“‘Did the marquis tell you how he came to know of it?’ I asked.
“‘Why, yes,’ she replied; ‘he once thought of buying a lot of property at Corbillieres-on-the-Water. It’s down there, isn’t it?’
“‘Yes, on the pond — at the edge of the pond, the black pond.’
“‘Well, the marquis visited down there. He must have obtained information as to who owned the land that he wanted to buy — properties which he wanted to buy together into one estate. He thought your house was charming.’
“I was so agitated that I went to the window and opened it. I needed air. I tried to recover my self-control, but I was mortally afraid that I would not be able to master my emotions.
“And, just at this instant, into the patch of light which stretched out before us on the lawn, there glided a white form, light-footed and silent as a ghost.
“I had only time to rush to the door,” continued Benedict, “which still was open on to the garden, and to catch the poor tortured creature, who already seemed to weigh very little more than a shadow, in my arms. Her breath came short on her bloodless lips; the oval of her face was drawn to a fine line; death already seemed to have stamped this fragile image for eternity; and the light which flickered in the depths of her eyes, the sockets of which were sunken like chasms, no longer appeared to belong to the fires of this world.
“It was as though the marchioness were gazing at things which we could not see, for we were not, like her, on the very brink of eternity, when she said to us both — for Christine had also rushed out:
“‘Now, then, are you convinced this time? He has only left me my soul!’
“We placed her carefully in an armchair; her head, falling against the back, was as beautiful as a marble statue on a tomb. She seemed to be breathing for the last time, and, without fear, for she hoped to escape, passing through the doors of death, from that monster of four likenesses, who, from the walls above, looked down at her untiringly with his dreadful smile.
“‘To-day,’ she said with an effort, ‘to-day, you saw his fifth face, at the very moment when he was going to drink my life. Tell me, did he not terrify you? And now he has gone. He took with him all my blood and I am going to die, for I am no longer afraid of death.
“‘Yes, I have made an agreement with Sangor, who will do all that I desire, providing that it is not forbidden by his religion. When I am dead, he will come to my tomb and cut off my head. When he has done this, there will be no danger of my returning, like this monster, to suck the blood of the living.
“‘The living may rest tranquil, quite tranquil.
“‘It is a fact! That is the only way in which I may be saved from life and from death.
“‘Oh, how happy I am. I am sure of Sangor. He will cut off my head, according to the rule given in the book, to prevent my resurrection.
“‘M. Masson, you have read my book, so you know full well that my head must be cut off.
“‘I am sure of Sangor. I have given him a magnificent pearl necklace.’
“She uttered these disjointed phrases as though she were going to die after each of them.
“I wanted to ask her a question while there was still time, so I profited by this moment of silence, when her head had fallen back. Her eyelids were heavy, and her neck was stretched, as though it were already offered to Sangor’s knife.
“‘The marquis told us,’ I said, ‘that you were taking the air in the window of your boudoir, and that you pricked your arm with a thorn from the rosebush. He said that it was that which caused you to utter the piercing shriek.’
“Her eyelids lifted slightly, her eyes flashed for a moment — a flash which died out almost at once.
“‘I did not prick myself with the thorn,’ she said; ‘one does not utter a death cry when one scratches oneself with a thorn. I cried out when he bit me.’
“‘Was he with you in the boudoir?’
“‘Oh, no,’ she replied.
“‘Then was he in the garden?’
“‘Oh, no. I really don’t know where he was.’
“‘What? He was not with you, and yet he bit you?’ “‘Certainly! He bites when he wishes — where he wishes. It is useless for me to wrap myself up in furs.’ “‘But can he bite from a distance?’
“‘Certainly!’
“There was nothing more to say. That settled the affair.
“All three of us were crushed under different emotions, when Sangor appeared.
“He bore her off in his strong arms. The unfortunate lady’s head fell on his shoulder — her head, which I already saw, in my dream of horror and madness, severed from the body.
