CHAPTER XXXIX.
GILBERT'S PROJECT.
For a week that Gilbert had been in flight from Trianon, he lived in thewoods with no other food than the wild roots, plants and fruit. At thelast gasp, he went into town to Rousseau's house, formerly a sure haven,not to foist himself on his hospitality, but to have temporary rest andnourishment.
It was there that he obtained the address of Baron Balsamo, or ratherCount Fenix, and to his mansion he repaired.
As he entered, the proprietor was showing out the Prince of Rohan whom aduty of politeness brought to the generous alchemist. The poor, tatteredboy dared not look up for fear of being dazzled.
Balsamo watched the cardinal go off in his carriage, with a melancholyeye and turned back on the porch, when this little beggar supplicatedhim.
"A brief hearing, my lord," he said. "Do you not recall me?"
"No; but no matter, come in," said the conspirator whose plots made himacquainted with stranger figures still: and he led him into the firstroom where he said, without altering his dull tone but gentle manner:
"You asked if I recalled you? well, I seem to have seen you before."
"At Taverney, when the Archduchess came through. I was a dependent onthe family. I have been away three years."
"Coming to---- "
"To Paris, where I have studied under M. Rousseau and, later, a gardenerat Trianon by the favor of Dr. Jussieu."
"You are citing high and mighty names: What do you want of me?"
Gilbert fixed a glance on Balsamo not deficient in firmness.
"Do you remember coming to Trianon on the night of the great storm,Friday, six weeks ago? I saw you there."
"Oho!" said the other. "Have you come to bargain for silence?"
"No, my lord, for I am more interested in keeping the secret than you."
"Then you are Gilbert!"
With his deep and devouring glance the magnetiser enveloped the youngman whose name comprised such a dreadful accusation. Gilbert stoodbefore the table without leaning on it: one of his hands fell gracefullyby his side, the other showed its long thin fingers and whiteness spiteof the rustic labor.
"I see by your countenance what you come for. You know that a dreadfuldenunciation is hanging over you from Mdlle. de Taverney, that herbrother seeks your life, and you think I will help you to elude theoutcome of a cowardly act. You ought not to have the imprudence to walkabout in Paris."
"This little matters. Yes," said the young man, "I love Mdlle. deTaverney as none other will love her: but she scorned me who was sorespectful to her that, twice having her in my arms, I hardly kissed thehem of her dress."
"You made up for this respect and revenged yourself for the scorn bywronging her, in a trap."
"I did not set the trap: the occasion to commit the crime was affordedby you."
The count started as though a snake had stung him.
"You sent Mdlle. Andrea to sleep, my lord," pursued Gilbert. "When Icarried her into her room, I thought that such love as mine must givelife to the statue--I loved her and I yielded to my love. Am I as guiltyas they say? tell me, you who are the cause of my misery."
Balsamo gave him a look of sadness and pity.
"You are right, boy: I am the cause of your crime and the girl'smisfortune. I should repair my omission. Do you love her?"
"Before possessing her, I loved with madness: now with fury. I shoulddie with grief if she repulsed me; with joy if she forgave me."
"She is nobly born but poor," mused the count: "her brother has a heartand is not vain about his rank. What would happen if you asked thebrother for the sister's hand?"
"He would kill me. But as I wish death more than I fear it, I will makethe demand if you advise it."
"You have brains and heart though your deed was guilt, my complicityapart. There is a Taverney the father. Tell him that you bring a fortuneto his daughter the day when she marries you and he may assent. But hewould not believe you. Here is the solid inducement."
He opened a table drawer and counted out thirty Treasury notes for tenthousand livres each.
"Is this possible?" cried Gilbert, brightening: "such generosity is toosublime."
"You are distrustful. Right; and but discriminate in distrust."
He took a pen and wrote:
"I give this marriage portion of a hundred thousand livres in advance to Gilbert for the day when he signs the marriage contract with Mdlle. Andrea de Taverney, in the trust the happy match will be made.
JOSEPH BALSAMO."
"If I have to thank you for such a boon, I will worship you like a god,"said the young man, trembling.
"There is but one God and He reigns above," said the mesmerist.
"A last favor; give me fifty livres to get a suit fit for me to presentmyself to the baron."
Supplying him with this little sum, Balsamo nodded for him to go, andwith his slow, sad step, went into the house.
The young man walked to Versailles, for he wanted to build his plans onthe road where he was much annoyed by the hack-drivers who could notunderstand why such a dandy as he had turned himself out by the outlayof the fifty livres, could think of walking.
