The Maid of Honour Volume Ii Part 7

This was rather a bad beginning to the newly-inaugurated regime. It was unwelcomely manifest that the foot was down. She had never mentioned her husband or referred to his possible desires. That was significant. Pshaw! she was a woman who was made to lean on others, and just now she was supported by the queen, the family solicitor, and other meddlesome advisers, and was thereby induced to a.s.sume an independence which was foreign to her nature. So she was bent on returning to Lorge? Well and good, the sojourn must be brief.

The temporary props being left behind, others would have to be supplied--by him. Pressure could be brought to bear within the walls of the grim chateau, and so soon as it should be urgent to flit, why, then there should be a flitting. For the present she was mistress of the situation, and till a change could be brought about, must have her way unchallenged.

As for Clovis, with much spare time upon his hands, his idle hours were spent in brooding and regret, and the yearning that besets humanity to have things other than they are. He was both fascinated and disgusted by the scenes that pa.s.sed around him, episodes which served to increase the peevishness due to private worries.

He was haunted by the idea that if Gabrielle had refrained from writing that letter, the marechal would not have so disposed his property as to secure it against his son-in-law. But that piece of sly impertinence on the part of the lady who bore his name had put everything agog. But for her all apprehensions might ere this have been removed. He would have been independent; have betaken himself and the magic tub to some other land under the guidance of the dear affinity; have escaped from the turmoil of politics, the noisy babble of miscreants and cutthroats; be enjoying in peace the applause and serenity which go with success in science. Instead of that, here was he, the Marquis de Gange, kicking his heels in a capital which resembled in its wild proceedings the mental phantasmagoria that follows indigestion, deprived even of the consoling presence of her who knew how to comfort him.

Pharamond was all very well in his way, always obliging and cheery, but somehow or other his sweetness left a taste in the mouth that was bitter, even acrid. How this should be Clovis was at a loss to comprehend, for there was no doubt that the abbe was sincerely sorry for his brother's woeful plight, and did all that in him lay to prune the thorns that p.r.i.c.ked him. As Clovis meditated, topics were ever cropping up which he longed to discuss with the governess; but, alas, alas! thanks to the insane jealousy of a most annoying wife, the charmer was gone--her place knew her no more!

To brood over the halcyon days which are gone by is conducive to snappishness, and, after a chewing of the cud, to chronic sullenness and gnawing discontent. Sometimes the marquis would strive to rouse himself from dismal reverie, and force himself to take interest in what was pa.s.sing; but the contemplation thereof only led to further disapproval, for he found himself in company that revolted him. To think that he, a n.o.ble of high rank, should find himself cheek by jowl with the low, dirty, foul-mouthed scribbler, whose name was Marat!

People's friend, forsooth! If a wolf could write a journal, the brute could not raven more thirstily for blood. Blood--not in drops from a single breast, nor even in a river from the slaughter of families. He howled for the crimson liquor in the profusion of an ocean from the instinctive love of it which impels the tiger to rend his mangled victim after his hunger is appeased. Then to have to be civil to that dandified Robespierre, whom instinct whispered was one of the coming men--one whose talents were insignificant and oratory wretched, but who plodded ahead to his goal with a pa.s.sionless undeviating pitiless perseverance that was appalling; one who boasted with apathetic cruelty that to gain a point the immolation of a generation was as nothing; who was already clamouring for the sacrifice of the royal family, and of all who were tainted with n.o.bility.

To visit the palace was to be distracted with indignant pity. Though the son of St. Louis still ate off silver plate, the most elaborate precautions were taken to secure him against poison. The wine he drank, the food he ate, was introduced secretly by devoted friends.

Not a sc.r.a.p pa.s.sed his lips that was supplied from the royal kitchens.

Things had gone so far that there was no safety--as the hapless king had realized on the eve of the Varennes disaster--but in flight. His friends in Paris could be of little service, for he was as close a prisoner in the gilded Tuileries as the felon in his cell--in a worse plight than the convicted a.s.sa.s.sin in his jail, whom the rabble were forbidden to persecute.

