by Mayne Reid
CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
MONSIEUR DOMINIQUE GAYARRE.
I felt a sudden desire, amounting almost to anxiety, to learn who was"Aurore." Why? Was it the singularity and beauty of the name,--fornovel and beautiful it sounded in my Saxon ears? No. Was it the mereeuphony of the word; its mythic associations; its less ideal applicationto the rosy hours of the Orient, or the shining phosphorescence of theNorth? Was it any of these associate thoughts that awoke within me thismysterious interest in the name "Aurore?"
I was not allowed time to reflect, or question Scipio farther. At thatmoment the door was darkened by the entrance of two men; who, withoutsaying a word, stepped inside the apartment.
"Da doctor, mass'r," whispered Scipio, falling back, and permitting thegentlemen to approach.
Of the two it was not difficult to tell which was the "doctor." Theprofessional face was unmistakeable: and I knew that the tall pale man,who regarded me with interrogative glance, was a disciple of Esculapius,as certainly as if he had carried his diploma in one hand and hisdoor-plate in the other.
He was a man of forty, not ill-featured, though the face was not onethat would be termed handsome. It was, however, interesting, from aquiet intellectuality that characterised it, as well as an habitualexpression of kind feeling. It had been a German face some two or threegenerations before, but an American climate,--political, I mean,--hadtamed down the rude lines produced by ages of European despotism, andhad almost restored it to its primitive nobility of feature.Afterwards, when better acquainted with American types, I should haveknown it as a Pennsylvanian face, and such in reality it was. I sawbefore me a graduate of one of the great medical schools ofPhiladelphia, Dr Edward Reigart. The name confirmed my suspicion ofGerman origin.
Altogether my medical attendant made a pleasing impression upon me atfirst sight.
How different was that I received on glancing toward his companion--antagonism, hatred, contempt, disgust! A face purely French;--not thatnoble French face we see in the Duguesclins, the Jean Barts, and amongmany of the old Huguenot heroes; and in modern days in a Rollin, a Hugo,an Arago, or a Pyat;--but such an one as you may see any day by hundredssneaking around the Bourse or the _coulisses_ of the Opera, or inthousands scowling from under a shako in the ranks of a ruffiansoldiery. A countenance that I cannot describe better than by sayingthat its features forcibly reminded me of those of a fox. I am not injest. I observed this resemblance plainly. I observed the sameobliquity of eyes, the same sharp quick glance that betokened thepresence of deep dissimulation, of utter selfishness, of cruelinhumanity.
In the Doctor's companion I beheld a type of this face,--the fox inhuman form, and with all the attributes of this animal highly developed.
My instincts chimed with Scipio's, for I had not the slightest doubtthat before me stood Monsieur Dominique Gayarre. It was he.
A man of small stature he was, and thinly built, but evidently one whocould endure a great deal before parting with life. He had all thesubtle wiry look of the _carnivora_, as well as their disposition. Theeyes, as already observed, obliqued strongly downwards. The balls werenot globe-shaped, but rather obtuse cones, of which the pupil was theapex. Both pupils and irides were black, and glistened like the eyes ofa weasel. They seemed to sparkle in a sort of habitual smile; but thissmile was purely cynical and deceptive. If any one knew themselvesguilty of a weakness or a crime they felt certain that Dominique Gayarreknew it, and it was at this he was laughing. When a case of misfortunedid really present itself to his knowledge, his smile became moreintensely satirical, and his small prominent eyes sparkled with evidentdelight. He was a lover of himself and a hater of his kind.
For the rest, he had black hair, thin and limp--shaggy dark brows, setobliquely--face without beard, of pale cadaverous hue, and surmounted bya parrot-beak nose of large dimensions. His dress had somewhat of aprofessional cut, and consisted of dark broadcloth, with vest of blacksatin; and around his neck, instead of cravat, he wore a broad blackribbon. In age he looked fifty.
