CHAPTER V.
TAVERNEY AND HIS DAUGHTER.
Though forewarned by Gilbert of Baron Taverney's poverty, Baron Balsamowas not the less astonished by the meanness of the dwelling which theyouth had dubbed the Castle. On the paltry threshold stood the masterin a dressing gown and holding a candle.
Taverney was a little, old gentleman of five-and-sixty, with brighteye and high but retreating forehead. His wretched wig had lost byburning at the candles what the rats had spared of its curls. In hishands was held a dubiously white napkin, which proved that he had beendisturbed at table. His spiteful face had a likeness to Voltaire's,and was divided between politeness to the guest and distaste to beingdisturbed. In the flickering light he looked ugly.
"Who was it pointed out my house as a shelter?" queried the baron,holding up the light to spy the pilot to whom he was eager to show hisgratitude, of course.
"The youth bore the name of Gilbert, I believe."
"Ugh! I might have guessed that. I doubted, though, he was good enoughfor that. Gilbert, the idler, the philosopher!"
This flow of epithets, emphasized threateningly, showed the visitorthat little sympathy existed between the lord and his vassal.
"Be pleased to come in," said the baron, after a short silence moreexpressive than his speech.
"Allow me to see to my coach, which contains valuable property,"returned the foreign nobleman.
"Labrie," said Lord Taverney, "put my lord's carriage under the shed,where it will be less uncovered than in the open yard, for someshingles stick to the roof. As for the horses, that is different, for Icannot answer for their supper; still, as they are not yours, but thepost's, I daresay it makes no odds."
"Believe me, I shall be ever grateful to your lordship----"
"Oh, do not deceive yourself," said the baron, holding up the candleagain to light Labrie executing the work with the aid of the foreignnoble; "Taverney is a poor place and a sad one."
When the vehicle was under cover, after a fashion, the guest slipped agold coin into the servant's hand. He thought it a silver piece, andthanked heaven for the boon.
"Lord forbid I should think the ill of your house that you speak," saidBalsamo, returning and bowing as the baron began leading him through abroad, damp antechamber, grumbling:
"Nay, nay, I know what I am talking about; my means are limited. Wereyou French--though your accent is German, in spite of your Italiantitle--but never mind--you would be reminded of the rich Taverney."
"Philosophy," muttered Balsamo, for he had expected the speaker wouldsigh.
The master opened the dining-room door.
"Labrie, serve us as if you were a hundred men in one. I have no otherlackey, and he is bad. But I cannot afford another. This dolt has livedwith me nigh twenty years without taking a penny of wages, and he isworth it. You will see he is stupid."
"Heartless," Balsamo continued his studies; "unless he is putting iton."
The dining-room was the large main room of a farmhouse which had beenconverted into the manor. It was so plainly furnished as to seem empty.A small, round table was placed in the midst, on which reeked one dish,a stew of game and cabbage. The wine was in a stone jar; the battered,worn and tarnished plate was composed of three plates, a goblet and asalt dish; the last, of great weight and exquisite work, seemed a jewelof price amid the rubbish.
"Ah, you let your gaze linger on my salt dish?" said the host. "Youhave good taste to admire it. You notice the sole object presentablehere. No, I have another gem, my daughter----"
"Mademoiselle Andrea?"
"Yes," said Taverney, astonished at the name being known; "I shallpresent you. Come, Andrea, my child, and don't be alarmed."
"I am not, father," said a sonorous but melodious voice as a maidenappeared, who seemed a lovely pagan statue animated.
Though of the utmost plainness, her dress was so tasteful and suitablethat a complete outfit from a royal wardrobe would have appeared lessrich and elegant.
"You are right," he whispered to his host, "she is a precious beauty."
"Do not pay my poor girl too many compliments," said the old Frenchmancarelessly, "for she comes from the nunnery school and may creditthem. Not that I fear that she will be a coquette," he continued; "justthe other way, for the dear girl does not think enough of herself,and I am a good father, who tries to make her know that coquetry is awoman's first power."
Andrea cast down her eyes and blushed; whatever her endeavor she couldnot but overhear this singular theory.
"Was that told to the lady at convent, and is that a rule in religiouseducation?" queried the foreigner, laughing.
