SUSPICIONS.
The voice which made answer to the girl’s was her brother Philip’s. He
was anxiously asking after her health.
Gilbert took a few steps guardedly and stood behind one of those
half-columns carrying a bust which were the ornaments in pairs to
doorways of the period. Thus in security, he looked and listened, so
happy that his heart melted with delight; yet so frightened that it
seemed to shrink up to a pin’s head.
He saw Andrea lounging on an invalid-chair, with her face turned towards
the glazed door, a little on the jar. A small lamp with a large
reflecting shade placed on a table heaped with books, showed the only
recreation allowed the fair patient, and illumined only the lower part
of her countenance.
Seated on the foot of the chair, Philip’s back was turned to the
watcher; his arm was still in a sling.
This was the first time the lady sat up and that her brother was allowed
out. They had not seen each other since the dreadful night; but both had
been informed of the respective convalescence. They were chatting freely
as they believed themselves alone and that Nicole would warn them if any
one came.
“Then you are breathing freely,” said Philip.
“Yes, but with some pain.”
“Strength come back, my poor sister?”
“Far from it, but I have been able to get to the window two or three
times. How nice the open air is--how sweet the flowers--with them it
seems that one cannot die. But I am so weak from the shock having been
so horrid. I can only walk by hanging on to the furniture; I should fall
without support.”
“Cheer up, dear; the air and flowers will restore you. In a week you
will be able to pay a visit to the Dauphiness who has kindly asked after
you, I hear.”
“I hope so, for her Highness has been good to me; to you in promoting
you to be captain in her guards, and to father, who was induced by her
benevolence to leave our miserable country house.
“Speaking of your miraculous escape,” said Philip, “I should like to
know more about the rescue.”
Andrea blushed and seemed ill at ease. Either he did not remark it or
would not do so.
“I thought you knew all about it,” said she; “father was perfectly
satisfied.
“Of course, dear Andrea, and it seemed to me that the gentleman behaved
most delicately in the matter. But some points in the account seemed
obscure--I do not mean suspicious.”
“Pray explain,” said the girl with a virgin’s candor.
“One point is very out of the way--how you were saved. Kindly relate
it.”
“Oh, Philip,” she said with an effort, “I have almost forgotten--I was
so frightened.”
“Never mind--tell me what you do remember.”
“You know, brother, that we were separated within twenty paces of the
Royal Wardrobe Storehouse? I saw you dragged away towards the Tuileries
Gardens, while I was hurled into Royale Street. Only for an instant did
I see you, making desperate efforts to return to me. I held out my arms
to you and was screaming, ‘Philip!’ when I was suddenly wrapped in a
whirlwind, and whisked up towards the railings. I feared that the
current would dash me up against the wall and shatter me. I heard the
yells of those crushed against the iron palings; I foresaw my turn
coming to be ground to rags. I could reckon how few instants I had to
live, when--half dead, half crazed, as I lifted eyes and arms in a last
prayer to heaven, I saw the eyes sparkle of a man who towered over the
multitude and it seemed to obey him.”
“You mean Baron Balsamo, I suppose?”
“Yes, the same I had seen at Taverney. There he struck me with uncommon
terror. The man seems supernatural. He fascinates my sight and my
hearing; with but the touch of his finger he would make me quiver all
over.”
“Continue, Andrea,” said the chevalier, with darkening brow and moody
voice.
“This man soared over the catastrophe like one whom human ills could not
attain. I read in his eyes that he wanted to save me and something
extraordinary went on within me: shaken, bruised, powerless and nearly
dead though I was, to that man I was attracted by an invincible, unknown
and mysterious force, which bore me thither. I felt arms enclasp me and
urge me out of this mass of welded flesh in which I was kneaded--where
others choked and gasped I was lifted up into air. Oh, Philip,” said she
with exaltation, “I am sure it was the gaze of that man. I grasped at
his hand and I was saved.”
“Alas,” thought Gilbert, “I was not seen by her though dying at her
feet.”
