CHAPTER X. THE SCOURGE
As we went through the court I felt as though I had been tied to astring, suspended in the air, and spun. This was undoubtedly due to theheat. And after the astonishing conversation from which we had come, myadmiration for the lady beside me was magnified to a veritable awe. Wereached the archway. Madame la Vicomtesse held me lightly by the edge ofmy coat, and I stood looking down at her.
“Wait a minute, Mr. Ritchie,” she said, glancing at the few figureshurrying across the Place d’Armes; “those are only Americans, and theyare too busy to see us standing here. What do you propose to do now?”
“We must get word to Nick as we promised, that he may know what toexpect,” I replied. “Suppose we go to Monsieur de St. Gré’s house andwrite him a letter?”
“No,” said the Vicomtesse, with decision, “I am going to Mrs. Temple’s.I shall write the letter from there and send it by André, and you willgo direct to Madame Gravois’s.”
Her glance rested anxiously upon my face, and there came an expressionin her eyes which disturbed me strangely. I had not known it since thedays when Polly Ann used to mother me. But I did not mean to give up.
“I am not tired, Madame la Vicomtesse,” I answered, “and I will go withyou to Mrs. Temple’s.”
“Give me your hand,” she said, and smiled. “André and my maid are usedto my vagaries, and your own countrymen will not mind. Give me yourhand, Mr. Ritchie.”
I gave it willingly enough, with a thrill as she took it betweenher own. The same anxious look was in her eyes, and not the leastembarrassment.
“There, it is hot and dry, as I feared,” she said, “and you seemflushed.” She dropped my hand, and there was a touch of irritation inher voice as she continued: “You seemed fairly sensible when I firstmet you last night, Mr. Ritchie. Are you losing your sanity? Do you notrealize that you cannot take liberties with this climate? Do as I say,and go to Madame Gravois’s at once.”
“It is my pleasure to obey you, Madame la Vicomtesse,” I answered, “butI mean to go with you as far as Mrs. Temple’s, to see how she fares. Shemay be--worse.”
“That is no reason why you should kill yourself,” said Madame, coldly.“Will you not do as I say?”
“I think that I should go to Mrs. Temple’s,” I answered.
She did not reply to that, letting down her veil impatiently, with adeftness that characterized all her movements. Without so much as askingme to come after her, she reached the banquette, and I walked by herside through the streets, silent and troubled by her displeasure. Mypride forbade me to do as she wished. It was the hottest part of aburning day, and the dome of the sky was like a brazen bell above us.We passed the the calabozo with its iron gates and tiny grilled windowspierced in the massive walls, behind which Gignoux languished, andI could not repress a smile as I thought of him. Even the Spaniardssometimes happened upon justice. In the Rue Bourbon the little shopswere empty, the doorstep where my merry fiddler had played vacant, andthe very air seemed to simmer above the honeycombed tiles. I knockedat the door, once, twice. There was no answer. I looked at Madame laVicomtesse, and knocked again so loudly that the little tailor acrossthe street, his shirt opened at the neck, flung out his shutter.Suddenly there was a noise within, the door was opened, and Lindy stoodbefore us, in the darkened room, with terror in her eyes.
“Oh, Marse Dave,” she cried, as we entered, “oh, Madame, I’se so gladyou’se come, I’se so glad you’se come.”
She burst into a flood of tears. And Madame la Vicomtesse, raising herveil, seized the girl by the arm.
“What is it?” she said. “What is the matter, Lindy?”
Madame’s touch seemed to steady her.
“Miss Sally,” she moaned, “Miss Sally done got de yaller fever.”
There was a moment’s silence, for we were both too appalled by the newsto speak.
“Lindy, are you sure?” said the Vicomtesse.
“Yass’m, yass’m,” Lindy sobbed, “I reckon I’se done seed ‘nuf of it,Mistis.” And she went into a hysterical fit of weeping.
The Vicomtesse turned to her own frightened servants in the doorway,bade André in French to run for Dr. Perrin, and herself closed thebattened doors. There was a moment when her face as I saw it was gravenon my memory, reflecting a knowledge of the evils of this world, aspirit above and untouched by them, a power to accept what life maybring with no outward sign of pleasure or dismay. Doubtless thus she hadmade King and Cardinal laugh, doubtless thus, ministering to those whocrossed her path, she had met her own calamities. Strangest of all wasthe effect she had upon Lindy, for the girl ceased crying as she watchedher.