"My lord, I have my own ideas, as you may have noticed. I donot imitate those fathers who bid a daughter play the prudeand be inflexible and obtuse; go mad about honor, delicacy anddisinterestedness. Fools! they are like seconds who lead their championinto the lists with all the armor removed and pit him against a manarmed at all points. No, my daughter Andrea will not be that sort,though reared in a rural den at Taverney."
Though agreeing with the master about his place, the baron deemed itduty to suggest a polite reproof.
"That is all very well, but I know Taverney; still, be that as itmay, and far though we are from the sunshine of Versailles Palace,my daughter is going to enter the society where I once flourished.She will enter with a complete arsenal of weapons forged in myexperience and recollections. But I fear, my lord, that the conventhas blunted them. Just my luck! my daughter is the only pupil who tookthe instructions as in earnest and is following the Gospel. Am I notill-fated?"
"The young lady is an angel," returned Balsamo, "and really I am notsurprised at what I hear."
Andrea nodded her thanks, and they sat down at table.
"Eat away, if hungry. That is a beastly mess which Labrie has hashedup."
"Call you partridges so? You slander your feast. Game-birds in May?Shot on your preserves?"
"Mine? My good father left me some, but I got rid of them long ago. Ihave not a yard of land. That lazybones Gilbert, only good for mooningabout, stole a gun somewhere and done a bit of poaching. He will go tojail for it, and a good riddance. But Andrea likes game, and so far, Iforgive the boy."
Balsamo contemplated the lovely face without perceiving a twinge,wrinkle or color, as she helped them to the dish, cooked by Labrie,furnished by Gilbert, and maligned by the baron.
"Are you admiring the salt dish again, baron?"
"No, the arm of your daughter."
"Capital! the reply is worthy the gallant Richelieu. That piece ofplate was ordered of Goldsmith Lucas by the Regent of Orleans.Subject: the Amours of the Bacchantes and Satyrs--rather free."
More than free, obscene--but Balsamo admired the calm unconcern ofAndrea, not blenching as she presented the plate.
"Do eat," said the host; "do not fancy that another dish is coming, foryou will be dreadfully disappointed."
"Excuse me, father," interrupted the girl with habitual coolness, "butif Nicole has understood me, she will have made a cake of which I toldher the recipe."
"You gave Nicole the recipe of a cake? Your waiting maid does thecooking now, eh? The next thing will be your doing it yourself. Doyou find duchesses and countesses playing the kitchen-wench? On thecontrary, the king makes omelets for them. Gracious! that I have livedto see women-cooks under my roof. Pray excuse my daughter, baron."
"We must eat, father," rebuked Andrea tranquilly. "Dish up, Legay!" shecalled out, and the girl brought in a pancake of appetizing smell.
"I know one who won't touch the stuff," cried Taverney, furiouslydashing his plate to pieces.
"But the gentleman, perhaps, will," said the lady coldly. "By the way,father, that leaves only seventeen pieces in that set, which comes tome from my mother."
The guest's spirit of observation found plenty of food in thiscorner of life in the country. The salt dish alone revealed a facetof Taverney's character or rather all its sides. From curiosity orotherwise, he stared at Andrea with s
uch perseverance that she tried tofrown him down; but finally she gave way and yielded to his mesmericinfluence and command.
Meanwhile the baron was storming, grumbling, snarling and nipping thearm of Labrie, who happened to get into his way. He would have done thesame to Nicole's when the baron's gaze fell on her hands.
"Just look at what pretty fingers this lass has," he exclaimed. "Theywould be supremely pretty only for her kitchen work having made cornsat the tips. That is right; perk up, my girl! I can tell you, mydear guest, that Nicole Legay is not a prude like her mistress andcompliments do not frighten her."
Watching the baron's daughter, Balsamo noticed the highest disdainon her beauteous face. He harmonized his features with hers andthis pleased her, spite of herself, for she looked at him with lessharshness, or, better, with less disquiet.
"This girl, only think," continued the poor noble, chucking the girl'schin with the back of his hand, "was at the nunnery with my daughterand picked up as much schooling. She does not leave her mistress amoment. This devotion would rejoice the philosophers, who grant soulsto her class."
"Father, Nicole stays with me because I order her to do so," observedAndrea, discontented.
By the curl of the servant's lip, Balsamo saw that she was notinsensible to the humiliations from her proud superior. But theexpression flitted; and to hide a tear, perhaps, the girl looked asideto a window on the yard. Everything interested the visitor, and heperceived a man's face at the panes.