The doctor felt my pulse, asked me how I had slept, looked at my tongue,felt my pulse a second time, and then in a kindly way desired me to keepmyself "as quiet as possible." As an inducement to do so he told me Iwas still very weak, that I had lost a good deal of blood, but hopedthat a few days would restore me to my strength. Scipio was chargedwith my diet, and was ordered to prepare tea, toast, and broiledchicken, for my breakfast.
The doctor did not inquire how I came by my wound. This I thoughtsomewhat strange, but ascribed it to his desire that I should remainquiet. He fancied, no doubt, that any allusion to the circumstances ofthe preceding night might cause me unnecessary excitement. I was tooanxious about Antoine to remain silent, and inquired the news. Nothingmore had been heard of him. He was certainly lost.
I recounted the circumstances under which I had parted with him, and ofcourse described my encounter with the bully, and how I had received thewound. I could not help remarking a strange expression that marked thefeatures of Gayarre as I spoke. He was all attention, and when I toldof the raft of chairs, and expressed my conviction that they would notsupport the steward a single moment, I fancied I saw the dark eyes ofthe _avocat_ flashing with delight! There certainly was an expressionin them of ill-concealed satisfaction that was hideous to behold. Imight not have noticed this, or at all events not have understood it,but for what Scipio had already told me. Now its meaning wasunmistakeable, and notwithstanding the "poor Monsieur Antoine!" to whichthe hypocrite repeatedly gave utterance, I saw plainly that he wassecretly delighted at the idea of the old steward's having gone to thebottom!
When I had finished my narrative, Gayarre drew the doctor aside; and thetwo conversed for some moments in a low tone. I could hear part of whatpassed between them. The doctor seemed not to care whether I overheardhim, while the other appeared equally anxious that their conversationshould not reach me. From the replies of the doctor I could make outthat the wily lawyer wished to have me removed from my present quarters,and taken to an hotel in the village. He urged the peculiar position inwhich the young lady (Mademoiselle Besancon) would be placed--alone inher house with a stranger--a young man, etcetera, etcetera.
The doctor did not see the necessity of my removal on such grounds. Thelady herself did not wish it--in fact, would not hear of it; hepooh-poohed the "peculiarity" of the "situation," good Doctor Reigart!--the accommodation of the hotel was none of the best; besides, it wasalready crowded with other sufferers; and here the speaker's voice sankso low I could only catch odd phrases, as "stranger,", "not anAmerican", "lost everything", "friends far away", "the hotel no placefor a man without money." Gayarre's reply to this last objection wasthat _he_ would be responsible for my hotel bill.
This was intentionally spoken loud enough for me to hear it; and Ishould have felt grateful for such an offer, had I not suspected somesinister motive for the lawyer's generosity. The doctor met theproposal with still further objections.
"Impossible," said he; "bring on fever", "great risk", "would not takethe responsibility", "bad wound", "much loss of blood", "must remainwhere he is for the present at least", "might be taken to the hotel in aday or two when stronger."
The promise of my removal in a day or two appeared to satisfy the weaselGayarre, or rather he became satisfied that such was the only coursethat could be taken with me, and the consultation ended.
Gayarre now approached the bed to take leave, and I could trace thatironical expression playing in the pupils of his little eyes as hepronounced some pretended phrases of consolation. He little knew towhom he was speaking. Had I uttered my name it would perhaps havebrought the colour to his pale cheek, and caused him to make an abruptexit. Prudence prevented me from declaring it; and when the doctorrequested to know upon whom he had the honour of attending, I adoptedthe pardonable strategy, in use among distinguished travellers, ofgiving a _nom du voyage_. I assumed my maternal patronymic ofRutherford,--Edward Rutherford.
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nbsp; Recommending me to keep myself quiet, not to attempt leaving my bed, totake certain prescriptions at certain hours, etcetera, etcetera, thedoctor took his leave; Gayarre having already gone out before him.