CHAPTER XVIII. A FAMILY PARTY
The next morning found the young Duke of Vallombreuse still living,though his life hung by so slender a thread, that the surgeon, whoanxiously watched his every breath, feared from moment to moment that itmight break. He was a learned and skilful man, this same Maitre Laurent,who only needed some favourable opportunity to bring him into notice andmake him as celebrated as he deserved to be. His remarkable talents andskill had only been exercised thus far "in anima vili," among the lowerorders of society--whose living or dying was a matter of no momentwhatever. But now had come at last the chance so long sighed for insecret, and he felt that the recovery of his illustrious patient was ofparamount importance to himself. The worthy doctor's amour propreand ambition were both actively engaged in this desperate duel hewas fighting with Death, and he set his teeth and determined that thevictory must rest with him. In order to keep the whole glory ofthe triumph for himself, he had persuaded the prince--not withoutdifficulty--to renounce his intention of sending for the most celebratedsurgeons in Paris, assuring him that he himself was perfectly capable todo all that could be done, and pleading that nothing was more dangerousthan a change of treatment in such a case as this. Maitre Laurentconquered, and feeling that there was now no danger of his beingpushed into the background, threw his whole heart and strength into thestruggle; yet many times during that anxious night he feared that hispatient's life was slipping away from his detaining grasp, and almostrepented him of having assumed the entire responsibility. But with themorning came encouragement, and as the watchful surgeon stood atthe bedside, intently gazing upon the ghastly face on the pillow, hemurmured to himself:
"No, he will not die--his countenance has lost that terrible,hippocratic look that had settled upon it last evening when I first sawhim--his pulse is stronger, his breathing free and natural. Besides, heMUST live--his recovery will make my fortune. I must and will tear himout of the grim clutches of Death--fine, handsome, young fellow that heis, and the heir and hope of his noble family--it will be long ere histomb need be made ready to receive him. He will help me to get away fromthis wretched little village, where I vegetate ignobly, and eat myheart out day by day. Now for a bold stroke!--at the risk of producingfever--at all risks--I shall venture to give him a dose of thatwonder-working potion of mine." Opening his case of medicines, he tookout several small vials, containing different preparations--some red asa ruby, others green as an emerald--this one yellow as virgin gold,that bright and colourless as a diamond--and on each one a small labelbearing a Latin inscription. Maitre Laurent, though he was perfectlysure of himself, carefully read the inscriptions upon those he hadselected several times over, held up the tiny vials one after another,where a ray of sunshine struck upon them, and looked admiringly throughthe bright transparent liquids they contained--then, measuring with theutmost care a few drops from each, compounded a potion after a secretrecipe of his own; which he made a mystery of, and refused to impart tohis fellow practitioners. Rousing his sleeping assistant, he ordered himto raise the patient's head a little, while, with a small spatula, hepried the firmly set teeth apart sufficiently to allow the liquid hehad prepared to trickle slowly into the mouth. As it reached the throatthere was a spasmodic contraction that gave Maitre Laurent an instantof intense anxiety--but it was only momentary, and the remainder of thedose was swallowed easily and with almost instantaneous effect. A slighttinge of colour showed itself in the pallid cheeks, the eyelids trembledand half unclosed, and the hand that had lain inert and motionless uponthe counterpane stirred a little. Then the young duke heaved a deepsigh, and opening his eyes looked vacantly in about him, like oneawakening from a dream, or returning from those mysterious regionswhither the soul takes flight when unconsciousness holds this mortalframe enthralled. Only a glance, and the long eyelashes fell again uponthe pale cheeks--but a wonderful change had passed over the countenance.
"I staked everything on that move," said Maitre Laurent to himself,with a long breath of relief, "and I have won. It was either kill orcure--and it has not killed him. All glory be to Aesculapius, Hygeia,and Hippocrates!"
At this moment a hand noiselessly put aside the hangings over the door,and the venerable head of the prince appeared--looking ten years olderfor the agony and dread of the terrible night just passed.
