The Maid of Honour: A Tale of the Dark Days of France. Volume 1 of 3

"Only that?" sighed Gabrielle. "It seems a lifetime."

"You are discontented? Yearn for the frippery of court life? I am not surprised. It is horribly selfish of us all to lock up such peerless beauty as yours to gloat over among ourselves."

"A worse than useless gift," remarked Gabrielle, with conviction, "bestowed on us by nature in her most malicious mood. Happiness is given to the ugly ones."

"At least they are saved the pang that accompanies the first wrinkle," asserted Pharamond. "You refer to Mademoiselle Brunelle, I suppose; our charming Aglaé. She appears to be happy enough indeed. Those large women of stoutish build possess a power of assimilation-of selecting what is best, and chewing the cud of its enjoyment. Ages ago, before I appeared on the scene, you were discontented. Yes, you were, dear Gabrielle. It was my privilege then to bring back sunshine to this gloomy spot. You might have rewarded me but you were unkind. I did not complain, but endured your cruelty without a murmur. It was my solicitude that unwrinkled your rose-leaves. You might have rewarded me, I say, and you would not, and yet I bore no malice."

A foreboding of new evil darkened around Gabrielle's heart. "Why refer to that episode that was condoned, and dead, and buried?"

Without changing his attitude, the abbé pursued purringly-

"For those halcyon days you had me to thank-me only, remember that, and you could not be grateful. Ingratitude must be gently chidden, for it goes ill with beauty-as a mother gently chides a well-beloved one. I crumpled the leaves again, deliberately squeezed them into tiny roughnesses, that you might learn how much you owed me. I confess it was my doing. It was for your own good I did it."

The marquise sat like stone. What was this new gulf slowly yawning-and she who looked to him for help!

"Did you never guess that it was I? No? How singular. Your intellect works slowly. I never say what I don't mean, and I warned you, unless I mistake sadly, that it depended on yourself whether I was to be friend or foe. Does you memory serve you? Yes? So glad."

"I had learned to trust you as a friend," murmured Gabrielle, huskily. "A dear friend on whom to lean in trouble. Alas-alas! my only one!"

"Why, alas? You are, excuse me, so very foolish. As our sensible Aglaé is so fond of saying, 'We do nothing for nothing in this world.' To sit at these dainty feet is in itself a privilege, but ardent men, made of hot flesh and blood, crave more. It's human nature to be grasping."

"If you have mercy, peace!" implored the pale lady in growing terror.

The abbé raised himself on his elbow and surveyed Gabrielle-as lovely as a startled fawn in her distress-with a smile that was quite paternal, and belied the green glitter from beneath the lids. "What a naughty girl," he chuckled, "to tempt a weak mortal with such charms. I swear to you that with that marble skin, and those widely-opened eyes of violet, like eyes that see a phantom, and ruby lips just slightly parted, and that fluttering heaving bosom, you are ten times more beautiful than I have ever seen you yet! Tut, tut! Calm yourself. Do not take me for that uncomfortable thing, a basilisk. I am not going to touch you, so don't look horrified. I am going away. That is why I spoke. I wished you to know how matters stand, and to reflect during my absence. It is desirable that you should quite comprehend that for weal or woe your future depends on me."

"Going away," echoed Gabrielle, relieved, and yet dismayed.

"It is necessary. Was it not delicately imagined to speak, as I had to speak, just on the eve of departure? Am I not considerate? We have lately had letters of strange purport from Paris. Outrageous rumours are abroad, which, if a whit of them is true, may mean serious peril to our class. Over the affair of the Bastile the king was lamentably misguided. He and his ministers know now and bitterly regret their lack of purpose, for the scum, as was to be expected, has taken heart of grace and waxes impudent with impunity. So I am going to make a little trip to the capital, just to reconnoitre. Do not be alarmed. I think that the agitation is all moonshine. Reflect on what I have said, and remember that there's a limit to man's patience. Your future, whether for comfort or the reverse, depends entirely on me. I repeat it for the sake of emphasis. I gave you peace, then at my whim withdrew it. Have I made it clear that what I have done I can undo?"

"There are limits to a woman's patience as well as a man's," Gabrielle observed, grimly.

"Quite so," acquiesced the other. "Mademoiselle Brunelle has been a thorn in your flesh, which I regret. You have endured its irritation with fortitude, for which you deserve all praise. It depends upon yourself whether or no the thorn be pruned away. For that you need my aid, which shall be freely tendered-on conditions that you wot of. During my absence I have instructed the chevalier to watch, that you may be shielded from assaults of the enemy. A useful watchdog is the chevalier, faithful and obedient, who will report to me everything that passes. It is a sad pity that he takes to drink. I have observed lately that he takes more and more to the bottle. Of that by and by he must be cured. Meanwhile, I would have you consider the case from every point of view, and yourself deliver the verdict."

