CHAPTER XXIV.
MADAME DE BREZE IS NERVOUS.
That night Gabrielle and her foster-sister slept together, or ratherlay in the same bed, for Toinon had much to tell and Gabrielle tohear. In the morning, the chatelaine looked much the same as usual,but for the circle of bistre round her eyes, which had grown deeper,giving an air of lassitude.
Virginie, Marechale de Breze, never slept a wink; but groaned andtossed in a fever, mumbling Ave Marias, and when she appeared atdejeuner, the abbe shook a reproachful finger at her. "Yellow!" hedeclared, mournfully, "absolutely and undeniably yellow! How dare you,after all our care, look so jaded, when yesterday you were as bloomingas a rose? I know what it is. Try this pear--it absolutely melts inthe mouth. No. I won't offer it, for I am afraid it smells of copper.Or is it brimstone? How provoking! I have tucked my hoofs and tailunder my chair, but I cannot conceal the brimstone! Look at yourlovely daughter. She knows better than to believe _cancans_, and hasslept the sleep of the angels. Alas--dearest mother--you havepermitted me to call you mother--I shall have to administer a severeand terrible lecture. I told you last night you were our prisoner, butI won't have birds that injure their delightful plumage. If you beatyour wings against the bars I shall open the cage-door, I warn you,and dismiss you into space!"
Turned out into space among the ravening wolves without, or kept inthe gilded cage to be slowly done to death? What an alternative! Whycould not somebody tell her what to do, instead of leaving her allnight stretched upon the rack of her uncertainty? Evidently, unlesscandidates for an asylum, they must all have some motive for acting inthe odd way they did, but what was it? It was so rude andinconsiderate to be plotting, and scheming, and lying, and chargingeach other with all kinds of horrible offences, under the nose of aninnocent stranger, of whom they were making a butt. Madame made up hermind to upbraid Gabrielle severely for her inhuman and unfilialconduct. If there was any nasty skeleton about, she had no business tosummon an aged parent to contemplate it.
Toinon, plunged into a slough of anguish, could only wring her handsand moan. It is not every David who can get the better of Goliath; andis it not wiser to flee before the great towering monster, instead ofhurling our puny stone at him--only to be trodden in a trice under hisponderous splay foot?
The abigail had got the worst of the encounter, her proofs as well asher accusation were rendered ridiculous, even in her own eyes,although she knew the accusation to be true. She was held up toobloquy as a Jacobin, one of the anarchists steeped to the lips incrime, ready to destroy by false witness the family to which she owedeverything. Next, she would develop into a tricoteuse, sitting undershadow of the guillotine. It was intolerable. Toinon was not meek andlowly as some of her betters were. On the contrary, there ran throughher veins a current of pugnacity of which honest Jean had tasted. Shewas not prepared to sit down like Gabrielle, wearing a crown of thornsand bearing a cross, the while pretending to enjoy them. Certainlynot. She was one of those who have no respect for crowns of thorns,and consider crosses irksome wear. But what could she do to unwind hermistress and herself from the present tangle? The marechale was animbecile old doll. The abject terror of her mien last night hadsomething about it that was full of pathos. It is pitiful to see sobattered and helpless a thing as that in the bubbling whirlpool of ourworld. Jean--Jean Boulot was the one rock to which the two women mightcling in their danger. Jean must leave his Jacobin clubs and come tothem. Would it be well for Toinon herself to proceed to Blois, seekhim out, and explain? He would not think her forward and unmaidenly,for she would find words to convince him as she had her mistress. No.The marechale having proved herself to be a broken reed, it would notdo to go to Blois, for her mistress would be left with no rampart,however unsatisfactory and weak, between herself and the insidiousfoe. What if, on her return, she were to find that the deed wasaccomplished? Jean must be written to, and implored by the past tocome to the rescue of two women in grievous peril. And they were inextreme danger; he would see that for himself when he arrived. Toinonknew it full well. She had read the abbe's eyes last night, and was asmuch aware as Gabrielle, that for those who stood athwart his path,there was no more mercy within his breast than conscience or religion.
