The Cross of Berny Part 18

Edgar is undeniably a talented, superior man, and captivating, as the beautiful Marquise de R. has proved; but I fail to recognise in his love the ideal I dreamed of. It is not the expression of an eye that he admires, it is the fine shape of the lids, limpid pupils; it is not the ingenuous grace of a smile that pleases him, it is the regularity of the lines, the crimson of the lips; to him beauty of soul adds no charm to a lovely face. Therefore, this love that a word of mine can render legitimate, frightens me as if it were a guilty pa.s.sion; it makes me uneasy and timid. I know you will ridicule me when I say that upon me this pa.s.sionate poet has the same effect as women abounding in imagination and originality of mind have upon men, who admire but never marry them. He has none of that affectionate gravity so necessary in a husband. On every subject our ideas differ; this different way of seeing things would cause endless disputes between us, or what is sadder yet, mutual sacrifices. Everybody adores the charming Edgar, I say Edgar, for it is by this name I daily hear him praised. I wish I could love him too! He was astonished to find me at his mother's house yesterday. Since my first visit to Richeport, Mad. de Meilhan would not allow a single day to pa.s.s without my seeing her; each day she contrived a new pretext to attract me; a piece of tapestry work to be designed, a view of the Abbey to be painted, a new book to read aloud or some music to try; the other evening it was raining torrents when I was about leaving and she insisted upon my staying all night; now she wishes me to remain for her birthday, which is on the 5th; she continues to watch me closely. Mad.

Taverneau has been questioned--the mute, Blanchard, has been tortured ... Mad. Taverneau replied that she had known me for three years and that during this time I had never ceased to mourn for the late Albert Guerin; in her zeal she added that he was a very deserving young man! My good Blanchard contented herself with saying that I was worth more than Mad. de Meilhan and all of her family put together. While they study me I study them. There is no danger in my remaining at Richeport. Edgar respects his mother--she watches over me. If necessary, I will tell her everything.... She speaks kindly of Mlle. de Chateaudun--she defends me.... How I laughed to myself this morning! I heard that M. de Monbert had secretly applied to the police to discover my whereabouts and the police sent him to join me at Burgundy!... What could have made any one think I was there? At whose house will he go to seek me? and whom will he find instead of me? However, I may be there before long if my cousin will travel by way of Macon. She will not be ready to start before next week.

Oh! I am so anxious to see you again! Do not go to Geneva without me.

IRENE DE CHATEAUDUN.

XVIII.

ROGER DE MONBERT _to_ MONSIEUR EDGAR DE MEILHAN, Pont de l'Arche (Eure).

PARIS, July 2d 18--.

Do you believe, my dear Edgar, that it is easy to live when the age of love is pa.s.sed? Verily one must be able to love his whole lifetime if he wishes to live an enchanted life, and die a painless death. What a seductive game! what unexpected luck! How many moments delightfully employed! Each day has its particular history; at night we delight in telling it over to ourselves, and indulge in the wildest conjectures as to what will be the events of each to-morrow. The reality of to-day defeats the antic.i.p.ations of yesterday. We hope one moment and despair the next--now dejected, now elated. We alternate between death and blissful life.

The other morning at nine o'clock we stopped at the stage-office at Sens for ten minutes. I went into the hotel and questioned everybody, and found they had seen many young ladies of the age, figure and beauty of Mlle. de Chateaudun.

Happy people they must be!

However, I only asked all these questions to amuse myself during the ten minutes' relay. My mind was at rest--for the police are infallible; everything will be explained at the Chateau de Lorgeville. I stopped my carriage some yards from the gate, got out and walked up the long avenue, being concealed by the large trees through which I caught glimpses of the chateau.

It was a large symmetrical building--a stone quadrangle, heavily topped off by a dark slate roof, and a dejected-looking weatherc.o.c.k that rebelled against the wind and declined to move.

All the windows in the front of the house were tear-stained at the base by the winter rains.

A modern entrance, with double flights of steps decorated by four vases containing four dead aloe-stems buried in straw, betrayed the cultivated taste of the handsome Leon.

I expected to see the shadow of a living being.... No human outline broke the tranquil shade of the trees.

An accursed dog, man's worst enemy, barked furiously, and made violent efforts to break his rope and fly at me.... I hope he is tied with a gordian knot if he wishes to see the setting sun!

Finally a gardener enjoying a sinecure came to enliven this landscape without a garden; he strolled down the avenue with the nonchalance of a workman paid by the handsome Leon.

I am able to distinguish among the gravest faces those that can relax into a smile at the sight of gold. The gardener pa.s.sed before me, and after he had bestowed upon me the expected smile, I said to him:

"Is this Mad. de Lorgeville's chateau?"

