by Eugène Sue
CHAPTER XXVI. THE DEPARTURE FOR PARIS.
The most profound silence reigns throughout Cardoville House. Thetempest has lulled by degrees, and nothing is heard from afar but thehoarse murmur of the waves, as they wash heavily the shore.
Dagobert and the orphans have been lodged in warm and comfortableapartments on the first-floor of the chateau. Djalma, too severely hurtto be carried upstairs, has remained in a room below. At the moment ofthe shipwreck, a weeping mother had placed her child in his arms. Hehad failed in the attempt to snatch this unfortunate infant from certaindeath, but his generous devotion had hampered his movements, and whenthrown upon the rocks, he was almost dashed to pieces. Faringhea, whohas been able to convince him of his affection, remains to watch overhim.
Gabriel, after administering consolation to Djalma, has rescinded to thechamber allotted to him; faithful to the promise he made to Rodin, to beready to set out in two hours, he has not gone to bed; but, having driedhis clothes, he has fallen asleep in a large, high-backed arm-chair,placed in front of a bright coal-fire. His apartment is situated nearthose occupied by Dagobert and the two sisters.
Spoil-sport, probably quite at his ease in so respectable a dwelling,has quitted the door of Rose and Blanche's chamber, to lie down and warmhimself at the hearth, by the side of which the missionary is sleeping.There, with his nose resting on his outstretched paws, he enjoys afeeling of perfect comfort and repose, after so many perils by land andsea. We will not venture to affirm, that he thinks habitually of poorold Jovial; unless we recognize as a token of remembrance on his part,his irresistible propensity to bite all the white horses he has metwith, ever since the death of his venerable companion, though before, hewas the most inoffensive of dogs with regard to horses of every color.
Presently one of the doors of the chamber opened, and the two sistersentered timidly. Awake for some minutes, they had risen and dressedthemselves, feeling still some uneasiness with respect to Dagobert;though the bailiff's wife, after showing them to their room, hadreturned again to tell them that the village doctor found nothingserious in the hurt of the old soldier, still they hoped to meet someone belonging to the chateau, of whom they could make further inquiriesabout him.
The high back of the old-fashioned arm-chair, in which Gabriel wassleeping, completely screened him from view; but the orphans, seeingtheir canine friend lying quietly at his feet, thought it was Dagobertreposing there, and hastened towards him on tip-toe. To their greatastonishment, they saw Gabriel fast asleep, and stood still inconfusion, not daring to advance or recede, for fear of waking him.
The long, light hair of the missionary was no longer wet, and now curlednaturally round his neck and shoulders; the paleness of his complexionwas the more striking, from the contrast afforded by the deep purpleof the damask covering of the arm-chair. His beautiful countenanceexpressed a profound melancholy, either caused by the influence of somepainful dream, or else that he was in the habit of keeping down, whenawake, some sad regrets, which revealed themselves without his knowledgewhen he was sleeping. Notwithstanding this appearance of bitter grief,his features preserved their character of angelic sweetness, and seemedendowed with an inexpressible charm, for nothing is more touching thansuffering goodness. The two young girls cast down their eyes, blushedsimultaneously, and exchanged anxious glances, as if to point out toeach other the slumbering missionary.
"He sleeps, sister," said Rose in a low voice.
"So much the better," replied Blanche, also in a whisper, making a signof caution; "we shall now be able to observe him well."
"Yes, for we durst not do so, in coming from the sea hither."
"Look! what a sweet countenance!"
"He is just the same as we saw him in our dreams."
"When he promised he would protect us."
"And he has not failed us."
"But here, at least, he is visible."
"Not as it was in the prison at Leipsic, during that dark night."
"And so--he has again rescued us."
"Without him, we should have perished this morning."
"And yet, sister, it seems to me, that in our dreams his countenanceshone with light."
"Yes, you know it dazzled us to look at him."
"And then he had not so sad a mien."
"That was because he came then from heaven; now he is upon earth."
"But, sister, had he then that bright red scar round his forehead?"
"Oh, no! we should have certainly perceived it."
"And these other marks on his hands?"
"If he has been wounded, how can he be an archangel?"
"Why not, sister? If he received those wounds in preventing evil, or inhelping the unfortunate, who, like us, were about to perish?"
