The Maid of Honour: A Tale of the Dark Days of France. Volume 2 of 3
TekstCHAPTER XIX.
A COUNCIL OF WAR
Could we remove the fronts from the imposing domiciles whose dignified exteriors compel our admiring awe, we should often rub our eyes in astonishment at the curious spectacle within. Than the outgoings and incomings of the inhabitants of Lorge nothing could appear more decorous and respectable, and yet as regarded a prospect of lasting peace, that group was composed of the least promising elements.
On the day after the return from Paris Gabrielle remained in seclusion, making no sign, while the others waited with more or less impatience to see if she would throw down the gauntlet. Aglaé could scarce conceal her satisfaction at the warmness of her dear friend's greeting. Clovis was genuinely delighted to see her and made no secret of his joy, whereat the abbé was annoyed, though he knew better than to betray the feeling. Time had not loosed the bonds wherein the marquis was held by his affinity. On the contrary, absence had in his case made the heart grow fonder, for he seemed now to have quite forgotten the fear with which former admiration had been mingled. It was rather hard, the abbé could not help considering, that his own influence, for which he had laboured with such patience and dexterity, should pale so easily before that of this lady, who for twelve months had made no move. By summoning her to his aid, had he raised up a spirit which by and by he would be powerless to lay? No. For the attainment of an object that was now clearly modelled before his sight, the assistance of Mademoiselle Brunelle was absolutely necessary. The object attained, he would steal a march on her, and on his brothers as well, if need were. Meanwhile, it was of the best augury that the chatelaine should remain quiescent. It has been said that the woman who hesitates is lost. Certain it is that one of the nature of the marquise-of the class who seem specially made to endure slings and arrows-does not gain strength by delay. She can in a moment of impulse perform an act of energy; but if she waits and broods her strength exhales itself in moans.
The marquis and his friend got out their books, made a grand parade of being vastly busy-even dug out the blessed 'cello and groaned out an affecting fugue; but expecting you know not what it is impossible to keep the mind from wandering, and Aglaé, try as she would to command herself, jumped up at intervals and strode the polished floor with statuesque arms crossed over the ample bosom, longing for something to occur.
"No news is good news, believe me," the abbé whispered in caution, as hour succeeded hour, and their patience began to ooze. "If she accepts her position without a struggle, a most important point is gained."
Aglaé sniffed fretfully, and passed her square-tipped fingers through the masses of her blue-black hair. "That is mighty well," she said, tartly; "but for the creature to take me back again so quietly, after all that passed, makes me long to pinch, and beat, and slap anything so deplorably spiritless. If she does not do something to-morrow, you will have to lock me up, for I shall not be able to prevent myself from rushing into her room and banging her head against the wall."
"No more blunders!" returned the abbé, sternly. "You have not the skill to read her. Do not forget that it was by your wrong-headedness and bungling that you brought about your own defeat. Remember the terms of the agreement which was to bring you back among us. You were to be guided by me absolutely, and abstain from silly little private plots which could only prove disastrous to us both."
Mademoiselle was silent, and her heavy mobile brows shaped themselves into something like a scowl. She bit her thick red lips and smiled an engaging smile, as she patted the abbé with a fan, playfully. "Of course, I will do as you bid," she said, "but you must not look so cross. I am all gratitude for your many kindnesses and too glad of so skilled a guide." Then as she turned away there were lines about her mouth that were not pretty to look upon, and a sullen shade upon her brow, that was gone again like a summer thunder-cloud.
The classically-modelled bosom of mademoiselle covered a black well of bitterness. She loathed herself for having bungled; she hated Gabrielle with an all-absorbing hate as the author of her discomfiture; she detested the abbé for his domineering ways-and Clovis for not having defended her. She hated all and everyone in that she had accidentally been kept in the dark as to the real owner of the fortune, whereby she had been betrayed into a pitfall.
