Part 25 (1/2)
”You must not stay here, Isabelle,” said the prince, tenderly; ”such sights are too trying for a young girl like you. Go to your own room now, my dear, and I will let you know the doctor's verdict as soon as he has p.r.o.nounced it.”
Isabelle accordingly withdrew, and was conducted to an apartment that had been made ready for her; the one she had occupied being all in disorder after the terrible scenes that had been enacted there.
The surgeon proceeded with his examination, and when it was finished said to the prince, ”My lord, will you please to order a cot put up in that corner yonder, and have a light supper sent in for my a.s.sistant and myself? We shall remain for the night with the Duke of Vallombreuse, and take turns in watching him. I must be with him constantly, so as to note every symptom; to combat promptly those that are unfavorable, and aid those that are the reverse. Your highness may trust everything to me, and feel a.s.sured that all that human skill and science can do towards saving your son's life shall be faithfully done. Let me advise you to go to your own room now and try to get some rest; I think I may safely answer for my patient's life until the morning.”
A little calmed and much encouraged by this a.s.surance, the prince retired to his own apartment, where every hour a servant brought him a bulletin from the sick-room.
As to Isabelle, lying in her luxurious bed and vainly trying to sleep, she lived over again in imagination all the wonderful as well as terrible experiences of the last two days, and tried to realize her new position; that she was now the acknowledged daughter of a mighty prince, than whom only royalty was higher; that the dreaded Duke of Vallombreuse, so handsome and winning despite his perversity, was no longer a bold lover to be feared and detested, but a brother, whose pa.s.sion, if he lived, would doubtless be changed into a pure and calm fraternal affection. This chateau, no longer her prison, had become her home, and she was treated by all with the respect and consideration due to the daughter of its master. From what had seemed to be her ruin had arisen her good fortune, and a destiny radiant, unhoped-for, and beyond her wildest flights of fancy. Yet, surrounded as she was by everything to make her happy and content, Isabelle was far from feeling so--she was astonished at herself for being sad and listless, instead of joyous and exultant--but the thought of de Sigognac, so infinitely dear to her, so far more precious than any other earthly blessing, weighed upon her heart, and the separation from him was a sorrow for which nothing could console her. Yet, now that their relative positions were so changed, might not a great happiness be in store for her? Did not this very change bring her nearer in reality to that true, brave, faithful, and devoted lover, though for the moment they were parted? As a poor nameless actress she had refused to accept his offered hand, lest such an alliance should be disadvantageous to him and stand in the way of his advancement, but now--how joyfully would she give herself to him. The daughter of a great and powerful prince would be a fitting wife for the Baron de Sigognac. But if he were the murderer of her father's only son; ah! then indeed they could never join hands over a grave. And even if the young duke should recover, he might cherish a lasting resentment for the man who had not only dared to oppose his wishes and designs, but had also defeated and wounded him. As to the prince, good and generous though he was, still he might not be able to bring himself to look with favour upon the man who had almost deprived him of his son. Then, too, he might desire some other alliance for his new-found daughter--it was not impossible--but in her inmost heart she promised herself to be faithful to her first and only love; to take refuge in a convent rather than accept the hand of any other; even though that other were as handsome as Apollo, and gifted as the prince of a fairy tale. Comforted by this secret vow, by which she dedicated her life and love to de Sigognac, whether their destiny should give them to each other or keep them asunder, Isabelle was just falling into a sweet sleep when a slight sound made her open her eyes, and they fell upon Chiquita, standing at the foot of the bed and gazing at her with a thoughtful, melancholy air.
”What is it, my dear child?” said Isabelle, in her sweetest tones. ”You did not go away with the others, then? I am glad; and if you would like to stay here with me, Chiquita, I will keep you and care for you tenderly; as is justly due to you, my dear, for you have done a great deal for me.”
”I love you dearly,” answered Chiquita, ”but I cannot stay with you while Agostino lives; he is my master, I must follow him. But I have one favour to beg before I leave you; if you think that I have earned the pearl necklace now, will you kiss me? No one ever did but you, and it was so sweet.”
”Indeed I will, and with all my heart,” said Isabelle, taking the child's thin face between her hands and kissing her warmly on her brown cheeks, which flushed crimson under the soft caress.