"You are right. If he did not run any danger for those he protects, itwould be less noble."
"What a pity that he does not open his eye!"
"Their expression is so good, so tender!"
"Why did he not speak of our mother, by the way?"
"We were not alone with him; he did not like to do so."
"But now we are alone."
"If we were to pray to him to speak to us?"
The orphans looked doubtingly at each other, with charming simplicity; abright glow suffused their cheeks, and their young bosoms heaved gentlybeneath their black dresses.
"You are right. Let us kneel down to him."
"Oh, sister! our hearts beat so!" said Blanche, believing rightly, thatRose felt exactly as she did. "And yet it seems to do us good. It is asif some happiness were going to befall us."
The sisters, having approached the arm-chair on tip-toe, knelt downwith clasped hands, one to the right the other to the left of the youngpriest. It was a charming picture. Turning their lovely faces towardshim, they said in a low whisper, with a soft, sweet voice, well suitedto their youthful appearance: "Gabriel! speak to us of our mother!"
On this appeal, the missionary gave a slight start, half-opened hiseyes, and, still in a state of semi-consciousness, between sleep andwaking, beheld those two beauteous faces turned towards him, and heardtwo gentle voices repeat his name.
"Who calls me?" said he, rousing himself, and raising his head.
"It is Blanche and Rose."
It was now Gabriel's turn to blush, for he recognized the young girls hehad saved. "Rise, my sisters!" said he to them; "you should kneel onlyunto God."
The orphans obeyed, and were soon beside him, holding each other by thehand. "You know my name, it seems," said the missionary with a smile.
"Oh, we have not forgotten it!"
"Who told it you?"
"Yourself." "I?"
"Yes--when you came from our mother."
"I, my sisters?" said the missionary, unable to comprehend the words ofthe orphans. "You are mistaken. I saw you to-day for the first time."
"But in our dreams?"
"Yes--do you not remember?--in our dreams."
"In Germany--three months ago, for the first time. Look at us well."
Gabriel could not help smiling at the simplicity of Rose and Blanche,who expected him to remember a dream of theirs; growing more and moreperplexed, he repeated: "In your dreams?"
"Certainly; when you gave us such good advice."
"And when we were so sorrowful in prison, your words, which weremembered, consoled us, and gave us courage."
"Was it not you, who delivered us from the prison at Leipsic, in thatdark night, when we were not able to see you?"
"I!"
"What other but you would thus have come to our help, and to that of ourold friend?"
"We told him, that you would love him, because he loved us, although hewould not believe in angels."
"And this morning, during the tempest, we had hardly any fear."
"Because we expected you."
"This morning--yes, my sisters--it pleased heaven to send me to yourassistance. I was coming from America, but I have never been inLeipsic. I could not, therefore, have let yo
u out of prison. Tell me, mysisters," added he, with a benevolent smile, "for whom do you take me?"
"For a good angel whom we have seen already in dreams, sent by ourmother from heaven to protect us."
"My dear sisters, I am only a poor priest. It is by mere chance, nodoubt, that I bear some resemblance to the angel you have seen in yourdreams, and whom you could not see in any other manner--for angels arenot visible to mortal eye.
"Angels are not visible?" said the orphans, looking sorrowfully at eachother.
"No matter, my dear sisters," said Gabriel, taking them affectionatelyby the hand; "dreams, like everything else, come from above. Since theremembrance of your mother was mixed up with this dream, it is twiceblessed."
At this moment a door opened, and Dagobert made his appearance. Up tothis time, the orphans, in their innocent ambition to be protected by anarchangel, had quite forgotten the circumstance that Dagobert's wifehad adopted a forsaken child, who was called Gabriel, and who was now apriest and missionary.
The soldier, though obstinate in maintaining that his hurt was only ablank wound (to use a term of General Simon's), had allowed it to becarefully dressed by the surgeon of the village, and now wore a blackbandage, which concealed one half of his forehead, and added to thenatural grimness of his features. On entering the room, he was not alittle surprised to see a stranger holding the hands of Rose and Blanchefamiliarly in his own. This surprise was natural, for Dagobert did notknow that the missionary had saved the lives of the orphans, and hadattempted to save his also.