As she was being ignominiously conducted to Blois, like a thief taken in the act, a boiling geyser of venom had scalded her cheeks; and as she writhed behind a lace handkerchief she registered a vow to be avenged on Gabrielle some day a hundred-fold for that which she had borne at her hands. The knowledge did not tend to appease her wrath that without outside help she would be incapable of fulfilling the vow. The devil will do much to assist his own, but his methods are not artistically complete, and at a critical moment he whisks into space with a grin, leaving his votaries to disaster. Hence it is not always well to depend too much upon the devil. It is a fact worthy of remark that in the legends of his many compacts with mankind it is always assumed that he is honest in his dealings and a model of business-like straightforwardness, while it is the insignificant mortal-mere wax in such hands-who ultimately cheats and circumvents him. Surely this is all wrong. We would not wish the devil to be inconsistent, and it is in the fitness of things that his ardent worshippers should find the ground slippery under foot, and the power in which they trusted-nowhere.
Vainly she revolved the chances of ever returning to Lorge, when suddenly arrived the abbé's first letter, which was quite sticky and mawkish with honey. What was he driving at? He would not write thus without an object. She smiled, locked away the missive, and waited.
Then came the second letter, wherein, to her surprise, she found the gates open again which she feared were hermetically closed. Go back to Lorge? Of course she would, with alacrity, and follow the abbé's instructions, though she understood them not. She knew that the old nuisance was defunct, that the marquise was in full possession. What was this miracle which called her back to Paradise? It mattered not. Her massive foot once more within the threshold, she would profit by the experience of the past, and in the end come out the gainer.
Now you will perceive how odd a mixture was the ex-governess; a woman who hung for awhile in the balance, till the devil inserted a toe and, by its weight, settled the matter. She had genuinely liked the marquis's children, and would, if circumstances so ordained, have gone down to posterity as a typically virtuous second wife, but for that devil's toe!
Well, the toe was inserted, and proved a heavy one, for down came the scale with a thud. Perceiving they were a fruitful cause of danger, she made up her mind without a qualm that she would avoid her quondam pets in the future, and school herself to gaze with sphinx-like stoniness on the twain whom she had kissed and cuddled.
What happened to them-one way or the other-was become a matter of complete indifference. The black well seethed and boiled. She would have revenge, somehow, and at the same time feather her nest.
Suspense lasted till the end of the second day. As the party-minus the chatelaine-were sitting down to dinner, there appeared upon the scene, Toinon, who demurely laid a note upon the marquis's plate, and without a word retired.
As many weak people do, Clovis stared at the letter, longing to open it, and yet loth to do so, knowing that its contents could scarcely be agreeable, and it was not until the snorting and sniffing of the affinity awoke him to a sense of responsibility, that he took it up and broke the seal. The letter was exceedingly unpleasant and to the purpose.
"Clovis, when I called upon my father to rid me of that woman, I accomplished a sacred duty which cost me dear; for to inflict pain upon another brings the like upon myself. That you should have forced her on me again, was due, I am sure, to fear. I suspected before that you were afraid of her, for what reason I could not guess. The gulf between us is impassable, and as you brood over this fact and know that you have dug it yourself, you will be filled some day with unavailable remorse. The future appals me-I shudder at its contemplation, wondering to what you may be goaded. The conduct of an unscrupulous woman, who has all to gain, I can understand, but yours remains a mystery. What a life! What a future! If at your age you can be so easily fooled by a vulgar intriguante, what will become of you when old? How singular a creation is man! You have oppressed, humiliated, abandoned me who loved you for yourself with an ardour that amazes me when I recall it now, and are content to grovel at the feet of one who but likes you for what you can bestow-whom you will know some day and despise.
"When your conscience forces you to see what you have done, seek not to wreak vengeance upon me. Henceforth, we dwell apart, and your life and mine have naught in common. You may go your ways on this condition unmolested. Never speak to me, or to the children: never let any member of your coterie invade the apartments I inhabit. The house is large enough. Avoid a scandal. Farewell. To each other we are henceforth dead.
"Gabrielle Marquise de Gange."