Each in this curious abode had a secret, he thought; "I hope not to bean hour here without learning Andrea's. Already I know her father's,and I guess Nicole's."
Taverney perceived his short absence of mind.
"What! are you dreaming?" he questioned. "We are all at it, here; butyou might have waited for bedtime. Reverie is a catching complaint. Mydaughter broods; Nicole is wool-gathering; and I get puzzling aboutthat dawdler who killed these birds--and dreams when he kills them.Gilbert is a philosopher, like Labrie. I hope you are not friendly withthem? I forewarn you that philosophers do not go down with me."
"They are neither friends nor foes to me," replied the visitor; "I donot have anything to do with them."
"Very good. Zounds, they are scoundrelly vermin, more venomous thanugly. They will ruin the monarchy with their maxims, like 'People canhardly be virtuous under a monarchy;' or, 'Genuine monarchy is aninstitution devised to corrupt popular manners, and make slaves;' oryet, 'Royal authority may come by the grace of God, but so do plaguesand miseries of mankind.' Pretty flummery, all this! What good woulda virtuous people be, I beg? Things are going to the bad, since hisMajesty spoke to Voltaire and read Diderot's book."
At this Balsamo fancied again to spy the pale face at the window, butit vanished as soon as he fixed his eyes upon it.
"Is your daughter a philosopher?" he asked, smiling.
"I do not know what philosophy is; I only know that I like seriousmatters," was Andrea's reply.
"The most serious thing is to live; stick to that," said her father.
"But the young lady cannot hate life," said the stranger.
"All depends," she said.
"Another stupid saying," interrupted Taverney. "That is just thenonsense my son talks. I have the misfortune to have a son. TheViscount of Taverney is cornet in the dauphin's horse-guards--a niceboy; another philosopher! The other day he talked to me about doingaway with negro slavery. 'What are we to do for sugar?' I retorted,for I like my coffee heavily sweetened, as does Louis XV. 'We mustdo without sugar to benefit a suffering race.' 'Suffering monkeys!'I returned, 'and that is paying them a compliment.' Whereupon heasserted that all men were brothers! Madness must be in the air. I,brother of a blackamoor!"
"This is going too far," observed Balsamo.
"Of course. I told you I was in luck. My children are--one an angel,the other an apostle. Drink, though my wine is detestable."
"I think it exquisite," said the guest, watching Andrea.
"Then you are a philosopher! In my time we learnt pleasant things; weplayed cards, fought duels, though against the law; and wasted ourtime on duchesses and money on opera dancers. That is my story in anutshell. Taverney went wholly into the opera-house; which is all Isorrow for, since a poor noble is nothing of a man. I look aged, doI not? Only because I am impoverished and dwell in a kennel, with atattered wig, and gothic coat; but my friend the marshal duke, withhis house in town and two hundred thousand a year--he is young, inhis new clothes and brushed up perukes--he is still alert, brisk andpleasure-seeking, though ten years my senior, my dear sir, ten years."
"I am astonished that, with powerful friends like the Duke ofRichelieu, you quitted the court."
"Only a temporary retreat, and I am going back one day," said the lord,darting a strange glance on his daughter, which the visitor intercepted.
"But, I suppose, the duke befriends your son?"
"He holds the son of his friend in horror, for he is a philosopher, andhe execrates them."
"The feeling is reciprocal," observed Andrea with perfect calm. "Clearaway, Legay!"
Startled from her vigilant watch on the window, the maid ran back tothe table.
"We used to stay at the board to two A. M. We had luxuries for supper,then, that's why! and we drank when we could eat no more. But how canone drink vinegar when there is nothing to eat? Legay, let us have theMaraschino, provided there is any."
"Liqueurs," said Andrea to the maid, who took her orders from the baronthus second-hand.
Her master sank back in his armchair and sighed with grotesquemelancholy while keeping his eyes closed.
"Albeit the duke may execrate your son--quite right, too, as he is aphilosopher," said Balsamo, "he ought to preserve his liking for you,who are nothing of the kind. I presume you have claims on the king,whom you must have served?"
"Fifteen years in the army. I was the marshal's aid-de-camp, andwe went through the Mahon campaign together. Our friendship datesfrom--let me see! the famous siege of Philipsburg, 1742 to 1743."
"Yes, I was there, and remember you----"
"You remember me at the siege? Why, what is your age?"
"Oh, I am no particular age," replied the guest, holding up his glassto be filled by Andrea's fair hand.