“When I felt out of danger, my whole life having been centred in this
gigantic effort or else the terror surpassed my ability to contend--I
fainted away.”
“When do you think this faint came on?”
“Ten minutes after we were rent asunder, brother.”
“That would be close on Midnight,” remarked the Knight of Red Castle.
“How then was it you did not return home until three? You must forgive
me questions which may appear to you ridiculous but they have a reason
to me, dear Andrea.”
“Three days ago I could not have replied to you,” she said, pressing his
hand, “but, strange as it may be, I can see more clearly now. I remember
as though a superior will made me do so.”
“I am waiting with impatience. You were saying that the man took you up
in his arms?”
“I do not recall that clearly,” answered Andrea, blushing. “I only know
that he plucked me up out of the crowd. But the touch of his hand caused
me the same shock as at Taverney, and again I swooned or rather I slept,
for it was a sleep that was good.”
Gilbert devoured all the words, for he knew that so far all was true.
“On recovering my senses, I was in a richly furnished parlor. A lady and
her maid were by my side, but they did not seem uneasy. Their faces were
benevolently smiling. It was striking half-past twelve.”
“Good,” said the knight, breathing freely. “Continue, Andrea, continue.”
“I thanked the lady for the attentions she was giving, but, knowing in
what anxiety you must all be, I begged to be taken home at once. They
told me that the Count--for they knew our Baron Balsamo as Count Fenix,
had gone back to the scene of the accident, but would return with his
carriage and take me to our house. Indeed, about two o’clock, I heard
carriage wheels and felt the same warning shiver of his approach. I
reeled and fell on a sofa as the door opened; I barely could recognize
my deliverer as the giddiness seized me. During this unconsciousness I
was put in the coach and brought here. It is all I recall, brother.”
“Thank you, dear,” said Philip, in a joyful voice; “your calculations of
the time agree with mine. I will call on Marchioness Savigny and
personally thank her. A last word of secondary import. Did you notice
any familiar face in the excitement? Such as little Gilbert’s, for
instance?”
“Yes, I fancy I did see him a few paces off, as you and I were driven
apart,” said Andrea, recollecting.
“She saw me,” muttered Gilbert.
“Because, when I was seeking you, I came across the boy.”
“Among the dead?” asked the lady with the shade of assumed interest
which the great take in their inferiors.
“No, only wounded, and I hope he will come round. His chest was crushed
in.”
“Ay, against hers,” thought Gilbert.
“But the odd part of it was that I found in his clenched hand a rag from
your dress, Andrea,” pursued Philip.
“Odd, indeed; but I saw in this Dance of Death such a series of faces,
that I can hardly say whether his figured truly there or not, poor
little fellow!”
“But how do you account for the scrap in his grip?” pressed the captain.
“Good gracious! nothing more easy,” rejoined the girl with tranquillity
greatly contrasting with the eavesdropper’s frightful throbbing of the
heart. “If he were near me and he saw me lifted up, as I stated, by the
spell of that man, he might have clutched at my skirts to be saved as
the drowning snatch at a straw.”
“Ugh,” grumbled Gilbert, with gloomy contempt for this haughty
explanation, “what ignoble interpretation of my devotion! How wrongly
these aristocrats judge us people. Rousseau is right in saying that we
are worth more than they--our heart is purer and our arms stronger.”
At that he heard a sound behind him.
“What, is not that madcap Nicole here?” asked Baron Taverney, for it was
he who passed by Gilbert hiding and entered his daughter’s room.
“I dare say she is in the garden,” replied his daughter, the latter with
a quiet proving that she had no suspicion of the listener; “good
evening, papa.”
The old noble took an armchair.
“Ha, my children, it is a good step to Versailles when one travels in a
hackney coach instead of one of the royal carriages. I have seen the
Dauphiness, though, who sent for me to learn about your progress.”
“Andrea is much better, sir.”
“I knew that and told her Royal Highness so. She is good enough to
promise to call her to her side when she sets up her establishment in
the Little Trianon Palace which is being fitted up to her liking.”