With twitching fingers the marquis passed the letter to the abbé who read and passed it on to mademoiselle. It was not the sort of letter that it would be nice to read aloud. Silence fell upon the group, and by tacit consent all rose and went about their avocations, without venturing to comment on the document.
The letter breathed dignity, and there was something fine about the scathing words contemptuously flung at the foe. A vulgar intriguante, indeed! Well, why deny that it was true, though the statement was somewhat blunt? Mademoiselle always preferred to consider herself the architect of her own fortunes.
On the morrow, the abbé, who, more disconcerted than he chose to admit, by the decided action of the chatelaine, had sallied forth to meditate in private, perceived that she had already taken steps to isolate herself!
He found workmen busy in opening a doorway which should give access to the children's wing from the bedroom of the marquise, and a locksmith changing the lock of the postern which gave upon the garden moat.
So that pleasaunce was to be denied henceforth to the group which composed the enemy? How would Clovis take this move? A scandal, forsooth! Was she not causing one herself by so ostentatiously raising barriers and employing workmen who would chatter? It was evidently her intention to occupy the long saloon, the boudoir adjoining, the bedroom that looked on the yard, and the children's wing, with the moat garden for outdoor recreation, leaving the rest of the premises to the family. If they were never to see or speak with her, how could they prosecute their plans? The masters who doubtless would be summoned from Blois to teach the young idea would certainly detect something unusual, and they too would be sure to gossip. And what of the servants? They were trustworthy enough, since they had for the most part been engaged by the abbé himself, as representing the Marquis de Gange, and Gabrielle had never thought of interfering. But the best of servants have tongues, and when the neighbours should flit over from Montbazon (which they were certain to do shortly) coachman would confide in coachman, and lacquey in lacquey, and old Madame de Vaux would hear all about it and spread the news like wildfire. All Touraine would believe that the Marquise de Gange was a prisoner in her own chateau; the mob who were fond of her would rise, and there would be a pretty pother! What a pity she was not indeed a prisoner, hedged round with subtle precautions such as the abbé could so readily invent!
When he revolved this point, he sighed. No. That plan was not feasible for many reasons, at least for the present. This was not the moment for coercion but for wheedling. Yet, he reflected, it might be as well, as chance arose, to complete the ring of servants. How very provoking it was that things should run so agley! Mademoiselle, instead of proving useful, seemed only likely to give rise to complications. Her reappearance had already produced a disastrous effect, for what was the use of setting her to manage the marquis's conscience if his wife could retire out of reach? As matters stood, to drag her thence by violence would never do, for shilly-shally Clovis would turn restive. If only he could be induced to go away for a time with his troublesome conscience to pay a visit to the prophet at Spa-but there again arose a difficulty. His presence was necessary here, for if that will was to be cancelled and another made, it was he who ostensibly must manage it.
A council of war! determined Pharamond at last. Valuable time is being wasted. We must combine and resolve upon a plan of campaign which must be carried without flinching to the end.
Having arrived at this conclusion, he turned briskly round and went with rapid steps in search of his allies.
Presently, mademoiselle, the chevalier, and the abbé found themselves sitting round a table in the small sanctum the latter had made his own-a cosy little chamber, panelled in dark oak with heavy double-doors-and the host took up his parable and spake,
"Mademoiselle Brunelle is probably aware," he began, in his low sweet voice, "that she was not summoned here for her charming society alone. We have long known each other's views and wishes, and have arrived at a consciousness that without mutual assistance our desires are unattainable. Fortunately they do not clash; on the contrary, although different, they run amicably side by side. So fortunate! It will be best, will it not, if I review them?
"Mademoiselle Brunelle has developed a fancy to wear a coronet. The said coronet would prove a paltry bauble unless handsomely gilt and jewelled. The gold and jewels are unluckily in possession of a lady who at present holds the coronet, and who has no intention of resigning either the one or the other. She must be made to give up both-how?"