Clovis could perceive as clearly now as Pharamond that so acute a situation could not last. This was a state of crisis which should have nearly attained its apogee, and which promised to result in catastrophe. And here was the Gange family lingering on in the most undesirable manner instead of making itself scarce, and skipping out of danger. As we know, Clovis was not too brave, and preferred scientific to military triumphs. If other n.o.bles viewed the situation from a long way off, why should not he also? What was it to him that the continued outpouring of landholders had unhinged the public mind, and that the exodus of those who should have rallied round their monarch was indeed the greatest cause of the miseries that loomed ahead? By deserting their native land at the most critical period of its history, the French n.o.bility cast a stain on their order, which may never be wiped out. At this time, no less than a hundred thousand of the most influential cla.s.s had turned their backs upon their country!

The marquis exhorted and implored his brother to speak to Gabrielle, to beg her to be sensible and go, before it was too late. With perfect truth (for once) Pharamond declared that he had done his best--that Gabrielle was obstinate and declined to budge--adding, with a conciliatory smile, that Clovis must practise the unruffled calm that springs from a tranquil mind; that when the new-blown prerogative of managing people was more familiar to the heiress, she would be less headstrong, more considerate.

"It was too bad," groaned Clovis, who really was growing frightened.

The details of the inheritance settled, what was to detain a party of provincials, who no longer had business in the dangerous proximity of the whirlpool? If the heritage had been left in a proper manner, all would have been well; for there would be nothing more natural than for the head of the family to issue peremptory and dignified orders for immediate departure. Even Gabrielle, who steadfastly declined to be of the elect, ought--by reason of her gentle birth--to have preferred the philanthropic society of an adept and the virtues of a magic tub at a safe distance, to the chance of rubbing shoulders with a Marat or a Robespierre, or enduring blue-stocking lectures from an upstart Madame Roland. Though young and handsome, that person was a political pen-woman--horrid precedent! But the contrariness of the feminine nature is proverbial. As was to be expected, the heiress was gloating over the shame of those she held in leash, and refused to leave the hurly-burly just to annoy her husband.

As to this Pharamond fully agreed with Clovis. There was nothing to be gained but possible mishaps by lingering in Paris; and he was the more anxious to be off that he found himself a nonent.i.ty there. The fields he burned to cultivate were lying fallow. His house of cards was making no progress; he seemed actually to be losing ground. The abbe was a busy bee whose time was being wasted.

Had not Gabrielle and Clovis become hopelessly estranged she might have confided to him her deep sorrow for the queen, and her unflinching determination to remain beside her, so long as she could be of use. In better days, the queen had been her benefactress, and she loved her as all did who knew her well.

But days of confidence were over now, never to be recalled. The seasons revolved, and spring came round again to find the De Ganges still in Paris.

It is only fair to say that Clovis was sorry for the position of their majesties; but being of lymphatic temperament he had decided long ago that disagreeable things which could not be helped, and which did not injure himself, were promptly to be set aside.

Ill-starred Marie Antoinette! Is it to underline the fact of mundane injustice that the innocent are so often scapegoats for the black sheep? There was no abomination, however monstrous, of which the mob, maddened by professional agitators, did not believe her to be capable.

Murder, adultery, theft.

She sometimes mournfully reminded Gabrielle of the evening--it must have been a thousand years ago--when they had discussed their horoscopes. "The iron grave-clothes, as was foretold, are slowly wrapping me," she said, "to stifle my breath and crush my bones. I hope and believe, dear Gabrielle, that your prophet lied, for you are content and well. Happiness, we all are bound to learn does not exist.

That will perhaps appear as a fresh and welcome acquaintance at some later stage of the long journey. You are well, my dear, and I am glad, but I may not keep you, for here we are under the ban. I would not have the faithful few to share the fate which daily approaches nearer."

Gabrielle sighed, but kept her counsel, for why should she inflict her own sorrows on one so sorely stricken? Content? No. Not even that--much less happy. She who needed sympathy and support so much that without them she felt her fibres paralysed, had come to know that all the battles of our inner life must be fought out alone, hand to hand, in solitude, and that no friend, not even the dearest, can help us in the conflict. She had learned that much during hours of self-communing at Lorge, and the discovery dismayed her. In the next world, the Christians say there is no marrying or giving in marriage.

Each soul is a single unit, the bonds of life-chains shattered. It is so even in this life, though many see it not; when the real tussle comes, the spirit stands unaided, deprived of succour from without, to triumph or to fall alone.

