Historical Romances: Under the Red Robe, Count Hannibal, A Gentleman of France

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER VII.

  SIMON FLEIX.

  For some minutes I forgot mademoiselle in paying those assiduousattentions to my mother which her state and my duty demanded; andwhich I offered the more anxiously that I recognised, with a sinkingheart, the changes which age and illness had made in her since my lastvisit. The shock of mademoiselle's words had thrown her into asyncope, from which she did not recover for some time; and then ratherthrough the assistance of our strange guide, who seemed well awarewhat to do, than through my efforts. Anxious as I was to learn whathad reduced her to such straits and such a place, this was not thetime to satisfy my curiosity, and I prepared myself instead for thetask of effacing the painful impression which mademoiselle's words hadmade on her mind.

  On first coming to herself she did not remember them, but, content tofind me by her side--for there is something so alchemic in a mother'slove that I doubt not my presence changed her garret to a palace--shespent herself in feeble caresses and broken words. Presently, however,her eye falling on mademoiselle and her maid, who remained standing bythe hearth, looking darkly at us from time to time, she recalled,first the shock which had prostrated her, and then its cause, andraising herself on her elbow, looked about her wildly. 'Gaston!' shecried, clutching my hand with her thin fingers, 'what was it I heard?It was of you someone spoke--a woman! She called you--or did I dreamit?--a cheat! You!'

  'Madame, madame,' I said, striving to speak carelessly, though thesight of her grey hair, straggling and dishevelled, moved mestrangely, 'was it likely? Would anyone dare to use such expressionsof me in your presence? You must indeed have dreamed it!'

  The words, however, returning more and more vividly to her mind, shelooked at me very pitifully, and in great agitation laid her arm on myneck, as though she would shelter me with the puny strength which justenabled her to rise in bed. 'But someone,' she muttered, her eyes onthe strangers, 'said it, Gaston? I heard it. What did it mean?'

  'What you heard, madame,' I answered, with an attempt at gaiety,though the tears stood in my eyes, 'was, doubtless, mademoiselle herescolding our guide from Tours, who demanded three times the proper_pourboire_. The impudent rascal deserved all that was said to him, Iassure you.'

  'Was that it?' she murmured doubtfully.

  'That must have been what you heard, madame,' I answered, as if I feltno doubt.

  She fell back with a sigh of relief, and a little colour came into herwan face. But her eyes still dwelt curiously, and with apprehension,on mademoiselle, who stood looking sullenly into the fire; and seeingthis my heart misgave me sorely that I had done a foolish thing inbringing the girl there. I foresaw a hundred questions which would beasked, and a hundred complications which must ensue, and felt alreadythe blush of shame mounting to my cheek.

  'Who is that?' my mother asked softly. 'I am ill. She must excuse me.'She pointed with her fragile finger to my companions.

  I rose, and still keeping her hand in mine, turned so as to face thehearth. 'This, madame,' I answered formally, 'is Mademoiselle----, buther name I will commit to you later, and in private. Suffice it to saythat she is a lady of rank, who has been committed to my charge by ahigh personage.'

  'A high personage?' my mother repeated gently, glancing at me with asmile of gratification.

  'One of the highest,' I said. 'Such a charge being a great honour tome, I felt that I could not better execute it, madame, since we mustlie in Blois one night, than by requesting your hospitality on herbehalf.'

  I dared mademoiselle as I spoke--I dared her with my eye to contradictor interrupt me. For answer, she looked at me once, inclining her heada little, and gazing at us from under her long eyelashes. Then sheturned back to the fire, and her foot resumed its angry tapping on thefloor.

  'I regret that I cannot receive her better,' my mother answeredfeebly. 'I have had losses of late. I--but I will speak of that atanother time. Mademoiselle doubtless knows,' she continued withdignity, 'you and your position in the South too well to think ill ofthe momentary straits to which she finds me reduced.'

