The Maid of Honour Volume I Part 5

During the discussions on the subject, the abbe would jokingly wave his whip at the chevalier, whose sleek figure jogged behind. "There is a case in point," he laughed. "Phebus's will is completely subservient to mine, and he knows it. Tell them, chevalier, is there anything I could not make you do?"

Then the broad visage of Phebus would beam with respectful pride as he surveyed his clever brother. "No, abbe," he would quietly rejoin. "You are wiser and better than I, and I am content that you should think for both."

Then in his turn would Clovis laugh as he glanced at the attentive Gabrielle. "We must be careful, lest," he observed, slyly, "we forfeit our independence. While pretending to disbelieve, he is deceiving us, for he is himself gifted with magnetic powers of a high order. I vow I am half influenced already, and must take precautions lest I become a slave."

Those were pleasant rides under the yellowing foliage in the late autumn of '89. Clovis was galvanised into a semblance of activity, and appeared under the process to have half realized how charming was his wife. Instead of provokingly staring without seeing her, he observed how fresh was her complexion, how silken and golden and heavy were the loose plaits of her unpowdered hair. To her astonishment, following the abbe's lead, he became almost attentive, guiding her horse over difficult ground, even marking the fact when she was tired.

And so it came about, as by touch of fairy wand, that Gabrielle, alone in the desert, had found a following. The husband whom she adored was displaying a ghostly kindness, with which for the present she was content. If he only would appreciate the prodigies--but that, under beneficent influence, would follow, doubtless. The newly-arrived swains vied with each other in endeavouring to forestall her wishes.

The abbe ordered everyone about for the general good and her particular behoof, like some hovering fa.r.s.eeing deity; while the less pretentious chevalier plodded at her heel like a wheezy spaniel, as active as his redundancy permitted.

In their way, good looking fellows both. The chevalier was short and very fair, with pale blue eyes and a weak mouth, producing a somewhat washed-out effect. His nose was aquiline and delicately moulded. In many respects he bore a curious resemblance to his majesty the reigning monarch. The abbe, his junior by several years, looked a decade younger at least. He was slim and wiry, built on a small scale, with well-turned limbs and white hands remarkable for their fragility.

Indeed, in considering his appearance people always remembered the soft, twining fingers which looked as weak as a woman's, and which, in a hand-shake, could give so firm a grip. His face was round and pale, his lips thin and tightly pressed together, his eyes steel-grey with a strongly accentuated pupil. There was something about his usual expression that suggested a particularly high-bred white cat--due possibly to a purring manner and an air of sensual complacency. But there were moments--not unknown to the chevalier--when the eyes could gleam with tawny lightning, darken with thunder-clouds, while the small even teeth were ground in pa.s.sion, and the pale face turned livid. Like all seemingly light and effeminate beings, who are really of wrought steel, the gay and frolicsome abbe could become a sweeping whirlwind; but since he usually managed to have his way unchallenged, serious atmospheric disturbances were of rare occurrence. As the eyes of an angry cat seem to be illumined from behind, so on rare occasions of excessive wrath those of the abbe a.s.sumed a malevolent glitter, in face of which the chevalier cowered, despite his breadth of beam. His plump uncertain hands grew moist, his words were few and husky; he whimpered and breathed hard; and the privileged observer could have little doubt that there was absolutely nothing he could not be goaded to essay under pressure from Abbe Pharamond.

On a certain mild evening in October, master and serf were riding home from Montbazon, and the latter unconsciously shrank and stopped his horse, conscious of the glitter that he feared. Wistfully and humbly he looked up, anxious to ascertain wherein he had offended.

"The de Vaux are a charming family," remarked the abbe, airily kissing his fingertips. "I compliment you, dear brother."

When the abbe chose to gibe, the chevalier sniffed something disagreeable.

"Ha, ha! How lugubrious a countenance for a favoured lover! As doleful as a bee who's lost his sting! When do we propose to marry? Never keep a lady waiting!"

"What do you mean?" stammered Phebus, mopping his brow.

"Madame de Vaux expects you to propose for Angelique."

"But I don't want to marry Angelique."

"What! Not the delightful shoot from the family tree of which we hear so much? Like the Indian banyan its proportions darken the sky. Why not--tell me?"