It was her anxious wish to stay beside the queen and cheer her, and by so doing cheer herself. To be certain that some one longed for her advent, and that her appearance in a doorway was like the glinting of a welcome sunbeam, was a novel and refreshing sensation after the gruesome experiences of Lorge. There was no need to trouble about the prodigies, seeing that they were enjoying the best of air under surveillance of Toinon and her betrothed. The old mother, who sadly missed the perennial scoldings of the irascible defunct, also needed her presence, for was she not more helpless than her child? Gabrielle, counselled by M. Galland, had settled that the old lady was to move to a small house of modest aspect in the suburbs, where she could vegetate unharmed by revolutionary turbulence, and arranged with the family solicitor to keep a watchful eye on her.

The marquise had a variety of reasons, then, for desiring to remain in the capital.

Idleness brings out the bad points of most people; and both Clovis and Pharamond were chafing. The latter, having nothing else to do, studied his brother carefully, and the proceeding increased his disquietude.

Clovis fretted, and fumed, and yawned, and wished himself away, listening with eagerness to the abbe's insidious innuendoes, then growling and muttering to himself. He had something on his mind which he was keeping back. It was not well that he should keep anything from the abbe, so the son of the Church, with appropriate little jests anent confession, set himself to expose the secret. It was as instinct bade him fear. Clovis was hankering after the absent affinity.

Pharamond had had cause to suspect that since the advent of Mademoiselle Brunelle his own power had been permanently weakened. As he had told Gabrielle, to obtain complete mastery over this wavering specimen of fleshliness it was necessary that the leading-rein should be held by a woman; and--without fault of his--the abbe chanced to be a man.

The marquis had not been aware of the delights of feminine companionship till the arrival of the enchanting governess, and Pharamond understood with reluctance now that although the subject had been tabooed, Clovis yet pined for his affinity. He remembered the parting words of Aglae at the moment of her banishment. "In the solitude of the country," she had said, "the neophyte would miss her."

The capital under its present aspect was as lonely to him, for he had always been more or less of a recluse, and most of his town friends had joined the army of emigrants.

To avoid contact with the sc.u.m, and to save appearances in the matter of compulsory attendance on his wife, he had taken up his studies with ardour in the capital, and missed his late comrade each day more and more. As his lips unclosed, he poured forth his confession to the churchman; Pharamond reflected with perturbation that if the temple were left long without its tenant, a new one might crawl in and occupy. What was to prevent this flabby Clovis, since he felt the void so much, from seeking another adept, even from applying to Mesmer for just such another siren as the last? And if he did, what of the abbe and his plans? Though not so docile as could be wished, and given to casual deceit, it was possible for the abbe and the governess to work together smoothly enough. That much had been proven. Supposing that, taking the bull by the horns, he were cunningly to bring about her re-introduction into the _menage_, would she be grateful, and, singing _peccavi_, promise to behave better in future? Grat.i.tude is so scarce a commodity! And by what artifice could she be introduced again without raising a whirlwind of remonstrance? On the other hand, if Clovis were allowed to find another leader, the new affinity might eschew an alliance with the abbe, even deliberately work for his suppression. How complicated the game! How difficult were his cards to play! Was it safe to leave the ball to roll, or must it be checked in mid career? How would the marquise behave deprived of parental support, at sight of the apparition of her rival? These were knotty problems, and another false move might mean irremediable discomfiture.

Impossible as it was to see far ahead, it was necessary to feel step by step like a blind man groping. How delicate an operation to re-introduce the ma.s.sive form of the offender! On what plea, since after what had pa.s.sed she could not a.s.sume the attributes of teacher?

Move the fragments of his puzzle as he would, they declined to fit together, and the abbe ground his teeth with fury and confessed that for the moment he was nonplussed.

If only the marquise could be induced to return home quickly, remove herself from the influence of supporters. Would it be well to have a fict.i.tious message sent announcing the illness of the darlings? A sc.r.a.p of paper a few inches square would send her posting back to Lorge at lightning speed; but then discovering that she was fooled, suspicion would arise, alert. Could Clovis be persuaded to go home without her? In that case his brothers must accompany him, lest, left to his devices, he should do something regrettable; and it was of equal importance to keep an eye on wife as well as husband.