In the midst of the storm, tossed about by the waves, and vainlystriving to cling to the rocks, the soldier had only seen Gabrielvery imperfectly, at the moment when, having snatched the sisters fromcertain death, the young priest had fruitlessly endeavored to come tohis aid. And when, after the shipwreck, Dagobert had found the orphansin safety beneath the roof of the Manor House, he fell, as we havealready stated, into a swoon, caused by fatigue, emotion, and theeffects of his wound--so that he had again no opportunity of observingthe features of the missionary.
The veteran began to frown from beneath his black bandage and thick,gray brows, at beholding a stranger so familiar with Rose and Blanche;but the sisters ran to throw themselves into his arms, and to cover himwith filial caresses. His anger was soon dissipated by these marks ofaffection, though he continued, from time to time, to cast a suspiciousglance at the missionary, who had risen from his seat, but whosecountenance he could not well distinguish.
"How is your wound?" asked Rose, anxiously. "They told us it was notdangerous."
"Does it still pain?" added Blanche.
"No, children; the surgeon of the village would bandage me up in thismanner. If my head was carbonadoes with sabre cuts, I could not havemore wrappings. They will take me for an old milksop; it is only a blankwound, and I have a good mind to--" And therewith the soldier raised oneof his hands to the bandage.
"Will you leave that alone?" cried Rose catching his arm. "How can yoube so unreasonable--at your age?"
"Well, well! don't scold! I will do what you wish, and keep it on."Then, drawing the sisters to one end of the room, he said to them in alow voice, whilst he looked at the young priest from the corner of hiseye: "Who is that gentleman who was holding your hands when I came in?He has very much the look of a curate. You see, my children, you must beon your guard; because--"
"He?" cried both sisters at once, turning towards Gabriel. "Without him,we should not now be here to kiss you."
"What's that?" cried the soldier, suddenly drawing up his tall figure,and gazing full at the missionary.
"It is our guardian angel," resumed Blanche.
"Without him," said Rose, "we must have perished this morning in theshipwreck."
"Ah! it is he, who--" Dagobert could say no more. With swelling heart,and tears in his eyes, he ran to the missionary, offered him both hishands, and exclaimed in a tone of gratitude impossible to describe:"Sir, I owe you the lives of these two children. I feel what a debtthat service lays upon me. I will not say more--because it includeseverything!"
Then, as if struck with a sudden recollection, he cried: "Stop! whenI was trying to cling to a rock, so as not to be carried away by thewaves, was it not you that held out your hand to me? Yes--that lighthair--that youthful countenance--yes--it was certainly you--now I amsure of it!"
"Unhappily, sir, my strength failed me, and I had the anguish to see youfall back into the sea."
"I can say nothing more in the way of thanks than what I have alreadysaid," answered Dagobert, with touching simplicity: "in preserving thesechildren you have done more for me than if you had saved my own life.But what heart and courage!" added the soldier, with admiration; "and soyoung, with such a girlish look!"
"And so," cried Blanche, joyfully, "our Gabriel came to your aid also?"
"Gabriel!" said Dagobert interrupting Blanche, and addressing himself tothe priest. "Is your name Gabriel?"
"Yes, sir."
"Gabriel!" repeated the soldier, more and more surprised. "And apriest!" added he.
"A priest of the foreign missions."
"Who--who brought you up?" asked the soldier, with increasingastonishment.
"An excellent and generous woman, whom I revere as the best of mothers:for she had pity on me, a deserted infant, and treated me ever as herson."
"Frances Baudoin--was it not?" said the soldier, with deep emotion.
"It was, sir," answered Gabriel, astonished in his turn. "But how do youknow this?"
"The wife of a soldier, eh?" continued Dagobert.
"Yes, of a brave soldier--who, from the most admirable devotion, is evennow passing his life in exile--far from his wife--far from his son, mydear brother--for I am proud to call him by that name--"
"My Agricola!--my wife!--when did you leave them?"
"What! is it possible! You the father of Agricola?--Oh! I knew not,until now," cried Gabriel, clasping his hands together, "I knew not allthe gratitude that I owed to heaven!"
"And my wife! my child!" resumed Dagobert, in a trembling voice; "howare they? have you news of them?"
"The accounts I received, three months ago, were excellent."
"No; it is too much," cried Dagobert; "it is too much!" The veteranwas unable to proceed; his feelings stifled his words, and fell backexhausted in a chair.