The host interpreted that his guest did not care to tell his years.
"My lord, allow me to say that you do not seem to have been a soldier,then, as it is twenty-eight years ago, and you are hardly over thirty."
Andrea regarded the stranger with the steadfastness of deep curiosity;he came out in a different light every instant.
"I know what I am talking about the famous siege, where the Dukeof Richelieu killed in a duel his cousin the Prince of Lixen. Theencounter came off on the highway, by my fay! on our return from theoutposts; on the embankment, to the left, he ran him through the body.I came up as Prince Deux-ponts held the dying man in his arms. He wasseated on the ditch bank, while Richelieu tranquilly wiped his steel."
"On my honor, my lord, you astound me. Things passed as you describe."
"Stay, you wore a captain's uniform then, in the Queen's Light HorseGuards, so badly cut up at Fontenoy?"
"Were you in that battle, too?" jeered the baron.
"No, I was dead at that time," replied the stranger, calmly.
The baron stared, Andrea shuddered, and Nicole made the sign of thecross.
"To resume the subject, I recall you clearly now, as you held yourhorse and the duke's while he fought. I went up to you for an accountand you gave it. They called you the Little Chevalier. Excuse me notremembering before, but thirty years change a man. To the health ofMarshal Richelieu, my dear baron!"
"But, according to this, you would be upward of fifty."
"I am of the age to have witnessed that affair."
The baron dropped back in the chair so vexed that Nicole could nothelp laughing. But Andrea, instead of laughing, mused with her lookson the mysterious guest. He seemed to await this chance to dart two orthree flaming glances a
t her, which thrilled her like an electricaldischarge. Her arms stiffened, her neck bent, she smiled against herwill on the hypnotizer, and closed her eyes. He managed to touch herarm, and again she quivered.
"Do you think I tell a fib in asserting I was at Philipsburg?" hedemanded.
"No, I believe you," she replied with a great effort.
"I am in my dotage," muttered Taverney, "unless we have a ghost here."
"Who can tell?" returned Balsamo, with so grave an accent that hesubjugated the lady and made Nicole stare.
"But if you were living at the Siege, you were a child of four or five."
"I was over forty."
The baron laughed and Nicole echoed him.
"You do not believe me. It is plain, though, for I was not the man Iam."
"This is a bit of antiquity," said the French noble. "Was there not aGreek philosopher--these vile philosophers seem to be of all ages--whowould not eat beans because they contained souls, like the negress,according to my son? What the deuse was his name?"
"That is the gentleman."
"Why may I not be Pythagoras?"
"Pythagoras," prompted Andrea.
"I do not deny that, but he was not at Philipsburg; or, at any rate, Idid not see him there."
"But you saw Viscount Jean Barreaux, one of the Black Horse Musketeers?"
"Rather; the musketeers and the light cavalry took turns in guardingthe trenches."
"The day after the Richelieu duel, Barreaux and you were in thetrenches when he asked you for a pinch of snuff, which you offered ina gold box, ornamented with the portrait of a belle, but in the acta cannon ball hit him in the throat, as happened the Duke of Berwickaforetimes, and carried away his head."
"Gad! just so! poor Barreaux!"
"This proves that we were acquainted there, for I am Barreaux," saidthe foreigner.
The host shrank back in fright or stupefaction.
"This is magic," he gasped; "you would have been burnt at the stake ahundred years ago, my dear guest. I seem to smell brimstone!"
"My dear baron, note that a true magician is never burnt or hanged.Only fools are led to the gibbet or pyre. But here is your daughtersent to sleep by our discussions on metaphysics and occult sciences,not calculated to interest a lady."
Indeed, Andrea nodded under irresistible force like a lily on thestalk. At these words she made an effort to repel the subtle fluidwhich overwhelmed her; she shook her head energetically, rose andtottered out of the room, sustained by Nicole. At the same timedisappeared the face glued so often to the window glass on the outside,which Balsamo had recognized as Gilbert's.
"_Eureka!_" exclaimed Balsamo triumphantly, as she vanished. "I can sayit like Archimedes."
"Who is he?" inquired the baron.
"A very good fellow for a wizard, whom I knew over two thousand yearsago," replied the guest.
Whether the baron thought this boast rather too preposterous, or he didnot hear it, or hearing it, wanted the more to be rid of his odd guest,he proposed lending him a horse to get to the nearest posting house.
