I am convinced now that you would refuse me
if I sued you."
Nicole reflected, clenching her hands and gritting her teeth.
"I believe you are right, Gilbert," she said; "I, too, see my horizon
enlarge, and believe I am fated for better things than to be so mean as
a philosopher's wife. Go back to your ladder, sirrah, and try not to
break your neck, though I believe it would be a blessing to others, and
may be for yourself."
Gilbert hesitated for a space in indecision, for Nicole, excited by
love and spite, was a ravishing creature; but he had determined to
break with her, as she hampered his passion and his aspirations.
"Gone," murmured Nicole in a few seconds.
She ran to the window, but all was dark. She went to her mistress'
door, where she listened.
"She is asleep; but I will know all about it to-morrow."
It was broad day when Andrea de Taverney awoke.
In trying to rise, she felt such lassitude and sharp pain that she fell
back on the pillow uttering a groan.
"Goodness, what is the matter?" cried Nicole, who had opened the
curtains.
"I do not know. I feel lame all over; my chest seems broken in."
"It is the outbreak of the cold you caught last night," said the maid.
"Last night?" repeated the surprised lady; but she remarked the
disorder of her room, and added: "Stay, I remember that I felt very
tired--exhausted--it must have been the storm. I fell to sleep over my
music. I recall nothing further. I went up hither half asleep, and must
have thrown myself on the bed without undressing properly."
"You must have stayed very late at the music, then," observed Nicole,
"for, before you retired to your bedroom I came down, having heard
steps about----"
"But I did not stir from the parlor."
"Oh, of course, you know better than me," said Nicole.
"You must mistake," replied the other with the utmost sweetness: "I
never left the seat; but I remember that I was cold, for I walked quite
swiftly."
"When I saw you in the garden, however, you walked very freely."
"I, in the grounds?--you know I never go out after dark."
"I should think I knew my mistress by sight," said the maid, doubling
her scrutiny; "I thought that you were taking a stroll with somebody."
"With whom would I be taking a stroll?" demanded Andrea, without seeing
that her servant was putting her to an examination.
Nicole did not think it prudent to proceed, for the coolness of the
hypocrite, as she considered her, frightened her. So she changed the
subject.
"I hope you are not going to be sick, either with fatigue or sorrow.
Both have the same effect. Ah, well I know how sorrows undermine!"
"You do? Have you sorrows, Nicole?"
"Indeed; I was coming to tell my mistress, when I was frightened to see
how queer you looked; no doubt, we both are upset."
"Really!" queried Andrea, offended at the "we both."
"I am thinking of getting married."
"Why, you are not yet seventeen----"
"But you are sixteen and----"
She was going to say something saucy, but she knew Andrea too well to
risk it, and cut short the explanation.
"Indeed, I cannot know what my mistress thinks, but I am low-born and I
act according to my nature. It is natural to have a sweetheart."
"Oh, you have a lover then! You seem to make good use of your time
here."
"I must look forward. You are a lady and have expectations from rich
kinsfolks going off; but I have no family and must get into one."
As all this seemed straightforward enough, Andrea forgot what had been
offensive in tone, and said, with her kindness taking the reins:
"Is it any one I know? Speak out, as it is the duty of masters to
interest themselves in the fate of their servants, and I am pleased
with you."
"That is very kind. It is--Gilbert!"
To her high amaze, Andrea did not wince.
"As he loves you, marry him," she replied, easily. "He is an orphan,
too, so you are both your own masters. Only, you are both rather young."
"We shall have the longer life together."
"You are penniless."
"We can work."
"What can he do, who is good for nothing?"
"He is good to catch game for master's table, anyway; you slander poor
Gilbert, who is full of attention for you."
"He does his duty as a servant----"
"Nay; he is not a servant; he is never paid."
"He is son of a farmer of ours; he is kept and does nothing for it; so,
he steals his support. But what are you aiming at to defend so warmly a
boy whom nobody attacks?"
"I never thought you would attack him! it is just the other way about!"
with a bitter smile.
"Something more I do not understand."
"Because you do not want to."
"Enough! I have no leisure for your riddles. You want my consent to
this marriage?"
"If you please; and I hope you will bear Gilbert no ill will."
"What is it to me whether he loves you or not? You burden me, miss."
"I daresay," said Nicole, bursting out in anger at last; "you have said
the same thing to Gilbert."
"I speak to your Gilbert! You are mad, girl; leave me in peace."
"If you do not speak to him now, I believe the silence will not last
long."
"Lord forgive her--the silly jade is jealous!" exclaimed Andrea,
covering her with a disdainful look, and laughing. "Cheer up, little
Legay! I never looked at your pretty Gilbert, and I do not so much as
know the color of his eyes."
Andrea was quite ready to overlook what seemed folly and not pertness;
but Nicole felt offended, and did not want pardon.
"I can quite believe that--for one cannot get a good look in the
nighttime."
"Take care to make yourself clear at once," said Andrea, very pale.
"Last night, I saw----"
"Andrea!" came a voice from below, in the garden.
"My lord your father," said Nicole, "with the stranger who passed the
night here."
"Go down, and say that I cannot answer, as I am not well. I have a
stiff neck; and return to finish this odd debate."
Nicole obeyed, as Andrea was always obeyed when commanding, without
reply or wavering. Her mistress felt something unusual; though resolved
not to show herself, she was constrained to go to the window left open
by Legay, through a superior and resistless power.