Francezka Part 23

Prince Eugene, of Savoy, was on the other side of the river, and there was courteous communication by flag of truce between the French and the Austrians.

A day or two after we arrived a letter came for Gaston Cheverny from Regnard Cheverny saying that his grenadiers were with Prince Eugene, and Regnard very much desired to see Gaston. It was easily arranged that Gaston Cheverny should meet his brother at Kehl after nightfall, and should bring him to Strasburg to spend the night. It was only stipulated that Regnard should come and go in darkness.

It was a soft September night when Gaston came into my chamber, joyfully bringing Regnard with him. My room was small, but had a large and pleasant balcony overlooking the straggling gardens and the river.

Regnard greeted me pleasantly--he looked gallant in his white Austrian uniform. We went out upon the balcony, had wine brought and spent an hour or two together. Regnard had lately paid a flying visit to Castle Haret, and, of course, had been to the chateau of Capello.

"Mademoiselle Capello was most kind and charming," he said, "and, by the way, Captain Babache, she desired her remembrance to you."

"And nothing to me?" cried Gaston.

Regnard smiled--I never liked his smile, in which his eyes took no part.

"Do you think, boy," he replied, "that I employed the gracious minutes that Francezka--I mean Mademoiselle Capello--allowed me, in talking to her of another man?"

"Then," cried Gaston, rising half in mirth and half in anger, "I will myself see Mademoiselle Capello and hear from her own lips whether she has forgotten me."

"We do not propose to give you time to make excursions," replied Regnard, laughing good-naturedly. "Your Berwick has to dance a branle first with Prince Eugene, and he who would dance with such a partner must be very active and keep his wits and his legs ready."

Gaston sat down again, and did not lose his good temper. But Regnard told us further that Madame Riano was really going to Scotland. She had got it in her blood, and was likely to leave any day. Mademoiselle Capello had been forced to engage a _dame de compagnie_ in the person of Madame Chambellan, some relation of Count Bellegarde's, and as near milk and water as he. I surmised that Francezka was not likely to choose for her _dame de compagnie_ one able or desirous to cross her.

After an hour or two I was called to attend Count Saxe, and the brothers were left alone. They seemed as affectionate as ever I saw brothers. I heard their voices as they spent the hours in converse in Gaston's room. Toward morning, in the ghostly half light which precedes the dawn, they left the house together, taking a boat at the foot of the garden. I watched them as they pa.s.sed down the old garden path to the river. Their arms were around each other's shoulders, schoolboy fashion, and both of them wore long dark cloaks, for the hour before the dawn was chill. Never were two figures more alike than Gaston and Regnard Cheverny, and there was not the smallest difference in their gait and bearing. I think the mother who bore them would scarcely have known them apart, as I saw them walking away in the pale hours of the morning. A boat awaited them at the foot of the garden.

The river rolled dark in the gray half light, half darkness, and a ghostly mist lay upon its bosom. As the boat containing the two brothers was pulled into midstream the creeping mist enveloped it for a moment, then a wandering breeze driving the mist away, the boat became again visible. Some singular interest fixed my eyes upon those two figures in the boat, trying to distinguish one from the other.

But, to my chagrin, I could not do this. Presently the mist enveloped them wholly.

Gaston returned within an hour. I told him of the effort I had made to tell him and his brother apart at a distance. He said that Regnard and himself had much sport with the boatman, and also with the sentry, by merely changing cloaks, so that their uniforms could not be seen.

The next evening, as I was reposing myself on the balcony after a hard day's work, Gaston Cheverny burst upon me. He looked like a bridegroom, he was so radiant.

"I start for the Low Countries to-morrow," he cried, giving me a whack on the back that nearly knocked me off my chair. "I have just met Count Saxe coming from the Duke of Berwick. The marshal wishes to know if the Austrians are observing the neutrality they engaged for in the Low Countries. There have been some disturbances, especially the burning of houses, like mine, for example, which excite the duke's suspicions. He wants a trusty person, well acquainted with the country, to find out the truth, and Count Saxe offered me. I ride to-morrow. I may remain as long as I think necessary, but my duty compelled me to say that I could find out all there was to know and return within a fortnight. I shall see Francezka, and, Babache, only fancy Regnard's chagrin when he finds out, after my return, that I have lain _perdu_ in Brabant for two weeks!"

I had no time to fancy anything then, for Count Saxe was calling me.

We worked until late that night on the instructions for Gaston Cheverny. Early in the morning he set out alone, not even having a servant with him. He promised me to give my everlasting remembrance to Mademoiselle Capello. It was, of course, impossible for him to take with him his dog, heretofore his inseparable companion. I was to have charge of Bold in his master's absence. I locked the creature up in my chamber, and attended Count Saxe during his morning duties. When I went to my chamber at noon I was vexed to find the dog had disappeared. The fastening to the door leading to the balcony was indifferent, and marks showed that the dog, by scratching and pawing, had got the door open. A reward was offered for him at once, but as he did not appear, I felt sure he had managed to join his master.