"How is he, Maitre Laurent?" he breathed, in broken, scarcely audibletones.
The surgeon put his finger to his lips, and with the other hand pointedto the young duke's face-still raised a little on the pillows, and nolonger wearing its death-like look; then, with the light step habitualwith those who are much about the sick, he went over to the prince,still standing on the threshold, and drawing him gently outside andaway from the door, said in a low voice, "Your highness can see that thepatient's condition, so far from growing worse, has decidedly improved.Certainly he is not out of danger yet--his state is very critical--butunless some new and totally unforeseen complication should arise,which I shall use every effort to prevent, I think that we can pull himthrough, and that he will be able to enjoy life again as if he had neverbeen hurt."
The prince's care-worn face brightened and his fine eyes flashed atthese hopeful words; he stepped forward to enter the sick-room, butMaitre Laurent respectfully opposed his doing so.
"Permit me, my lord, to prevent your approaching your son's bedside justnow--doctors are often very disagreeable, you know, and have to imposetrying conditions upon those to whom their patients are dear. I beseechyou not to go near the Duke of Vallombreuse at present. Your belovedpresence might, in the excessively weak and exhausted condition ofmy patient, cause dangerous agitation. Any strong emotion would beinstantly fatal to him, his hold upon life is still so slight. Perfecttranquility is his only safety. If all goes well--as I trust and believethat it will--in a few days he will have regained his strength in ameasure, his wound will be healing, and you can probably be with him asmuch as you like, without any fear of doing him harm. I know that thisis very trying to your highness, but, believe me, it is necessary toyour son's well-being."
The prince, very much relieved, and yielding readily to the doctor'swishes, returned to his own apartment; where he occupied himself withsome religious reading until noon, when the major-domo came to announcethat dinner was on the table.
"Go and tell my daughter, the Comtesse Isabelle de Lineuil--such is thetitle by which she is to be addressed henceforth--that I request her tojoin me at dinner," said the prince to the major-domo, who hastened offto obey this order.
Isabelle went quickly down the grand staircase with a light step, andsmiled to herself as she passed through the noble hall where she hadbeen so frightened by the two figures in armour, on the occasion ofher bold exploring expedition the first night after her arrival at thechateau. Everything looked very different now--the bright sunshinewas pouring in at the windows, and large fires of juniper, and othersweet-smelling woods, had completely done away with the damp, chilly,heavy atmosphere that pervaded the long disused rooms when she was inthem before.
In the splendid dining-room she found a table sumptuously spread, andher father already seated at it, in his large, high-backed, richlycarved chair, behind which stood two lackeys, in superb liveries. As sheapproached him she made a most graceful curtsey, which had nothing inthe least theatrical about it, and would have met with approbation evenin courtly circles. A servant was holding the chair destined for her,and with some timidity, but no apparent embarrassment, she took her seatopposite to the prince. She was served with soup and wine, and then withcourse after course of delicate, tempting viands; but she could not eather heart was too full--her nerves were still quivering, from the terrorand excitement of the preceding day and night.
She was dazzled and agitated by this sudden change of fortune, anxiousabout her brother, now lying at the point of death, and, above all,troubled and grieved at her separation from her lover--so she could onlymake a pretence of dining, and played languidly with the food on herplate.
"You are eatin
g nothing, my dear comtesse," said the prince, who hadbeen furtively watching her; "I pray you try to do better with this bitof partridge I am sending you."
At this title of comtesse, spoken as a matter of course, and in such akind, tender tone, Isabelle looked up at the prince with astonishmentwritten in her beautiful, deep blue eyes, which seemed to plead timidlyfor an explanation.
"Yes, Comtesse de Lineuil; it is the title which goes with an estate Ihave settled on you, my dear child, and which has long been destined foryou. The name of Isabelle alone, charming though it be, is not suitablefor my daughter."