“I saw everything in these frightful colors, and it was not until I saw Christine’s look, which was somewhat troubled, after we were left alone, that I spoke again:
“‘Well,’ I asked, ‘what do you think of all this now?’
“And a very singular thing happened, because, for the first time, when speaking of the marchioness, Christine did not say:
“‘She is mad!’
CHAPTER XXIII
THE GREATEST VAMPIRE
“JUNE 30TH — It is done! All is over! It is all my fault! As they say in the popular novels: I have long wept tears of blood. I have lost Christine and I am once again exiled in my sinister little house in the country of Corbillieres on the border of the black water.
“Corbillieres — a funereal air hangs over the place. I spend my days mourning over the last illusion of my foolish love. This last insipid phrase makes me heartsick. Illusion? Foolish love? How can I write what has happened with this rosewater? I had become like a bewitched animal in the presence of Christine.
“I must tell you that for eight days we were alone in the Coulteray mansion.
“The marquis had taken the dying marchioness to the old Coulteray Château, undoubtedly, so that she might be nearer the tomb that was waiting for her.
“All the servants had followed them.
“Alone with Christine!
“And this is what happened.
“One evening, after dinner, Christine and I found ourselves, without having made an appointment, in the garden where we sometimes went.
“Since the last scene which we had witnessed, a mysterious something seemed to have brought us closer together — at least, I imagined this — for I had never seen Christine so communicative, nor so simple, nor so modest with me.
“After the great heat of the day, there had come a night of ineffable softness. I had never been so happy. We were seated close to one another, and, apparently the same emotion — perhaps it was mere calmness on Christine’s part — kept us silent. Around us the gray walls were melting in repose. A solitary oak, which seemed to swirl about as though it were drunk, threw its shadow over us. My thoughts turned to romance. My hand was on hers — an unconscious gesture, if there ever was one — and her warm hand rested in mine.
“It is evident that when I still think of that precious moment, my thoughts turn back to thee, oh night, propitious shadow, sacred veil, behind which my ugliness may be forgotten.
“As Christine did not withdraw her hand, I willingly believed that my touch was not displeasing to her — and this can be counted as the greatest victory in my life. Then it was she turned to me and asked, in a tone indicating the utmost confidence:
“‘Is she really mad?’
“‘Who?’ I exclaimed, vexed to find that her thoughts were so far removed from mine that I could not understand her.
“‘Why, the marchioness!’
“‘Well, I must confess,’ I remarked, a little put out, ‘that I was not thinking of the poor thing. Why do you ask me that?’
“‘Because!’
“‘Because what? I thought we were agreed on that point. How can we feel anything but pity for her?’
“‘Yes, yes!’ she repeated in her dream voice. ‘We must pity her. She did not know how to resist. She! Resist! Her surroundings!’
“‘Explain yourself
, Christine. What do you mean?’
“‘My dear Benedict, if I tell you something, it is not because I attach any particular importance to it, but because of a certain coincidence. However, I am not very much disturbed by it, I assure you.’
“‘You make me curious, Christine.’
“During all this time, her hand was in mine, and this inspired such thoughts within me that I had the greatest difficulty in following her.
“‘Well,’ she said, simply, ‘I was pricked also!’
“‘Great heavens!’ I exclaimed. ‘Explain yourself, Christine — explain yourself!’
“‘Yes, I was scratched by the rosebush. Oh, it was some time ago. I was scratched on the arm, as she was, and in the same place that she was. But that was before she was scratched.’
“I tried to see her face, but she kept it bent and turned away from me.
“‘Truly! Truly!’ I gasped. ‘That is a big adventure. You were leaning out of the same window and was scratched the same as she was, by the same rosebush? That is something most extraordinary!’
“‘No,’ she said softly, always in that far-away voice of hers, ‘it is not so extraordinary. But, imagine, after I had been scratched, I felt numbed, as if poisoned — at least, I was in such a state of mental weakness that I could not return to the library, so I lay down on the divan, simply to rest, but I closed my eyes and had one of the saddest dreams.’