“I at court?” said Andrea timidly.
“Not much of a court; the Dauphiness has quiet tastes and the Prince
Royal hates noise and bustle. They will live domestically at Trianon.
But judging what the Austrian princess’s humor is, I wager that as much
will be done in the family circle as at official assemblies. The
princess has a temper and the Dauphin is deep, I hear.”
“Make no mistake, sister, it will still be a court,” said Captain
Philip, sadly.
“The court,” thought Gilbert with intense rage and despair, “a hight I
cannot scale--an abyss into which I cannot hurl myself! Andrea will be
lost to me!”
“We have neither the wealth to allow us to inhabit that palace, nor the
training to fit us for it,” replied the girl to her father. “What would
a poor girl like me do among those most brilliant ladies of whom I have
had a glimpse? Their splendor dazzled me, while their wit seemed futile
though sparkling. Alas, brother, we are obscure to go amid so much
light!”
“What nonsense!” said the baron, frowning. “I cannot make out why my
family always try to bemean what affects me! obscure--you must be mad,
miss! A Taverney Redcastle, obscure! who should shine if not you, I want
to know? Wealth? we know what wealth at court is--the crown is a sun
which creates the gold--it does the gilding, and it is the tide of
nature. I was ruined--I become rich, and there you have it. Has not the
King money to offer his servitors? Am I to blush if he provides my son
with a regiment and gives my daughter a dowry? or an appanage for me, or
a nice warrant on the Treasury--when I am dining with the King and I
find it under my plate?”
“No, no, only fools are squeamish--I have no prejudices. It is my due
and I shall take it. Don’t you have any scruples, either. The only
matter to debate is your training. You have the solid education of the
middle class with the more showy one of your own; you paint just such
landscapes as the Dauphiness doats upon. As for your beauty, the King
will not fail to notice it. As for conversation, which Count Artois and
Count Provence like--you will charm them. So you will not only be
welcome but adored. That is the word,” concluded the cynic, rubbing his
hands and laughing so unnaturally that Philip stared to see if it were a
human being.
But, taking Andrea’s hand as she lowered her eyes, the young gentleman
said:
“Father is right; you are all he says, and nobody has more right to go
to Versailles Palace.”
“But I would be parted from you,” remonstrated Andrea.
“Not at all,” interrupted the baron; “Versailles is large enough to hold
all the Taverneys.”
“True, but the Trianon is small,” retorted Andrea, who could be proud
and willful.
“Trianon is large enough to find a room for Baron Taverney,” returned
the old nobleman, “a man like me always finds a place”--meaning “can
find a place. Any way, it is the Dauphiness’s order.”
“I will go,” said Andrea.
“That is good. Have you any money, Philip?” asked the old noble.
“Yes, if you want some; but if you want to offer me it, I should say
that I have enough as it is.”
“Of course, I forgot you were a philosopher,” sneered the baron. “Are
you a philosopher, too, my girl, or do you need something?”
“I should not like to distress you, father.”
“Oh, luck has changed since we left Taverney. The King has given me five
hundred louis--on account, his Majesty said. Think of your wardrobe,
child.”
“Oh, thank you, papa,” said Andrea, joyously.
“Oho, going to the other extreme now! A while ago, you wanted for
nothing--now you would ruin the Emperor of China. Never mind, for fine
dresses become you, darling.”
With a tender kiss, he opened the door leading into his own room, and
disappeared, saying:
“Confound that Nicole for not being in to show me a light!”
“Shall I ring for her, father?”
“No, I shall knock against Labrie, dozing on a chair. Good night, my
dears.”
“Good night, brother,” said Andrea as Philip also stood up: “I am
overcome with fatigue. This is the first time, I have been up since my
accident.”
The gentleman kissed her hand with respect mixed with his affection
always entertained for his sister and he went through the corridor,
almost brushing against Gilbert.
“Never mind Nicole--I shall retire alone. Good bye, Philip.”