  I saw mademoiselle start, and I writhed under the glance of covertscorn, of amazed indignation, which she shot at me. But my mothergently patting my hand, I answered patiently, 'Mademoiselle will thinkonly what is kind, madame--of that I am assured. And lodgings arescarce to-night in Blois.'

  'But tell me of yourself, Gaston,' my mother cried eagerly; and I hadnot the heart, with her touch on my hand, her eyes on my face, to tearmyself away, much as I dreaded what was coming, and longed to end thescene. 'Tell me of yourself. You are still in favour with the kingof---- I will not name him here?'

  'Still, madame,' I answered, looking steadily at mademoiselle, thoughmy face burned.

  'You are still--he consults you, Gaston?'

  'Still, madame.'

  My mother heaved a happy sigh, and sank lower in the bed. 'And youremployments?' she murmured, her voice trembling with gratification.'They have not been reduced? You still retain them, Gaston?'

  'Still, madame,' I answered, the perspiration standing on my brow, myshame almost more than I could bear.

  'Twelve thousand livres a year, I think?'

  'The same, madame.'

  'And your establishment? How many do you keep now? Your valet, ofcourse? And lackeys--how many at present?' She glanced, with an eye ofpride, while she waited for my answer, first at the two silent figuresby the fire, then at the poverty-stricken room; as if the sight of itsbareness heightened for her the joy of my prosperity.

  She had no suspicion of my trouble, my misery, or that the lastquestion almost filled the cup too full. Hitherto all had been easy,but this seemed to choke me. I stammered and lost my voice.Mademoiselle, her head bowed, was gazing into the fire. Fanchette wasstaring at me, her black eyes round as saucers, her mouth half-open.'Well, madame,' I muttered at length, 'to tell you the truth, atpresent, you must understand, I have been forced to----'

  'What, Gaston?' Madame de Bonne half rose in bed. Her voice was sharpwith disappointment and apprehension; the grasp of her fingers on myhand grew closer.

  I could not resist that appeal. I flung away the last rag of shame.'To reduce my establishment somewhat,' I answered, looking a miserabledefiance at mademoiselle's averted figure. She had called me a liarand a cheat--here in the room! I must stand before her a liar and acheat confessed. 'I keep but three lackeys now, madame.'

  'Still it is creditable,' my mother muttered thoughtfully, her eyesshining. 'Your dress, however, Gaston--only my eyes are weak--seems tome----'

  'Tut, tut! It is but a disguise,' I answered quickly.

  'I might have known that,' she rejoined, sinking back with a smile anda sigh of content. 'But when I first saw you I was almost afraid thatsomething had happened to you. And I have been uneasy lately,' shewent on, releasing my hand, and beginning to play with the coverlet,as though the remembrance troubled her. 'There was a man here a whileago--a friend of Simon Fleix there--who had been south to Pau andNerac, and he said there was no M. de Marsac about the Court.'

  'He probably knew less of the Court than the wine-tavern,' I answeredwith a ghastly smile.

  'That was just what I told him,' my mother responded quickly andeagerly. 'I warrant you I sent him away ill-satisfied.'

  'Of course,' I said; 'there will always be people of that kind. Butnow, if you will permit me, madame, I will make such arrangements formademoiselle as are necessary.'

  Begging her accordingly to lie down and compose herself--for even soshort a conversation, following on the excitement of our arrival, hadexhausted her to a painful degree--I took the youth, who had justreturned from stabling our horses, a little aside, and learning thathe lodged in a smaller chamber on the farther side of the landing,secured it for the use of mademoiselle and her woman. In spite of acertain excitability which marked him at times, he seemed to be aquick, ready fellow, and he willingly undertook to go out, late as itwas, and procure some provisions and a few other things whic
h weresadly needed, as well for my mother's comfort as for our own. Idirected Fanchette to aid him in the preparation of the other chamber,and thus for a while I was left alone with mademoiselle. She had takenone of the stools, and sat cowering over the fire, the hood of hercloak drawn about her head; in such a manner that even when she lookedat me, which she did from time to time, I saw little more than hereyes, bright with contemptuous anger.