He made an affirmative sign. Once more I bowed to the genius of the Jerusalem street G.o.ddess.

I said to the gardener in a solemn tone: "Here is a letter of the greatest importance; you must hand it to Mlle. de Chateaudun when she is alone." I then showed him my purse and said: "After that, this money is yours."

"The sweet young lady!" said the gardener, walking off towards the chateau with the gold in one hand, the letter in the other, and the purse in his eye--"The good young lady! it is a long time since she has received a love-letter."

I said to myself, The handsome Leon does not indulge in letter-writing--he has a good reason for that.

The following is the letter carried by the gardener to the chateau:--

"Mademoiselle,--

"Desperate situations justify desperate measures. I am willing to believe that I am still, by your desire, undergoing a terrible ordeal, but I judge myself sufficiently tried.

"I am ready for everything except the misery of losing you. My last sane idea is uttered in this warning.

"I must see you; I must speak to you.

"Do not refuse me a few moments' conversation--Mademoiselle, in the name of Heaven save me! save yourself!

"There is in the neighborhood of the chateau some farmhouse, or shady grove. Name any spot where I can meet you in an hour. I am awaiting your answer.... After an hour has pa.s.sed I will wait for nothing more in this world."

The gardener walked along with the nonchalance of the man of the Georgics, as if meditating upon the sum of happiness contained in a piece of gold. I looked after him with that resignation we feel as the end of a great trial approaches.

He was soon lost to view, and in the distance I heard a door open and shut.

In a few minutes Mlle. Chateaudun would be reading my letter. I read it over in my own mind, and rapidly conjectured the impression each word would make upon her heart.

Through the thick foliage where I was concealed, I had a confused view of one wing of the chateau; the wall appeared to be covered with green tapestry torn in a thousand places. I could distinguish nothing clearly at a distance of twenty yards. Finally I saw approaching a graceful figure clad in white--and through the trees I caught sight of a blue scarf--a muslin dress and blue scarf--nothing more, and yet my heart stood still! My sensations at this moment are beyond a.n.a.lyzation. I felt an emotion that a man in love will comprehend at once.... A muslin dress fluttering under the trees where the fountains ripple and the birds sing! Is there a more thrilling sight?

I stood with one foot forward on the gravel-path, and with folded arms and bowed head I waited. I saw the scarf fringe before seeing the face.

I looked up, and there stood before me a lovely woman ... but it was not Irene!...

It was Mad. de Lorgeville. She knew me and I recognised her, having known her before her marriage. She still possessed the beauty of her girlhood, and marriage had perfected her loveliness by adorning her with that fascinating grace that is wanting even in Raphael's madonnas.

A peal of merry laughter rooted me to the spot and changed the current of my ideas. The lady was seized with such a fit of gayety that she could scarcely speak, but managed to gasp out my name and t.i.tle in broken syllables. Like a great many men, I can stand much from women that I am not in love with.... I stood with arms crossed and hat off, waiting for an explanation of this foolish reception. After several attempts, Mad. de Lorgeville succeeded in making her little speech.

After this storm of laughter there was still a ripple through which I could distinguish the following words, although I did not understand them:--

"Excuse me, monsieur, ... but if you knew ... when you see ... but she must not see my foolish merriment, ... she cherishes the fancy that she is still young, ... like all women who are no longer so, ... give me your arm, ... we were at table ... we always keep a seat for a chance visitor ... One does not often meet with an adventure like this except in novels...."

I made an effort to a.s.sume that calmness and boldness that saved my life the day I was made prisoner on the inhospitable coast of Borneo, and the old Arab king accused me of having attempted the traffic of gold dust--a capital crime--and said to the fair young chatelaine:

"Madame, there is not much to amuse one in the country; gayety is a precious thing; it cannot be bought; happy is he who gives it. I congratulate myself upon being able to present it to you. Can you not give me back half of it, madame?"

"Yes, monsieur, come and take it yourself," said Madame de Lorgeville; "but you must use it with discretion before witnesses."

"I can a.s.sure you, madame, that I have not come to your chateau in search of gayety. Allow me to escort you to the door and then retire."

"You are my prisoner, monsieur, and I shall not grant your request. The arrival of the Prince de Monbert is a piece of good fortune. My husband and I will not be ungrateful to the good genius that brought you here.

We shall keep you."

"One moment, madame," said I, stopping in front of the chateau; "I accept the happiness of being retained by you; but will you be good enough to name the persons I am to meet here?"

"They are all friends of M. de Monbert."

"Friends are the very people I dread, madame."

"But they are all women."