”And now, good-bye!” said Chiquita, when after a few moments of silence she had resumed her usual sang-froid. She turned quickly away, but, catching sight of the knife she had given Isabelle, which lay upon the dressing-table, she seized it eagerly, saying, ”Give me back my knife now; you will not need it any more,” and vanished.
CHAPTER XVIII. A FAMILY PARTY
The next morning found the young Duke of Vallombreuse still living, though his life hung by so slender a thread, that the surgeon, who anxiously watched his every breath, feared from moment to moment that it might break. He was a learned and skilful man, this same Maitre Laurent, who only needed some favourable opportunity to bring him into notice and make him as celebrated as he deserved to be. His remarkable talents and skill had only been exercised thus far ”in anima vili,” among the lower orders of society--whose living or dying was a matter of no moment whatever. But now had come at last the chance so long sighed for in secret, and he felt that the recovery of his ill.u.s.trious patient was of paramount importance to himself. The worthy doctor's amour propre and ambition were both actively engaged in this desperate duel he was fighting with Death, and he set his teeth and determined that the victory must rest with him. In order to keep the whole glory of the triumph for himself, he had persuaded the prince--not without difficulty--to renounce his intention of sending for the most celebrated surgeons in Paris, a.s.suring him that he himself was perfectly capable to do all that could be done, and pleading that nothing was more dangerous than a change of treatment in such a case as this. Maitre Laurent conquered, and feeling that there was now no danger of his being pushed into the background, threw his whole heart and strength into the struggle; yet many times during that anxious night he feared that his patient's life was slipping away from his detaining grasp, and almost repented him of having a.s.sumed the entire responsibility. But with the morning came encouragement, and as the watchful surgeon stood at the bedside, intently gazing upon the ghastly face on the pillow, he murmured to himself:
”No, he will not die--his countenance has lost that terrible, hippocratic look that had settled upon it last evening when I first saw him--his pulse is stronger, his breathing free and natural. Besides, he MUST live--his recovery will make my fortune. I must and will tear him out of the grim clutches of Death--fine, handsome, young fellow that he is, and the heir and hope of his n.o.ble family--it will be long ere his tomb need be made ready to receive him. He will help me to get away from this wretched little village, where I vegetate ign.o.bly, and eat my heart out day by day. Now for a bold stroke!--at the risk of producing fever--at all risks--I shall venture to give him a dose of that wonder-working potion of mine.” Opening his case of medicines, he took out several small vials, containing different preparations--some red as a ruby, others green as an emerald--this one yellow as virgin gold, that bright and colourless as a diamond--and on each one a small label bearing a Latin inscription. Maitre Laurent, though he was perfectly sure of himself, carefully read the inscriptions upon those he had selected several times over, held up the tiny vials one after another, where a ray of suns.h.i.+ne struck upon them, and looked admiringly through the bright transparent liquids they contained--then, measuring with the utmost care a few drops from each, compounded a potion after a secret recipe of his own; which he made a mystery of, and refused to impart to his fellow pract.i.tioners. Rousing his sleeping a.s.sistant, he ordered him to raise the patient's head a little, while, with a small spatula, he pried the firmly set teeth apart sufficiently to allow the liquid he had prepared to trickle slowly into the mouth. As it reached the throat there was a spasmodic contraction that gave Maitre Laurent an instant of intense anxiety--but it was only momentary, and the remainder of the dose was swallowed easily and with almost instantaneous effect. A slight tinge of colour showed itself in the pallid cheeks, the eyelids trembled and half unclosed, and the hand that had lain inert and motionless upon the counterpane stirred a little. Then the young duke heaved a deep sigh, and opening his eyes looked vacantly in about him, like one awakening from a dream, or returning from those mysterious regions whither the soul takes flight when unconsciousness holds this mortal frame enthralled. Only a glance, and the long eyelashes fell again upon the pale cheeks--but a wonderful change had pa.s.sed over the countenance.
”I staked everything on that move,” said Maitre Laurent to himself, with a long breath of relief, ”and I have won. It was either kill or cure--and it has not killed him. All glory be to Aesculapius, Hygeia, and Hippocrates!”
