CHAPTER VI.
TEMPTATION.
The eccentric schemer was true to his word, as grateful Phebusacknowledged with eyes more watery than usual. What a blessed thing itwas to have so accommodating a brother as Pharamond! The chevaliergrew hot and cold as he considered the chance that was about to bethrown in his way, a golden chance--and between whimsical littleprayers for success, he gazed furtively now and then at the otherbrother, whose honour he was so ready to smirch.
The prodigies having been sent to bed, and the evening meal beingleisurely discussed, the abbe became inquisitive anent the latestintelligence from Spa. Was it true that the genius of the prophet hadachieved yet greater marvels? What were these rumours as to a furthermagnetic development, accompanied by fresh triumphs? Clovis snappedeagerly at the bait, and proceeded to explain that something amazinghad indeed been discovered such as should transform the world ofscience. Persons afflicted with ailments were in future to be rangedaround a series of large buckets or tubs containing a mixture ofbroken glass, iron shavings, and cold water. How simple a treatment,and yet how efficacious! Talk of ancient miracles! No wonder that allthe doctors were mad with spite, as well as all the apothecaries, andthat they should thirst for the blood of him who had exposed theirdisgraceful cheating!
"Most amazing! Most wonderful!" echoed the abbe, leaning back in hischair. "The wicked spirits conquered, and those who were afflictedthrough their malice being cured by means of the tub, what was thereleft of the curse bequeathed by Adam? If somebody would only go a stepor two further and discover the elixir of life, and a method of makinggold, the world would be quite a pleasant place to live in, and he forone would positively decline to leave it."
Gabrielle listened, mystified, glancing from one to another of thetrio. Clovis was quite animated. His eyes sparkled, his cheeks wereflushed, and his tongue loosened. What power was this of the abbe's,which could melt an icicle, bring a corpse to life? She was awed anduneasy.
Was Pharamond making fun of Clovis--fooling him to the top of hisbent--in mischief? Surely not, for did he not owe to his brother'skindness a secure asylum, a refuge in an awkward strait, and pocketmoney also? For Gabrielle, in her kindness of heart, had guessed thatthe fugitives were out at elbows, and had quietly handed two neatlyenveloped packets to her husband, with a request that he would passthem on. Clovis took the packets without surprise or even thanks, andhis wife smiled to herself at his carelessness in money matters. Sincehis marriage he had always been well provided without the asking, andhad come--how like a dreamer--to look on coin as convenient manna,which somehow dropped from heaven just at the auspicious moment.
What could so sensible a man as the abbe mean by encouraging him inhis nonsense? He was sitting there now with head thrown back, and theplacid air of one who knows how to enjoy digestion, rapping out nowand then a leading question, such as would put Clovis on his mettle.Was she, Gabrielle, in the wrong to despise these things? It seemedso. Her husband dabbled in philanthropy; the abbe was an excellentman, bent on doing good to his fellows; and this was the reason forthe interest of both in Mesmer.
"Just think!" the marquis was observing with regret, "what good workmight be done in the district if we could inaugurate a magic tub! Themists rising from the Loire generate rheumatism and paralysis, to saynothing of fevers, all of which, by means of a blessed bucket, mightcease to exist except in fable. Why! this gloomy old prison-housemight become a central office from which benefits would be scatteredbroadcast; its primaeval bloodstains might come in time to be washedaway with Mesmer's tincture of iron!"
"Why not?" murmured the abbe, with increasing interest.
"Alas!" sighed Clovis. "The arrangement of the tub, it seems, is amatter of the most delicate nicety, which cannot be described byletter. If Mesmer would only visit us? But he is afraid now, he says,to venture into France."
"Why not go to him--Mahomet and the mountain, you know," suggestedPharamond. "Or get him to lend you for a time one of his culturedadepts."
"Ah! if he would do that!" echoed Clovis, eagerly. "If he would lendme somebody who knows."
"Our dear Gabrielle would not stand an adept!" cried the abbe, withlaughter. "See how distressed she looks at my poor suggestion! Nay,sweet sister; I was only jesting. In sooth, this new-fangled bucket istoo large a bolus to swallow. The idea of sensible people squattinground a tub with glass wands pressed against their temples!"
Pharamond's access of facetiousness nettled the marquis, who remarkedpeevishly, "What a puzzle you are! Too gifted and too learned, Ishould have thought, to mock as the ignorant do at all that theycannot fathom."
"Nay! I did not mean to anger you!" cried Pharamond, still laughing."But I was bound to reassure our hostess as to an irruption of adepts.Come, come. Let her enjoy the evening air. Show me the plans andinstructions, and while I endeavour to decipher them, play me a tuneon the 'cello."
Oh! clever abbe, who knew so well how to twitch his puppet-strings! Itcertainly was a delightful evening, and Gabrielle, with the pursychevalier trotting by her side, flung open a casement and steppedforth upon a balcony. As she gazed across the shadowy river, she wastoo absorbed with the consideration of a riddle to remark thecondition of her companion, who panted nervously. Was Clovismad--victim of a monomania--or did she wrong him? Why should he lie toher, and to Pharamond? He had declared, and the abbe accepted thestatement without cavil, that the magic tub had already producedmiraculous cures. No doubt it is both ignorant and stupid to contemnwhat you cannot understand. Clovis was always saying so, and he wasright. If the discovery was genuine, then, as he had said, howwonderful a boon wherewith to endow the province! It was quite truethat the peasantry were a prey to rheumatic pains and aches. In herrides she often went among the poor distributing simple remedies, andhad been dubbed by them the "White Chatelaine," in contradistinctionto some of dark and unsavoury memory who had gone before. But then, anirruption of adepts. What sort of a creature was an adept? The ideahad revolted her, she scarce knew why; and yet, was she notunreasonable? If the prophet or a selection from his following were totake up their quarters at Lorge, what then? There was room enough inthe great building, and the abbe would doubtless make himself usefulin seeing that they kept to themselves. Ah! But the cherished hopewhich had been the means of bringing the chatelaine to Lorge; the hopeto which she clung with the tenacity of love. Surrounded by an army ofdreamers more dreamy than himself, the half-recovered Clovis woulddrift away again, be farther than ever from her yearning arms,engrossed in his magical operations. How unsteady a seat is thatbetween the horns of a dilemma. If she refused to countenance the tuband its attendant sprites, she might be withholding from the sick asaving and certain cure. If she encouraged the new theory and itssatellites, instinct told her that she would be raising a wall betweenherself and her husband which she would never be able to scale. Shewas wicked and selfish to hesitate. The marquise felt with humbleconviction the extent of her badness; but human nature at the best isrickety, and she was unlucky enough to adore her husband. At thispoint, as she stood on the balcony reflecting, with the red hotchevalier by her side, she shivered, for plaintive sounds werefloating on the breeze.
"This is intolerable!" she murmured. "If Clovis would only oblige meby sacrificing that dreadful 'cello!"
"It does set one's teeth on edge," agreed the chevalier.
"Because it contains a soul in torment," returned the marquise,pressing her fingers in her ears. "I can manage to endure otherimplements of music, but I cannot bear a 'cello."
"We have a remedy at hand," wheezed the amorous chevalier. "It is asbalmy as a summer's night, and winter will soon be upon us. Put on ahood and scarf, and let me row you for an hour on the river."
The Maid of Honour: A Tale of the Dark Days of France. Vol. 1 (of 3) Page 6