Isabelle, yielding to the impulse of the moment--as the servants hadretired and she was alone with her father--rose, and going to his side,knelt down and kissed his hand, in token of gratitude for his delicacyand generosity.
"Rise, my child," said he, very tenderly, and much moved, "and returnto your place. What I have done is only just. It calls for no thanks. Ishould have done it long ago if it had been in my power. In the terriblecircumstances that have reunited us, my dear daughter, I can see thefinger of Providence, and through them I have learned your worth. Toyour virtue alone it is due that a horrible crime was not committed, andI love and honour you for it; even though it may cost me the loss of myonly son. But God will be merciful and preserve his life, so that he mayrepent of having so persecuted and outraged the purest innocence.Maitre Laurent, in whom I have every confidence, gives me some hope thismorning; and when I looked at Vallombreuse--from the threshold of hisroom only--I could see that the seal of death was no longer upon hisface."
They were interrupted by the servants, bringing in water to wash theirfingers, in a magnificent golden bowl, and this ceremony having beenduly gone through with, the prince threw down his napkin and led the wayinto the adjoining salon, signing to Isabelle to follow him. He seatedhimself in a large arm-chair in front of the blazing wood fire, andbidding Isabelle place herself close beside him, took her hand tenderlybetween both of his, and looked long and searchingly at this lovelyyoung daughter, so strangely restored to him. There was much of sadnessmingled with the joy that shone in his eyes, for he was still veryanxious about his son, whose life was in such jeopardy; but as he gazedupon Isabelle's sweet face the joy predominated, and he smiled verylovingly upon the new comtesse, as he began to talk to her of long pastdays.
"Doubtless, my beloved child, in the midst of the strange events thathave brought us together, in such an odd, romantic, almost supernaturalmanner, the thought has suggested itself to your mind, that during allthe years that have passed since your infancy I have not sought you out,and that chance alone has at last restored the long-lost child to herneglectful father. But you are so good and noble that I know you wouldnot dwell upon such an idea, and I hope that you do not so misjudgeme as to think me capable of such culpable neglect, now that you aregetting a little better acquainted with me. As you must know, yourmother, Cornelia, was excessively proud and high-spirited. She resentedevery affront, whether intended as such or not, with extraordinaryviolence, and when I was obliged, in spite of my most heartfelt wishes,to separate myself from her, and reluctantly submit to a marriage that Icould not avoid, she obstinately refused to allow me to provide forher maintenance in comfort and luxury, as well as for you and youreducation. All that I gave her, and settled on her, she sent back tome with the most exaggerated disdain, and inexorably refused to receiveagain. I could not but admire, though I so deplored, her lofty spirit,and proud rejection of every benefit which I desired to confer upon her,and I left in the hands of a trusty agent, for her, the deeds of all thelanded property and houses I had destined for her, as well as themoney and jewels--so that she could at any time reclaim them, if shewould--hoping that she might see fit to change her mind when the firstflush of anger was over. But, to my great chagrin, she persisted in herrefusal of everything, and changing her name, fled from Paris into theprovinces; where she was said to have joined a roving band of comedians.Soon after that I was sent by my sovereign on several foreign missionsthat kept me long away from France, and I lost all trace of her and you.In vain were all my efforts to find you both, until at last I heard thatshe was dead. Then I redoubled my diligence in the search for my littlemotherless daughter, whom I had so tenderly loved; but all in vain. Notrace of her could I find. I heard, indeed, of many children among thesestrolling companies, and carefully investigated each case that cameto my knowledge; but it always ended in disappointment. Several women,indeed, tried to palm off their little girls upon me as my child, andI had to be on my guard against fraud; but I never failed to sift thematter thoroughly, even though I knew that deceit was intended, lest Ishould unawares reject the dear little one I was so anxiously seeking.At last I was almost forced to conclude that you too had perished; yeta secret intuition always told me that you were still in the land of theliving. I used to sit for hours and think of how sweet and lovely youwere in infancy; how your little rosy fingers used to play with and pullmy long