“‘As a matter of fact, they had very bad reputations. But I have nothing against them for that. They’re a fine line, don’t you think so, sir? And what is more, they were always faithful to the king. You know our motto, “More than right.”
“‘It is a fine motto — always more than right — for good or for bad, in war and in pleasure. Those old fellows there were well up in their time. I envy them. To-day we have but few distractions — we can’t even go shooting. Can you imagine Georges-Marie-Vincent striking down a slater from his roof as his ancestor did? Now, can you? No; neither can I. But in those days there was no rural constable to hand you a summons for doing so.
“‘Now that Louis-Jean-Marie-Chrysostome was a type. He was the first equerry to his majesty. We were fine — fine! Monsieur, we are cursed in all the manuals of French history that are edited by the Freemasons of to-day — because the Freemasons of olden times — we have all been more or less Freemasons — I recall it well. It happened to my grandfather, who was the first gentleman of the chamber to Louis XVIII. I remember how we laughed on that evening. I will tell the story to you.
“‘One evening during the initiation, my great-great-grandfather ran his sword through the body of the initiate, who had made some very disagreeable remarks in the town regarding the honor of a certain lady who was, at the same time, the mistress of both his majesty and my great-great-grandfather. Doesn’t that show what a type he was? Of course, the poor fellow died. And because of that, there was a great rising up of trowels against Marie-Joseph-Gaspard. But he is none the worse off for it, as you can see.’
“When he spoke these last words, he turned to me in such a way that, upon my word I hardly knew of whom he spoke when he said, ‘As you can see,’ whether he meant the portrait of Marie-Joseph-Gaspard, or whether he meant himself.
“Then he laughed — laughed very heartily, showing his sharp and pointed teeth. Ah, he is a man of good humor, who drinks dry wines and eats his meat rare.
“‘Yes,’ he continued, ‘you must have noticed that we all resemble one another. Yes, the line continues — the line continues.’
“My private opinion was that the marquis must have been drinking enough on that day to do honor to his motto, ‘More than right.’ Anyway, there was no mystery about him. He did not, at least, make you ‘think of ghosts,’ in the words of the simple women, as did the marchioness.
“He left us abruptly — Shing-shing ran before him and opened the doors — but we could hear his loud laugh, which seemed the only real live thing in this drowsy old mansion.
“Once more all was silent, all life seemed again to be effaced. Then the little white mass behind me said:
“‘Don’t you think that he is frightful?’
“‘Not the least bit in the world,’ I replied smiling. T think that the marquis is in excellent health.’
“‘He ought to be! He ought to be!’ she said in a whisper. ‘That is just why I said to you — he is frightful in his perfect health.’
“I understood less what she meant, and the mysterious manner in which she had spoken seemed to me very childish. What was she trying to make me understand by saying and repeating, ‘He ought to be! He ought to be!’?
“She drew her fur over her bare shoulder, as she shivered and continued:
“‘Did you notice, when the marquis spoke of the Coulterays, this one or that one, that he spoke as if he were speaking of himself?’
“‘Yes. But, madam, he spoke merely as though he included himself with all the Coulterays.’
“‘No, no,’ she interrupted eagerly. ‘It is not that; I mean that he spoke as though the anecdote had happened to himself.’
“What was she driving at? Her eyes were still wide open, as if reflecting a thought, the vision of which she alone could see.
“‘Madam,’ I said, ‘when the Marquis de Coulteray said: “I recall,” he, of course, meant that he recalled the evening the story was told to him. It could not be otherwise, as he could not remember something that happened before he was born.’
“‘That is logic itself,’ she murmured with a sigh; ‘it is logic itself.’
“She rose.
“‘He went at once,’ she explained, ‘because Christine was not here. I implore of you, M. Masson, when Christine is here, do not leave her under any pretext. Good-by, M. Masson. Ah! Shing-shing is listening behind us.’
“I turned. The little Indian monkey was showing his jade green eyes behind the half open door. I chased him away, clapping my hands as Christine had instructed me to do.
