CHAPTER XXXIV.
NEAR NEIGHBORS.
On parting from young Taverney, Gilbert had plunged into the crowd. Butnot with a heart bounding with glee and expectation--rather with thesoul ulcerated by grief which the noble's kind welcome and obligingoffers of assistance could not mollify.
Andrea never suspected that she had been cruel to the youth. The fairand serene maiden was completely unaware that there could be any linkbetween her and her foster-brother, for joy or sorrow. She soared overearthly spheres, casting on them shine or shadow according to her beingsmiling or gloomy. This time it chanced that her shade of disdain hadchilled Gilbert; as she had merely followed the impulse of her temper,she was ignorant that she had been scornful.
But Gilbert, like a disarmed gladiator, had received the proud speechand the scorning looks straight in the heart. He was not enough of aphilosopher yet not to console himself with despair while the wound wasbleeding.
Hence he did not notice men or horses in the press. Gathering up hisstrength, he rushed into it, at the risk of being crushed, like a wildboar cutting through the pack of hounds.
At length breathing more freely, he reached the green sward, water sideand loneliness. He had run to the river Seine, and came out oppositeSt. Denis island. Exhausted, not by bodily fatigue but by spiritualanguish, he rolled on the grass, and roared like a lion transfixed bya spear, as if the animal's voice better expressed his woes than humantongue.
Was not all the vague and undecided hope which had flung a little lighton the mad ideas, not to be accounted for to himself, now extinguishedat a blow? To whatever step on the social ladder Gilbert might riseby dint of genius, science and study, he would always be a man or athing--according to her own words, for which her father was wrong inpaying any attention, and not worth her lowering her eyes upon.
He had briefly fancied that, on seeing him in the capital, and learninghis resolution to struggle till he came up through the darkness, Andreawould applaud the effort. Not only had the cheer failed the brave boy,but he had met the haughty indifference always had for the dependent bythe young lady of the manor.
Furthermore she had shown anger that he should have looked at her musicbook; had he touched it, he did not doubt that he would be thought fitto be burned at the stake.
As he writhed on the turf, he knew not whether he loved or hated historturer; he suffered, that was all. But as he was not capable of longpatience, he sprang out of his prostration, decided to invent someenergetic course.
"Granted that she does not love me," he reasoned, "I must not hopethat she never will. I had the right to expect from her the mildinterest attached to those who wrestle with their misfortune. She didnot understand what her brother saw. He thought that I might become acelebrity; should it happen so, he would act fairly and let me have hissister, in reward of my earned glory, as he would have exchanged herfor my native aristocracy, had I been born his equal.
"But I shall always be plain Gilbert in her eyes, for she looks downin me upon what nothing can efface, gild or cover--my low birth. Asthough, supposing I attain my mark, it would not be greater of me thanif I had started on her high level! Oh, mad creature! senseless being!oh, woman, woman--your other name is Imperfection.
"Do not be deluded by the splendid gaze, intelligent smile, andqueenly port of Andrea de Taverney, whose beauty makes her fit to rulesociety--she is but a rustic dame, straitlaced, limited, swathed inaristocratic prejudices. Equals for her are those empty-headed fops,with effete minds, who had the means to learn everything and knownothing; they are the men to whom she pays heed. Gilbert is but a dog,less than a dog, for I believe she asked after Mahon, and not about mywelfare.
"Ah, she is ignorant that I am fit to cope with them; when I wearthe like coats, I shall look as well; and that, with my inflexibledetermination, I shall grasp----"
A dreadful smile was defined on his lips where the sentence died awayunfinished. Frowning, he slowly lowered his head.
What passed in that obscure soul? What terrible plan bent the paleforehead, already sallow with sleepless nights, and furrowed bythinking? Who shall tell?
At the close of half an hour's profound meditation, Gilbert rose,coldly determined. He went to the river, drank a long draft, andlooking round, saw the distant waves of the people in a sea coming outof St. Denis.
They so crowded in upon the first coaches that the horses had to go ata walk, on the road to St. Ouen.
The dauphin wanted the ceremony to be a national family festival. Sothe French family abused the privilege; a number of Parisians climbedon the footboards and hung there without being disturbed.
Very soon Gilbert recognized the Taverney carriage, with Philip holdingin his capering horse by the side.
"I must know where she goes," thought the lover; "and so shall followthem."
It was intended that the dauphiness should sup with the royalfamily in private at Muette, but Louis XV. had broken the etiquetteso far as to make up a larger party. He handed a list of guests tothe dauphiness, with a pencil, and suggested she should strike outthe names of any not liked to come. When she came to the last name,Countess Dubarry's, she felt her lips quiver and lose blood; butsustained by her mother's instructions, she summoned up her powers toher aid, and with a charming smile returned the paper and pencil to theking, saying that she was very happy to be let into the bosom of allhis family at the very first.
Gilbert knew nothing about this, and it was only when he got to Muettethat he recognized the coach of Dubarry, with Zamore mounted on a highwhite horse. Luckily it was dark, and Gilbert threw himself on theground in a grove and waited.
The king, then, shared supper between mistress and daughter-in-law, andwas merry especially on seeing that the newcomer treated the usurpermore kindly even than at Compiegne.
But the dauphin, gloomy and careworn, spoke of having the headache, andretired before they sat at table.
The supper was prolonged to eleven o'clock.
The king sent a band of music to play to the repast for the gentry ofthe retinue--of which our proud Andrea had to admit she was a member;as the accommodation was limited, fifty masters had to picnic on thelawn, served by men in royal livery. In the thicket, Gilbert lostnothing of this scene. Taking out a piece of bread, he ate along withthe guests, while watching that those he attended to did not slip away.
