CHAPTER XXX.
OLD PATRICIANS AND NEW.
When the news spread of the royal splendor over the reception ofthe bride from Austria, the dreadful curiosity of the Parisians wassharpened, and they were to be seen flocking out to St. Denis byscores, hundreds and thousands.
Gilbert was lost in the multitude, but, seeing some urchins climb upin the trees, and the exercise being child's play to him, he clamberedinto a linn tree and perched on a bough to wait.
Half an hour after, drums beat, cannon thundered, and the majesticcathedral bell began to boom.
In the distance a shrill cry arose, but became full and more deep as itdrew near. It made Gilbert prick up the ear and his whole body quiver.
"Long life to the king!"
It was the customary cheer.
A herd of horses, neighing under housings of gold and purple, swarmedon the highway; they were the royal household troops, guards, Swissdragoons, musketeers and gendarmes.
Then a massive and magnificent coach loomed up.
Gilbert perceived a stately head under a hat, when all were uncovered,and a blue sash. He saw the royal glance, cold and penetrative, beforewhich all bowed and heads were bared. Fascinated, intoxicated, pantingand frozen, he forgot to lift his hat. A violent blow drew himfrom his ecstasy; his hat had been knocked off with the stroke of asoldier's halberd.
"I beg pardon," he stammered. "I am fresh from the country."
"Then learn that you must salute all the royal carriages, whoever maybe in them," said the halberdier gruffly. "If you do not know theemblem of the lilyflower, I will teach you."
"You need not. I know," said Gilbert.
The royal equipages passed in a prolonged line. Gilbert gazed on themso intently that he seemed stupefied.
At the Royal Abbey doors they stopped successively to let the noblemenand ladies alight. These setting-down movements caused halts of a fewminutes.
In one of them Gilbert felt a burning dart rush through his heart.
He was dazzled so that all was effaced in his sight, and so violent ashivering overwhelmed him that he was forced to catch at the branch notto tumble off.
Right in front of him, not ten paces off, in one of the vehicles withthe lily brand which he had been advised to salute, he perceived thesplendidly luminous face of Andrea Taverney; she was clad in white,like an angel or a ghost.
He uttered a faint outcry; but then, triumphing over the emotions whichhad mastered him together, he commanded his heart to cease to beat thathe might look at the star.
Such was the young man's power over himself that he succeeded.
Wishful to learn why the horses had been reined in, Andrea leanedout, and, as her bright blue eyes traveled round, she caught sight ofGilbert and recognized him.
Gilbert suspected that she would be surprised and would inform herfather of the discovery, as he sat next her.
He was not wrong, for Andrea called the baron's attention to the youth.
"Gilbert," said the nobleman, who was puffing himself up at the coachwindow, in his handsome red sash of the order of knighthood. "He, here?Who is taking care of my hound, then?"
Hearing the words, the young man respectfully bowed to Andrea and herfather. But it took him all his powers to make the effort.
"It is so. It is the rascal in person," said the baron.
On Andrea's face, observed by Gilbert with sustained attention, wasperfect calm under slight surprise.
Leaning out of the carriage, the baron beckoned to his ex-retainer. Butthe soldier who had given the youth a lesson in etiquette stopped him.
"Let the lad come to me," said the lord; "I have a couple of words tosay to him."
"You may go half a dozen, my lord," said the sergeant, flattered by thenobleman addressing him; "plenty of time, for they are speechifyingunder the porch. Pass, younker."
"Come hither, rogue," said the baron on Gilbert affecting not to hurryhimself out of his usual walk. "Tell me by what chance you are out hereat St. Denis when you ought to be at Taverney?"
"It is no chance," replied Gilbert, saluting lord and lady for thesecond time, "but the act of my free will."
"What do you mean by your will, varlet? Have you such a thing as a willof your own?"
"Why not? Every free man has his own."
"Free man? Do you fancy yourself free, you unhappy dog?"
"Of course, since I parted with my freedom to no one."
"On my word, here's a pretty knave," said the baron, taken aback bythe coolness of the speaker. "How dare you be in town, and how did youmanage to get here?"
"I walked it," said Gilbert shortly.
"Walked!" repeated Andrea with some pity.
"But I ask what you have come here for?" continued the baron.
"To get an education, which is assured me, and make my fortune, which Ihope for."
"What are you doing meanwhile--begging?"
"Begging?" reiterated Gilbert, with superb scorn.
"Thieving, then?"
"I never stole anything from Taverney," retorted Gilbert, with suchproud and wild firmness that it riveted the girl's attention on him fora space.
"What mischief does your idle hand find to do, then?"
"What a genius is doing, whom I seek to resemble if only byperseverance; I copy music," replied the rebel.
"You copy music?" queried Andrea, turning round. "Then you know it?" inthe tone of one saying, "You are a liar."
"I know the notes, and that is enough for copying. I like music dearly,and I used to listen to the lady playing at the harpsichord."
"You eavesdropper!"
"I got the airs by heart to begin with; and next, as I saw they werewritten in a book, I saw a method in it and I learnt it."
"You dared to touch my book?" said Andrea, at the height of indignation.
"I had no need to touch it; it lay open. I looked, and there is nosoiling a printed page by a look."