"Because I do not wish to marry at all," replied Phebus.

"And why--and why--and why?" laughed Pharamond, in elfish mood. "Nay, do not tell me. Cannot I read into your erring soul as through a sheet of dirty gla.s.s? Because you are hopelessly enamoured of your brother's handsome wife!"

Phebus started and turned scarlet.

"Don't look so exasperatingly sheepish! you quivering ma.s.s of jelly,"

sneered Pharamond.

An explosion of laughter resounded through the wood and ceased, and the glitter shone forth again.

"Do you know that it is extremely wrong to nourish a flame for one's brother's wife?" he inquired dryly. "Most reprehensible in itself and not unlikely to lead to complications. Will Clovis approve, think you?"

Perceiving that Phebus was too confused and upset by the sudden attack to answer, the abbe frisked on, urging forward both horses with his whip.

"See!" he observed, addressing nature generally. "How lenient Mother Church can be to the shortcomings of the weak! Do I blame this culprit for adoring the lovely Gabrielle? Not a bit! If he did not his heart would be of stone instead of pulp. Stout Phebus is consumed with hopeless adoration. But is it hopeless? Ah! There's the rub. Don't babble like an idiot, but confess. Have we openly given vent to our boiling pa.s.sion? Yes, or no?"

The chevalier bent his head and sobbed out, "I'm a miserable wicked wretch!"

"Of course you are," affably agreed the abbe. "Make a clean breast of it to Mother Church, who will straightway absolve the sinner. Do we adore her to the ends of our fat fingers? Eh?"

"How can I help adoring her?" replied hara.s.sed Phebus.

"Certainly not--how could you?" echoed his tormentor. "Ho! ho! ho!

ho!" The abbe's mocking laugh reverberated among the trees. "I've half a mind to tell Clovis--shall I? How he'd enjoy the jest!" And at contemplation of the maze of mischief that might result from such a proceeding, he laughed again, "Ho! ho!"

"Does she return your love? Have you really made the trial?" he inquired suddenly, with a sneer upon his lips. "No? Then, my poor fellow, I am genuinely sorry for your plight. Presto! The Church has run away! Behold a doctor; hearken to words of wisdom. Your ailment's very bad, but curable. This is a queer world, I'd have you know, in which there is one unpardonable crime, failure. We hunt down and exterminate the exposed bungler, who, if he bungles, and would yet save his skin, must take precautions not to be found out. Now I found you out at once, you simple oaf, so you deserve to be delivered to Clovis. I ought to sacrifice so paltry a specimen of intrigue, but then--are you not, too, my brother?"

The chevalier knitted his brows in a vain effort to comprehend what underlay the abbe's banter.

"Oh! what a tender brother!" the latter continued; "for I will even a.s.sist you in your quest. Yes, I, the virtuous Abbe Pharamond. The doctor prescribes a fervent wooing--a scaling of the ramparts--a storming of the citadel. You have gone too timidly to work. Between this husband and wife there can be no bond of union. That much we know. _Ergo_, the heart of the beauty is yet to win, since she is fancy free. You shall try your luck in earnest, and I will give you all my help--on one condition."

"You will!" murmured Phebus, melted to tears by admiring grat.i.tude, "How shall I repay such kindness?"

"Thus. You try your hand and do your best, but if you fail you retire for ever from the field. If she likes you, well and good. Win and wear her and be happy. If not, promise to worry her no more with annoying importunities."

The suggested arrangement was so singular, that the chevalier, recovering himself a little, knew not what to think. What could his astute brother be driving at? Why should he desire to throw the hitherto unstained wife into a lover's arms? Had he a spite against the marquis? No. Against Gabrielle? Hardly. Perhaps he was sorry, as Phebus had been, to observe Clovis's neglect, and anxious to see Ariadne consoled? How kind of the abbe to select him, the chevalier, as the proposed comforter! A new vista of possibilities unrolled itself. Unaided he would have gone on sympathetically sighing, but with the abbe's encouragement and active a.s.sistance, wonders might be accomplished.

The latter was beaming on him now with bonhomie. Clearly he wished, fraternally, to see sister-in-law and brother happy, and imbued with the spirit of the times in which they lived, was doing his best to make them so. Warmly the chevalier blurted out his thanks. His brother was good and kind, as he always meant to be, though now and then so puzzling and strange. He would follow his instructions dutifully to the letter, and Gabrielle won, would be till death her slave.