  'So, sir,' she presently began, speaking in a low voice, and turningslightly towards me, 'you practise lying even here?'

  I felt so strongly the futility of denial or explanation that Ishrugged my shoulders and remained silent under the sneer. Two moredays--two more days would take us to Rosny, and my task would be done,and mademoiselle and I would part for good and all. What would itmatter then what she thought of me? What did it matter now?

  For the first time in our intercourse my silence seemed to disconcertand displease her. 'Have you nothing to say for yourself?' shemuttered sharply, crushing a fragment of charcoal under her foot, andstooping to peer at the ashes. 'Have you not another lie in yourquiver, M. de Marsac? De Marsac!' And she repeated the title, with ascornful laugh, as if she put no faith in my claim to it.

  But I would answer nothing--nothing; and we remained silent untilFanchette, coming in to say that the chamber was ready, held the lightfor her mistress to pass out. I told the woman to come back and fetchmademoiselle's supper, and then, being left alone with my mother, whohad fallen asleep, with a smile on her thin, worn face, I began towonder what had happened to reduce her to such dire poverty.

  I feared to agitate her by referring to it; but later in theevening, when her curtains were drawn and Simon Fleix and I were lefttogether, eyeing one another across the embers like dogs of differentbreeds--with a certain strangeness and suspicion--my thoughts recurredto the question; and determining first to learn something about mycompanion, whose pale, eager face and tattered, black dress gave him acertain individuality, I asked him whether he had come from Paris withMadame de Bonne.

  He nodded without speaking.

  I asked him if he had known her long.

  'Twelve months,' he answered. 'I lodged on the fifth, madame on thesecond, floor of the same house in Paris.'

  I leaned forward and plucked the hem of his black robe. 'What isthis?' I said, with a little contempt. 'You are not a priest, man.'

  'No,' he answered, fingering the stuff himself, and gazing at me in acurious, vacant fashion. 'I am a student of the Sorbonne.'

  I drew off from him with a muttered oath, wondering--while I looked athim with suspicious eyes--how he came to be here, and particularly howhe came to be in attendance on my mother, who had been educated fromchildhood in the Religion, and had professed it in private all herlife. I could think of no one who, in old days, would have been lesswelcome in her house than a Sorbonnist, and began to fancy that hereshould lie the secret of her miserable condition.

  'You don't like the Sorbonne?' he said, reading my thoughts; whichwere, indeed, plain enough.

  'No more than I love the devil!' I said bluntly.

  He leaned forward and, stretching out a thin, nervous hand, laid it onmy knee. 'What if they are right, though?' he muttered, his voicehoarse. 'What if they are right, M. de Marsac?'

  'Who right?' I asked roughly, drawing back afresh.

  'The Sorbonne,' he repeated, his face red with excitement, his eyespeering uncannily into mine. 'Don't you see,' he continued, pinchingmy knee in his earnestness, and thrusting his face nearer and nearerto mine, 'it all turns on that? It all turns on that--salvation ordamnation! Are they right? Are you right? You say yes to this, no tothat, you white-coats; and you say it lightly, but are you right? Areyou right? Mon Dieu!' he continued, drawing back abruptly and clawingthe air with impatience, 'I have read, read, read! I have listened tosermons, theses, disputations, and I know nothing. I know no more thanwhen I began.'

  He sprang up and began to pace the floor, while I gazed at him with afeeling of pity. A very learned person once told me that the troublesof these times bred four kinds of men, who were much to becompassionated: fanatics on the one side or the other, who lost sightof all else in the intensity of their faith; men who, like SimonFleix, sought desperately after something to believe, and found itnot; and lastly, scoffers, who, believing in nothing, looked on allreligion as a mockery.

  He presently stopped walking--in his utmost excitement I remarked thathe never forgot my mother, but trod more lightly when he drew near thealcove--and spoke again.