Madame la Vicomtesse turned to me.
“You must go at once,” she said. “When you get to Madame Gravois’s,write to Mr. Temple. I will send André to you there.”
She started for the bedroom door, Lindy making way for her. I scarcelyknew what I did as I sprang forward and took the Vicomtesse by the arm.
“Where are you going?” I cried. “You cannot go in there! You cannot goin there!”
It did not seem strange that she turned to me without anger, that shedid not seek to release her arm. It did not seem strange that her lookhad in it a gentleness as she spoke.
“I must,” she said.
“I cannot let you risk your life,” I cried, wholly forgetting myself;“there are others who will do this.”
“Others?” she said.
“I will go. I--I have nursed people before this. And there is Lindy.”
A smile quivered on her lips,--or was it a smile?
“You will do as I say and go to Madame Gravois’s--at once,” shemurmured, striving for the first time to free herself.
“If you stay, I stay,” I answered; “and if you die, I die.”
She looked up into my eyes for a fleeting instant.
“Write to Mr. Temple,” she said.
Dazed, I watched her open the bedroom doors, motion to Lindy to passthrough, and then she had closed them again and I was alone in thedarkened parlor.
The throbbing in my head was gone, and a great clearness had come witha great fear. I stood, I know not how long, listening to the groansthat came through the wall, for Mrs. Temple was in agony. At intervalsI heard Hélène’s voice, and then the groans seemed to stop. Ten timesI went to the bedroom door, and as many times drew away again, my heartleaping within me at the peril which she faced. If I had had the right,I believe I would have carried her away by force.
But I had not the right. I sat down heavily, by the table, to think, andit might have been a cry of agony sharper than the rest that reminded meonce more of the tragedy of the poor lady in torture. My eye fell uponthe table, and there, as though prepared for what I was to do, lay penand paper, ink and sand. My hand shook as I took the quill and tried tocompose a letter to my cousin. I scarcely saw the words which I put onthe sheet, and I may be forgiven for the unwisdom of that which I wrote.
“The Baron de Carondelet will send an officer for you to-night so thatyou may escape observation in custody. His Excellency knew of yourhiding-place, but is inclined to be lenient, will allow you to-morrowto go to the Rue Bourbon, and will without doubt permit you to leave theprovince. Your mother is ill, and Madame la Vicomtesse and myself arewith her. “DAVID.”
In the state I was it took me a long time to compose this much, and Ihad barely finished it when there was a knock at the outer door. Therewas André. He had the immobility of face which sometimes goes with themulatto, and always with the trained servant, as he informed me thatMonsieur le Médecin was not at home, but that he had left word. Therewas an epidemic, Monsieur, so André feared. I gave him the note and hisdirections, and ten minutes after he had gone I would have given much tohave called him back. How about Antoinette, alone at Les Îles? Why hadI not thought of her? We had told her nothing that morning, Madame laVicomtesse and I, after our conference with Nick. For the girl had shutherself in her room, and Madame had thought it best not to disturb herat s
uch a stage. But would she not be alarmed when Hélène failed toreturn that night? Had circumstances been different, I myself would haveridden to Les Îles, but no inducement now could make me desert the postI had chosen. After many years I dislike to recall to memory that longafternoon which I spent, helpless, in the Rue Bourbon. Now I was on myfeet, pacing restlessly the short breadth of the room, trying to shutout from my mind the horrors of which my ears gave testimony. Again, inthe intervals of quiet, I sat with my elbows on the table and my head inmy hands, striving to allay the throbbing in my temples. Pains came andwent, and at times I felt like a fagot flung into the fire,--I, who hadnever known a sick day. At times my throat pained me, an odd symptomin a warm climate. Troubled as I was in mind and body, the thought ofHélène’s quiet heroism upheld me through it all. More than once I had myhand raised to knock at the bedroom door and ask if I could help, but Idared not; at length, the sun having done its worst and spent its fury,I began to hear steps along the banquette and voices almost at my elbowbeyond the little window. At every noise I peered out, hoping for thedoctor. But he did not come. And then, as I fell back into the fauteuil,there was borne on my consciousness a sound I had heard before. It wasthe music of the fiddler, it was a tune I knew, and the voices of thechildren were singing the refrain:--
“Ne sait quand reviendra, Ne sait quand reviendra.”