mustache--which was black then, my dear--when I leaned over tokiss you in your cradle--recalling all your pretty, engaging little babytricks, remembering how fond and proud I was of you, and grieving overthe loss that I seemed to feel more and more acutely as the years wenton. The birth of my son only made me long still more intensely for you,instead of consoling me for your loss, or banishing you from my memory,and when I saw him decked with rich laces and ribbons, like a royalbabe, and playing with his jewelled rattle, I would think with an achingheart that perhaps at that very moment my dear little daughter wassuffering from cold and hunger, or the unkind treatment of those whohad her in charge. Then I regretted deeply that I had not taken you awayfrom your mother in the very beginning, and had you brought up asmy daughter should be--but when you were born I did not dream of ourparting. As years rolled on new anxieties tortured me. I knew thatyou would be beautiful, and how much you would have to suffer from thedissolute men who hover about all young and pretty actresses--my bloodwould boil as I thought of the insults and affronts to which you mightbe subjected, and from which I was powerless to shield you--no words cantell what I suffered. Affecting a taste for the theatre that I did notpossess, I never let an opportunity pass to see every company ofplayers that I could hear of--hoping to find you at last among them. Butalthough I saw numberless young actresses, about your age, not one ofthem could have been you, my dear child--of that I was sure. So at lastI abandoned the hope of finding my long-lost daughter, though it was abitter trial to feel that I must do so. The princess, my wife, haddied three years after our marriage, leaving me only onechild--Vallombreuse--whose ungovernable disposition has always given memuch trouble and anxiety. A few days ago, at Saint Germain, I heard someof the courtiers speak in terms of high praise of Herode's troupe,and what they said made me determine to go and see one of theirrepresentations without delay, while my heart beat high with a newhope--for they especially lauded a young actress, called Isabelle; whosegraceful, modest, high-bred air they declared to be irresistible, andher acting everything that could be desired--adding that she was asvirtuous as she was beautiful, and that the boldest libertines respectedher immaculate purity. Deeply agitated by a secret presentiment, Ihastened back to Paris, and went to the theatre that very night. There Isaw you, my darling, and though it would seem to be impossible for evena father's eye to recognise, in the beautiful young woman of twenty, thebabe that he had kissed in its cradle, and had never beheld since,still I knew you instantly--the very moment you came in sight--and Iperceived, with a heart swelling with happiness and thankfulness, thatyou were all that I could wish. Moreover, I recognised the face of anold actor, who had been I knew in the troupe that Cornelia joined whenshe fled from Paris, and I resolved to address myself first to him; soas not to startle you by too abrupt a disclosure of my claims upon you.But when I sent the next morning to the hotel in the Rue Dauphine, Ilearned that Herode's troupe had just gone to give a representation ata chateau in the environs of Paris, and would be absent three days. Ishould have endeavoured to wait patiently for their ret
urn, had nota brave fellow, who used to be in my service, and has my interest atheart, come to inform me that the Duke of Vallombreuse, being madly inlove with a young actress named Isabelle, who resisted his suit withthe utmost firmness and determination, had arranged to gain forciblepossession of her in the course of the day's journey--the expeditioninto the country being gotten up for that express purpose--that he hada band of hired ruffians engaged to carry out his nefarious purpose andbring his unhappy victim to this chateau--and that he had come to warnme, fearing lest serious consequences should ensue to my son, as theyoung actress would be accompanied by brave and faithful friends, whowere armed, and would defend her to the death. This terrible news threwme into a frightful state of anxiety and excitement. Feeling sure, asI did, that you were my own daughter, I shuddered at the thought of thehorrible crime that I might not be in time to prevent, and without onemoment's delay set out for this place--suffering such agony by theway as I do not like even to think of. You were already delivered fromdanger when I arrived, as you know, and without having suffered anythingbeyond the alarm and dread--which must have been terrible indeed, mypoor child! And then, the amethyst ring on your finger confirmed, pastany possibility of doubt, what my heart had told me, when first my eyesbeheld you in the theatre."
