Part 26 (1/2)
”It is never too late to repair an evil, or an error.”
”Unless the repairing of it involved a worse evil, or a more fatal error! No--I must not dream now of turning aside from the path that has been chosen for me. Too much time and too much money have been given to the thing for that;--I must let it take its course. There's no help for it!”
”But, confound it, lad! you'd better follow the fife and drum, or go before the mast, than give up your life to a profession you hate!”
”Hate is a strong word,” I replied. ”I do not actually hate it--at all events I must try to make the best of it, if only for my father's sake.
His heart is set on making a physician of me, and I dare not disappoint him.”
Dalrymple looked at me fixedly, and then fell back into his old position.
”Heigho!” he said, pulling his hat once more over his eyes, ”I was a disobedient son. My father intended me for the Church; I was expelled from College for fighting a duel before I was twenty, and then, sooner than go home disgraced, enlisted as a private soldier in a cavalry corps bound for foreign service. Luckily, they found me out before the s.h.i.+p sailed, and made the best of a bad bargain by purchasing me a cornetcy in a dragoon regiment. I would not advise you to be disobedient, Damon.
My experience in that line has been bitter enough,”
”How so? You escaped a profession for which you were disinclined, and entered one for which you had every qualification.”
”Ay; but think of the cursed _esclandre_--first the duel, then the expulsion, then my disappearance for two months ... My mother was in bad health at the time, too; and I, her favorite son--I--in short, the anxiety was too much for her. She--she died before I had been six weeks in the regiment. There! we won't talk of it. It's the one subject that ...”
His voice faltered, and he broke off abruptly.
”I wish you were going with me to Berlin,” said he, after a long silence which I had not attempted to interrupt.
”I wish with all my heart that I were!”
”And yet,” he added, ”I am glad on--on her account, that you remain in Paris. You will call upon her sometimes, Arbuthnot?”
”If Madame De Cour.... I mean, if Mrs. Dalrymple will permit me.”
An involuntary smile flitted across his lips--the first I had seen there all the day.
”She will be glad--grateful. She knows that I value you, and she has proof that I trust you. You are the only possessor of our secret.”
”It is as safe with me,” I said, ”as if I were dead, and in my grave.”
”I know it, old fellow. Well--you will see her sometimes. You will write to me, and tell me how she is looking. If--if she were to fall ill, you would not conceal it from me? and in case of any emergency--any annoyance arising from De Caylus ...”
”Were she my own sister,” I said, earnestly, ”she would not find me readier to a.s.sist or defend her. Of this, Dalrymple, be a.s.sured.”
”Thank you,” he said, and stretched up his hand to me. ”I do believe you are true--though there are few men, and still fewer women, of whom I should like to say as much. By the way, Arbuthnot, beware of that little flirt, Madame de Marignan. She has charming eyes, but no more heart than a vampire. Besides, an entanglement with a married woman!... _cela ne se peut pas, mon cher_. You are too young to venture on such dangerous ground, and too inexperienced.”
I smiled--perhaps somewhat bitterly--for the wound was still fresh, and I could not help wincing when any hand came near it.
”You are right,” I replied. ”Madame de Marignan is a dangerous woman; but dangerous for me no longer. However, I have paid rather dearly for my safety.”
And with this, I told him the whole story from beginning to end, confessing all my follies without reservation. Surprised, amused, sometimes unable to repress a smile, sometimes genuinely compa.s.sionate, he heard my narrative through, accompanying it from time to time with muttered comments and e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns, none of which were very flattering to Madame de Marignan. When I had done, he sprang to his feet, laid his hand heavily upon my shoulder, and said:--
”Damon, there are a great many disagreeable things in life which wise people say are good for us, and for which they tell us we ought to be grateful in proportion to our discomfort. For my own part, however, I am no optimist. I am not fond of mortifying the flesh, and the eloquence of Socrates would fail to persuade me that a carbuncle was a cheerful companion, or the gout an ailment to be ardently desired. Yet, for all this, I cannot say that I look upon your adventure in the light of a misfortune. You have lost time, spent money, and endured a considerable amount of aggravation; but you have, on the other hand, acquired ease of manner, facility of conversation, and just that necessary polish which fits a man for society. Come! you have received a valuable lesson both in morals and manners; so farewell to Madame de Marignan, and let us write _Pour acquit_ against the score!”
Willing enough to accept this cheerful view, I flourished an imaginary autograph upon the air with the end of my cane, and laughingly dismissed the subject.
We then strolled back through the wood, treading the soft moss under our feet, startling the brown lizards from our path and the squirrels from the lower branches of the great trees, and, now and then, surprising a plump little green frog, which went skipping away into the long gra.s.s, like an animated emerald. Coming back to the gardens, we next lingered for some time upon the terrace, admiring the superb panorama of undulating woodland and cultivated champaign, which, seen through the golden haze of afternoon, stretched out in glory to the remotest horizon. To our right stood the prison-like chateau, flinging back the sunset from its innumerable cas.e.m.e.nts, and seeming to drink in the warm glow at every pore of its old, red bricks. To our left, all lighted up against the sky, rose the lofty tree-tops of the forest which we had just quitted. Our shadows stretched behind us across the level terrace, like the shadows of giants. Involuntarily, we dropped our voices. It would have seemed almost like profanity to speak aloud while the first influence of that scene was upon us.