"What, force me to ride when I am dying to stretch my legs in bed? Donot exaggerate your mediocrity so as to make me believe in a personalill will."
"On the contrary, I treat you as a friend, knowing what you will incurhere. But since you put it this way, remain. Labrie, is the Red-Roomhabitable?"
"Certainly, my lord, as it is Master Philip's when he is here."
"Give it to the gentleman, since he is bent on being disgusted withTaverney."
"I want to be here to-morrow to testify to my gratitude."
"You can do that easily, as you are so friendly with Old Nick that youcan ask him for the stone which turns all things to gold."
"If that is what you want, apply to me direct."
"Labrie, you old rogue, get a candle and light the gentleman to bed,"said the baron, beginning to find such a dialogue dangerous at the latehour.
Labrie ordered Nicole to air the Red Room while he hastened to obey.Nicole left Andrea alone, the latter eager for the solitude to nurseher thoughts. Taverney bade the guest good-night, and went to bed.
Balsamo took out his watch, for he recalled his promise to awakeAlthotas after two hours, and it was a half-hour more. He asked theservant if his coach was still out in the yard, and Labrie answeredin the affirmative--unless it had run off of its own volition. As forGilbert, he had been abed most likely since an hour.
Balsamo went to Althotas after studying the way to the Red Room. Labriewas tidying up the sordid apartment, after Nicole had aired it, whenthe guest returned.
He had paused at Andrea's room to listen at her door to her playing onthe harpsichord to dispel the burden of the influence the stranger hadimposed upon her. In a while he waved his hands as in throwing a magicspell, and so it was, for Andrea slowly stopped playing, let her handsdrop by her sides, and turned rigidly and slowly toward the door, likeone who obeys an influence foreign to will.
Balsamo smiled in the darkness as though he could see through thepanels. This was all he wanted to do, for he groped for the banisterrail, and went up stairs to his room.
As he departed, Andrea turned away from the door and resumed playing,so that the mesmerist heard the air again from where she had been madeto leave off.
Entering the Red Room, he dismissed Labrie; but the latter lingered,feeling in the depths of his pocket till at last he managed to say:
"My lord, you made a mistake this evening, in giving me gold for thepiece of silver you intended."
Balsamo looked on the old servingman with admiration, showing that hehad not a high opinion of the honesty of most men.
"'And honest,'" he muttered in the words of Hamlet, as he took out asecond gold coin to place it beside the other in the old man's hand.
The latter's delight at this splendid generosity may be imagined, forhe had not seen so much gold in twenty years. He was retiring, bowingto the floor, when the donor checked him.
"What are the morning habits of the house?" he asked.
"My lord stays abed late, my lord; but Mademoiselle Andrea is upbetimes, about six."
"Who sleeps overhead?"
"I, my lord; but nobody beneath, as the vestibule is under us."
"Oh, by the way, do not be alarmed if you see a light in my coach, asan old impotent servant inhabits it. Ask Master Gilbert to let me seehim in the morning."
"Is my lord going away so soon?"
"It depends," replied Balsamo, with a smile. "I ought to be atBar-le-Duc tomorrow evening."
Labrie sighed with resignation, and was about to set fire to some oldpapers to warm the room, which was damp and there was no wood, whenBalsamo stayed him.
"No, let them be; I might want to read them, for I may not sleep."
Balsamo went to the door to listen to the servant's departing stepsmaking the stairs creak till they sounded overhead; Labrie was in hisown room. Then he went to the window. In the other wing was a lightedwindow, with half-drawn curtains, facing him. Legay was leisurelytaking off her neckerchief, often peeping down into the yard.
"Striking resemblance," muttered the baron.
The light went out though the girl had not gone to rest. The watcherstood up against the wall. The harpsichord still sounded, with no othernoise. He opened his door, went down stairs with caution, and openedthe door of Andrea's sitting-room.
Suddenly she stopped in the melancholy strain, although she had notheard the intruder. As she was trying to recall the thrill which hadmastered her, it came anew. She shivered all over. In the mirror shesaw movement. The shadow in the doorway could only be her father or aservant. Nothing more natural.
But she saw with spiritual eyes that it was none of these.
"My lord," she faltered, "in heaven's name, what want you?"
It was the stranger, in the black velvet riding coat, for he haddiscarded his silken suit, in which a mesmerist cannot well work hispower.
