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

TEMPTATION

The eccentric schemer was true to his word, as grateful Phebus acknowledged with eyes more watery than usual. What a blessed thing it was to have so accommodating a brother as Pharamond! The chevalier grew hot and cold as he considered the chance that was about to be thrown in his way, a golden chance-and between whimsical little prayers for success, he gazed furtively now and then at the other brother, whose honour he was so ready to smirch.

The prodigies having been sent to bed, and the evening meal being leisurely discussed, the abbé became inquisitive anent the latest intelligence from Spa. Was it true that the genius of the prophet had achieved yet greater marvels? What were these rumours as to a further magnetic development, accompanied by fresh triumphs? Clovis snapped eagerly at the bait, and proceeded to explain that something amazing had indeed been discovered such as should transform the world of science. Persons afflicted with ailments were in future to be ranged around a series of large buckets or tubs containing a mixture of broken glass, iron shavings, and cold water. How simple a treatment, and yet how efficacious! Talk of ancient miracles! No wonder that all the doctors were mad with spite, as well as all the apothecaries, and that they should thirst for the blood of him who had exposed their disgraceful cheating!

"Most amazing! Most wonderful!" echoed the abbé, leaning back in his chair. "The wicked spirits conquered, and those who were afflicted through their malice being cured by means of the tub, what was there left of the curse bequeathed by Adam? If somebody would only go a step or two further and discover the elixir of life, and a method of making gold, the world would be quite a pleasant place to live in, and he for one would positively decline to leave it."

Gabrielle listened, mystified, glancing from one to another of the trio. Clovis was quite animated. His eyes sparkled, his cheeks were flushed, and his tongue loosened. What power was this of the abbé's, which could melt an icicle, bring a corpse to life? She was awed and uneasy.

Was Pharamond making fun of Clovis-fooling him to the top of his bent-in mischief? Surely not, for did he not owe to his brother's kindness a secure asylum, a refuge in an awkward strait, and pocket money also? For Gabrielle, in her kindness of heart, had guessed that the fugitives were out at elbows, and had quietly handed two neatly enveloped packets to her husband, with a request that he would pass them on. Clovis took the packets without surprise or even thanks, and his wife smiled to herself at his carelessness in money matters. Since his marriage he had always been well provided without the asking, and had come-how like a dreamer-to look on coin as convenient manna, which somehow dropped from heaven just at the auspicious moment.

What could so sensible a man as the abbé mean by encouraging him in his nonsense? He was sitting there now with head thrown back, and the placid air of one who knows how to enjoy digestion, rapping out now and then a leading question, such as would put Clovis on his mettle. Was she, Gabrielle, in the wrong to despise these things? It seemed so. Her husband dabbled in philanthropy; the abbé was an excellent man, bent on doing good to his fellows; and this was the reason for the interest of both in Mesmer.

"Just think!" the marquis was observing with regret, "what good work might be done in the district if we could inaugurate a magic tub! The mists rising from the Loire generate rheumatism and paralysis, to say nothing of fevers, all of which, by means of a blessed bucket, might cease to exist except in fable. Why! this gloomy old prison-house might become a central office from which benefits would be scattered broadcast; its primæval bloodstains might come in time to be washed away with Mesmer's tincture of iron!"

"Why not?" murmured the abbé, with increasing interest.

"Alas!" sighed Clovis. "The arrangement of the tub, it seems, is a matter of the most delicate nicety, which cannot be described by letter. If Mesmer would only visit us? But he is afraid now, he says, to venture into France."

"Why not go to him-Mahomet and the mountain, you know," suggested Pharamond. "Or get him to lend you for a time one of his cultured adepts."

"Ah! if he would do that!" echoed Clovis, eagerly. "If he would lend me somebody who knows."

"Our dear Gabrielle would not stand an adept!" cried the abbé, with laughter. "See how distressed she looks at my poor suggestion! Nay, sweet sister; I was only jesting. In sooth, this new-fangled bucket is too large a bolus to swallow. The idea of sensible people squatting round a tub with glass wands pressed against their temples!"

Pharamond's access of facetiousness nettled the marquis, who remarked peevishly, "What a puzzle you are! Too gifted and too learned, I should have thought, to mock as the ignorant do at all that they cannot fathom."