The Abbé Pharamond rose to his feet, and kissing his finger tips, departed.

Pressure from all quarters to the same end. You have made your bed-make the best of it; accept the inevitable cheerfully. What the fates decree we fight against in vain. Unfortunate Gabrielle. Patience? Good heavens-how long-suffering was hers! And what had she gained by it? Rebuff. Persecution. Torture. Out of the labyrinth they had planted about her there were two exits. She might appeal to the maréchal for protection, return to the shelter of his roof. But to let him learn that her life was shattered, that the marriage he had himself arranged had turned out so disastrously; it would break the old man's heart.

The other passage? Through the gates of Death. No. That method of escape might not be employed either. What would the old man's feelings be if he discovered that she had been driven to suicide? And yet-to fall into the maw of the abbé. Never-never-never. Why not? Why should she care what happened? To her it mattered little now what chanced, bereft of all. Her father need never know. Perhaps, if she gave way they would in pity grant her peace? Sure she was going crazy. Peace? The peace of guilt? Peace where there was no peace? No-no. It should never come to that.

CHAPTER X.

THE MAGIC TUB

The abbé was a chameleon-bewildering in the abruptness of his changes. The carriage that returned from Montbazon was a chariot of triumph, and the abbé joined with vigour in the pæans of victory. He wished to leave a good impression, that his absence might be regretted. He was going on a tour of business and of pleasure; was determined to enjoy himself immensely-he, who as a provincial had rarely visited Paris. How delicious before he went, he declared with rapture, to have his mind relieved, to be assured that the magic tub was no fraud-Mesmer, a genius, not a charlatan! They must toast the prophet in bumpers of champagne. He insisted on it, and accordingly dragged the delighted Clovis from his study to join the circle at dinner. Clovis was quite another man. A gladness was in his eyes that transformed his glum visage, and Gabrielle sitting opposite wondered. In this mood, sure if she spoke, he would hearken. Was the case really hopeless? Was it, indeed, too late? Alack. It was evident that the abbé was playing a part, for now and again he glanced at Gabrielle with an expression that was full of meaning. The situation was bewildering. Like one who dreams she sat listening to the victorious duet, wherein the marquis and the governess took up their tale by turns.

Under the sun of success Clovis opened like a flower. He was radiant with content. His wife yearned to lead him from the room to her secluded boudoir, and there, twining her arms about his neck, point out the facets of the situation of which he seemed so singularly ignorant. She would have fallen at his feet and clasped his knees; have hugged him to her breast and warmed him with a spark of her own fire. But then, that insidious talk of mademoiselle's under which her memory tingled. The clammy affection of a fish! A man who required a master. The venom instilled was inoculating her system. Pride laid a finger on her lips.

Oh! What a scene it had been at Montbazon! To perform a successful séance, Aglaé explained, many accessories were de rigueur, since the vital fluid could not work with effect unless the mind were brought into a condition of fixed and unruffled calm. Now it is no easy matter to bring about this state in one who is a prey to aches and pains. The case is somewhat akin to that in the dentist's room when the patient is informed on the honour of a gentleman that the twinge will be a mere nothing, and that agitation is to be deprecated and calm desirable. Then he suddenly finds an object as large as a coach-house half down his throat, and the top of his head flies off. Unruffled calm, indeed, with a twang of the sciatic nerve and a twitter down the calf, and a great nail being hammered into the big toe! The crusty old Baron de Vaux growled out that as he could not be calm they had better remove their apparatus.

Calm being a sine qua non, Mesmer had pointed out long since that music was a necessary feature in an operation while the patient was being manipulated. He was in the habit of placing his devotees in a delicious garden carpeted with grass, refreshed by play of fountains, variegated by beds of perfumed flowers and clumps of bushes, from amongst which came dulcet strains. In the intervals of crises a complete orchestra hidden somewhere burst forth into harmonious symphonies, at one time grave at another gay, quieting the patient into beatitude due to gratification of his senses. Sight, smell, hearing, all were considered. So minutely did the prophet delve into the matter that he issued an order against wind instruments. The symphonies were to be in D minor, interpreted by stringed instruments only; and at critical moments their effect was increased by the strains of an harmonica, touched by his own skilled fingers. Lest nerves should be excited by all this instead of quieted, a silent attendant stood behind each patient with a jug, from which, according to his discretion, he dribbled cold water upon the pate below him. This item was particularly soothing.

