CHAPTER VI.
THE CLAIRVOYANT.
Balsamo had gone up to the young lady, whose appearance in his chamberwas not strange to him.
"I bade you sleep. Do you sleep?"
Andrea sighed and nodded with an effort.
"It is well. Sit here," and he led her by the hand the youth had kissedto a chair, which she took.
"Now, see!"
Her eyes dilated as though to collect all the luminous rays in the room.
"I did not tell you to see with your eyes," said he, "but with those ofthe soul."
He touched her with a steel rod which he drew from under hiswaistcoat. She started as though a fiery dart had transfixed her andher eyes closed instantly; her darkening face expressed the sharpestastonishment.
"Tell me where you are."
"In the Red Room, with you, and I am ashamed and afraid."
"What of? Are we not in sympathy, and do you not know that myintentions are pure, and that I respect you like a sister?"
"You may not mean evil to me, but it is not so as regards others."
"Possibly," said the magician; "but do not heed that," he added in atone of command. "Are all asleep under this roof?"
"All, save my father who is reading one of those bad books, which hepesters me to read, but I will not."
"Good; we are safe in that quarter. Look where Nicole is."
"She is in her room, in the dark, but I need not the light to see thatshe is slipping out of it to go and hide behind the yard door to watch."
"To watch you?"
"No."
"Then, it matters not. When a girl is safe from her father and herattendant, she has nothing to fear, unless she is in love----"
"I, love?" she said sneeringly. And shaking her head, she added sadly:"My heart is free."
Such an expression of candor and virginal modesty embellished herfeatures that Balsamo radiantly muttered:
"A lily--a pupil--a seer!" clasping his hands in delight. "But, withoutloving, you may be loved?"
"I know not; and yet, since I returned from school, a youth has watchedme, and even now he is weeping at the foot of the stairs."
"See his face!"
"He hides it in his hands."
"See through them."
"Gilbert!" she uttered with an effort. "Impossible that he wouldpresume to love me!"
Balsamo smiled at her deep disdain, like one who knew that love willleap any distance.
"What is he doing now?"
"He puts down his hands, he musters up courage to mount hither--no, hehas not the courage--he flees."
She smiled with scorn.
"Cease to look that way. Speak of the Baron of Taverney. He is too poorto give you any amusements?"
"None."
"You are dying of tedium here; for you have ambition?"
"No."
"Love for your father?"
"Yes; though I bear him a grudge for squandering my mother's fortuneso that poor Redcastle pines in the garrison and cannot wear our namehandsomely."
"Who is Redcastle?"
"My brother Philip is called the Knight of Redcastle from a property ofthe eldest son, and will wear it till father's death entitles him to be'Taverney.'"
"Do you love your brother?"
"Dearly, above all else; because he has a noble heart, and would givehis life for me."
"More than your father would. Where is Redcastle?"
"At Strasburg in the garrison; no, he has gone--oh, dear Philip!"continued the medium with sparkling eyes in joy. "I see him ridingthrough a town I know. It is Nancy, where I was at the convent school.The torches round him light up his darling face."
"Why torches?" asked Balsamo in amaze.
"They are around him on horseback, and a handsome gilded carriage."
Balsamo appeared to have a guess at this, for he only said:
"Who is in the coach?"
"A lovely, graceful, majestic woman, but I seem to have seen herbefore--how strange! no, I am wrong--she looks like our Nicole; butas the lily is like the jessamine. She leans out of the coach windowand beckons Philip to draw near. He takes his hat off with respect asshe orders him, with a smile, to hurry on the horses. She says that theescort must be ready at six in the morning, as she wishes to take arest in the daytime--oh, it is at Taverney that she means to stop. Shewants to see my father! So grand a princess stop at our shabby house!What shall we do without linen or plate?"
"Be of good cheer. We will provide all that."
"Oh, thank you!"
The girl, who had partly risen, fell back in the chair, uttering aprofound sigh.
"Regain your strength," said the magician, drawing the excess ofmagnetism from the beautiful body, which bent as if broken, and thefair head heavily resting on the heaving bosom. "I shall require allyour lucidity presently. O, Science! you alone never deceive man. Tonone other ought man sacrifice his all. This is a lovely woman, a pureangel as Thou knowest who created angels. But what is this beauty andthis innocence to me now?--only worth what information they afford. Icare not though this fair darling dies, as long as she tells me what Iseek. Let all worldly delights perish--love, passion and ecstasy, if Imay tread the path surely and well lighted. Now, maiden, that, in a fewseconds, my power has given you the repose of ages, plunge once moreinto your mesmeric slumber. This time, speak for myself alone."
He made the passes which replaced Andrea in repose. From his bosom hedrew the folded paper containing the tress of black hair, from whichthe perfume had made the paper transparent. He laid it in Andrea'shand, saying:
"See!"
"Yes, a woman!"
"Joy!" cried Balsamo. "Science is not a mere name like virtue. Mesmerhas vanquished Brutus. Depict this woman, that I may recognize her."
"Tall, dark, but with blue eyes, her hair like this, her arms sinewy."
"What is she doing?"
"Racing as though carried off on a fine black horse, flecked with foam.She takes the road yonder to Chalons."
"Good! my own road," said Balsamo. "I was going to Paris, and there weshall meet. You may repose now," and he took back the lock of hair.
Andrea's arms fell motionless again along her body.
"Recover strength, and go back to your harpsichord," said themesmerist, enveloping her, as she rose, with a fresh supply ofmagnetism.
Andrea acted like the racehorse which overtaxes itself to accomplishthe master's will, however unfair. She walked through the doorway,where he had opened the door, and, still asleep, descended the stairsslowly.
Balsamo, the Magician; or, The Memoirs of a Physician Page 6