Volume Iii Part 9 (1/2)
The abbe and the chevalier entered, the latter unsteady in his gait, and cowed. His dress was dusty and disordered; his hair and linen rumpled. It was evident that he had spent the night in drinking; for his bloated visage was flushed and inflamed with wine, while his mouth was convulsively contracted. His gla.s.sy eyes were red and swollen.
Their whites showed yellow and bloodshot, as he turned them with wistful apprehension on his brother.
Gabrielle saw in the abbe a new and altered man. There was about his aspect a steely look of uncompromising determination--a gleam of triumph, as of one who has toiled long, but sees his goal at last--a curl of cruelty about his thin tight lips, that stirred the hair upon her head. If the devil ever peered out of human windows he was looking down upon her now--so close, so close--looking down on the victim tied and bound, whose sacrifice he was here to consummate.
”Dear Gabrielle!” Pharamond said with a diabolical grin. ”How nice of you to be up and dressed, and so save our precious time. See here what we have brought you.”
The chevalier, who bore in one hand a silver chalice, had drawn his sword and ranged himself beside his brother in sullen silence, while Mademoiselle Brunelle remained by the door and turned the key in the lock.
The abbe flourished a pistol, which he playfully pointed at the trembling figure on the bed.
”Did you ever read English history?” he inquired. ”No! The education of great ladies is sadly neglected. Know that there was once a fair creature as beautiful even as you, whose name was Rosamond, and a queen called Eleanor. The queen visited the fair one in her bower, and said. 'Here is a cup and here is a dagger, choose, for your time is come and you must die.' How sensible and to the purpose. See how generous am I, for I offer you three alternatives instead of two. The pistol, the sword, the poison. Make your selection quickly.”
”Die!” gasped Gabrielle, pressing her fingers to her burning brow, as she looked at each, turning restlessly from one to the other of the trio, seeking for a gleam of compa.s.sion, and finding none. ”Wherefore?
of what crime have I been guilty? You decree my death, and you inflict it--why?”
”Choose,” repeated the abbe with impatience, dropping his tone of banter. ”Sodden oaf and fool, give me the chalice,” he added, fiercely. ”Your palsied hand will drop it.”
Indeed the chevalier seemed to be losing the control of his muscles, for he swayed to and fro, as one far gone in liquor. In his agitation his sword-hilt clattered against the metal b.u.t.tons on his coat, perceiving which the marquise seeming to see a faint ray of hope, turned her pleading face to him in agonized remonstrance.
”Phebus,” she murmured, earnestly, ”you once said you loved me, and tempted me to sin, and afterwards repented. You are not bad at heart.
Your nature is not cruel and inexorable, and I am yet so young! Think of the memories you are raising now--a nightmare of unavailing remorse. Think before it is too late, of the clinging s.h.i.+rt of fire, which as the years progress will send you raving, and never may be shaken off!”
”Enough, enough! It is settled,” cried the abbe, ”choose, or I will make the choice. In this goblet is no copper draught, since it appears you object to copper--a soothing decoction of delicious herbs, that grow beside the river. You are no botanist, I fear, or would have admired the pretty spotted leaf of the _[oe]nanthe crocata_, a useful plant without taste or smell, which possesses the additional advantage, when its work is done, of leaving no trace behind. You are so deplorably slow and undecided that I must choose for you. The [oe]nanthe, let it be, then, for it will neither stain your flesh nor mar your incomparable skin. You will lie with a peaceful smile, as of a pure unsullied babe who sleeps well and pleasantly, and drift gently on the stream of Lethe. Socrates, of whom, maybe you've heard, once quaffed a delicate tisane made of this self-same plant, and history avers that he enjoyed it very much.”
The abbe approached a step nearer, and held forth the goblet. The marquise recoiled, and half-numbed by a wind that seemed to blow from out of her open grave, clasped her hands wildly, crying, ”Phebus, save me!”
”You waste your breath,” the abbe remarked, sternly. ”His power of volition's gone, he is an automaton worked by me. Waste no more time, for we have much to do to-day. Drink, or he shall use his sword.”
Gabrielle, under the scrutiny of six pitiless eyes, took the chalice in her hands and drank.
The abbe--determined this time to do his work effectually--perceiving a sediment left, gathered it carefully in a spoon, and bringing it to the goblet's brim, offered it once more with a courteous smile to the quivering lips of his victim. Then, remembering, he withdrew the spoon, and said, ”No! the stalks and fibres can be traced.”