"That is well," a.s.sented the abbe with a friendly clap on the shoulder. "You have beaten about the bush too long, instead of making straight for the goal. Women have sharp instincts, and since they require wooing, despise too bashful swains. This very night the coast shall be kept clear for you. The balmy autumn breeze is to love vows the softest of accompaniments. I will retain Clovis in his study with arguments about the prophet he reveres."

The two jogged on in amicable silence, both equally satisfied, to all appearances, with the result of the conference, until the peaked turrets of Lorge frowned black against a primrose sunset. Then, before entering the courtyard, the abbe turned and whispered sternly, "A compact, mind, which you will break at your peril. Win or withdraw. Do not attempt to deceive me, for I never forgive deceit."

CHAPTER VI.

TEMPTATION.

The eccentric schemer was true to his word, as grateful Phebus acknowledged with eyes more watery than usual. What a blessed thing it was to have so accommodating a brother as Pharamond! The chevalier grew hot and cold as he considered the chance that was about to be thrown in his way, a golden chance--and between whimsical little prayers for success, he gazed furtively now and then at the other brother, whose honour he was so ready to smirch.

The prodigies having been sent to bed, and the evening meal being leisurely discussed, the abbe became inquisitive anent the latest intelligence from Spa. Was it true that the genius of the prophet had achieved yet greater marvels? What were these rumours as to a further magnetic development, accompanied by fresh triumphs? Clovis snapped eagerly at the bait, and proceeded to explain that something amazing had indeed been discovered such as should transform the world of science. Persons afflicted with ailments were in future to be ranged around a series of large buckets or tubs containing a mixture of broken gla.s.s, iron shavings, and cold water. How simple a treatment, and yet how efficacious! Talk of ancient miracles! No wonder that all the doctors were mad with spite, as well as all the apothecaries, and that they should thirst for the blood of him who had exposed their disgraceful cheating!

"Most amazing! Most wonderful!" echoed the abbe, leaning back in his chair. "The wicked spirits conquered, and those who were afflicted through their malice being cured by means of the tub, what was there left of the curse bequeathed by Adam? If somebody would only go a step or two further and discover the elixir of life, and a method of making gold, the world would be quite a pleasant place to live in, and he for one would positively decline to leave it."

Gabrielle listened, mystified, glancing from one to another of the trio. Clovis was quite animated. His eyes sparkled, his cheeks were flushed, and his tongue loosened. What power was this of the abbe's, which could melt an icicle, bring a corpse to life? She was awed and uneasy.

Was Pharamond making fun of Clovis--fooling him to the top of his bent--in mischief? Surely not, for did he not owe to his brother's kindness a secure asylum, a refuge in an awkward strait, and pocket money also? For Gabrielle, in her kindness of heart, had guessed that the fugitives were out at elbows, and had quietly handed two neatly enveloped packets to her husband, with a request that he would pa.s.s them on. Clovis took the packets without surprise or even thanks, and his wife smiled to herself at his carelessness in money matters. Since his marriage he had always been well provided without the asking, and had come--how like a dreamer--to look on coin as convenient manna, which somehow dropped from heaven just at the auspicious moment.

What could so sensible a man as the abbe mean by encouraging him in his nonsense? He was sitting there now with head thrown back, and the placid air of one who knows how to enjoy digestion, rapping out now and then a leading question, such as would put Clovis on his mettle.

Was she, Gabrielle, in the wrong to despise these things? It seemed so. Her husband dabbled in philanthropy; the abbe was an excellent man, bent on doing good to his fellows; and this was the reason for the interest of both in Mesmer.

"Just think!" the marquis was observing with regret, "what good work might be done in the district if we could inaugurate a magic tub! The mists rising from the Loire generate rheumatism and paralysis, to say nothing of fevers, all of which, by means of a blessed bucket, might cease to exist except in fable. Why! this gloomy old prison-house might become a central office from which benefits would be scattered broadcast; its primaeval bloodstains might come in time to be washed away with Mesmer's tincture of iron!"

"Why not?" murmured the abbe, with increasing interest.