After the meal, the dauphiness came out on the balcony to take leaveof her hosts. Near her stood the king. Countess Dubarry kept out ofsight in the back of the room, with that exquisite tact which even herenemies allowed she had.
The courtiers passed under the balcony to salute the king, who namedsuch of them to the dauphiness as she did not already know. From timeto time some happy allusion or pleasant saying dropped from his lips,to delight those who received it. Seeing this servility, Gilbertmuttered to himself:
"I am a touch above these slaves, for I would not crouch like that forall the gold in the world."
He rose on one knee when the turn came for the Taverneys to pass.
"Captain Taverney," said the dauphiness, "I grant you leave to conductyour father and sister to Paris."
In the nightly silence and amid the attention of those drinking in theaugust words, Gilbert caught the sound coming in his direction.
"My lord baron," continued the princess, "I have no accommodation yetfor you among my household; so guard your daughter in town until I setup my establishment at Versailles. Keep me in mind, my dear young lady."
The baron passed on with son and daughter. Others came up for whom theprincess had pretty stuff to say, but that little mattered to Gilbert.Gliding out of the covert, he followed the baron among the two hundredfootmen shouting out their master's names, fifty coachmen roaring outin answer to the lackeys, while sixty coaches rolled over the pavementlike thunder.
As Taverney had a royal carriage, it waited for him aside from thecommon herd. He stepped in, with Andrea and Philip, and the door closedafter them.
"Get on the box with the driv
er," said Philip to the footman. "He hasbeen on his feet all day, and must be worn out."
The baron grumbled some remonstrance not heard by Gilbert, but thelackey mounted beside the driver. Gilbert went nearer. At the time ofstarting a trace got loose and the driver had to alight to set it right.
"It is very late," said the baron.
"I am dreadfully tired," sighed Andrea. "I hope we shall find asleeping place somewhere."
"I expect so," replied her brother. "I sent Labrie and Nicole straightto Paris from Soissons. I gave him a letter to a friend for him to letus have a little house in the rear of his, where his mother and sisterlive when they come up from the country. It is not luxury, but it iscomfortable. You do not want to make a show while you are waiting forthe coming out in the suitable style."
"Anything will easily beat Taverney," said the old lord.
"Unfortunately, yes," added the captain.
"Any garden?" asked Andrea.
"Quite a little park, for town, with fine trees. However, you will notlong enjoy it, as you will be presented as soon as the wedding is over."
"We are in a bright dream--do not waken us. Did you give the coachmanthe address?"
"Yes, father," replied the young noble, while Gilbert greedily listened.
He had hoped to catch the address.
"Never mind," he muttered; "it is only a league to town. I will followthem."
But the royal horses could go at a rattling gait when not kept in linewith others. The trace being mended, the man mounted his box and droveoff rapidly--so rapidly that this reminded poor Gilbert of how he hadfallen on the road under the hoofs of Chon's post-horses.
Making a spurt, he reached the untenanted footboard, and hung on behindfor an instant. But the thought struck him that he was in the menial'splace behind Andrea's carriage, and he muttered:
"No! it shall not be said that I did not fight it out to the last. Mylegs are tired, but not my arms."
Seizing the edge of the footboard with both hands, the inflexible youthswung his feet up under the body of the coach so as to get them on theforesprings; thus suspended, he was carried on, spite of the jerking,over the wretched rutty road. He stuck to the desperate situation bystrength of arm, rather than capitulate with his conscience.
"I shall learn her address," he thought. "It will be another wakefulnight; but to-morrow I shall have repose, seated while I am copyingmusic. I have a trifle of money, too, and I will take a little rest."
He reflected that Paris was very large and that he might be lost afterseeing the baron to his house. Happily it was near midnight, and dawncame at half after three.
As he was pondering he remarked that they crossed an open place wherestood an equestrian statue in the midst.
"Victories Place," he thought gleefully; "I know it."
The vehicle turning partly round and Andrea put her head out to see thestatue.
"The late king," explained her brother. "We are pretty nearly therenow."
They went down so steep a hill that Gilbert was nearly scraped off.
"Here we are," cried the dragoon captain.
Gilbert dropped and slipped out from beneath to hide behind ahorseblock on the other side.
Young Taverney got out first, rang at a house doorbell, and returned toreceive Andrea in his arms. The baron was the last out.
"Are those rascals going to keep us out all night?" he snarled.
At this the voices of Labrie and Nicole were heard, and a door opened.The three Taverneys were engulfed in a dark courtyard where the doorclosed upon them. The vehicle and attendants went their way to theroyal stables.
Nothing remarkable was apparent on the house; but the carriage lampshad flashed on the next doorway, which had a label: "This is themansion of the Armenonvilles." Gilbert did not know what street it wasas yet, but going to the far end, the same the carriage had gone outof, he was startled to see the public fountain at which he drank in themornings. Going ten paces up the street he saw the baker's shop wherehe supplied himself. Still doubting, he returned to the corner. By thegleam of a swinging lamp, he could read on a white stone the name readthree days before when coming from Meudon Wood with Rousseau:
"Plastriere Street."
It followed that Andrea was lodged a hundred steps apart, nearer thanshe was to him at Taverney.
So he went to his own door, hoping that the latchet might not bedrawn altogether within. It was pulled in, but it was frayed and afew threads stuck out. He drew one and then another so that the thongitself came forth at last. He lifted the latch, and entered, for it wasone of his lucky days.
He groped up the stairs one by one, without making any noise, andfinally touched the padlock on his own bedroom door, in which Rousseauhad thoughtfully left the key.