"Let me tell you," sneered the baron, "that we shall have this impdeclare that he can play the piano like Haydn."
"I might have learnt that if I had presumed to touch the keys," saidthe youth, confidently.
Against her inclination, Andrea cast a second look on the face animatedby a feeling like a martyr's in fanaticism. But the lord, who had nothis daughter's calmness and clear head, felt his wrath kindle at theyouth being right and their being inhumane in leaving him with thewatchdog at Taverney. It is hard to forgive an inferior for the wrongwhich he may convict us with; hence he grew heated as his daughtercooled.
"You rapscallion!" he said. "You desert and play the vagabond andspout such tomfoolery as we hear when you are brought to task. But asI do not wish the king's highway to be infested with gipsy tramps andthieves----"
Andrea held up her hand to appease the patrician, whose exaggerationannulled his superiority. But he put her aside and continued:
"I shall tell Chief of Police Sartines about you, and have you lockedup in the House of Correction, you fledgeling philosopher."
"Lord Baron," returned Gilbert, drawing back but slapping his hat downon his head with the ire which made him white, "I have found patrons intown at whose door your Sartines dances attendance!"
"The deuse you say so?" questioned the baron. "You shall taste thestirrup leather anyway. Andrea, call your brother, who is close tohand."
Andrea stooped out toward the offender and bade him begone in animperious voice.
"Philip," called the old noble.
Gilbert stood on the spot, mute and unmoving, as in ecstatic worship.Up rode a cavalier at the call; it was the Knight of Redcastle, joyousand brilliant in a captain's uniform.
"Why, it is Gilbert," he exclaimed. "The idea of his being here!Good-day, Gilbert. What do you want, father?"
"I want you to whip this malapert with your sword-scabbard," roared theold patrician, pale with anger.
"What has he done?" inquired Philip, looking with growing astonishmentfrom his father in age to the youth who had tranquilly return
ed hisgreeting.
"Never mind what he has done, but lash him, Philip, as you would a dog!"
"What has he done?" asked the chevalier, turning to his sister. "Has heinsulted you?"
"I insult her?" repeated Gilbert.
"Not at all," answered Andrea. "He has done nothing. Father let hispassion get the upper hand of him. Gilbert is no longer in our serviceand has the right to go wherever he likes. Father does not understandthis and flew into a rage."
"Is that all?" asked Captain Philip.
"All, brother, and I do not understand father's wrath about such stuffand for the trash who do not deserve a look. Just see if we are not togo on again, Philip."
Subdued by his daughter's serenity, the baron was quiet. Crushed bysuch scorn, Gilbert lowered his head. Something ran through his heartmuch like hatred. He would have preferred Philip Taverney's sword oreven a cut of his whip. He came near swooning.
Luckily the speechmaking was over and the procession moved forward oncemore. Andrea was carried on, and faded as in a dream.
Gilbert thought he was alone in his grief, believing that he couldnever support the weight of such misfortune. But a hand was laid on hisshoulder.
Turning, he saw Philip, who came smiling toward him, having dismountedand given his steed to his orderly to hold.
"I should like to hear what has happened," he said, "and how my poorGilbert has come to Paris?"
This frank and cordial greeting touched the young man.
"What was I to do on the old place?" he asked, with a sigh, tornfrom his wild stoicism. "I should have died of hunger, ignorance anddespair."
Philip started, for his impartial mind, like Andrea's, was struck bythe painful loneliness in which the youth was left.
"But do you imagine that you can succeed in Paris, a poor boy, withoutresources and protectors?"
"I do. The man who can work rarely dies of want, where so many want tolive without working."
The hearer started at this reply; previously he had regarded him as adependent of no importance.
"I earn my daily bread, Captain Philip, and that is a great gain forone who was blamed for eating bread which he did nothing for."
"I hope you are not referring to what you had at Taverney, for yourfather and mother were good tenants and you were often useful."
"I only did my duty."
"Mark me, Gilbert," continued the young gentleman. "You know I alwaysliked you. I looked upon you differently to others. The future willshow whether I was right or wrong. To me your standing aloof wasfastidiousness; your plainspokenness I called straightforward."
"Thanks," said the young man, breathing delightedly.
"It follows that I wish you well. Young like you and unhappy as I wassituated, I thus understood you. Fortune has smiled upon me. Letme help you in anticipation of the lady on the wheel smiling on youlikewise."
"I thank you."
"Do you blush to take my help, when all men are brothers?"
Gilbert fastened his intelligent eyes on the speaker's noble features,astonished at hearing the language from those lips.
"Such is the talk of the new generation," said he; "opinions shared bythe dauphin himself. Do not be proud with me, but take what you mayreturn me another day. Who knows but that you may be a great financieror statesman----"
"Or doctor-surgeon," said Gilbert.
"Just as you please. Here is my purse; take half."
"I thank you, but I need nothing," replied the unconquerable young man,softened by Philip's admirable brotherly love; "but be sure that I ammore grateful to you than if I had accepted your offer."
He mingled with the mob, leaving Philip stupefied for several seconds,unable to credit sight and hearing. Seeing Gilbert did not reappear, hemounted his horse and regained his place.
Balsamo, the Magician; or, The Memoirs of a Physician Page 30