"Nay! I did not mean to anger you!" cried Pharamond, still laughing. "But I was bound to reassure our hostess as to an irruption of adepts. Come, come. Let her enjoy the evening air. Show me the plans and instructions, and while I endeavour to decipher them, play me a tune on the 'cello."

Oh! clever abbé, who knew so well how to twitch his puppet-strings! It certainly was a delightful evening, and Gabrielle, with the pursy chevalier trotting by her side, flung open a casement and stepped forth upon a balcony. As she gazed across the shadowy river, she was too absorbed with the consideration of a riddle to remark the condition of her companion, who panted nervously. Was Clovis mad-victim of a monomania-or did she wrong him? Why should he lie to her, and to Pharamond? He had declared, and the abbé accepted the statement without cavil, that the magic tub had already produced miraculous cures. No doubt it is both ignorant and stupid to contemn what you cannot understand. Clovis was always saying so, and he was right. If the discovery was genuine, then, as he had said, how wonderful a boon wherewith to endow the province! It was quite true that the peasantry were a prey to rheumatic pains and aches. In her rides she often went among the poor distributing simple remedies, and had been dubbed by them the "White Chatelaine," in contradistinction to some of dark and unsavoury memory who had gone before. But then, an irruption of adepts. What sort of a creature was an adept? The idea had revolted her, she scarce knew why; and yet, was she not unreasonable? If the prophet or a selection from his following were to take up their quarters at Lorge, what then? There was room enough in the great building, and the abbé would doubtless make himself useful in seeing that they kept to themselves. Ah! But the cherished hope which had been the means of bringing the chatelaine to Lorge; the hope to which she clung with the tenacity of love. Surrounded by an army of dreamers more dreamy than himself, the half-recovered Clovis would drift away again, be farther than ever from her yearning arms, engrossed in his magical operations. How unsteady a seat is that between the horns of a dilemma. If she refused to countenance the tub and its attendant sprites, she might be withholding from the sick a saving and certain cure. If she encouraged the new theory and its satellites, instinct told her that she would be raising a wall between herself and her husband which she would never be able to scale. She was wicked and selfish to hesitate. The marquise felt with humble conviction the extent of her badness; but human nature at the best is rickety, and she was unlucky enough to adore her husband. At this point, as she stood on the balcony reflecting, with the red hot chevalier by her side, she shivered, for plaintive sounds were floating on the breeze.

"This is intolerable!" she murmured. "If Clovis would only oblige me by sacrificing that dreadful 'cello!"

"It does set one's teeth on edge," agreed the chevalier.

"Because it contains a soul in torment," returned the marquise, pressing her fingers in her ears. "I can manage to endure other implements of music, but I cannot bear a 'cello."

"We have a remedy at hand," wheezed the amorous chevalier. "It is as balmy as a summer's night, and winter will soon be upon us. Put on a hood and scarf, and let me row you for an hour on the river."

CHAPTER VII.

A TERRIBLE DISCOVERY

The family did not meet again till the next day at the hour of second déjeuner, and an intangible cloud appeared to have fallen on the party. There was something like suspicion in the manner of those who yesterday were so trustingly united.

The chevalier, sulky and silent, would not raise his eyes from his plate. The liveliest sallies of the abbé fell dismally flat, for even Gabrielle was so pre-occupied that she could not summon a smile. Her beautiful face was grave and sad, and bore trace of recent tears, while the brow of the marquis wore a frown, as if he had heard bad news. Indeed, a proposition had been placed before him yesternight, or, rather, dropped carelessly, which startled and annoyed him. In course of their tête-à-tête over the plans, Pharamond had said, "If I were you I would be careful not to offend madame, for she, not you, is master." It had never occurred to him before to see things in this light, and yet it was undoubtedly true. She had never stood between him and his desires, but it was not pleasant to be reminded that she might be led to do so some day. And from the conversation-as it chanced-a wavering idea had become in his mind a fixed resolve. The introduction of an adept into the household had been the happiest thought on the part of Pharamond, but-provoking fellow that he was-no sooner had he made the suggestion than he proceeded to nip it in the bud. For when Clovis would fain have enlarged upon the topic, the abbé had retorted with a demure headshake: "I made a mistake, and I am sorry. Your wife believes no more in Mesmer than I do-less-and, taking offence, might complain to old de Brèze of the introduction into his house of a pack of needy jugglers."