And now Rose and Blanche recalled to mind that portion of their father'sletter which related to the child named Gabriel, whom the wife ofDagobert had adopted; then they also yielded to transports of innocentjoy.
"Our Gabriel is the same as yours--what happiness!" cried Rose.
"Yes, my children! he belongs to you as well as to me. We have allour part in him." Then, addressing Gabriel, the soldier added withaffectionate warmth: "Your hand, my brave boy! give me your hand!"
"Oh, sir! you are too good to me."
"Yes--that's it--thank me!--after all thou has done for us!"
"Does my adopted mother know of your return?" asked Gabriel, anxious toescape from the praises of the soldier.
"I wrote to her five months since, but said that I should come alone;there was a reason for it, which I will explain by and by. Does shestill live in the Rue Brise-Miche? It was there Agricola was born."
"She still lives there."
"In that case, she must have received my letter. I wished to write toher from the prison at Leipsic, but it was impossible."
"From prison! Have you just come out of prison?"
"Yes; I come straight from Germany, by the Elbe and Hamburg, and Ishould be still at Leipsic, but for an event which the Devil must havehad a hand in--a good sort of devil, though."
"What do you mean? Pray explain to me."
"That would be difficult, for I cannot explain it to myself. Theselittle ladies," he added, pointing with a smile to Rose and Blanche,"pretended to know more about it than I did, and were continuallyrepeating: 'It was the angel that came to our assistance, Dagobert--thegood angel we told thee of--though you said you would
rather have Spoilsport to defend us--'"
"Gabriel, I am waiting for you," said a stern voice, which made themissionary start. They all turned round instantly, whilst the doguttered a deep growl.
It was Rodin. He stood in the doorway leading to the corridor. Hisfeatures were calm and impassive, but he darted a rapid, piercing glanceat the soldier and sisters.
"Who is that man?" said Dagobert, very little prepossessed in favorof Rodin, whose countenance he found singularly repulsive. "What themischief does he want?"
"I must go with him," answered Gabriel, in a tone of sorrowfulconstraint. Then, turning to Rodin, he added: "A thousand pardons! Ishall be ready in a moment."
"What!" cried Dagobert, stupefied with amazement, "going the veryinstant we have just met? No, by my faith! you shall not go. I havetoo much to tell you, and to ask in return. We will make the journeytogether. It will be a real treat for me."
"It is impossible. He is my superior, and I must obey him."
"Your superior?--why, he's in citizen's dress."
"He is not obliged to wear the ecclesiastical garb."
"Rubbish! since he is not in uniform, and there is no provost-marshal inyour troop, send him to the--"
"Believe me, I would not hesitate a minute, if it were possible toremain."
"I was right in disliking the phi of that man," muttered Dagobertbetween his teeth. Then he added, with an air of impatience andvexation: "Shall I tell him that he will much oblige us by marching offby himself?"
"I beg you not to do so," said Gabriel; "it would be useless; I knowmy duty, and have no will but my superior's. As soon as you arrive inParis, I will come and see you, as also my adopted mother, and my dearbrother, Agricola."
"Well--if it must be. I have been a soldier, and know what subordinationis," said Dagobert, much annoyed. "One must put a good face on badfortune. So, the day after to-morrow, in the Rue Brise-Miche, my boy;for they tell me I can be in Paris by to-morrow evening, and we set outalmost immediately. But I say--there seems to be a strict disciplinewith you fellows!"
"Yes, it is strict and severe," answered Gabriel, with a shudder, and astifled sigh.
"Come, shake hands--and let's say farewell for the present. After all,twenty-four hours will soon pass away."
"Adieu! adieu!" replied the missionary, much moved, whilst he returnedthe friendly pressure of the veteran's hand.
"Adieu, Gabriel!" added the orphans, sighing also, and with tears intheir eyes.
"Adieu, my sisters!" said Gabriel--and he left the room with Rodin, whohad not lost a word or an incident of this scene.
Two hours after, Dagobert and the orphans had quitted the Castle forParis, not knowing that Djalma was left at Cardoville, being stilltoo much injured to proceed on his journey. The half-caste, Faringhea,remained with the young prince, not wishing, he said, to desert a fellowcountryman.
We now conduct the reader to the Rue Brise-Miche, the residence ofDagobert's wife.