“‘What did you dream about?’
“‘I saw the marquis, with the same atrocious look on his face that you noticed the other night when you went into the marchioness’s bedroom after the accident. He came close to me, and in spite of all my efforts to keep him away, he took hold of my arm, and, pressing his lips on the wound, drew all my blood — my very life.’
“‘You really had that dream?’
“‘Truly!’
“‘The marchioness had already told you those stories about the brocolaques?’
“‘Yes!’
“‘And you went to sleep on the sofa just beneath the portraits of the four Coulterays?’
“‘Yes — it was there!’
“‘Well, then, draw your own conclusions, Christine!’
“‘I have drawn my own conclusions — I have concluded — But, oh, then I had not seen the marchioness pricked on the arm, in the same manner as I had been when leaning out of the same window, and I had not seen her come back to us like a phantom, crying: “Well, then, are you convinced? This time he has only left me my soul!”’
“‘Come, come, Christine!’ I said to myself. ‘Come, come. Yes, it is evident.’
“‘How did it end for you?’ I asked aloud, rather impatient at the plaintive tone in which she had spoken while relating her dream.
“‘It was ended when I woke up!’
“‘Were you alone when you woke up?’
“‘Yes!’
“‘The marquis was not there?’
“‘No! The first thing I saw was the four portraits of the Coulterays hanging above me in their frames!’
“‘And how did you feel?’
“‘Exhausted!’
“‘And what did you do?’
“‘I went and found the marquis. Then I told him that I did not think that the air in his house was very good for me, that I was not feeling very well, and that I should not be returning for some time.’
“‘Did you tell him your dream?’
“‘Yes!’
“‘What did he say?’
“‘That his wife was driving us all mad. He advised me to go for a rest somewhere in the country — then it was that he first spoke of your place at Corbillieres-on-the-water!’
“I shivered, but she did not even notice it.
“‘And you did not go to the country?’
“‘No. I could not leave Papa and Jacques!’
“Nor Gabriel, I thought.
“There was a silence, which she broke, saying:
“‘You probably think I am very silly. And perhaps I was wrong to introduce you into this house and to its strange occupants with their mysterious ways. I have had a strange feeling of anxiety about it since the accident that happened the other day.’ “‘Yet, you have been here oftener than ever,’ I murmured, drawing nearer to her — our hands still were clasped. ‘Ah, Christine, Christine, my poor, dear soul, every house, like every heart, has its mystery.’ It was her turn to start. ‘I swear to you, Christine, that that scratch from that rosebush, which made your arm bleed, is nothing in comparison to the wounds from which the last drop of life-blood is flowing from a certain heart. Why give the face of the dead to vampires, when the greatest of them all is a little child with pink cheeks — and his name is Cupid?’ “‘You are right, my friend,’ said Christine in a whisper, bending her head low.
“What a silence followed those last words! At last, I took courage, and dared to murmur in her ear, as she sat so silent beside me. I dared to murmur the first phrases of one of my own compositions, which had pleased her so much that she had memorized it: “‘Oh, sweet lady! How didst thou come here? Strange are your eyelids, strange your garments, and strange the glorious length of your tresses!’
“She did not permit me to continue, but, tightening her hand nervously on mine — the pressure caused my heart to beat so fast that I felt myself to be stifling — said:
“‘Calm yourself, my dear Benedict.’ She rose and let my hand fall. ‘You are wrong to say those beautiful things to me. My garments are not strange, you have never seen my hair down — for I am neither eccentric nor coquettish — and, if I do come to this garden oftener now than before, it is because the marquis is not here at present.’
“And with these words, she went into the library and dropped down on a bench, as if crushed.
“It was not until several minutes later that I rose, trembling and almost ill. I found Christine crying in our little workshop in the library.
