Three days after the dreadful combat between Pierre des Anbiez and
Erebus, the black galley and the polacre of Luquin were anchored in the
port of La Ciotat.
The great clock in the hall of Maison-Forte had just struck nine.
Captain Trinquetaille was walking softly on tiptoe through the gallery
where the Christmas ceremonies had taken place, directing his steps
toward the apartment of Mlle. des Anbiez. He knocked at the little door
of the oratory. Stephanette soon came out of the door.
“Ah, well, Luquin,” said the young girl, anxiously,
“how has he passed the night?”
“Badly, Stephanette, very badly; the abbé says there is no hope for
him.”
“Poor child!” said the young girl, “and how is M. Commander?”
“Always in the same state, seated at the youth’s bedside like a
statue; he never moves or speaks or sees or hears. Father Elzear says if
M. Commander could only weep, he might be saved, if not--”
“Well?”
“If not, he fears his head,” and Luquin made a gesture indicating
the alarm felt for the commander’s mind.
“Ah, my God, if that misfortune should be added to all the others!”
“And how is Mlle. Reine?” asked Luquin.
“Always suffering. The sad ceremony of the baptism yesterday affected
her so deeply! Monseigneur wished her to be with him sponsor to
this poor young pagan whom they called Erebus, so that he can die a
Christian. My God! at his age never to have been baptised! Fortunately,
Father Elzear has given him the sacrament! Ah, poor young man, he will
bear the Christian names that monseigneur and mademoiselle have given
him only until this evening.”
“And how is monseigneur?” asked Luquin.
“Oh, as to monseigneur, he would be on his feet and with the commander
if we would listen to him. Abbé Mascarolus says an ordinary man would
have been killed by such a wound, and that monseigneur must have a head
as hard as iron to have resisted that heavy club. Thank God, he who gave
that blow will not give any more.”
“Speaking of that, Stephanette, you know they have not been able to
find the body of Pog-Reis under the ruins of the abbey?”
“He was only an infidel, but, oh, to die without burial!” said
Stephanette, with a shudder. “How was he buried under the ruins?”
“This is what M. Honorât told me, and he ought to know. The moment
the unfortunate young man fell, wounded by the commander, Pog-Reis, as
they called him, seized M. Honorât, so as to prevent his separating
the two combatants. Suddenly, as you know, the thunderbolt burst in the
middle of the bay It struck the _Red Galleon_; her powder took fire,
and she was blown up, and carried with her the other galley, already
seriously damaged by the culverin of Master Laramée. Not a pirate
escaped. The waves of the bay were so high and so powerful that the best
swimmer would have been drowned a thousand times over.”
“But, Pog-Reis?” asked Stephanette.
“The explosion was so tremendous that the earth trembled. M. Honorât
told me this: ‘The pirate, startled, then left me. I ran to the
commander, who had already been thrown on the body of his son. He was
embracing him, as he sobbed. At the time of the explosion Pog-Reis was
standing on the ruins. Those old walls, shaken by the commotion and
violence of the wind, suddenly fell and crushed him beneath their
weight’ This morning, some fishermen coming from the bay said the
stones were so enormous that they could not be moved, and so they had
given up all hope of finding the body of the brigand.”
“My God! my God! What a disaster, Luquin, and how it proves that
Heaven is just See, the two galleys of these brigands were struck and
not one escaped! And Pog-Reis crushed under the ruins of the abbey!”
“No doubt, no doubt, Stephanette, Heaven has done much; but it has not
done all, there remains yet another account to settle.”
“What do you mean?”
“When we heard this explosion at sea, and when we set sail for
Maison-Forte, and a little faster, too, than I wished, for the tempest
was driving my polacre over the waves like a feather in the air, you
see--”
“That is true, Luquin, we thought we were lost What weather!
what waves! we thought we had escaped one danger only to fall into
another.”
“Yes, yes. Ah, well, what was it passed within range of my cannon
during the hurricane?”
“How do I know? I was too much frightened and too much occupied with
my mistress to see what was happening around us.”
“Indeed, Stephanette! Ah, well, it was the chebec of that cursed
Bohemian whom hell leaves on this earth I know not why. Yes, it was his
chebec that was near us. He had, by chance, anchored his ship so far
from the galleys that he did not feel the explosion. Two hours after,
when he had brought M. Commander, M. Honorât, and that poor young
man on board the galley, taking advantage of the commander’s
forgetfulness, who neglected to have him hanged, he had the audacity to
set sail again, and it was he we saw pass us, returning, no doubt, to
the south, where he will be drowned or burned if the good God wishes to
finish the example he has already given us in destroying the two galleys
of these infidels. That is what I wish may happen to him.”
“Come, come, Luquin, you are so enraged against this wretch; do not
think of him any more. Yet it was he who brought on board the black
galley Mlle. Reine, me, my companions, the prisoners, the recorder
Isnard and his clerk, who were among the captives, and who never
ceased to call him our deliverer. So do have a little pity on your
neighbour--”
“My neighbour! that miserable vagabond! My neighbour! the neighbour of
Satan! That is what he is!”