Poor Madame de Breze! Yellow, forsooth! The more she pondered the moretroubled she became. Her wrinkled old face was turning green. Was theabbe a monster or an angel? If only somebody would clear up thispoint. He made her blood run cold with his facetiousness, for is itnot creepy to be openly informed by a person, that he wears a tail andhoofs, and to be more than half assured that it is true? He dancedround her fears with elfin gambols, till she felt her frail witstottering; and then, grown of a sudden serious, he would relate whathe called facts, which only increased her terrors. Why had no oneinformed her before that Madame de Vaux hardly, and her daughterAngelique, were practically in a state of siege; that various chateauxin the neighbourhood had been demolished, their inhabitants drownedor strangled; that she had not been wrong on her way thither, as tothe threatening attitude of the peasantry? Of course, she had beenright--was she not always right though people would not believe her?She had been lured hither to this dismal fortalice to perish like arat in a trap. Danger from without and from within. Goodness gracious!What if that story of the cakes were true? Gabrielle, strangelyenough, seemed to consider that it was neither new nor surprising thather life should be in peril. What should they want to kill her for?Was it something connected with money? All evil springs from that.Then a thrill of horror surged over the selfish heart of the unluckydame, when she remembered her daughter's will. To her, the old mother,the money was bequeathed--in trust, it is true; but to her. If theywished to compass Gabrielle's death, of course, her own would follow.What a silly will it was. She protested at the time, but had beenoverruled by M. Galland. It was an absurd thing for a young woman tobequeath a fortune to an old one--worse--it was a cruel and dastardlything to do, if unscrupulous schemers were after it. Why must they mixup a harmless and venerable and justly respected lady in their plotsand squabbles? Madame de Breze worked herself up into a white heat ofindignation, and set herself to see how she could get out of the trapwith promptitude, and such decency as might be.
She propounded her views to Gabrielle, who gravely and calmlyaquiesced. "Nothing detains you here, dear mother," she keptrepeating, with monotonous persistency, "except your own fancy. Ihoped you had taken to our quiet life; but if not, it is better youshould go."
"I have so few years left to live, you know," apologetically whimperedthe marechale, "that I grudge the time away from entrancing Paris."
When her daughter elected courteously to consider that this wasnatural, her conscience pricked, and she was annoyed at feelingashamed. Indeed, the excuse was of the lamest, since the belovedcapital was, at this juncture, a prey to devils whose goddess wasMother Guillotine. In the retirement of her secluded dwelling,however, she could feel comparatively safe. She quite longed for thelittle house, which she was always complaining of as dismal. At allevents, she could nibble a cake there without dread of poison.
"I will stay, of course, if you say you really wish it," she went on,plaintively, as salve to the inner monitor, "but the air of Tourainenever did agree with me any more than with your blessed father; and ifI were to be taken ill, I should only be an extra worry."
A smile flitted over the sad face of the marquise, as she took hermother's hands and kissed them. "My dear," she said, "I would not haveyou stay for worlds a moment longer than you fancy. Go back to Paris,and I will pray Heaven that your journey may be prosperous. I wouldlike you to go at once, because I am sure it is for the best, sinceyou are nervous, and at the same time I would beg of you a favour.Take the children with you, for I should feel happier if they weresafe under your care. I will give orders now," she added, risingbriskly, "in order that they may be ready by to-morrow."
The old lady ruefully rubbed her nose with her spectacles, beingashamed to speak her thoughts. It occu
rred to her that if the abbereally was nourishing designs of a nefarious nature, he mightendeavour to prevent her from departing. If she proposed to remove thechildren, there would be extra inducement to interfere, consideringthe uncomfortable prominence given to all three by that deplorablyill-advised testament. Gabrielle had kept her lips sealed with regardto the second document. Indeed, she was unaccountably and provokinglyreticent on most points in her dealings with the marechale, whoresented her silence hotly. She never could be got to talk of heraffairs--to give an opinion as to the characters of Pharamond or ofPhebus; declined to discuss the absence of her husband, or to explainthe presence of the quondam governess, who, from time to time, wasmeteorically visible, hovering. Under the circumstances, what objectwould be gained by lingering at Lorge, since all seemed alike agreedto withhold from the sage their confidence? If she were allowed, shewould gladly turn her back on the ill-omened place, and thank herstars when quit of it.
The marquise saved her from the trouble of displaying her owndiplomacy by boldly announcing to the abbe that Madame la Marechale deBreze would return on the morrow to the capital, and, being lonelythere, would borrow, for a period, the society of her grandchildren.The abbe glanced keenly in her face, but could read nothing there.What curious fancy was this? She who so adored the cherubs, haddecided on a separation! Why? What motive could underly so unexpecteda project? The more the abbe reflected, the less could he fathom it,but after looking at it from every point, he made up his mind that itwas some feminine whim which concerned him not. And yet it did in thismuch. From the moment that the second will was executed, the childrenwere safe from any machinations of the conspirators. What happened tothem was of no importance. If Algae chose to be burthened with them,she was welcome so to do, as far as her fellow-schemer was concerned.It would be a convenience, though, to have them out of the way justnow. When _it_ was over, and the family was comfortably established atGeneva, there would be plenty of time to consider what was to be donewith the infants. Perhaps it would be a harmless sop to Clovis to havethem with him there, in order that he might make up for the shadinessof his marital past by systematic parental indulgence. There certainlywas no possible reason why they should not journey with theirgrandmother to Paris on a visit, and the heart of the latter, onfinding there was no opposition to the plan, was relieved of a weightas ponderous as a nether millstone.
