Volume I Part 11 (2/2)
”Let me see,” he said. ”How long have we dwelt here a model family? A year and a half--rather more than a year and a half.”
”Only that?” sighed Gabrielle. ”It seems a lifetime.”
”You are discontented? Yearn for the frippery of court life? I am not surprised. It is horribly selfish of us all to lock up such peerless beauty as yours to gloat over among ourselves.”
”A worse than useless gift,” remarked Gabrielle, with conviction, ”bestowed on us by nature in her most malicious mood. Happiness is given to the ugly ones.”
”At least they are saved the pang that accompanies the first wrinkle,”
a.s.serted Pharamond. ”You refer to Mademoiselle Brunelle, I suppose; our charming Aglae. She appears to be happy enough indeed. Those large women of stoutish build possess a power of a.s.similation--of selecting what is best, and chewing the cud of its enjoyment. Ages ago, before I appeared on the scene, you were discontented. Yes, you were, dear Gabrielle. It was my privilege then to bring back suns.h.i.+ne to this gloomy spot. You might have rewarded me but you were unkind. I did not complain, but endured your cruelty without a murmur. It was my solicitude that unwrinkled your rose-leaves. You might have rewarded me, I say, and you would not, and yet I bore no malice.”
A foreboding of new evil darkened around Gabrielle's heart. ”Why refer to that episode that was condoned, and dead, and buried?”
Without changing his att.i.tude, the abbe pursued purringly--
”For those halcyon days you had me to thank--me only, remember that, and you could not be grateful. Ingrat.i.tude must be gently chidden, for it goes ill with beauty--as a mother gently chides a well-beloved one.
I crumpled the leaves again, deliberately squeezed them into tiny roughnesses, that you might learn how much you owed me. I confess it was my doing. It was for your own good I did it.”
The marquise sat like stone. What was this new gulf slowly yawning--and she who looked to him for help!
”Did you never guess that it was I? No? How singular. Your intellect works slowly. I never say what I don't mean, and I warned you, unless I mistake sadly, that it depended on yourself whether I was to be friend or foe. Does you memory serve you? Yes? So glad.”
”I had learned to trust you as a friend,” murmured Gabrielle, huskily.
”A dear friend on whom to lean in trouble. Alas--alas! my only one!”
”Why, alas? You are, excuse me, so very foolish. As our sensible Aglae is so fond of saying, 'We do nothing for nothing in this world.' To sit at these dainty feet is in itself a privilege, but ardent men, made of hot flesh and blood, crave more. It's human nature to be grasping.”
”If you have mercy, peace!” implored the pale lady in growing terror.
The abbe raised himself on his elbow and surveyed Gabrielle--as lovely as a startled fawn in her distress--with a smile that was quite paternal, and belied the green glitter from beneath the lids. ”What a naughty girl,” he chuckled, ”to tempt a weak mortal with such charms.
I swear to you that with that marble skin, and those widely-opened eyes of violet, like eyes that see a phantom, and ruby lips just slightly parted, and that fluttering heaving bosom, you are ten times more beautiful than I have ever seen you yet! Tut, tut! Calm yourself.
Do not take me for that uncomfortable thing, a basilisk. I am not going to touch you, so don't look horrified. I am going away. That is why I spoke. I wished you to know how matters stand, and to reflect during my absence. It is desirable that you should quite comprehend that for weal or woe your future depends on me.”
”Going away,” echoed Gabrielle, relieved, and yet dismayed.
”It is necessary. Was it not delicately imagined to speak, as I had to speak, just on the eve of departure? Am I not considerate? We have lately had letters of strange purport from Paris. Outrageous rumours are abroad, which, if a whit of them is true, may mean serious peril to our cla.s.s. Over the affair of the Bastile the king was lamentably misguided. He and his ministers know now and bitterly regret their lack of purpose, for the sc.u.m, as was to be expected, has taken heart of grace and waxes impudent with impunity. So I am going to make a little trip to the capital, just to reconnoitre. Do not be alarmed. I think that the agitation is all moons.h.i.+ne. Reflect on what I have said, and remember that there's a limit to man's patience. Your future, whether for comfort or the reverse, depends entirely on me. I repeat it for the sake of emphasis. I gave you peace, then at my whim withdrew it. Have I made it clear that what I have done I can undo?”
”There are limits to a woman's patience as well as a man's,” Gabrielle observed, grimly.
”Quite so,” acquiesced the other. ”Mademoiselle Brunelle has been a thorn in your flesh, which I regret. You have endured its irritation with fort.i.tude, for which you deserve all praise. It depends upon yourself whether or no the thorn be pruned away. For that you need my aid, which shall be freely tendered--on conditions that you wot of.
During my absence I have instructed the chevalier to watch, that you may be s.h.i.+elded from a.s.saults of the enemy. A useful watchdog is the chevalier, faithful and obedient, who will report to me everything that pa.s.ses. It is a sad pity that he takes to drink. I have observed lately that he takes more and more to the bottle. Of that by and by he must be cured. Meanwhile, I would have you consider the case from every point of view, and yourself deliver the verdict.”
The Abbe Pharamond rose to his feet, and kissing his finger tips, departed.
Pressure from all quarters to the same end. You have made your bed--make the best of it; accept the inevitable cheerfully. What the fates decree we fight against in vain. Unfortunate Gabrielle.
Patience? Good heavens--how long-suffering was hers! And what had she gained by it? Rebuff. Persecution. Torture. Out of the labyrinth they had planted about her there were two exits. She might appeal to the marechal for protection, return to the shelter of his roof. But to let him learn that her life was shattered, that the marriage he had himself arranged had turned out so disastrously; it would break the old man's heart.
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