"I pray you to believe, dear lord and father," answered Isabelle, "thatI have never accused you of anything, nor considered myself neglected.Accustomed from my infancy to the roving life of the troupe I was with,I neither knew nor dreamed of any other. The little knowledge that I hadof the world made me realize that I should be wrong in wishing toforce myself upon an illustrious family, obliged doubtless by powerfulreasons, of which I knew nothing, to leave me in obscurity. The confusedremembrance I had of my origin sometimes inspired me--when I was veryyoung--with a certain pride, and I would say to myself, when I noticedthe disdainful air with which great ladies looked down upon us pooractresses, I also am of noble birth. But I outgrew those fancies,and only preserved an invincible self-respect, which I have alwayscherished. Nothing in the world would have induced me to dishonour theillustrious blood that flows in my veins. The disgraceful license of thecoulisses, and the loathsome gallantries lavished upon all actresses,even those who are not comely, disgusted me from the first, and I havelived in the theatre almost as if in a convent. The good old pedanthas been like a watchful father to me, and as for Herode, he would haveseverely chastised any one who dared to touch me with the tip of hisfinger, or even to pronounce a vulgar word in my presence. Although theyare only obscure actors, they are very honourable, worthy men, and Itrust you will be good enough to help them if they ever find themselvesin need of assistance. I owe it partly to them that I can lift myforehead for your kiss without a blush of shame, and proudly declaremyself worthy, so far as purity is concerned, to be your daughter. Myonly regret is to have been the innocent cause of the misfortune thathas overtaken the duke, your son. I could have wished to enter yourfamily, my dear father, under more favourable auspices."
"You have nothing to reproach yourself with, my sweet child, for youcould not divine these mysteries, which have been suddenly disclosedby a combination of circumstances that would be considered romanticand improbable, even in a novel; and my joy at finding you as worthyin every way to be my beloved and honoured daughter, as if you had notlived amid all the dangers of such a career, makes up for the pain andanxiety caused by the illness and danger of my son. Whether he lives ordies, I shall never for one moment blame you for anything in connectionwith his misfortune. In any event, it was your virtue and courage thatsaved him from being guilty of a crime that I shudder to contemplate.And now, tell me, who was the handsome young man among your liberatorswho seemed to direct the attack, and who wounded Vallombreuse? An actordoubtless, though it appeared to me that he had a very noble bearing,and magnificent courage."
"Yes, my dear father," Isabelle replied, with a most lovely and becomingblush, "he is an actor, a member of our troupe; but if I may venture tobetray his secret, which is already known to the Duke of Vallombreuse,I will tell you that the so-called Captain Fracasse conceals under hismask a noble countenance, as indeed you already know, and under histheatrical pseudonym, the name of an illustrious family."
"True!" rejoined the prince, "I have heard something about that already.It would certainly have been astonishing if an ordinary, low-born actorhad ventured upon so bold and rash a course as running counter to a Dukeof Vallombreuse, and actually entering into a combat with him; itneeds noble blood for such daring acts. Only a gentleman can conquer agentleman, just as a diamond can only be cut by a diamond."
The lofty pride of the aged prince found much consolation in theknowledge that his son had not been attacked and wounded by an adversaryof low origin; there was nothing compromising in a duel between equals,and he drew a deep breath of relief at thought of it.
"And pray, what is the real name of this valiant champion?" smilinglyasked the prince, with a roguish twinkle in his dark eyes--"thisdauntless knight, and brave defender of innocence and purity!"
"He is the Baron de Sigognac," Isabelle replied blushingly, with aslight trembling perceptible in her sweet, low voice. "I reveal his namefearlessly to you, my dear father, for you are both too just and toogenerous to visit upon his head the disastrous consequences of a victorythat he deplores."