Long before the hasty preparations were complete, Madame la Marechalehad satisfactorily convinced herself that the abbe's place was amongthe angelic host. It must be mischievous fudge about those cakes; asilly tittle-tattle of ignorant servants, to which Gabrielle, mopishand morbid, had given too willing an ear. Far from throwing barriersin the way of an exodus, both brothers were almost too obliging. Thechevalier, who was a past master in farriery, examined the horses'shoes with minute care, while his brother superintended the innereconomy of the berline. In the boot were books, and a few bottles ofthe choicest wines and samples of comforting cordials, wherewith anelderly traveller might be sustained under fatigue. There were pillowsand cushions galore, and cunning wraps deftly-stowed in corners.
"Our dear mother," he explained, laughingly, "shall carry away withher a favourable impression of Lorge, though she is so ungrateful asto leave us with too evident alacrity. Never mind. It becomes theChurch to be forgiving, and, returned to the capital, she will rewardus with remembrance in her prayers."
As at last she drove away, with a darling wedged in on either side,like panniers on a donkey, the marechale blamed herself bitterly forher unjust suspicions. How could the man have evil intentions, sincehe was so ready to speed upon their road those whom, if suspicionswere true, it was his direct interest to keep under control? Andif--as was clearly proven--he had evolved no base scheme with regardto the children and their guardian--why should he be scheming toinjure Gabrielle? What could he possibly gain by injuring Gabrielle,since, after her death, her possessions would pass at once farout of his reach? It was all preposterous--impossible rather thanimprobable--and it behoved a wise and experienced lady of mature yearsto scold an hysterical daughter for nourishing injurious fancies. Thenearer she was to Paris, the more jubilant did the old dame become,the more rosy grew her cogitations. It was certainly nice to have thecherubs' society in a shut-up house in the suburbs, whose safety layin its blankness; but it was improper to be selfish. If there was avice against which the marechale was fond of tilting, it wasselfishness. She loathed and abhorred the disfiguring leprosy. No oneshould ever say that she was selfish. She would keep the little onesfor a few months, then pack them home again. In her odd state, it wasnot quite wise to leave the marquise moping. By and by she wouldreceive them in her arms, delighted with the good that change ofscene had done them, grateful for the grandmother's care. As for M.Galland--the estimable and upright, but somewhat square-toed,solicitor, to whose acumen the late marechal had been misguided enoughto trust, rather than to the wisdom of his singularly clear-brainedwife, she would be able to report most favourably. He had urged,almost compelled, the journey to Touraine, being oppressed by someindefinite apprehension. Madame la Marquise, he had explained, wroteso seldom and so little, that he began to think there must be somereason for her reticence. Regardless of self, or plaguey pains andaches, the devoted mother had travelled that weary distance, and inlate autumn, too, when east winds are so unpleasantly familiar. Martyrto duty and an irrepressibly conscientious solicitor, she had been,and she had come back. The tiresomely apprehensive Galland would bedelighted with the assurance that the Marquise de Gange was well; thatthe marquis, temporarily absent on business, was likewise well; thattwo of the most charming and devotedly attentive men on earth were hishalf-brothers, on whose backs the wings were already sprouting, thatthey might join the hierarchy of heaven. As for the cherubs, she hadbrought them as specimens of the results of Touraine air. The arms ofthe darlings were healthily brown, and prematurely developed byboating exercise on the Loire. They were quite bursting with healthand spirits, and would very likely be insulted in the streets asaggressive and reproachful examples of country versus town. M.Galland's apprehensions, clearly demonstrated to be of the most idledescription, would vanish; he would sleep on his two ears, as thesaying hath it; and worry the grandmother no more.