If she did it would be awkward and insulting to her husband. Would she be capable of so unwifely a proceeding? Surely not. The abbé, who was a compendium of wise maxims, remarked that it would be better not to try her-to let sleeping dogs lie. Perhaps he was right, but the pill presented to the lips of Clovis was bitter, with a new and acrid taste.

Glancing round the breakfast-table, the spirits of Pharamond went up, and he rubbed his hands with satisfaction. No need to ask simple Phebus how he had fared last night? Failure was written on his face!

In the minds of all three who sat around him a tiny germ was working. So far all was well; but the ménage must not be permitted to fall back into the doldrums.

"Come, come!" cried the abbé, cheerily; "what ails us all? Is the angel of death passing overhead? The weather is divine. Were we not to hunt to-day, starting from Montbazon, and is not the attractive Angelique anxiously awaiting Phebus? Air and exercise will brace our nerves. Clovis's wits want sharpening, and then, maybe, he will guess all about the bucket without further aid from Mesmer."

Cloud or no cloud, there was no resisting Pharamond for long. His tact was infinite. Pretending to perceive that there was a tiff of some sort between the chevalier and the chatelaine, he ostentatiously interposed himself between them. No one was in the humour for the chase? Very well. No more was he. Phebus, whose one accomplishment was a knowledge of horseflesh, had business in the stables, which he would be good enough to see to. The other brothers would flutter around Gabrielle, who, established on her favourite seat in the moat-garden, would issue orders to her slaves.

What? The hobby again? Really the prophet should be proud of a pupil so serious and earnest! Well, well. Would dear Gabrielle mind being left alone for a little? No? Then the brothers would take a stroll together, and perhaps the abbé would be converted.

"If I am," the latter cried merrily, as linking his arm within that of the marquis, he led him away, "I shall turn myself to the conversion of Gabrielle. After that we will set our wits to work, arrange a magic tub, and all preside over it together."

The magic tub! When the brothers returned from their walk, heated with discussion, the one was airy and serene, the other wofully cross. Gabrielle was sorely troubled by the change which she indistinctly felt. Why should Clovis be cross? The reason of the chevalier's sullenness, alas, she knew too well! The abbé was apparently much struck by the arguments of the neophyte, and wavered. Why, then, should Clovis be in a bad humour? And if Pharamond, the clever one, was well nigh convinced, who was she that she should doubt? There was nothing for it but to submit to the guidance of the abbé.

Clovis shambled off to his study in a self-conscious and sheepish way, whereupon a sly smile spread over the face of Pharamond.

"Do you know why our dear Clovis is in so villanous a humour?" he asked, glancing archly down at the marquise. "No, of course not. You would never guess. He wants something of you, and is afraid to ask, lest you refuse."

"Afraid of me!" ejaculated Gabrielle, amazed.

"Not quite that-but husbands do not like to ask favours and be refused."

The marquise held her peace, for she was bitterly hurt. Refuse a favour to him, the husband whose good graces she was here to cultivate? Never. Oh, why was he so very blind! How could she ever hope to win his entire love and confidence if he read her character so ill! Then, overcome by emotion, she wept and confided in the abbé, who skilfully soothed her pain. He did not deserve such a treasure-this purblind, blundering husband, of course he did not; but since the Church had bound the two together, there was nothing for it but to make the best of the bad bargain. It was most fortunate that he, Pharamond, should have joined the circle, for it should be his privilege, as son of the Church, if permitted so great a favour, to act as go-between on delicate subjects, and prevent friction. Now here was a silly thing which, but for him, might have led to estrangement. Clovis had concluded that his scientific investigations demanded a trained assistant, and dreaded to admit as much. Was he not a foolish fellow?