The fortnight was a busy one; the Duke of Berwick and Prince Eugene were not men to let the gra.s.s grow under their feet. It was too late to attempt operations on a large scale that season, but with an active general no day is lost. Two weeks to the day on which Gaston Cheverny had left Strasburg he rode up to Count Saxe's quarters and dismounted.

I happened to be waiting at the door for Count Saxe, and so saw Gaston Cheverny when he flung himself off his horse. Although it was in the dusk of an autumn evening, I saw, as well as felt, that Gaston Cheverny radiated happiness. There was something in the grasp of his hand, the ring of his voice, which proclaimed the man with joy in his heart. At the same moment he arrived Count Saxe also rode up. At once he took Gaston Cheverny within, when, with my pen to record, Gaston gave an account of what he had discovered. Although there was no actual proof of treachery on the part of the Austrians, the mysterious burnings continued. Some attributed these dreadful events to private malice, but it was remarkable that every chateau, house or barn burned belonged to a French sympathizer. It was thought likely to be the work of a band of fanatics, which made it still more alarming. Gaston Cheverny gave his opinion that in the case of the burning of his own house and outbuildings, it was a case of revenge on the part of Jacques Haret.

Gaston Cheverny having told all he had found out, and some impudent d.u.c.h.ess or countess coming to claim Count Saxe--no doubt, against his will--Gaston and I were left alone. He sprang up, caught me by the arm, and cried in a ringing voice:

"Babache, I am the happiest man alive. But come out of doors. This room stifles me. I want to look at the stars--like Francezka's eyes. I wish to breathe the perfumed air of the garden, because all beauty--all perfume is like her." He dragged me out into the beautiful old garden, with its tangled shrubbery, its gra.s.s-grown walks, its myrtle trees, showing black against a pale night sky, and the great river rolling past. I thought he would at once make me some great confidence, for I had no doubt that he had won Francezka's love. But instead of that he began to recite to me that poem, adored of lovers, by Houdart de La Motte to Celimene, in which the poet yearns to be the flower that reposes on the bosom of his beloved, the pa.s.sing breeze that kisses her cheek, the nightingale whose sad notes detain her in the myrtle groves, the fair moon by which the shepherds bring home their flocks. There is in every language I have known a great poem with this thought, common to all hearts that love, running through it, but I like this one of Houdart de La Motte's the best. When he had finished repeating the lines, with great beauty of voice and meaning, I asked him:

"Did not Mademoiselle Capello send me a message?"

"A thousand. Babache, Francezka loves you with all her heart. She told me, at our last conversation, that she could never think of you without remembering that night in her girlhood when she was taken to the Temple, and from that moment she has reckoned you the most faithful of friends."

"And how do you stand with her?" I ventured to ask.

"I can not utter a word concerning that. Only to you, Babache, will I say that I am happier than I ever dared to hope."

"At least you can tell me how Francezka is situated."

"Oh, yes. Madame Riano has really started for Scotland. She left two days after I got to Brabant. I saw her five times before she went. She promises to return within a year. Francezka now has with her Madame Chambellan, but she is old and feeble, and I know not how long the arrangement will last."

Here was news indeed.

"Francezka has another friend at hand--good Bold. The rogue got away evidently, and when I was full five miles from the city gates I heard him panting behind me. His tongue was out, and he would hardly have lasted much longer at the pace he was going, had I not found him and picked him up."

I then explained how the dog had escaped.

"As I was secretly in Brabant," continued Gaston, "of course, it was impossible to keep the dog with me. It was out of the question that I should give him away to any chance person willing to take him, so I made straight for the chateau of Capello, where I knew he had a friend in Francezka. I left him with her, as a guardian and protector, and a reminder, too, of his master. He remained willingly in Francezka's sweet company, being ever a dog of the soundest discernment. I feel no jealousy; Francezka is welcome to my dog, as she is to me."

I could not make out what Gaston's footing was with Francezka, but that he was a.s.sured of her love I no longer doubted. Well, this was as it should be. The difference in their fortunes was but accidental; in all else they were equals. It must be an agreeable feeling to know one's self equal to any and all the world, except in this matter of fortune. I never had that feeling. I know myself to be a man, with all a man's faculties, but this world of ours seldom lets a man forget from whence he sprang.

Gaston Cheverny further confided to me that he expected to be permitted to return to Brabant for a while as soon as we went into winter quarters, but before the leaves fell from the trees this beautiful dream of hope vanished. This time it was the Duke of Berwick who used Gaston's services. During our fourteen months in Courland Gaston had picked up some knowledge of the various Polish dialects, for he was a man of quick perception and given to learning. The Duke of Berwick needed such a man in Poland and East Prussia, and within a month from the time of Gaston Cheverny's return from Brabant he was sent to Poland and East Prussia on an errand that might last a month and might last a year.

He went gallantly enough. It was not pleasant duty, and he showed to me alone the deep chagrin it caused him not to revisit Brabant, but he was not a man to refuse any duty a.s.signed to him. He only asked to be allowed to remain long enough at Strasburg to take part with his regiment in the capture of Kehl. This was accorded him. Marshal, the Duke of Berwick, took Kehl in October, thus administering a beautiful slap to the Austrians, and as soon as that was done Gaston Cheverny set out upon his errand.