  'You are a Huguenot?' he said.

  'Yes,' I replied.

  'So is she,' he rejoined, pointing towards the bed. 'But do you feelno doubts?'

  'None,' I said quietly.

  'Nor does she,' he answered again, stopping opposite me. You made upyour mind--how?'

  'I was born in the Religion,' I said.

  'And you have never questioned it?'

  'Never.'

  'Nor thought much about it?'

  'Not a great deal,' I answered.

  'Saint Gris!' he exclaimed in a low tone. 'And do you never think ofhell-fire--of the worm which dieth not, and the fire which shall notbe quenched? Do you never think of that, M. de Marsac?'

  'No, my friend, never!' I answered, rising impatiently; for at thathour, and in that silent, gloomy room I found his conversationdispiriting. 'I believe what I was taught to believe, and I strive tohurt no one but the enemy. I think little; and if I were you I wouldthink less. I would do something, man--fight, play, work, anything butthink! Leave that to clerks.'

  'I am a clerk,' he answered.

  'A poor one, it seems,' I retorted, with a little scorn in my tone.'Leave it, man. Work! Fight! Do something!'

  'Fight?' he said, as if the idea were a novel one. 'Fight? But there,I might be killed; and then hell-fire you see!'

  'Zounds, man!' I cried, out of patience with a folly which, to tellthe truth, the lamp burning low, and the rain pattering on the roof,made the skin of my back feel cold and creepy. 'Enough of this! Keepyour doubts and your fire to yourself! And answer me,' I continued,sternly. 'How came Madame de Bonne so poor? How did she come down tothis place?'

  He sat down on his stool, the excitement dying quickly out of hisfare. 'She gave away all her money,' he said slowly and reluctantly.It may be imagined that this answer surprised me. 'Gave it away?' Iexclaimed. 'To whom? And when?'

  He moved uneasily on his seat and avoided my eye, his altered mannerfilling me with suspicions which the insight I had just obtained intohis character did not altogether preclude. At last he said, 'I hadnothing to do with it, if you mean that; nothing. On the contrary, Ihave done all I could to make it up to her. I followed her here. Iswear that is so, M. de Marsac.'

  'You have not told me yet to whom she gave it,' I said sternly.

  'She gave it,' he muttered, 'to a priest.'

  'To what priest?'

  'I do not know his name. He is a Jacobin.'

  'And why?' I asked, gazing incredulously at the student. 'Why did shegive it to him? Come, come! have a care. Let me have none of yourSorbonne inventions!'

  He hesitated a moment, looking at me timidly, and then seemed to makeup his mind to tell me. 'He found out--it was when we lived in Paris,you understand, last June--that she was a Huguenot. It was about thetime they burned the Foucards, and he frightened her with that, andmade her pay him money, a little at first, and then more and more, tokeep her secret. When the king came to Blois she followed his Majesty,thinking to be safer here; but the priest came too, and got moremoney, and more, until he left her--this.'

  'This!' I said. And I set my teeth together.

  Simon Fleix nodded.

  I looked round the wretched garret to which my mother had beenreduced, and pictured the days and hours of fear and suspense throughwhich she had lived; through which she must have lived with thatcaitiff's threat hanging over her grey head! I thought of her birthand her humiliation, of her frail form and patient, undying love forme; and solemnly, and before
heaven, I swore that night to punish theman. My anger was too great for words, and for tears I was too old. Iasked Simon Fleix no more questions, save when the priest might belooked for again--which he could not tell me--and whether he wouldknow him again--to which he answered, 'Yes.' But, wrapping myself inmy cloak, I lay down by the fire and pondered long and sadly.

  So, while I had been pinching there, my mother had been starving here.She had deceived me, and I her. The lamp flickered, throwing uncertainshadows as the draught tossed the strange window-curtain to and fro.The leakage from the roof fell drop by drop, and now and again thewind shook the crazy building, as though it would lift it up bodilyand carry it away.