All his batteries were prepared when he reached the Trianon but theywere useless. As we know, the Taverneys had departed. All the janitor ofthe place knew was that the doctor had ordered the young lady home fornative air.
Disappointed, he walked back to Paris where he knocked at the door ofthe house in Coq-Heron Street, but here again was a blank. No one cameto the door.
Mad with rage, gnawing his nails to punish the body, he turned thecorner and entered Rousseau's house where he went up to his familiargarret. He locked the door and hung the handkerchief containing thebanknotes to the key.
It was a fine evening and as he had often done before, he went andleaned out of the window. He looked again at the garden house where hehad spied Andrea's movements, and the desire seized him to wander forthe last time in the grounds once hallowed by her presence.
As he recovered from the smart of the failure to his expectation, hisideas became sharper and more precise.
In other times when he had climbed down into the young lady's garden bya rope, there was danger because the baron lived there and Nicole wasout and about, if only for the meetings with her soldier lover.
"Let me for the last time trace her footsteps in the sandroof, thepaths," he said: "The adored steps of my bride."
He spoke the word half aloud, with a strange pleasure.
He had one merit, he was quick to execute a plan once formed.
He went down stairs on tiptoe and swung himself out of the back windowwhence he could slide down by the espalier into the rear garden. He wentup to the door to listen, when he heard a faint sound which made himrecoil. He believed that he had called up another soul, and he fell onhis knees as the door opened and disclosed Andrea.
She uttered a cry as he had done, but as she no doubt expected someoneshe was not afraid.
"Who is there?" she called out.
"Forgive me," said Gilbert, with his face turned to the ground.
"Gilbert, here?" she said with anger and fear; "in our garden? What haveyou come here for?"
She looked at him with surprise understanding nothing of his grovelingat her feet.
"Rise and explain how you come here."
"I will never rise till you forgive me," he said.
"What have you done to me that I should forgive you? pray, explain. Asthe offense cannot be great," she went on with a melancholy smile, "thepardon will be easy. Did Philip give you the key?"
"The key?"
"Of course, for it was agreed that I should admit nobody in his absenceand he must have helped you in, unless you scaled the wall."
"O, happiness unhoped for, that you should not have left the land! Ithought to find the place deserted and only your memory remaining.Chance only--but I hardly know what I am saying. It was your father thatI wanted to see---- "
"Why my
father?"
Gilbert mistook the nature of the question.
"Because I was too frightened of you to--and yet, I do not know but thatit would be better for us to keep it to ourselves. It is the surest wayto repair my boldness in lifting my eyes to you. But the misfortune isaccomplished--the crime, if you will, for really it was a great crime.Accuse fate, but not my heart---- "
"You are mad, and you alarm me."
"Oh, if you will consent to marriage to sanctify this guilty union."
"Marriage," said Andrea, receding.
"For pity, consent to be my wife!"
"Your wife?"
"Oh," sobbed Gilbert, "say that you forgive me for that dreadful night,that my outrage horrifies, but you forgive me for my repentance; saythat my long restrained love justifies my action."
"Oh, it was you?" shrieked Andrea with savage fury. "Oh, heavens!"
Gilbert recoiled before this lovely Medusa's head expressingastonishment and fright.
"Was this misery reserved for me, oh, God?" said the noble girl, "tosee my name doubly disgraced--by the crime and by the criminal? Answerme, coward, wretch, was it you?"
"She was ignorant," faltered Gilbert, astounded.
"Help, help," screamed Andrea, rushing into the house; "here he is,Philip!"
He followed her close.
"Would you murder me," she hissed, brought to bay.
"No; it is to do good, not harm that this time I have come. If Iproposed marriage it was to act my part fitly; and I did not even expectyou to bear my name. But there is another for whom see these one hundredthousand livres which a generous patron gives me for marriage portion."
He placed the banknotes on the table which served as barrier betweenthem. "I want nothing but the little air I breathe and the little pit,my grave, while the child, my child, our child has the money!"
"Man, you make a grave error," said she, "you have no child. It has butone parent, the mother--you are not the father of my infant."
Taking up the notes, she flung them in his face as he retreated. He wasmade so furious that Andrea's good angel might tremble for her. But atthe same moment the door was slammed in his flaming face as if by thatviolent act she divided the past forever from the present.
The Mesmerist's Victim Page 39