“Before leaving me, the marchioness held out her hand with an extremely weary air.
“‘I trust you implicitly, M. Masson,’ she said, ‘and I have said things to you whose importance you cannot understand until later — even Christine would not understand. I am so pleased to know that you are here.’
“She glided away, disappeared — poor, little, shivery thing, chilly on this beautiful, warm June day. Then through the half open window the perfume of the garden was blown into the library like life entering a tomb which has been deprived of its mummy. And in another moment, life again entered in the person of Christine, radiant with youth, her mouth crimson, her cheeks glowing. She gave me both her hands.
CHAPTER XII
WAS THE MARCHIONESS JEALOUS?
“‘I HOPE YOU have not been too bored without me,’ she said.
“I did not reply. What could I have said — that there was no life for me except when she was near? My riotous heart was stifling me. Did she notice my agitation? Yes, undoubtedly. But, at any rate, she did not appear to do so.
“She flung off her hat with a charming gesture — a gesture characteristically hers — which placed the bright, shining crown of her pink arm around her head.
“‘Let us work,’ she said. ‘Well, so you have seen the marquis?’
“‘Yes, and the marchioness, also. The marquis does not seem to be very hard to understand — but the marchioness!’
“‘So that has commenced already,’ she remarked. ‘Tell me, what did the marchioness say to you?’
“I told her all our conversation.
“‘Poor woman,’ she sighed. ‘Did she seem to you a little — a little mad?’
“‘Well, at least, she is odd. How is it that she’s always so cold?’
“‘I tell you she’s full of imagination. She imagines that she’s cold, so she is cold. Do you know her idea — the idea that makes her walk up and down this mansion, as if she were a sleeping beauty in the woods? It is hardly believable. And I should never have believed it, if the marquis himself had not opened my eyes to his wife’s strange monomania, from which he was the first to suffer, for he loves her very much. Well, my dear M. Masson, the marchioness imagines that all the Coulterays that you see on the wall and the present marquis, Georges-Marie-Vincent, are one and the same.’
“‘Ah, now I understand,’ I murmured, ‘now I understand.’
“‘Yes,’ agreed Christine, ‘you can now understand her words, “No matter which one.” She said these same words to me, and when I repeated them to the marquis, he explained her meaning. He was very, very sad.’
“‘Well,’ I exclaimed, ‘she is mad!’
“‘Yes, she thinks that that Louis XV marquis, whom you see there on the wall, the famous Louis-Jean-Marie-Chrysostome, is not dead, neither is any one of the others, and that the present marquis, Georges-Marie-Vincent, is still and always Louis-Jean-Marie-Chrysostome. I say that always, because she believes absolutely that he will never die until — until—’
“‘Until — until—’
“‘Ah,’ said Christine, ‘this time you have asked me too much. I have not yet the right to go further into these details with you. The marquis, whom you see so gay, so hearty, does not want any one to know all his sorrows. You know when I see him too exuberant, I believe that he is trying to forget. I tell you he loves his wife very much. I am sure that he still loves her — and that he loves only her.
He sometimes tries to joke with me over the things that have happened. But I never mistake for a moment the false ring of his gayety.
“‘“Look at me,” he sometimes says; “tell me, do I look like a Cagliostro, a Count of Saint-Germain? Why, it’s a farce! Well, my wife has suddenly got this idea and she can’t get rid of it. Until she got it, she used to love me, but now she cannot even see me without being terrified. It is really so funny, Christine, that I feel I must kiss you.”
“‘That is all a foolish kind of talk, M. Masson,’ continued Christine reassuringly, ‘only I don’t want the marquis to kiss me, because, you see, I am engaged.’
“‘Oh, yes,’ I said; ‘it is true that you are engaged. I believe you have been engaged for quite a long time.’
“‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘for quite some time.’