“Ah, how wicked you are in your hatred!”
“Come, now, that is pretty good!” cried Luquin, in a fury, “that
is the way you defend him now! You can do no more than regret him.
Besides, he said, really, that you would regret him, and perhaps he was
not wrong!” “Indeed, if you begin your jealousy again, you will make
me regret him.”
“Regret him--him! you dare--”
“Without doubt; for at least, one time in his ship, he left me to weep
and grieve in peace, and--”
“But that was not what he said. H’m--h’m--the honeyed words of
this insolent prattler were quite capable of making you forget your
grief for a time, no doubt.”
Stephanette, indignant, was about to reply to her betrothed, when the
whistle of Mlle, des Anbiez called her to that lady’s apartment.
She entered, after having thrown an angry glance at Luquin.
The captain was in the way of repenting of his suspicions when the
majordomo Laramée, coming precipitately out of the chamber of Raimond
V., said:
“Here you are, Luquin, come quick and help me to carry monseigneur
to the commander. He is too weak to walk; we will carry him in his
armchair.”
Luquin followed Laramée, and entered the baron’s chamber. The old
gentleman was still very pale, a wide black bandage wrapped his
head, but he had partly recovered his vivacity and his energy. Abbé
Mascarolus was with him.
“You say, then, abbé, that this poor young man is about to die, and
he wishes to speak to me?”
“Yes, monseigneur.”
“And how is my brother Pierre?”
“In the same state, monseigneur.”
“Quick, quick, Laramée, throw a mantle over my shoulders, and I will
walk on your legs and the legs of this boy, for my own will not support
me yet.” Luquin took the armchair on one side, and Laramée took
the other, and they transported the baron into the large chamber where
Erebus was lying. At the door of this chamber they found Peyrou, the
watchman, who anxiously awaited news from his old captain.
The face of Erebus already gave signs of approaching death. His
features, once so clear, so beautiful, so serene, were painfully
contorted. He was pale with the pallor of the dying. His eyes shone with
a brilliancy all the more intense because it was so soon to be eclipsed
in death. His wound was mortal, and no place was left for hope.
Pierre des Anbiez, wearing the same clothes he wore on the day of the
fatal encounter, was seated on the foot of his son’s bed, absolutely
motionless, his head bowed on his breast, his hands on his knees,
his gaze fixed upon the floor; since the day before he had kept this
position.
Father Elzear, seated by the pillow of Erebus, leaned over him, lifted
the poor young man’s heavy head, and pressed it tenderly to his
breast.
Raimond V. made his bearers place him near the bed. Luquin and Laramée
retired.
“God will forgive me, will he not, good priest?” said Erebus, in a
feeble voice, to Father Elzear. “He will have pity on my ignorance,
and look only at my zeal. Alas! I have known the true faith but
two-days.”
“Hope, hope in his infinite compassion, my child, you are a Christian
now. Two days of repentance and faith will atone for many sins. It
is the fervour and not the length of the repentance which touches the
Lord.”
“Oh, I would die with one hope more, if my father could forgive me
also,” said Erebus, bitterly. Then he cried, in a frenzy, “Oh, a
curse on Pog-Reis! Oh, why did he make me believe, as he showed me these
portraits, that my father had been the murderer of my mother and of my
family? Oh, how he excited all my bad passions! Alas! I believed him,
because he who had always been so cruel wept, yes, he wept, as he
pressed me to his heart and asked my forgiveness for all the evil he
had done me. Then, seeing this implacable man weep as he embraced me, I
believed him. I hoped the combat would be fatal to me. I knew Reine des
Anbiez would be returned in safety to her father, hence I was able
to die. And you--you--her father, will you forgive me, too?” added
Erebus, addressing Raimond V.
“Poor child, did you not save my life in the rocks of Ollioules?
Although my daughter was in your power, did you not respect her and
defend her? And are you not the son of my brother, after all? the son
of a guilty love, of course, but, Manjour! you are of the family.”
“Raimond--Raimond!” said Father Elzear to his brother, softly, in a
tone of reproach.
“But, my father, my father does not hear me,” said Erebus. “I will
die without his saying to me, ‘My son!’” cried the unhappy youth,
in a failing voice, and then with a sadden movement he sat up, threw his
arms around the neck of Pierre des Anbiez, and letting his heavy head
fall on the paternal bosom, he cried, “My father, my father! Oh, hear
me!”
This despairing, expiring cry, in which Erebes seemed to have
concentrated all that remained of his strength, at last reached the
depth of the heart of Pierre, des Anbiez.
The commander slowly raised his head, looked around him, then fixed his
eyes on Erebus, who still hung around his neck. Then, pressing his son’s
head in his two hands, he kissed his forehead reverently and tenderly.