CHAPTER XX

FORGING THE CHAIN

In November we went into winter quarters. I was much in hopes that Count Saxe would remain in Strasburg the whole winter, but the women in Paris would not let him. They besieged the king to send for Count Saxe; they nearly worried Dangervilliers, the minister of war, into a madhouse, demanding that he order Count Saxe to Paris. Cardinal Fleury declared that his days would be shortened by the importunate ones, who implored him for Count Saxe. Is it any wonder, I say, that Count Saxe was no anchorite with all this adulation and flattery bestowed upon him--with women throwing themselves at his head and at his feet? He went to Paris.

We reached Paris in January and remained until May. It was an unusually tedious time for me, because I had not Gaston Cheverny with me. There was but little for me to do. My master wrote his own love letters--he had few others to write--so that I had many hours at my disposal. There was a young baggage of an actress named Verieres, who tried to play the poor lost Adrienne Lecouvreur's part to Count Saxe.

I know not whether she succeeded or not.

I heard several times from Gaston Cheverny. He was still in Poland, over the border first of East Prussia and then of Russia, traveling from place to place, following the instructions of the Duke of Berwick. Every month he expected to be allowed to join his regiment, but something more was always found for him to do. He was promised, however, that he should not be detained in Poland longer than the first month of the campaign.

The campaign, however, was unusually late in opening. Marshal, the Duke of Berwick, reached Strasburg in March, but found everything in confusion. Luckily, the enemy was in no better case than we. It was May before it became necessary for Count Saxe to start for the Rhine.

We traveled by way of Brussels, and I made a request of Count Saxe which had been burning in my heart all the winter. It was that I might stop, if only for a night, at the chateau of Capello. To this, as the most indulgent of masters, he readily agreed.

It was on a May day, in 1734, that I saw the chateau of Capello, after four years of absence. It was late in the afternoon, and the shadows were long in the boscages of the park and upon the fresh green terraces of the chateau. As I drew near I looked toward the Italian garden, and there I saw a figure pacing to and fro, which I at once recognized as Francezka. A dog was at her side, and in him, too, I recognized an old friend--Bold.

I threw my bridle to a servant at the foot of the terrace and went straight to the Italian garden. As I entered it, Francezka was walking meditatively up and down the box bordered walk, where stood the well remembered statue of Petrarch, the sun dial and the stone bench. Her eyes were bent upon the ground, and I saw her well before she noticed me. She wore a gown of crimson brocade with a muslin kerchief crossed over her white neck; and she had on dainty shoes with red heels--her favorite affectation. I had heard that Francezka gave great scandal to the ladies of Brabant by wearing silks and satins every day, which was contrary to their custom. Francezka, however, had a well-developed taste for luxury, which came with her warm Spanish blood.

The dog saw me first, and ran forward with a yelp of pleasure.

Francezka heard him and raised her eyes to mine. If ever any one in the world showed joy at seeing Babache, it was Francezka then. She advanced a step, and when I kissed her hand, she laid her other hand on mine, while the warm tears dropped from her eyes. It is something to have the loving friendship and confidence of such a woman. She told me many times how glad she was to see me--told me so with her eyes as well as her voice--as we walked up and down together. She was lonely since Madame Riano had gone. It was her fate to be more admired by men and envied by women than loved by either, and that is one reason why I think my devotion was dear to her. She told me as much then. I asked her if she was happy with Madame Chambellan.

"Madame Chambellan is a good soul; but, dear Babache, she is like that simpleton, Bellegarde. How am I ever to stand her?"

From the moment Francezka began to speak, I became conscious of a touching and beautiful change in her; an angelic softness had come upon her--a softness most seductive which she had often a.s.sumed, but which now seemed a part of herself. Before I had been ten minutes in her company, I saw this change had gone deep. There had been in her nature ever since I knew her a note of triumph. She could not remain unconscious that she was the favorite both of nature and fortune. Her active and penetrating mind had been occupied since her early years in planning her own destiny, which was hers to decide. Other young girls had their destinies decided for them, but Francezka knew, from her childhood, that she would one day be mistress of herself and her fortune. This had given her an exultant air, pretty and charming enough, but after all, what is so becoming to a woman as humility? And this sweet new humility of Francezka's was more winning than I can say. The whole expression of her lovely face had changed. Her eyes, instead of sparkling like stars, were soft, and had the quiet beauty of a lake by moonlight. They had a supplicating look. Francezka was yearning for something, like other human beings, and so, was more nearly like the rest of the human family. We sat together on the stone bench, the lake lying cool and somber before us; night seemed to have come upon it although the sun still blazed in the west. The dog licked my hand, and showed great friendship for me, and I told Francezka how ingeniously he had escaped from me at Strasburg to join his master.

"Well," replied Francezka, demurely, "no one can blame Bold for running away to join such a master. I have read in old Homer somewhere that Achilles tells Agamemnon he is as impudent as a dog. If it is impudence like Bold's, Agamemnon might have taken it as a high compliment."