THE UNKNOWN NURSE.
When the rumor that M. Dantes had been taken seriously ill was first
circulated throughout Paris, it caused excitement in every quarter of
the city, filling the Communists and workmen with dismay and greatly
elating their opponents.
In the midst of the excitement a strange lady, very plainly attired,
but whose language and bearing gave unmistakable evidence of refinement
and aristocratic associations, made her appearance one morning at the
office of Dr. Orfila and humbly asked permission to nurse his
distinguished patient. The physician, somewhat surprised at such a
request from such a woman, immediately grew suspicious and demanded an
explanation, when the lady informed him that she had known the sick man
in his youth and was still deeply interested in his welfare. She refused
to give her name, but solemnly assured the doctor that, should he grant
her petition, M. Dantes on his recovery would be ready to thank him on
bended knees.
Convinced at length that no harm was intended, the physician gave his
permission and the unknown lady was duly installed as nurse. She
discharged her duties with unflagging devotion and energy, satisfying
even the exacting Nubian, with whom she divided the watch at the bedside
of the unconscious deputy. Dr. Orfila was delighted, while Esperance and
Zuleika were overjoyed.
On--on--the sleeper still slumbered on! One--two--three--four quarters
after eleven tinkled in silvery numbers upon the delicate bell of the
clock, yet the closed eyelids and fixed lips moved not, gave no sign;
but for the light, though regular undulation of the chest, life itself
might seem to have fled forever. Yet life was still there!
How strange the bond which connects vitality with consciousness--the
body with the soul! And yet more strange is that phase of existence in
which the one moves on without the other. The mind sometimes is all life
when the body is dead, and oftener still is the body all life when the
mind seems gone. Mind, too, may frequently act independently, not only
of the body, as in dreams, but, also, of consciousness and of the heart;
while the body, as in somnambulism, may act altogether alone.
On--on--the slumberer breathed on, but he thought not, felt not,
perceived not. A revolution, an earthquake might heave around him, but
the convulsive throes of man or of nature would have been as nothing to
him. The brow would have remained as calm and as cold, and the cheek as
pale and as still, while, in all human probability, the faithful Nubian
would have sat as immovable upon his rug at the bedside of his beloved
master, and have gazed upon him as untiringly with his dark and
sleepless eye.
As the last quarter after eleven sounded, followed immediately by the
hour of midnight, a small door beside the bed noiselessly opened, and a
female figure in white silently entered the room; but not so noiselessly
was the entrance effected as to escape the ear of the vigilant Ali. He
glanced hurriedly around; then, as if familiar with the apparition, and
anticipating its approach, he rose, and, taking his rug to the further
extremity of the chamber, again laid himself down, like a faithful dog,
though not now to watch.
Meanwhile the lady, quietly approaching the bed, gazed long and
mournfully at the slumberer's pale yet noble visage; then, kneeling, she
buried her face in her hands amid the coverings.
She was, probably, forty; yet, in the full and faultless perfection of
her form--in her graceful and yielding motions--in her statuesque bust,
rounded cheek and night-black hair, she would, to the casual observer,
have indicated hardly the half of that age. Her figure was tall and
dignified, yet mobile as a willow; her eyes were dark and luminous, and,
in their profound depths, slept a world of melancholy meaning. Her hair
was simply parted on a broad forehead, and was gathered in heavy masses
low on the neck. Her lips were full and red, and, when parted, exhibited
teeth of dazzling whiteness, while her complexion, which was very dark,
was yet clear and pure as the hue of the magnolia's petal. But that face
was pale, very pale, almost as colorless as that of the quiet sleeper at
its side, and upon it rested an expression of love unutterable, mingled
with the sadness of death.
Such was the unknown nurse, the Countess de Morcerf, as she again was an
inmate of that apartment of which she had once, under circumstances how
different, been mistress; such was Mercedes, the Catalane of Marseilles,
again at the side of the man whom all her life she had loved, with none
to gainsay or forbid!