"De Sigognac?" said the prince. "I thought that ancient and illustriousfamily was extinct. Is he not from Gascony?"
"Yes; his home is in the neighbourhood of Dax."
"Exactly--and the de Sigognacs have an appropriate coat of arms--threegolden storks on an azure field. Yes, it is as I said, an ancient andillustrious family--one of the oldest and most honourable in France.Paramede de Sigognac figured gloriously in the first crusade. A Raimbaudde Sigognac, the father of this young man without doubt, was the devotedfriend and companion of Henri IV, in his youth, but was not oftenseen at court in later years. It was said that he was embarrassedfinancially, I remember."
"So much so, that when our troupe sought refuge of a stormy night underhis roof, we found his son living in a half ruined chateau, haunted bybats and owls, where his youth was passing in sadness and misery. Wepersuaded him to come away with us, fearing that he would die there ofstarvation and melancholy--but I never saw misfortune so bravely borne."
"Poverty is no disgrace," said the prince, "and any noble house thathas preserved its honour unstained may rise again from its ruins toits ancient height of glory and renown. But why did not the young baronapply to some of his father's old friends in his distress? or lay hiscase before the king, who is the natural refuge of all loyal gentlemenunder such circumstances?"
"Misfortunes such as his are apt to breed timidity, even with thebravest," Isabelle replied, "and pride deters many a man from betrayinghis misery to the world. When the Baron de Sigognac consented toaccompany us to Paris, he hoped to find some opportunity there toretrieve his fallen fortunes; but it has not presented itself. In ordernot to be an expense to the troupe, he generously and nobly insistedupon taking the place of one of the actors, who died on the way, and whowas a great loss to us. As he could appear upon the stage always masked,he surely did not compromise his dignity by it."
"Under this theatrical disguise, I think that, without being a sorcerer,I can detect a little bit of romance, eh?" said the prince, with amischievous smile. "But I will not inquire too closely; I know how goodand true you are well enough not to take alarm at any respectful tributepaid to your charms. I have not been with you long enough yet as afather, my sweet child, to venture upon sermonizing."
As he paused, Isabelle raised her lovely eyes, in which shone the purestinnocence and the most perfect loyalty, to his, and met his questioninggaze unflinchingly. The rosy flush which the first mention of deSigognac's name had called up was gone, and her countenance showed nofaintest sign of embarrassment or shame. In her pure heart the mostsearching looks of a father, of God himself, could have found nothingto condemn. Just at this point the doctor's assistant was ann
ounced, whobrought a most favourable report from the sick-room. He was charged totell the prince that his son's condition was eminently satisfactory--amarked change for the better having taken place; and that Maitre Laurentconsidered the danger past--believing that his recovery was now only aquestion of time.
A few days later, Vallombreuse, propped up on his pillows, received avisit from his faithful and devoted friend, the Chevalier de Vidalinc,whom he had not been permitted to see earlier. The prince was sittingby the bedside, affectionately watching every flitting expression onhis son's face, which was pathetically thin and pale, but handsomerthan ever; because the old haughty, fierce look had vanished, and a softlight, that had never been in them before, shone in his beautiful eyes,whereat his father's heart rejoiced exceedingly. Isabelle stood atthe other side of the bed, and the young duke had clasped his thin,startlingly white fingers round her hand. As he was forbidden to speak,save in monosyllables--because of his injured lung--he took this meansof testifying his sympathy with her, who had been the involuntary causeof his being wounded and in danger of losing his life, and thus made herunderstand that he cherished no resentments. The affectionate brotherhad replaced the fiery lover, and his illness, in calming his ardentpassion, had contributed not a little to make the transition a lessdifficult one than it could possibly have been otherwise. Isabelle wasnow for him really and only the Comtesse de Lineuil, his dear sister.He nodded in a friendly way to Vidalinc, and disengaged his hand fora moment from Isabelle's to give it to him--it was all that the doctorwould allow--but his eyes were eloquent enough to make up for hisenforced silence.