The victim lay panting on her pillows. The executioner remarked with a low bow, ”We will leave you to make your peace with Heaven,” and was preparing to withdraw when the marquise gasped out, ”In Heaven's name, do not destroy my soul. Send for a confessor that I may die as a Christian should.”
”You forgot I am a priest,” returned the abbe, smiling, ”and now, as ever, at your service.”
Perceiving that she did not appreciate his merry conceit, for she covered her face with shuddering hands, he motioned to his brother to follow, and bade Algae remain with the victim.
”There will be much to see to,” he observed, ”for those who unfortunately perish of malignant fevers, must be speedily put away.
Within an hour there will be delirium and giddiness, followed by coma and death. Keep the patient quiet, and make her comfortable. We will leave for Blois at midday, and meet the marquis on the road.” With this he playfully executed another deep reverence, and dragging the chevalier after him, left the room.
Mademoiselle Brunelle was enchanted that matters should at last have been brought to a satisfactory pa.s.s with becoming decorum. No ungenteel screaming, no bloodshed; only a palatable tisane which tasted a little like celery. In a few hours they would intercept the marquis on his ill-judged return, and when he knew that he was a widower, he would be as anxious as they to leave the neighbourhood.
Events that seem untoward are often for the best. His sudden change of plans had driven the conspirators to prompt.i.tude. The tortuous and s.h.i.+lly-shally abbe had been compelled to action, and he had really acted very well.
She glanced now and then at the figure on the bed, who lay as motionless as if all were already over, and walked up and down reflecting. What a provoking man the marquis was, who had to be served despite himself. Left alone, unpropped, he had tumbled down, the unstable creature; had repented, and was coming back to whine and to entreat and bite his nails in indecision. Well. No excuse for whining now. The die was cast. In a few days they would have crossed the frontier never to revisit Lorge. The jewels. They must not be left behind, since they were of exceeding value--love gifts from the doting marechal, who deemed naught too good for his darling. There was a diamond parure somewhere, of purest water, which would become the new marquise amazingly. With greedy hands Algae dived into drawers, ferreted in the cabinet of ebony, searched the silver knickknacks on the toilet table. Where were the jewels kept? Doubtless, in the garderobe on the opposite side of the corridor. Yes. Here was the bunch of keys labelled. Mademoiselle would be a veritable ninny were she to neglect her chance of reaping all that could be reaped. As the prospective wife of Clovis the jewels were her own or soon would be, and with this plaguy revolution going on, to leave France was to be condemned to exile. The property of _emigres_ was confiscated. When it became known that the Marquise de Gange was dead, and the marquise flown, the state would pounce upon the chateau, and take possession of everything within it. It clearly behoved the second wife to rummage in the cupboards of the first. There was no time to lose. Casting one hasty glance at the bed, and perceiving no change, Mademoiselle hastily left the room in search of treasure.
With fingers still clasped over her eyes Gabrielle lay still, each minute pa.s.sage in her melancholy life flitting across her brain. She had distinctly heard the brutal fiat of the abbe. Giddiness, delirium, coma, death. Within an hour the symptoms would commence--to last how long? No sign as yet of giddiness. On the contrary, that cold gust from out the grave appeared to have stimulated her mind, quickening its action, magnifying each thought in crystal clearness. It would soon be over. The release for which she had prayed so long and earnestly was close at hand. Her fretted spirit would find peace--she would be freed from the corroding bonds of harsh humanity. Not five and twenty, and the world was beautiful. Now, that she stood on the threshold, on the point of closing the door which may never be re-opened, Gabrielle found herself filled with a strange longing and regret. She knew not that it was the force of young and healthy life that was bubbling up in protest. Hope would not thus be slain. An overwhelming desire to live arose and possessed her being. An idea that was new and draught with horror flooded her mind, and she sat up panting. Her children! Why had she not thought of it before? A reason for welcoming death had been that they would be the better protected by her flitting. But was it indeed so? Had not her mother deserted her in a grievous plight through selfish cowardice? Alarmed for herself she had fled with a pretence that all was well. A fitting guardian for two children, truly. How clear it was--how dreadfully clear! The conspirators would work upon her fears--obtain possession of Victor and Camille. By securing their fortune she had imperilled their lives, for those who could do her to death with such cold barbarity, would stick at nothing when they found themselves foiled by her precautions.