Now it was obvious that all these perfections were not easily to be obtained in the provinces. The mind of Clovis had been much exercised in the matter, and he dreaded failure for himself and obloquy for the prophet. But Aglaé was a treasure of resource. While her deft hands were rubbing the count's withered leg, the marquis was in an outer chamber to grumble ad libitum on his beloved 'cello. The village band was to await the crisis, and then break forth into the baron's favourite air of Vive Henri Quatre. The effect was sure to be splendid, for country magnates-even of the grande noblesse-were of rougher grit than pampered city ones; and, in sober fact, the baron did not know a bassoon from a violin.

But then there were unexpected difficulties, under which Clovis unaided would have succumbed. The bucket was there, and the marquis delivered a learned lecture on it to somewhat apprehensive lieges. They would be kind enough to remark that at the bottom of the tub was a substratum of rusty nails, covered with a layer of iron filings, over which was laid a set of bottles with necks radiating outward. Above them was another set of bottles with necks radiating inward. This was most important, for radiation was one of the secrets of the system. Cords of silk were attached all round with nooses, each for a patient's neck, and by these cords the vital fluid was to circulate to the patient and back again.

Madame de Vaux was much scandalized. "On no account will I allow a rope around my husband's neck," she vowed emphatically. "The Baron de Vaux treated like a common felon! Never, while she could prevent it! Had not the low mob of the capital been stringing people to lamp-posts with ropes of late? Why the king allowed it she could not think; but he, no doubt, knew better than his subjects. The marquis ought to be ashamed of himself for proposing anything so improper and suggestive."

Angelique considered the whole affair undignified, and was sorry that the village band should assist at such a spectacle. The rope was abandoned, and in its stead a long tube of glass was passed from the side of the tub to the right temple of the patient-a much more decorous proceeding where a live baron was concerned. Then the 'cello began to drone and the governess to rub, and by and by the old man's face began to twitch and his toothless gums to move. The baroness, much shocked at this derogation from accustomed dignity, vowed that it was impious, that the devil was at work, and that she ought to have provided a curt and a brush with holy water. The patient began to laugh, then cry; then shout, then mumble. All down his leg were prickings-such curious prickings. "Oh, Mother of Heaven! The prods of the arch-fiend," faintly gurgled the old lady. "Stuff and nonsense! Angelic punctures!"

"All is going well!" announced the authoritative voice of Aglaé. "Band! Strike up-here is the crisis!" she shouted joyfully, but the musicians stood aghast. Sure the poor gentleman had the dance of St. Vitus as well as lesser ailments. A savour of brimstone pervaded the apartment. Some swore, with shrieks, that they could see his Satanic majesty-could count the hairs in his tail; and then all rushed forth pell-mell like panic-stricken sheep. Madame de Vaux screamed and fainted, while Angelique, who was no coward, retired into a corner.

Clovis had his misgivings, and as he scraped on, louder now to mask the retreat of defaulters, wondered inwardly whether it was all a devil's trick? He cast uneasy glances at the stooping Aglaé, who rubbed on unmoved. What a stupendous woman. Not a tremor at suggestion of the Evil One. He felt sure that face to face with the whole Satanic court that strong-minded female's colour would not have changed a shade. It was not possible to feel fear in so sturdily self-reliant a presence. Clovis's misgivings waned, and he groaned on at his instrument with lightened heart. His ever-increasing admiration for mademoiselle became tinctured with an awe in which respect was mingled with apprehension. Who could resist such a woman whatever she might decree? She had indeed twisted her admirer round her finger, and could do with him as she listed.

The séance over, the baron was wrapped in blankets and exhorted to sleep while the adept and her neophyte refreshed the inner person. When they returned later to the operating room the old lady, recovered from her swoon, was weeping silently, while Angelique stood by amazed. The tears were those of relief and joy. The twang of the sciatic nerve was stilled. The pain was gone. The baron, wringing the hand of Mademoiselle Brunelle, vowed he was younger by ten years.

This was the tale told in duet, with the accompanying chorus of the abbé. Amazing, marvellous, wonderful! Aglaé beamed on all around like the dimmed sun through golden mist. At every moment Clovis appealed to her with the devoted submissiveness of willing slavery. His chains were of roses, and he hugged them. Pharamond glanced slyly from time to time at the two ladies, so contrasted in appearance and demeanour, and then frowned at the chevalier, who was absorbed by attentions to the bottle. It was inconvenient that the oaf should take to drink. Had he not been charged with the important mission of watching over the marquise? He had better take good care not to transgress. If aught went wrong in the abbé's absence the chevalier should repent it bitterly.

END OF VOLUME I