She tried to rise, but could not; she tried to open her m
outh toscream, but with a pass of both hands Balsamo froze the sound on herlips.
With no strength or will, Andrea let her head sink on her shoulder.
At this juncture Balsamo believed he heard a noise at the window.Quickly turning, he caught sight of a man's face beyond. He frowned,and, strangely enough, the same impression flitted across the medium'sface.
"Sleep!" he commanded, lowering the hands he had held above her headwith a smooth gesture, and persevering in filling her with the mesmericfluid in crushing columns. "I will you to sleep."
All yielded to this mighty will. Andrea leaned her elbow on themusical-instrument case, her head on her hand, and slept.
The mesmerist retired backward, drew the door to, and went back to hisroom. As soon as the door closed, the face he had seen reappeared atthe window; it was Gilbert's.
Excluded from the parlor by his inferior position in Taverney Castle,he had watched all the persons through the evening whose rank allowedthem to figure in it. During the supper he had noticed Baron Balsamogesticulate and smile, and his peculiar attention bestowed on the ladyof the house; the master's unheard-of affability to him, and Labrie'srespectful eagerness.
Later on, when they rose from table, he hid in a clump of lilacs andsnowballs, for fear that Nicole, closing the blinds or in going to herroom, should catch him eavesdropping.
But Gilbert had other designs this evening than spying. He waited,without clearly knowing for what. When he saw the light in the maid'swindow, he crossed the yard on tiptoe and crouched down in the gloom topeer in at the window at Andrea playing the harpsichord.
This was the moment when the mesmerist entered the room.
At this sight, Gilbert started and his ardent gaze covered the magicianand his victim.
But he imagined that Balsamo complimented the lady on her musicaltalent, to which she replied with her customary coldness; but hehad persisted with a smile so that she suspended her practice andanswered. He admired the grace with which the visitor retired.
Of all the interview which he fancied he read aright, he had understoodnothing, for what really happened was in the mind, in silence.
However keen an observer he was, he could not divine a mystery, whereeverything had passed quite naturally.
Balsamo gone, Gilbert remained, not watching, but contemplating Andrea,lovely in her thoughtful pose, till he perceived with astonishment thatshe was slumbering. When convinced of this, he grasped his head betweenhis hands like one who fears his brain will burst from the overflow ofemotions.
"Oh, to kiss her hand!" he murmured, in a gush of fury. "Oh, Gilbert,let us approach her--I so long to do it."
Hardly had he entered the room than he felt the importance of hisintrusion. The timid if not respectful son of a farmer to dare to raisehis eyes on that proud daughter of the peers. If he should touch thehem of her dress she would blast him with a glance.
The floor boards creaked under his wary tread, but she did not move,though he was bathed in cold perspiration.
"She sleeps--oh, happiness, she sleeps!" he panted, drawing withirresistible attraction within a yard of the statue, of which he tookthe sleeve and kissed it.
Holding his breath, slowly he raised his eyes, seeking hers. They werewide open, but still saw not. Intoxicated by the delusion that sheexpected his visit and her silence was consent, her quiet a favor, helifted her hand to his lips and impressed a long and feverish kiss.
She shuddered and repulsed him.
"I am lost!" he gasped, dropping the hand and beating the floor withhis forehead.
Andrea rose as though moved by a spring under her feet, passed byGilbert, crushed by shame and terror and with no power to crave pardon,and proceeded to the door. With high-held head and outstretched neck,as if drawn by a secret power toward an invisible goal, she opened thedoor and walked out on the landing.
The youth rose partly and watched her take the stairs. He crawled afterher, pale, trembling and astonished.
"She is going to tell the baron and have me scourged out of thehouse--no, she goes up to where the guest is lodged. For she would haverung, or called, if she wanted Labrie."
He clenched his fists at the bare idea that Andrea was going into thestrange gentleman's room. All this seemed monstrous. And yet that washer end.
That door was ajar. She pushed it open without knocking; the lamplightstreamed on her pure profile and whirled golden reflections into herwildly open eyes.
In the center of the room Gilbert saw the baron standing, with fixedgaze and wrinkled brow, and his hand extended in gesture of command,ere the door swung to.
Gilbert's forces failed him; he wheeled round on the stairs, clingingto the rail, but slid down, with his eyes fastened to the last onthe cursed panel, behind which was sealed up all his vanished dream,present happiness and future hope.
Balsamo, the Magician; or, The Memoirs of a Physician Page 5