I rose, opened the door, and slipped out of it, and I must have made astrange, hatless figure as I came upon the fiddler and his children fromacross the street.
“Stop that noise,” I cried in French, angered beyond all reason at thethought of music at such a time. “Idiots, there is yellow fever there.”
The little man stopped with his bow raised; for a moment they all staredat me, transfixed. It was a little elf in blue indienne who jumped firstand ran down the street, crying the news in a shrill voice, the othersfollowing, the fiddler gazing stupidly after them. Suddenly he scrambledup, moaning, as if the scourge itself had fastened on him, backed intothe house, and slammed the door in my face. I returned with slowsteps to shut myself in the darkened room again, and I recall feelingsomething of triumph over the consternation I had caused. No sounds camefrom the bedroom, and after that the street was quiet as death save foran occasional frightened, hurrying footfall. I was tired.
All at once the bedroom door opened softly, and Hélène was standingthere, looking at me. At first I saw her dimly, as in a vision, thenclearly. I leaped to my feet and went and stood beside her.
“The doctor has not come,” I said. “Where does he live? I will go forhim.”
She shook her head.
“He can do no good. Lindy has procured all the remedies, such as theyare. They can only serve to alleviate,” she answered. “She cannotwithstand this, poor lady.” There were tears on Hélène’s lashes. “Hersufferings have been frightful--frightful.”
“Cannot I help?” I said thickly. “Cannot I do something?”
She shook her head. She raised her hand timidly to the lapel of my coat,and suddenly I felt her palm, cool and firm, upon my forehead. It restedthere but an instant.
“You ought not to be here,” she said, her voice vibrant with earnestnessand concern. “You ought not to be here. Will you not go--if I ask it?”
“I cannot,” I said; “you know I cannot if you stay.”
She did not answer that. Our eyes met, and in that instant for me therewas neither joy nor sorrow, sickness nor death, nor time nor space noruniverse. It was she who turned away.
“Have you written him?” she asked in a low voice.
“Yes,” I answered.
“She would not have known him,” said Hélène; “after all these years ofwaiting she would not have known him. Her punishment has been great.”
A sound came from the bedroom, and Hélène was gone, silently, as she hadcome.
I must have been dozing in the fauteuil, for suddenly I found myselfsitting up, listening to an unwonted noise. I knew from the count of thehoof-beats which came from down the street that a horse was galloping inlong strides--a spent horse, for the timing was irregular. Then he waspulled up into a trot, then to a walk as I ran to the door and openedit and beheld Nicholas Temple flinging himself from a pony white withlather. And he was alone! He caught sight of me as soon as his foottouched the banquette.
“What are you doing here?” I cried. “What are you doing here?”
He halted on the edge of the banquette as a hurrying man runs into awall. He had been all excitement, all fury, as he jumped from his horse;and now, as he looked at me, he seemed to lose his bearings, to be allbewilderment. He cried out my name and stood looking at me like a fool.
“What the devil do you mean by coming here?” I cried. “Did I not writeyou to stay where you were? How did you get here?” I stepped down on thebanquette and seized him by the shoulders. “Did you receive my letter?”
“Yes,” he said, “yes.” For a moment that was as far as he got, and heglanced down the street and then at the heaving beast he had ridden,which stood with head drooping to the kennel. Then he laid hold of me.“Davy, is it true that she has yellow fever? Is it true?”
“Who told you?” I demanded angrily.
“André,” he answered. “André said that the lady here had yellow fever.Is it true?”
“Yes,” I said almost inaudibly.
He let his hand fall from my shoulder, and he shivered.
“May God forgive me for what I have done!” he said. “Where is she?”
“For what you have done?” I cried; “you have done an insensate thingto come here.” Suddenly I remembered the sentry at the gate of Fort St.Charles. “How did you get into the city?” I said; “were you mad to defythe Baron and his police?”
“Damn the Baron and his police,” he answered, striving to pass me. “Letme in! Let me see her.”