There was a pause, during which the chevalier blinked uneasily. The abbé had succeeded in drawing one brother at least well under his thumb. Like a hound, poor sodden Phebus gazed constantly into the eyes of Pharamond, seeking his orders there. There was a germ of an idea within the breast of each, which none cared to drag into the light.
"Abbé," remarked mademoiselle, curtly. "As usual, you beat about the bush. There is none to overhear. What you would suggest, state plainly."
"Am I not plain enough?" laughed Pharamond, lightly.
"No," returned Aglaé, drawing down her brows in thought. "You say that our views run parallel. How can that be? You love that mawkish creature, and, for my part, as I have said before, you may wear her and welcome, though I don't admire your taste. I tried to assist you in the past, but-well-my efforts were not successful. How can I help you now, without injury to my own prospects? You are not so foolish as to suppose that I would accept Clovis without a sou, nor am I so silly as to imagine that you would take that chit without her fortune."
"Mademoiselle sketches a situation with such brief lucidity, that it is a privilege to listen to her," replied Pharamond, with a tight twitch of his thin lips, that was intended for a smile. "But as there are blotches on the sun, so is not even she quite perfect. She forgets that the world is ever rolling, and that as we roll with it our views change and give place to others. She will remember, perhaps, that but for me she would still be an angel without the gate, and grant that I am not likely to employ the paw of one so clever, without sharing the chestnuts which she rescues."
"A compromise, then?" said Aglaé. "I am still completely in the dark."
"Because you start on a false premise, which was once true, but is so no longer. With an engaging frankness, which claims my devoted admiration, you admit that you do not care a straw for Clovis without his coronet and a sufficiency of wealth. Well, I care not a jot more for Gabrielle. She was misguided enough to flout my suit, to cover me with lofty scorn, to tread me under foot. Am I a man, think you, to forgive that? Not likely.
"If I could have my way, I would take her with me for a while, and then fling her, soiled and broken, to the lowest of my lackeys! It would be a sweet and complete vengeance, which, alas, prudence bids me to forego." The abbé, as he considered the delightful possibilities of such a vengeance, looked so wicked with his pallid face and grinding teeth, and green eyes lighted from within, that the chevalier cowered, and Aglaé was a little uncomfortable.
Here was a revelation, and a clue to his labyrinthine mind. He had come to dislike the unlucky marquise as much as she did, and the two were to unite for her undoing. That was capital!
Gradually the green light paled, the white face flushed, and Pharamond laughing lightly was himself again.
"How wise we are," he said, "to make full confession and keep no secrets back! She has tied up her fortune, and must untie it, and then we must take possession and divide. You and Clovis will take a half, Phebus and I the other. There will be enough for all. Surely the arrangement is a simple one."
Yes. Certain conditions arrived at, the rest was simple. That germ down in the darkness was developing rapidly, and putting forth dark slimy leaves like those of the deadly nightshade.
The three contemplated one another and kept silence, each thinking the same thought.
Having been induced to revoke her will, the marquise must be put away.
But ere the treasure could be reached there were ramparts to be scaled, wide ditches to be crossed. Could the obstacles ever be surmounted? Some of them towered as high as virgin Alps.
The abbé proceeded to explain that the rôle of mademoiselle was to skilfully bring the marquis to a fitting state of mind. She was to find engrossing occupation for such intellect as he possessed, dazzle his eyes with mystical gewgaws, increase by artful pricks his exasperation against his wife, swaddle him with flattering attentions, keep the wound green, yet wrap him in cotton wool.
Mademoiselle shook her head dubiously. Did she not remember the look he gave her when she wished the wife to drown? He would never consent to such strong measures, as might seem convenient to less qualmish persons.
"Pooh!" retorted Pharamond. "Do I not know him? When a thing is irrevocably done, he will be glad to benefit by the results. You must keep him in play like a struggling fish, and when the time comes bring him to land. With half a great fortune, and the removal of its importunate owner, he would soon grow content."
"Half the fortune," mused Aglaé, deep down within herself. "H'm! H'm! Half the fortune! Why not the whole? Half-measures are not satisfactory!"