“‘The marchioness,’ she resumed, ’is a sentimental, little English lady who was brought up in India, where the most extravagant theories about spirits thrive in the drawing-rooms of high society. Of a certainty, she must have attended some of these seances held by fakirs, who work havoc with weak brains. And the marchioness’s brain is, I regret to say, very uncertain.
“‘Moreover, she reads a great deal. She is forever cramming herself with books about the Beyond. Now, on the other hand, the marquis, full of life, has, perhaps, not understood that it is necessary to handle with extreme delicacy such a fragile spirit, who is suspended between the two worlds. In short, the rupture between them is either complete to-day, or it will be very shortly.
“‘There are some very queer stories told about the famous Louis-Jean-Marie-Chrysostome, who, like all the great lords of his time, practiced occultism to some extent. The poor woman has read these stories, and she has seen here these four portraits, which bear such a strange resemblance to each other. That has been enough. And now you may well understand the marquis. I wish you would try to break down this fixed idea of hers, if you can, M. Benedict Masson.’
“T have one more question to put to you, Mlle. Christine. Is the marchioness — is the marchioness jealous?’
“‘No, why?’
“‘Because she said to me as she was going out: “When Christine is here, do not leave her under any pretext.”’
“‘Yes, I know why she said that. But jealousy has nothing to do with it and it is of no importance. However, inasmuch as possible, I would prefer that you should be here whenever I am.’
“But all the same, Christine did not tell me why the marchioness made that remark.
CHAPTER XIII
GABRIEL RETURNS
“JUNE 4 — If I had only expected that!
“To begin with, I might as well tell you that my little adventure has caused quite a revolution in the neighborhood.
“It was not without excitement that the inhabitants of the Isle of St. Louis learned that Mlle. Norbert paid me frequent visits, and, when they learned that I had accompanied the daughter of the watchmaker to the mansion of the Marquis de Coulteray and that we were in the habit of spending several hours there together in the library — the indiscretion of the old porter with his embroidered cap, who watched over the main portal, had let this out — all the stores from Regrattier Street to the Sully Bridge and from the Anjou Wharf to the Bethune Wharf, were racked with the gossip.
“It was very well known that I was not a regular attendant at mass, so when I was seen one Sunday entering the arched doors of the Church of St. Louis on the Isle, on the heels of the Norbert family, every one concluded that I was ‘clean gone.’
“It was the opinion of every one that the ‘Archduchess,’ with her high and mighty airs, had ‘reduced me to zero’ — that she had cast a spell upon me — that I did not eat, did not sleep, and did not talk any more. The fact that two or three times I had failed to reply to some of Mother Langlois’s insidious questions — a very grave folly — had stirred them up.
“I imagine that at the same moment the back store of Mlle. Barescat ceased all activities and that they began to make plans as to how they could save me from the evil influences of the wizard’s family. To save me, whom they regarded as so nice a boy, so quiet, so orderly, so methodical.
“Mme. Langlois swore that she would make me aware that she still existed — and this is how she brought it about.
“Yesterday, about eleven o’clock in the morning, I returned to my room, coming from the Coulteray mansion, where Christine had not appeared. Her nonappearance had thrown me into the worst humor in the world, for I had been forced to hold a long conversation with the marquis — who also appeared to be waiting for Christine, and this had not calmed my impatience. When I entered, I found Mme. Langlois, who should have finished her work at my place long before, but who untiringly began all over again.
“I saw at once that the good woman had something to tell me. The way she closed the door behind me, the way she placed her hands on her hips, in fact, the emotion which seemed to be suffocating her, told me that I was about to learn something new. I was not mistaken.
“‘Oh, well,’ she began, ‘she’s going just a little too far, your princess. You didn’t see her at your marquis’s place this morning, now, did you?’
“‘I beg your pardon, Mother Langlois, I beg your pardon. I think that you are troubling yourself about Mlle. Norbert. But let me tell you then, once for all, that Mlle. Norbert does just what she pleases, and I also want you to know drat what she does, or what she doesn’t, is of no interest to me in any way. Good-by, Mother Langlois. Please give my regards to Mlle. Barescat.’