Placing his son’s head softly on the pillow, he said, in a low voice,
with a strange smile, and an accent full of kindness: “My child, you
have called me, I heard your voice in the midst of darkness. I have
come; now I return to it Farewell, sleep--sleep for ever, my child.”
And he spread a cloth on the face of Erebus as is done for the dead.
“My brother!” cried Father Elzear, quickly removing the cloth and
looking at the commander in astonishment.
The latter did not seem to hear him; he fell back into a sort of
lethargy from which he seemed unable to recover.
Erebus grew weaker and weaker, and said to Raimond V.:
“One last favour before I die.”
“Speak, speak, my child, I grant it already.”
“I would like to see your daughter once more, she who gave me a
Christian name. She too, alas! must forgive me.”
“Reine, your cousin, your godmother? I consent to it with all my heart
Elzear, my brother, will you go and tell her?”
“Your moments are numbered, you must think on God, my son,” said
Father Elzear to Erebus.
“For pity’s sake, let me see her, or I shall die in despair,” said
Erebus in such a heart-broken voice that Father Elzear went in search of
Reine.
Raimond V. took both hands of his nephew in his own. Already they were
cold.
“She does not come,” said Erebus, “and yet I must--”
His voice grew weaker, he could not continue.
Reine entered, accompanied by Father Elzear.
Erebus raised himself on his elbow; with his right hand he had the
strength to break a little chain of gold he wore around his neck.
He handed it to Reine, showing her, with a faint smile, the little
enamelled dove that he had fastened to it, formerly taken from Reine in
the rocks of Ollioules, and said to her:
“I return it to you. Will you forgive me?”
“I will always wear this chain in memory of the day you saved the life
of my father,” replied Reine, full of emotion.
“You will wear it always?” said Erebus.
“Always!” replied Reine, bursting into tears.
“Ah, now I can die!” said Erebus.
A last ray seemed to illumine his face, as death slowly approached.
“Brother,” said Father Elzear, in an austere voice, as he rose,
“this child is about to die.”
Raimond V. understood that the last moments of Erebus belonged to God.
He embraced his nephew, called Luquin and Laramée to cany him, and went
out with Reine.
The commander remained silent and motionless, seated on the bed of his
dying son.
Raimond V. sent Peyrou to him, hoping the watchman’s presence might
perhaps recall him to himself.
The watchman, approaching Pierre des Anbiez, said to him, “M.
Commander, come.”
Whether the voice of Peyrou, which he had not heard for so long a
time, impressed him all the more, or whether he obeyed an inexplicable
instinct, the commander rose and followed the watchman, alas! without
casting a look upon his son.
Father Elzear alone remained with the young man.
A quarter of an hour after, Erebus was no more.
Erebus was buried in the cemetery of La Ciotat. The black and gray monks
of La Ciotat followed his funeral procession. When the service was over,
they dispersed.
One penitent only remained long at the grave.
It was very strange. He had taken no part in the chants or the
ceremonies of the church, he had not sprinkled holy water on the coffin.
This penitent remained until night.
Then with slow steps he travelled to a stream where he found a boat in
which he embarked. That false penitent was Hadji. He had left his chebec
and had landed, braving every peril in order to come and render homage
to the memory of the unfortunate youth, whom he had, nevertheless, done
so much to destroy. From that time no more was heard of the Bohemian.
Pierre des Anbiez, until the end of his days, remained in a state which
was one neither of reason, nor insanity. He was never heard to utter a
word, although he continued to live at Maison-Forte. He never replied to
a question, but every morning went to sit by the grave of his son, and
there he remained until the evening, absorbed in profound meditation.
Peyrou never left him, but the commander never seemed to recognise his
presence.
Father Elzear, after some months’ sojourn at Maison-Forte, began again
his adventurous life as the ransomer of captives, and led that life
until old age permitted him to travel no longer.
Reine did not marry Honorât de Berrol. She remained faithful to the sad
memory of Erebus. Some years after, the chevalier married, and Reine was
the best of friends to him and to his wife.
Raimond V., healed of his wounds, rode Mistraon a long time.
Cardinal Richelieu, informed of the courageous conduct of the baron
at the time of the descent of the pirates, shut his eyes to the
misdemeanours of the old malcontent in his dealings with the recorder
Isnard.
A short time after, the Marshal of Vitry was sent to the Bastille, in
consequence of his quarrel with the Archbishop of Bordeaux.
Raimond V. felt that he was avenged, and, as much out of gratitude to
the cardinal as for his sense of right, he ever after took a very venial
part in rebellions.
The worthy Luquin Trinquetaille married Stephanette, and although he had
a blind confidence in his wife, which she deserved in every respect, he
always regretted not having been able to drown the Bohemian.
Master Laramée died in the service of the baron.
The venerable Abbé Mascarolus continued to give wonderful recipes to
Dame Dulceline, who made many Christmas cradles, which fortunately
were not attended by such disastrous happenings as marred the Christmas
festivity of 1632.
THE END.