Upon that pale and motionless countenance she gazed long and deeply,
and, oh! the world of memory that passed through her mind!--the world
of thought and feeling that centred in that fixed gaze! At length,
clasping her hands upon her forehead, her eyes streaming with tears, she
bowed her face upon the bed, from which she had just raised it, and long
seemed absorbed in prayer.
Roused from this position by some movement of the slumberer, she started
up and watched him.
The shaded rays of the dim and distant lamp threw a faint glimmering of
light upon the pale countenance, but the quick eye of love
instantaneously detected a change. A slight flush was mounting the
cheek, and gentle perspiration was distilling upon the brow, while a
smile played on the mouth. Suddenly, as she gazed, those pallid lips
moved. Astonished, she listened.
"Marseilles! beautiful Marseilles!" said the sleeper. "Home of my
boyhood, home of my heart. I come!" Then quickly and sternly came the
order, "Let go the anchor--furl the sails--mate, take charge of the
ship!" Then the tones changed, and a joyful light shot over the face as
the lips exclaimed, "Now for my father! now for my love! Mercedes!
Mercedes!"
Amazed, the fair watcher retained her position, and gazed and listened
so silently and breathlessly that the quick and audible beatings of her
heart might have been numbered.
"Mine--mine at last!" continued the dreamer. "The marriage-feast--the
marriage-feast!" But instantly the expression of the voice and the
countenance altered. The light of joy was shrouded in clouds.
"Arrest--arrest me?" was the exclamation--"me! at my marriage-feast! A
dungeon for me! Mercedes! Mercedes! My love--my wife! Oh! God! it is the
Chateau d'If! Despair--despair!"
Shocked, terrified at the terrible energy of these words, and the
expression of unutterable woe that rested on the countenance of the
sleeper, the affrighted woman, who comprehended but too well the fearful
significance of the abrupt and disjointed syllables, hastily arose as if
to rouse the slumberer from his dream or to call on the Nubian for aid.
But, before she could carry the purpose into execution, the aspect of
the Deputy's visage again had changed. A dark frown settled on the brow,
a spirit of fixed resolve contracted the firm lip and dilated the
nostril, and the word, "Vengeance--vengeance!" in whispers scarcely
audible, but repeatedly and rapidly pronounced, was heard.
A longer silence than before succeeded. At length another change swept
over the face, and the words, "Free--free--I am free!" burst from the
lips; then they murmured, "Treasure untold! wondrous
wealth!--diamonds--pearls--rubies--ingots of gold! The mad abbe's dream
was reality!" Again the countenance darkened. "Fourteen years in a
dungeon for no crime!--a father dead of starvation!--a bride the bride
of the fiend who has done all this--and he a peer of France--and his
friends a millionaire of Paris and the Procureur du Roi!
Vengeance--vengeance--vengeance!" There was a pause, and the dreamer
exultingly continued, "It is done! The peer of France is a disgraced
suicide! The Procureur du Roi is a madman! The banker is a bankrupt!"
The dreamer again paused, and his countenance once more changed. "Alas!
alas! man is not God! 'Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord!'
The innocent suffer with the guilty. To avenge a wrong has been
sacrificed a life, and only misery has been the recompense! No more--no
more--no more of this! Man and man's happiness be henceforth the aim! To
that be devoted wealth untold!"
The lips ceased to move. Gradually the high excitement of the features
passed away and was succeeded by an expression of sadness and love.
"Haydee--gone--gone to a better world. Mercedes--Mercedes--oh! does she
love me yet? The long lost idol of my heart!--the adored angel of my
life!--come! come! come!"
As the dreamer spoke, he spread wide his arms; when his eyes opened, and
his long slumbering senses returned, Mercedes, his own Mercedes, was,
indeed, clasped to his breast.
"Mercedes! Mercedes?" he faintly whispered. "Ah! it was no dream, for
you are, indeed, beside me and mine--mine forever!"
"Thine--thine--forever!" was the reply, and she clasped his feeble form
to her heart as she would have clasped that of a child.