“The good woman first turned red, and then a deep purple. She bit her lips nervously, folded her shawl over her flat chest and walked to the door. But before leaving me, she turned around and said:
“‘I was just about to tell you that the handsome young man has come back.’
“‘What handsome young man?’ I could not help asking.
“‘The young man in the cloak, with the high boots, and the hat with the buckle.’
“Everything seemed to whirl around me.
“‘The one who—’ I stammered.
“‘Yes, the one I told you about the other day at Mlle. Barescat’s. Well, he’s come back. That handsome Gabriel has returned.’
“I fixed wild eyes upon her.
“It was quite impossible for me to hide my emotion, so Mother Langlois enjoyed the effect she had produced.
“‘Ah, ah,’ she cried, ‘you don’t drive me away now, eh? Ah, that little girl wants him, you see — and she, with all her fine airs — all her fine airs.’
“I wanted to strangle the horrible woman. If I had not held myself in restraint I should have jumped at her throat. But by a prodigious effort at self-control I managed to say, in a voice that was almost natural, while I mopped at the perspiration which was dripping from my forehead:
“‘How you astonish me, Mme. Langlois. You see, I knew that the young man was very ill.’
“‘Oh, he looked battered enough, that’s true. But here’s the fine weather come, and with the young lady to look after him he will soon be well now.’
“‘Have you seen him go into the Norberts’?’ I inquired.
“‘Go in? No, indeed, I didn’t see him go in! I’ve already told you that nobody’s seen him go in, nor come out, neither. No one knows where he goes for sure. They do say that he’s hiding up there. Perhaps the police are after him. I’ve always said that he was a foreigner dressed up like that. Now, if you find all that natural, I’m going to tell you something else — it’s now three days since they dispensed with my services.’
“‘Well, then, Mother Langlois, if they have dismissed you, how do you know all this?’
“‘How do I know it — how do I know it? Let me tell you something. When Mother Langlois wants to know something, she ferrets round the Tour Pointue, and you can well know it. It’s just like I tell you. And I know what I’m talking about. When they showed me the door I just said quietly to myself: “That’s not going to get you into p
aradise.”
“‘I’ve got to tell you something. I noticed that, from the top of your attic in the skylight, you can see all that’s going on over there. I often thought of that. So this morning I went up there and I saw Sawbones running off to his class like he does every morning. Then old man Norbert, he came along. Then I waited to see if Christine was going over to the marquis’s at her usual time.
“‘That’s where she hides herself all the time now, and it’s no secret to anybody. Neither is it a secret about you — no offense meant. But I waited, and the minutes and the hours went by, and no Christine. So I said to myself: “Now, what can she be doing in there all alone, unless she’s showing another cleaning woman what to do?” And I just had to see. So, as I was watching from the skylight, what did I see? There was Christine and that handsome chap foolin’ together.
“‘They were walking slowly around the garden, she holding on to his arm, and saying Gabriel this and Gabriel that. He wasn’t looking so snappy as the first time I saw him. Then he was as stiff as a broom handle and held himself straight. Now he was quite wabbly, and she was talking to him very gentle, like she was talking to an invalid. They went and sat down behind the tree, and he just let himself drop into the wooden armchair. Then — what do you think? Well, she embraced him.’
“‘Well, if he’s a relative,’ I said in a faint voice, ‘there’s nothing extraordinary in that.’
“‘Oh, she didn’t embrace him like a relative. And you ought to see the way she’s got of lookin’ at him.’
“‘Now, now, Mme. Langlois, don’t be spiteful. Mlle. Norbert is a respectable girl, and one can’t cast a slur upon her conduct.’
“‘Oh, I like that — I like that! All the same, I bet she never told you that, while you were waiting for her up at the marquis’s, she was taking pretty good care of this relative in question, and in her own house at that. Yes, a relative that nobody knows — neither Eve nor Adam.’
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 389