In the course of a few weeks, Vallombreuse, who had gained strengthrapidly, was able to leave his bed and recline upon a lounge near theopen window; so as to enjoy the mild, delightful air of spring, thatbrought colour to his cheeks and light to his eyes. Isabelle was oftenwith him, and read aloud for hours together to entertain him; as MaitreLaurent's orders were strict that he should not talk, even yet, anymore than was actually necessary. One day, when Isabelle had finished achapter in the volume from which she was reading to him, and was aboutto begin another, he interrupted her, and said, "My dear sister, thatbook is certainly very amusing, and the author a man of remarkable witand talent; but I must confess that I prefer your charming conversationto your delightful reading. Do you know, I would not have believed itpossible to gain so much, in losing all hope of what I desired moreardently than I had ever done anything in my whole life before. Thebrother is very much more kindly treated than the suitor--are you awareof that? You are as sweet and amiable to the one as you were severe andunapproachable to the other. I find in this calm, peaceful affection,charms that I had never dreamed of, and you reveal to me a new side ofthe feminine character, hitherto utterly unknown to me. Carried away byfiery passions, and irritated to madness by any opposition, I was likethe wild huntsman of the ancient legend, who stopped for no obstacle,but rode recklessly over everything in his path. I looked upon whateverbeautiful woman I was in pursuit of as my legitimate prey. I scouted thevery idea of failure, and deemed myself irresistible. At the mention ofvirtue, I only shrugged my shoulders, and I think I may say, without toomuch conceit, to the only woman I ever pursued who did not yield to me,that I had reason not to put much faith in it. My mother died when I wasa mere baby; you, my sweet sister, were not near me, and I have neverknown, until now, all the purity, tenderness, and sublime courageof which your sex is capable. I chanced to see you. An irresistibleattraction, in which, perhaps, the unknown tie of blood had itsinfluence, drew me to you, and for the first time in my life a feelingof respect and esteem mingled with my passion. Your character delightedme, even when you drove me to despair. I could not but secretly approveand admire the modest and courteous firmness with which you rejectedmy homage. The more decidedly you repulsed me, the more I felt that youwere worthy of my adoration. Anger and admiration succeeded each otherin my heart, and even in my most violent paroxysms of rage I alwaysrespected you. I descried the angel in the woman, and bowed to theascendency of a celestial purity. Now I am happy and blessed indeed;for I have in you precisely what I needed, without knowing it--this pureaffection, free from all earthly taint--unalterable--eternal. I possessat last the love of a soul."
"Yes, my dear brother, it is yours," Isabelle replied; "and it is agreat source of happiness to me that I am able to assure you of it. Youhave in me a devoted sister and friend, who will love you doubly to makeup for the years we have lost--above all, now that you have promised meto correct the faults that have so grieved and alarmed our dear father,and to exhibit only the good qualities of which YOU have plenty."
"Oh! you little preacher," cried Vallombreuse, with a bright, admiringsmile; "how you take advantage of my weakness. However, it is perfectlytrue that I have been a dreadful monster, but I really do mean to dobetter in future--if not for love of virtue itself, at least to avoidseeing my charming sister put on a severe, disapproving air, at someatrocious escapade of mine. Still, I fear that I shall always be Folly,as you will be Reason."
"If you will persist in paying me such high-flown compliments,"said Isabelle, with a little shrug of her pretty shoulders, "I shallcertainly resume the reading, and you will have to listen to a longstory that the corsair is just about to relate to the beautifulprincess, his captive, in the cabin of his galley."
"Oh, no! surely I do not deserve such a severe punishment as that. Evenat the risk of appearing garrulous, I do so want to talk a little. Thatconfounded doctor has kept me mute long enough in all conscience, andI am tired to death of having the seal of silence upon my lips, like astatue of Hippocrates."
