CHAPTER IV.
AN AERIAL JOURNEY.
More fortunate than Andrea, Gilbert had in lieu of an ordinarypractitioner, a light of medical science to attend to his ails. Theeminent Dr Jussieu, a friend of Rousseau's, though allied to the Court,happened to call in the nick to be of service. He promised that theyoung man would be on his legs in a week.
Moreover, being a botanist like Rousseau, he proposed that on the comingSunday they should give the youth a walk with them in the country, outMarly way. Gilbert might rest while they gathered the curious plants.
With this prospect to entice him, the invalid returned rapidly tohealth.
But while Rousseau believed that his ward was well, and his wife Theresetold the gossips that it was due to the skill of the celebrated Dr.Jussieu, Gilbert was running the worst danger ever befalling hisobstinacy and perpetual dreaming.
Gilbert was the son of a farmer on the land of Baron Taverney. Themaster had dissipated his revenue and sold his principal to play therake in Paris. When he returned to bring up his son and daughter inpoverty in the dilapidated manor house, Gilbert was a hanger-on, whofell in love with Nicole as a stepping-stone to becoming infatuated withher mistress. As at the fireworks, the youth never thought of anythingbut this mad love.
From the attic of Rousseau's house he could look down on the gardenwhere the summerhouse stood in which Andrea was also in convalescence.
He did not see her, only Nicole carrying broth as for the invalid. Theback of the little house came to the yard of Rousseau's in anotherstreet.
In this little garden old Taverney trotted about, taking snuff greedilyas if to rouse his wits--that was all Gilbert saw.
But it was enough to judge that a patient was indoors, not a dead woman.
"Behind that screen in the room," he mused, "is the woman whom I love toidolatry. She has but to appear to thrill my every limb for she holds myexistence in her hand and I breathe but for us two."
Merged in his contemplation he did not perceive that in another windowof an adjoining house in his street, Plastriere Street, a young woman inthe widow's weeds, was also watching the dwelling of the Taverneys. Thissecond spy knew Gilbert, too, but she took care not to show herself whenhe leaned out of the casement as to throw himself on the ground. Hewould have recognized her as Chon, the sister of Jeanne, CountessDubarry, the favorite of the King.
"Oh, how happy they are who can walk about in that garden," raved themad lover, with furious envy, "for there they could hear Andrea andperhaps see her in her rooms. At night, one would not be seen whilepeeping."
It is far from desire to execution. But fervid imaginations bringextremes together; they have the means. They find reality amid fancies,they bridge streams and put a ladder up against a mountain.
To go around by the street would be no use, even if Rousseau had notlocked in his pet, for the Taverneys lived in the rear house.
"With these natural tools, hands and feet," reasoned Gilbert, "I canscramble over the shingles and by following the gutter which is rathernarrow, but straight, consequently the shortest path from one point toanother, I will reach the skylight next my own. That lights the stairs,so that I can get out. Should I fall, they will pick me up, smashed ather feet, and they will recognize me, so that my death will be fine,noble, romantic--superb!
"But if I get in on the stairs I can go down to the window over the yardand jump down a dozen feet where the trellis will help me to get intoher garden. But if that worm-eaten wood should break and tumble me onthe ground that would not be poetic, but shameful to think of! The baronwill say I came to steal the fruit and he will have his man Labrie lugme out by the ear.
"No, I will twist these clotheslines into a rope to let me down straightand I will make the attempt to-night."
From his window, at dark, Gilbert was scanning the enemy's grounds, ashe qualified Taverney's house-lot, when he spied a stone coming over thegarden-wall and slapping up against the house-wall. But though he leanedfar out he could not discry the flinger of the pebble.
What he did see was a blind on the ground floor open warily and thewide-awake head of the maid Nicole show itself. After having scrutinizedall the windows round, Nicole came out of doors and ran to the espalieron which some pieces of lace were drying.
The stone had rolled on this place and Gilbert had not lost sight ofit. Nicole kicked it when she came to it and kept on playing footballwith it till she drove it under the trellis where she picked it up undercover of taking off the lace. Gilbert noticed that she shucked the stoneof a piece of paper, and he concluded that the message was ofimportance.
It was a letter, which the sly wench opened, eagerly perused and put inher pocket without paying any more heed to the lace.
Nicole went back into the house, with her hand in her pocket. Shereturned with a key which she slipped under the garden gate, which wouldbe out in the street beside the carriage-doorway.
"Good, I understand," thought the young man: "it is a love letter.Nicole is not losing her time in town--she has a lover."
He frowned with the vexation of a man who supposed that his loss hadleft an irreparable void in the heart of the girl he jilted, anddiscovered that she had filled it up.
"This bids fair to run counter to my plans," thought he, trying to giveanother turn to his ill-humor. "I shall not be sorry to learn what happymortal has succeeded me in the good graces of Nicole Legay."
But Gilbert had a level mind in some things; he saw that the knowledgeof this secret gave him an advantage over the girl, as she could notdeny it, while she scarcely suspected his passion for the baron'sdaughter, and had no clew to give body to her doubts.
The night was dark and sultry, stifling with heat as often in earlyspring. From the clouds it was a black gulf before Gilbert, throughwhich he descended by the rope. He had no fear from his strength ofwill. So he reached the ground without a flutter. He climbed the gardenwall but as he was about to descend, heard a step beneath him.
He clung fast and glanced at the intruder.
It was a man in the uniform of a corporal of the French Guards.
Almost at the same time, he saw Nicole open the house backdoor, springacross the garden, leaving it open, and light and rapid as ashepherdess, dart to the greenhouse, which was also the soldier'sdestination. As neither showed any hesitation about proceeding to thispoint, it was likely that this was not the first appointment the pairhad kept there.
"No, I can continue my road," reasoned Gilbert; "Nicole would not bereceiving her sweetheart unless she were sure of some time before her,and I may rely on finding Mdlle. Andrea alone. Andrea alone!"
No sound in the house was audible and only a faint light was to be seen.
Gilbert skirted the wall and reached the door left open by the maid.Screened by an immense creeper festooning the doorway, he could peerinto an anteroom, with two doors; the open one he believed to beNicole's. He groped his way into it, for it had no light.
At the end of a lobby, a glazed door, with muslin curtains on the otherside, showed a glimmer. On going up this passage, he heard a feeblevoice.
It was Andrea's.
All Gilbert's blood flowed back to the heart.
The Mesmerist's Victim Page 4