Turning the subject over and over with infinite care, the abbe admitted with an impatient sigh that for the time being he was powerless, and that the ball must be allowed to roll. Meanwhile it would be advisable not to lose touch of the governess, lest some day, when wanted, she should turn rusty and accuse him of neglect. He accordingly sat down and wrote a long and entertaining letter full of sly quip and graphic description, ending with the a.s.surance that the marquis did not forget, and that the humble scribe was her slave.

This precaution taken, he settled himself down to drift with hands before him: nor had he long to wait to perceive the direction of the current.

It was the twentieth of June. The day was balmy, and the windows open.

The queen sat in a low _causeuse_ in her tiny library relating to the Marquise de Gange the ominous occurrences of the morning. Paris was a penful of sheep now distracted by too many shepherds--a weatherc.o.c.k its most fitting symbol. What was happening every day would be laughable but for the lurid cloud above with its blood-red lining, and the low rumbling of thunder, each hour more distinct. The a.s.sembly whose mission was to guide the nation was no better than a den of noxious animals, each bent on biting his neighbour. The president had committed the grievous error of opening the flood-gates to the waters.

The sacred precincts over which he ruled were thrown open to a mob of thirty thousand scoundrels who, their imaginations inflamed by novelty and drunken with success, licked their foul lips and prepared for further outrage. Women danced like M[oe]nads, waving a pike in one hand and an olive-branch in the other--symbols of peace and war. From a chorus of brawny throats rolled the familiar strains of _ca Ira_.

The unkempt porters of the markets, the cadaverous workers from the cellars of St. Antoine; a weak-limbed squad, a st.u.r.dy crew of ruffians, equally bent on mischief, waved rude bits of jagged iron bound to the ends of bludgeons. There was no end to the muster. Women possessed of the devil Hysteria--men maddened and excited by the women. More men--more women--women--men. What did they want? What was the object of the saturnalia in the sacred precincts of the a.s.sembly?

Ragged breeches were held up with a yell of "_Vive les sans culottes!_" Some one flourished a pike aloft on which was transfixed the bleeding heart of a calf. Through the drip the scrawled description could be deciphered--"This is the heart of an aristocrat!"

"If the accepted authorities were to be bearded thus, what next?"

suggested Marie Antoinette. "We are marching straight downwards to our doom. We know it, and being blameless, look to the end with thankfulness. But when we are sacrificed--what then--afterwards.

Apres?"

When Gabrielle strove to persuade her benefactress that she saw things _en noir_ the latter gave her haughty head a toss. "Conflict with the inevitable is not always an absurd mockery, for self-respect, when we are innocent, insists on battle to the death."

As she spoke a low rumble, increasing each second in volume which seemed an echo of what she described as having dismayed the a.s.sembly a few hours since, caused the ladies to look at each other in alarm.

What was that ominous sound? Almost before they had time to realize that it meant anguish and woe treading on each other's heels--it had increased to a deafening roar.

"They have burst into the gardens. Where are the little ones?" cried Gabrielle, thinking of her own cherubs, happily far away. "I will fetch them. Their Royal Highnesses are in the next room, reading."

She sped away, and returning with the royal children presently, beheld her mistress leaning against the cas.e.m.e.nt frame, stone white.

"Hist!" she said, her voice scarce audible above the noise. "The wretches have invaded the palace--do they intend to fire it? Amid yonder sea of pikes and staves there is a cannon which they are dragging up the stairs. What for--for me? Into what a pandemonium were we born!"

The uproar was like the lashing of an angry sea. The frightened women could hear the grinding and creaking of the heavy gun as with volleys of cries and curses it was lifted to the grand landing.

"Unbar the door or we will blow it down," some one shouted, in rough accents--then followed a thunderous battering of pikes, the crushing and rending of panels and then--silence.

"They will kill him. They will kill him! Why am I not by his side?"

murmured Marie Antoinette, writhing her hands together.

"I am here--what would you?" a steady voice said, cheerfully, rising above the hubbub not far away.

"Vive la nation!" roared the rabble.

"Yes. Vive la nation. I am its best friend," replied the king.

Then there was a diversion. The trembling listeners were startled by a new roar of groans and hooting. "There she is--the curse of France.

The Austrian! The Austrian! Down with her!"

"My G.o.d!" muttered the queen. "It must be Elizabeth whom they mistake for me! My place is with them. Is a child of Maria Theresa to play the cur? Why am I skulking here?"