Even as he spoke I caught sight of men coming into the street, perhapsat the corner of the Rue St. Pierre, and then more men, and as we wentinto the house I saw that they were running. I closed the doors. Therewere cries in the street now, but he did not seem to heed them. He stoodlistening, heart-stricken, to the sounds that came through the bedroomwall, and a spasm crossed his face. Then he turned like a man not to bedenied, to the bedroom door. I was before him, but Madame la Vicomtesseopened it. And I remember feeling astonishment that she did not showsurprise or alarm.
“What are you doing here, Mr. Temple?” she said.
“My mother, Madame! My mother! I must go to her.”
He pushed past her into the bedroom, and I followed perforce. I shallnever forget the scene, though I had but the one glimpse of it,--theraving, yellowed woman in the bed, not a spectre nor yet even asemblance of the beauty of Temple Bow. But she was his mother, uponwhom God had brought such a retribution as He alone can bestow. Lindy,faithful servant to the end, held the wasted hands of her mistressagainst the violence they would have done. Lindy held them, her ownbody rocking with grief, her lips murmuring endearments, prayers,supplications.
“Miss Sally, honey, doan you know Lindy? Gawd’ll let you git well,Miss Sally, Gawd’ll let you git well, honey, ter see Marse Nick--tersee--Marse--Nick--”
The words died on Lindy’s lips, the ravings of the frenzied womanceased. The yellowed hands fell limply to the sheet, the shrunken formstiffened. The eyes of the mother looked upon the son, and in them atfirst was the terror of one who sees the infinite. Then they softeneduntil they became again the only feature that was left of Sarah Temple.Now, as she looked at him who was her pride, her honor, for one sightof whom she had prayed,--ay, and even blasphemed,--her eyes were alltenderness. Then she spoke.
“Harry,” she said softly, “be good to me, dear. You are all I have now.”
She spoke of Harry Riddle!
But the long years of penance had not been in vain. Nick had forgivenher. We saw him kneeling at the bedside, we saw him with her hand inhis, and Hélène was drawing me gently out of the room and closing thedoor behind her. She did not lo
ok at me, nor I at her.
We stood for a moment close together, and suddenly the cries in thestreet brought us back from the drama in the low-ceiled, reeking room wehad left.
“Ici! Ici! Voici le cheval!”
There was a loud rapping at the outer door, and a voice demandingadmittance in Spanish in the name of his Excellency the Governor.
“Open it,” said Hélène. There was neither excitement in her voice, noryet resignation. In those two words was told the philosophy of her life.
I opened the door. There, on the step, was an officer, perspiring,uniformed and plumed, and behind him a crowd of eager faces, white andblack, that seemed to fill the street. He took a step into the room, hishand on the hilt of his sword, and poured out at me a torrent of Spanishof which I understood nothing. All at once his eye fell upon Hélène, whowas standing behind me, and he stopped in the middle of his speech andpulled off his hat and bowed profoundly.
“Madame la Vicomtesse!” he stammered. I was no little surprised that sheshould be so well known.
“You will please to speak French, Monsieur,” she said; “this gentlemandoes not understand Spanish. What is it you desire?”
“A thousand pardons, Madame la Vicomtesse,” he said. “I am the Alcaldede Barrio, and a wild Americano has passed the sentry at St. Charles’sgate without heeding his Excellency’s authority and command. I saw theman with my own eyes. I should know him again in a hundred. We havetraced him here to this house, Madame la Vicomtesse. Behold the horsewhich he rode!” The Alcalde turned and pointed at the beast. “Behold thehorse which he rode, Madame la Vicomtesse. The animal will die.”
“Probably,” answered the Vicomtesse, in an even tone.
“But the man,” cried the Alcalde, “the man is here, Madame laVicomtesse, here, in this house!”
“Yes,” she said, “he is here.”
“Sancta Maria! Madame,” he exclaimed, “I--I who speak to you have cometo get him. He has defied his Excellency’s commands. Where is he?”
“He is in that room,” said the Vicomtesse, pointing at the bedroom door.
The Alcalde took a step forward. She stopped him by a quick gesture.
“He is in that room with his mother,” she said, “and his mother has theyellow fever. Come, we will go to him.” And she put her hand upon thedoor.