“Forgetting all my rage, I began to murmur a few kind words. Naturally, I would have insisted that I was in the wrong, when I noticed that Christine’s tears were dropping on the engraving, upon which she had worked so painstakingly, and which had already made me suffer so much, the engraving of the handsome Gabriel.
CHAPTER XXIV
TO SATISFY CHRISTINE
“IMMEDIATELY, I FELT a flood of bitterness pass over me, and I let a few drops fall.
“‘Of course,’ I said, ‘if I were as handsome as that one.’
“I had thought to embarrass her, but, oh, what a mistake! She raised her eyes, which shone with unquestionable sympathy, and said, without embarrassment: “‘Oh, yes, if you had been as beautiful as he!’
“If I had not been so madly in love, and if I could have forgotten for one moment that I was the principal victim of this ridiculous situation, I should have burst out laughing.
“But what was most annoying, and which began to open up strange horizons to my view, was the fact that Christine seemed to immediately try to put herself in the place of the principal victim.
“‘Oh, my friend,’ she wailed, ‘my very dear, good friend, I am very unhappy.’
“‘Well, and what about me?’ I cried. ‘Do you think I’m walking in the Elysian fields?’
“‘You are much less to be pitied than me,’ she exclaimed with that certain spontaneous logic, so candid and irrefutable, which one always finds among women. ‘Yes, you are much less to be pitied than me, because it is I who has made you unhappy. And, if there was no one else but you—’
“‘Oh, of course,’ I said, more and more dumbfounded, ‘there is the doctor. But why don’t you marry him?’
“I felt a dismal joy in harrowing myself and in harrowing her also, as much as it was in my power to do and I meant to push this power to the limit, since we had set out on this road leading to the precipice.
“‘Because I don’t love him,’ she admitted with a deep sigh. Meanwhile her tears fell freely on the face that I detested.
“‘Then why did you promise t
o marry him if you don’t love him? How can you explain that, Christine?’
“‘Very simply,’ she said; ‘ever since Jacques was a little boy, I have meant everything in life to him. Just what little you know of him is enough to make you appreciate what I am telling you. Jacques is on the road to become one of the greatest, if not the greatest scientist of this age. Well, Jacques takes no interest in glory, or fortune, or in any of the other things, which are valued, as a rule, by humanity in general. He only lives for me. This genius, to whom one cannot listen for ten minutes without being dazzled, has only one other desire — to close me in his arms and make me the mother of his children.
“‘In such a case, do you think that I ought, with one word, to blow out this flame, do you think that I should reduce to ashes this fire, which will probably warm the whole of humanity in the future? No, I will not do it. I belong to him. He knows it. That is what gives him strength. Had he wished it, I would have been his long before this. But he has his own ideas, and his own pride. He wants to bring me a dowry. Something that has never had a place on the list of wedding presents, he wants to bring me that golden chain by means of which man, having become creators of life, will hold in their turn the means to conquer divinity.’
“‘That is certainly a very fine chain,’ I said, without flickering an eyelash, ‘but it will take time to forge it, and besides, you don’t happen to care for the goldsmith.’
“‘Benedict Masson,’ she said, ‘when I told you — and you are the only person in the world to whom I would say this — that I do not love him, I meant that I do not love him as much as such a great man deserves to be loved. But you are taking advantage of my sentiment for you and you are about to betray me.’
“Now these blows which she dealt me right and left, while they were ostensibly meant to soothe me, had the effect of maddening me, and, losing all my common sense, the brute got the better of me and I blurted forth:
“‘You have sentiments for him — you have sentiments for me — then what about the other?’
“At first she did not understand. But she must have felt a strange dread, for the face she raised to mine was like that of a drowning person. The poor child was pitiful. Her eyes were filled with tears. But it was too late to save her from the torture that I was inflicting, for my hand was still pointing to the figure of Gabriel, covered with her tears.
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 394