Gabrielle's heart sank low within her. Oh, Clovis! Clovis! An assistant! an army of assistants, if he so wished it. But it was soul-harrowing that his desires should require an interpreter. And now the good churchman changed his note from comfort to gentle chiding. She was ungrateful, the dear Gabrielle, to be so impatient. The ambassador would run on the instant and tell Clovis how he wronged his wife. She was ready to do all he wished, as he might have known she would be. Rome was not built in a day, and the firm trusting confidence which should unite wife and husband requires to be put together brick by brick, with plodding patience for a trowel. It should not be the abbé's fault if his watchful care did not produce, with time, the desired end. He would try, but Clovis was of a suspicious and untrusting nature, and if failure were to result after all-why he, the abbé, could not help what, of course, he would bitterly deplore.

It is a curious fact that this was not quite the communication which he made to Clovis when, presently, he joined him in his study.

"She has given way," he said; "I thought I could persuade her. I led her to feel that though she may hold the purse-strings, she must learn to know that you are master. We shall arrive at that, and make good our independence with constant quiet pressure. How wise of you to trust in me! Leave the whole matter in my hands. Say nothing on the subject yourself, for the plant of marital right is a fragile one which requires most careful handling."

Gabrielle spent much of her time in reflection, wondering how it was that she should be so lamentably misunderstood. The only one who could read her aright was Abbé Pharamond, and yet there were points in his behaviour which perplexed the simple lady. He was kind and sympathetic now as he invariably was; but a change might be detected in his manner, which was a difference, though so slight a one that a man would scarce have noticed it. He loved to recline at her feet reciting poetry or reading classic prose-a course of improving literature, he called it, for the storing of a magazine that was somewhat empty; and in intervals of rest she would find his steely eyes fixed steadily on her with a peculiar expression that was half pity. Warming under his ever-ready sympathy she confided to him one day the shocking details of a certain evening on the river, and was unaccountably pained and disappointed at the way he treated the disclosure. In the butterfly clergy of Paris-steeped to the lips in vice-such a view would be natural and consistent; but that Pharamond, self-elected friend and Mentor, should display so little indignation and proper principle was distressing.

Instead of being shocked at the escapade of Phebus, he laughed outright, and remarked lightly, "Of course, the poor donkey fell in love with you. He must, indeed, be a figure-head of wood who could resist such charms, and I should be sorry to find a brother of mine to be made of timber. Command me. Am I not your champion? Shall I rush forth and spit the simpleton for his temerity?"

Clearly this was not the spirit in which a son of Mother Church should receive the news of a brother-in-law's declaration, and Gabrielle declared as much to her trusted counsellor.

"Half-brother-in-law," interrupted the latter, admiring his oval nails.

"It is all the same-equally wrong."

"Oh, dear no! Excuse me, but it takes two halves to make a whole!" This light method of dealing with so grave a subject savoured of flippant levity; added to which distressful fact, the abbé, taking advantage of Gabrielle's troubled silence, had sidled closer, and was peering up through half-closed lids with an admiring scrutiny which made her vaguely uncomfortable.

"The heart is independent of the will," he whispered, absently, "and we should not be blamed for its vagaries! You could not like the fellow? Of course, you could not: he is fat and foolish; and I a dolt to ask so vain a question. Before we are aware of it our hearts are given, and the gift may not be cancelled. A platitude, is it not? Does not that same platitude show that Love is Fate-that where he wills he lights, always a conqueror? Who shall punish us for bending before the tyrant?"

"What can you mean?" inquired the marquise, startled.

"Say," inquired the abbé. "Despite trivial drawbacks, we are all happy here together, are we not? As to Phebus, what is your decree? Because a man loved you, you would not chase him hence? That were unduly harsh."

No. The marquise had no intention of endeavouring to banish Phebus. Was he not of the same blood as Clovis and Pharamond, husband and friend? To the latter she owed much, and, being grateful, would strain many a point to avoid offending him. It was thanks to his intervention that the wheels had run of late more smoothly. Indeed, she might have come in time to accept the situation as it was, ceasing to wish for something better, but for the chevalier's inconvenient flame. Even as it was, there was no reason why the stream, disturbed for a moment, should not flow as smoothly as before, since Phebus, convinced of his mistake, ceased to be importunate. Enwrapt in a veil of reserve he studiously avoided a tête-à-tête with her whom he had honoured with elephantine love-making.