“Yellow fever!” cried the Alcalde, and his voice was thick with terror.There was a moment’s silence as he stood rooted to the floor. I didnot wonder then, but I have since thought it remarkable that the wordsspoken low by both of them should have been caught up on the banquetteand passed into the street. Impassive, I heard it echoed from a score ofthroats, I saw men and women stampeding like frightened sheep, I heardtheir footfalls and their cries as they ran. A tawdry constable,who held with a trembling hand the bridle of the tired horse, aloneremained.
“Yellow fever!” the Alcalde repeated
The Vicomtesse inclined her head.
He was silent again for a while, uncertain, and then, withoutcomprehending, I saw the man’s eyes grow smaller and a smile play abouthis mouth. He looked at the Vicomtesse with a new admiration to whichshe paid no heed.
“I am sorry, Madame la Vicomtesse,” he began, “but--”
“But you do not believe that I speak the truth,” she replied quietly.
He winced.
“Will you follow me?” she said, turning again.
He had started, plainly in an agony of fear, when a sound came frombeyond the wall that brought a cry to his lips.
Her manner changed to one of stinging scorn.
“You are a coward,” she said. “I will bring the gentleman to you if hecan be got to leave the bedside.”
“No,” said the Alcalde, “no. I--I will go to him, Madame la Vicomtesse.”
But she did not open the door.
“Listen,” she said in a tone of authority, “I myself have been to hisExcellency to-day concerning this gentleman--”
“You, Madame la Vicomtesse?”
“I will open the door,” she continued, impatient at the interruption,“and you will see him. Then I shall write a letter which you will taketo the Governor. The gentleman will not try to escape, for his motheris dying. Besides, he could not get out of the city. You may leave yourconstable where he is, or the man may come in and stand at this door insight of the gentleman while you are gone--if he pleases.”
“And then?” said the Alcalde.
“It is my belief that his Excellency will allow the gentleman to remainhere, and that you will be relieved from the necessity of running anyfurther risk.”
As she spoke she opened the door, softly. The room was still now, stillas death, and the Alcalde went forward on tiptoe. I saw him peering in,I saw him backing away again like a man in mortal fear.
“Yes, it is he--it is the man,” he stammered. He put his hand to hisbrow.
The Vicomtesse closed the door, and without a glance at him went quicklyto the table and began to write. She had no thought of consulting theman again, of asking his permission. Although she wrote rapidly, fiveminutes must have gone by before the note was finished and folded andsealed. She held it out to him.
“Take this to his Excellency,” she said, “and bring me his answer.” TheAlcalde bowed, murmured her title, and went lamely out of the house. Hewas plainly in an agony of uncertainty as to his duty, but he glancedat the Vicomtesse--and went, flipping the note nervously with his fingernail. He paused for a few low-spoken words with the tawdry constable,who sat down on the banquette after his chief had gone, still clingingto the bridle. The Vicomtesse went to the doorway, looked at him, andclosed the battened doors. The constable did not protest. The day wasfading without, and the room was almost in darkness as she crossed overto the little mantel and stood with her head laid upon her arm.
I did not disturb her. The minutes passed, the light waned until I couldsee her no longer, and yet I knew that she had not moved. The strangesympathy between us kept me silent until I heard her voice calling myname.
“Yes,” I answered.
“The candle!”
I drew out my tinder-box and lighted the wick. She had turned, and wasfacing me even as she had faced me the night before. The night before!The greatest part of my life seemed to have passed since then. Iremember wondering that she did not look tired. Her face was sad, hervoice was sad, and it had an ineffable, sweet quality at such times thatwas all its own.
“The Alcalde should be coming back,” she said.
“Yes,” I answered.
These were our words, yet we scarce heeded their meaning. Between us wasdrawn a subtler communion than speech, and we dared--neither of us--torisk speech. She searched my face, but her lips were closed. She did nottake my hand again as in the afternoon. She turned away. I knew what shewould have said.
There was a knock at the door. We went together to open it, and theAlcalde stood on the step. He held in his hand a long letter on whichthe red seal caught the light, and he gave the letter to the Vicomtesse,with a bow.
“From his Excellency, Madame la Vicomtesse.”
She broke the seal, went to the table, and read. Then she looked up atme.
“It is the Governor’s permit for Mr. Temple to remain in this house.Thank you,” she said to the Alcalde; “you may go.”
“With my respectful wishes for the continued good health of Madame laVicomtesse,” said the Alcalde.
The Crossing Page 32