On the evening of her arrival, the solicitor dined with her, anxiousfor a report as to the doings in Touraine. He hearkened to her wisdom,nor strove to stem the ocean of her prate, which babbled onunceasingly. She was provoked to observe that he was absent, and thathis moody brow remained clouded despite the rosiness of her report. Ofcourse, he did not believe her. Nobody ever had, worse luck for theworld in general; but it was really just a shade too insolent to havesent her all that distance in a ram-shackle old shanderydan, and, thepilgrimage completed, to treat the result of her observations as meredraught whistling through a keyhole. The old lady was so hurt that shewas unable to control her vexation. "Of course, I'm a fool," shegurgled. "If I'm so incurably imbecile, why did you not go yourself?These children, I suppose, are no evidence, with their gladsome eyesand ruddy faces!"
M. Galland did not reply at once, for he was thinking.
"It might have been as well, perhaps, madame, if I had accompaniedyou," he slowly said at last. "The children, thank goodness! are inperfect health. The marquis, you admit, was absent; his brotherspractically in possession. One lady and two gentlemen--a cosy party ofthree."
"Wrong!" cried the marechale in triumph. "Always the same. Youinterrupt and jump at conclusions without having the decent civilityto hear me out. Some men are insufferably rude."
"How wrong?" enquired the solicitor, anxiously.
"There were two ladies in the house; but the second held so much aloofthat I was hardly aware of her presence. That struck me as a littleodd, for she was an invited guest--a Mademoiselle Brunelle, at onetime governess to the little ones."
M. Galland started, and the cloud on his brow deepened.
That woman again! She whom he had himself expelled by the expressorders of De Brez
e. How had she wormed herself into the house a secondtime. And she held aloof, too--was not one of the family circle--suresign that her presence there was contrary to the wish of the marquise.
"Of a certainty," reflected the solicitor, "I should have done well togo down myself. Strange as it may seem, it looks very much as if theforebodings of madame were to be realized."
M. Galland muffled himself to the eyes in his roquelaure, and precededby a trusty servant with a lantern, walked rapidly home, exceedinglydisturbed in mind. "If aught happens to her," he kept murmuring, "itwill be a cause of acutest self-reproach as long as I live. And yethow could a steady-going old lawyer take a woman's romanticpresentiments into account? She declared when she left Paris, that shewas going to her death. A fear without solid basis founded upon fancy.And that declaration that she made before the magistrate. Did she seewith prophetic vision? I've heard of such cases, but never creditedthem. Have I unwittingly betrayed my trust? If anything happens,how, in the next world, shall I dare to meet her father? It isstrange--extremely strange."
Proceeding to his study, M. Galland took up an open letter, and withgathering frown, perused it carefully for the fourth time. It was aletter from a brother solicitor at Blois, formally enquiring forinformation. The Marquis de Gange, the stranger explained, was anxiousto emigrate secretly with his family, and to that end desired to raisemoney. All Touraine knew that the beautiful marquise, his wife, wasthe money-bag, and it had struck him, the solicitor, as irregular thatthe marquise should not herself have made the request, if not inperson, at least in writing. M. le Marquis had explained her absenceby frankly confessing that she knew nothing of his move, she being inso nervous and over-wrought a condition through terror, that it wouldbe dangerous to consult her on the subject. It was solely on heraccount that he was anxious to leave France in secret and withoutdelay, for she was in so precarious a state of nervous prostrationthat only in a peaceful land could it be hoped that she would rally.As security for the sum required--nothing very considerable--themarquis had produced his wife's testament, showing that even if,unfortunately, her health succumbed on the journey, her sorrowingwidower would be in condition to repay the loan.
The matter was nothing very extraordinary. In these ticklish times,much stranger requests were being made each day, but it had struck theprovincial firm that before complying, it would be only regular andcourteous to inform the family solicitor.
"Regular and courteous, indeed!" sighed M. Galland, as he folded andlocked away the letter. "It is all too plain. She has been forced, asshe feared, to make another will. Her husband is trying to raise moneyon it. Meanwhile, she is left in the custody of his brothers and thatwoman. Is it coercion, or has she changed her mind? I should dearlylike to know if there is a cross after the signature. Perhaps she hasreally changed her mind, and I am an over-anxious old donkey. Hermother declared that she is well and happy, and a mother ought to be ajudge. But such a mother! cackling, silly goose. And what could haveinduced madame to send away the children? If well enough to deceive amother's eye, the marquis has deliberately lied. There is a mysterythat looks mighty black, and must forthwith be fathomed. This raisingof funds without her knowledge shall be nipped in the bud at once; andif I turn out to be wrong, I can afford to accept the responsibility.Yes. I will fire a random shot and inform the firm at Blois by specialcourier that their will is mere waste paper."
The Maid of Honour: A Tale of the Dark Days of France. Vol. 3 (of 3) Page 5