At this moment a hand noiselessly put aside the hangings over the door, and the venerable head of the prince appeared--looking ten years older for the agony and dread of the terrible night just pa.s.sed.
”How is he, Maitre Laurent?” he breathed, in broken, scarcely audible tones.
The surgeon put his finger to his lips, and with the other hand pointed to the young duke's face-still raised a little on the pillows, and no longer wearing its death-like look; then, with the light step habitual with those who are much about the sick, he went over to the prince, still standing on the threshold, and drawing him gently outside and away from the door, said in a low voice, ”Your highness can see that the patient's condition, so far from growing worse, has decidedly improved.
Certainly he is not out of danger yet--his state is very critical--but unless some new and totally unforeseen complication should arise, which I shall use every effort to prevent, I think that we can pull him through, and that he will be able to enjoy life again as if he had never been hurt.”
The prince's care-worn face brightened and his fine eyes flashed at these hopeful words; he stepped forward to enter the sick-room, but Maitre Laurent respectfully opposed his doing so.
”Permit me, my lord, to prevent your approaching your son's bedside just now--doctors are often very disagreeable, you know, and have to impose trying conditions upon those to whom their patients are dear. I beseech you not to go near the Duke of Vallombreuse at present. Your beloved presence might, in the excessively weak and exhausted condition of my patient, cause dangerous agitation. Any strong emotion would be instantly fatal to him, his hold upon life is still so slight. Perfect tranquility is his only safety. If all goes well--as I trust and believe that it will--in a few days he will have regained his strength in a measure, his wound will be healing, and you can probably be with him as much as you like, without any fear of doing him harm. I know that this is very trying to your highness, but, believe me, it is necessary to your son's well-being.”
The prince, very much relieved, and yielding readily to the doctor's wishes, returned to his own apartment; where he occupied himself with some religious reading until noon, when the major-domo came to announce that dinner was on the table.
”Go and tell my daughter, the Comtesse Isabelle de Lineuil--such is the t.i.tle by which she is to be addressed henceforth--that I request her to join me at dinner,” said the prince to the major-domo, who hastened off to obey this order.
Isabelle went quickly down the grand staircase with a light step, and smiled to herself as she pa.s.sed through the n.o.ble hall where she had been so frightened by the two figures in armour, on the occasion of her bold exploring expedition the first night after her arrival at the chateau. Everything looked very different now--the bright suns.h.i.+ne was pouring in at the windows, and large fires of juniper, and other sweet-smelling woods, had completely done away with the damp, chilly, heavy atmosphere that pervaded the long disused rooms when she was in them before.
In the splendid dining-room she found a table sumptuously spread, and her father already seated at it, in his large, high-backed, richly carved chair, behind which stood two lackeys, in superb liveries. As she approached him she made a most graceful curtsey, which had nothing in the least theatrical about it, and would have met with approbation even in courtly circles. A servant was holding the chair destined for her, and with some timidity, but no apparent embarra.s.sment, she took her seat opposite to the prince. She was served with soup and wine, and then with course after course of delicate, tempting viands; but she could not eat her heart was too full--her nerves were still quivering, from the terror and excitement of the preceding day and night.
She was dazzled and agitated by this sudden change of fortune, anxious about her brother, now lying at the point of death, and, above all, troubled and grieved at her separation from her lover--so she could only make a pretence of dining, and played languidly with the food on her plate.
”You are eating nothing, my dear comtesse,” said the prince, who had been furtively watching her; ”I pray you try to do better with this bit of partridge I am sending you.”
At this t.i.tle of comtesse, spoken as a matter of course, and in such a kind, tender tone, Isabelle looked up at the prince with astonishment written in her beautiful, deep blue eyes, which seemed to plead timidly for an explanation.
”Yes, Comtesse de Lineuil; it is the t.i.tle which goes with an estate I have settled on you, my dear child, and which has long been destined for you. The name of Isabelle alone, charming though it be, is not suitable for my daughter.”
Isabelle, yielding to the impulse of the moment--as the servants had retired and she was alone with her father--rose, and going to his side, knelt down and kissed his hand, in token of grat.i.tude for his delicacy and generosity.