"But I am afraid you may do yourself harm; remember that your woundis scarcely healed yet, and the injured lung is still very irritable.Maitre Laurent laid such stress upon my reading to you, so that youshould keep quiet, and give your chest a good chance to get strong andwell again."
"Maitre Laurent doesn't know what he's talking about, and only wantsto prolong his own importance to me. My lungs work as well as ever theydid. I feel perfectly myself again, and I've a great mind to order myhorse and go for a canter in the forest."
"You had better talk than do such a wildly imprudent thing as that; itis certainly less dangerous."
"I shall very soon be about again, my sweet little sister, and then Ishall have the pleasure of introducing you into the society suitableto your rank--where your incomparable grace and beauty will create asensation, and bring crowds of adorers to your feet. From among themyou will be able to select a husband, eh?" "I can have no desire todo anything of that kind, Vallombreuse, and pray do not think this thefoolish declaration of a girl who would be very sorry to be taken at herword. I am entirely in earnest, I do assure you. I have bestowed my handso often in the last act of the pieces I have played that I am in nohurry to do it in reality. I do not wish for anything better than toremain quietly here with the prince and yourself."
"But, my dear girl, a father and brother will not always content you--donot think it! Such affection cannot satisfy the demands of the heartforever."
"It will be enough for me, however, and if some day they fail me, I cantake refuge in a convent."
"Heaven forbid! that would be carrying austerity too far indeed. I prayyou never to mention it again, if you have any regard for my peace ofmind. And now tell me, my sweet little sister, what do you think of mydear friend, the Chevalier de Vidalinc? does not he seem to be possessedof every qualification necessary to make a good husband?"
"Doubtless, and the woman that he marries will have a right to considerherself fortunate but however charming and desirable your friend may be,my dear Vallombreuse, _I_ shall never be that woman."
"Well, let him pass, then--but tell me what you think of the Marquis del'Estang, who came to see me the other day, and gazed spell-bound at mylovely sister all the time he was here. He was so overwhelmed by yoursurpassing grace, so dazzled by your exquisite beauty, that he wasstruck dumb, and when he tried to pay you pretty compliments, didnothing but
stammer and blush. Aside from this timidity, which made himappear to great disadvantage, and which your ladyship should readilyexcuse, since you yourself were the cause of it, the marquis is anaccomplished and estimable gentleman. He is handsome, young, of highbirth and great wealth. He would do capitally for my fair sister, and issure to address himself to the prince--if indeed he has not already doneso--as an aspirant to the honour of an alliance with her."
"As I have the honour of belonging to this illustrious family," saidIsabelle a little impatiently, for she was exceedingly annoyed by thisbanter, "too much humility would not become me, therefore I will not saythat I consider myself unworthy of such an alliance; but if the Marquisde l'Estang should ask my hand of my father, I would refuse him. Ihave told you, my dear brother, more than once, that I do not wish tomarry--and you know it too--so pray don't tease me any more about it."
"Oh! what a fierce, determined little woman is this fair sister of mine.Diana herself was not more inaccessible, in the forests and valleys ofHaemus--yet, if the naughty mythological stories may be believed, shedid at last smile upon a certain Endymion. You are vexed, because Icasually propose some suitable candidates for the honour of your hand;but you need not be, for, if THEY do not please you, we will hunt up onewho will."
"I am not vexed, my dear brother, but you are certainly talking far toomuch for an invalid, and I shall tell Maitre, Laurent to reprimand you,or not permit you to have the promised bit of fowl for your supper."
"Oh! if that's the case I will desist at once," said Vallombreuse,with a droll air of submission, "for I'm as hungry as an ogre--butrest assured of one thing, my charming sister: No one shall select yourhusband but myself."
To put an end to this teasing, Isabelle began to read the corsair's longstory, without paying any attention to the indignant protests that weremade, and Vallombreuse, to revenge himself, finally closed his eyesand pretended to be asleep; which feigned slumber soon became real,and Isabelle, perceiving that it was so, put aside her book and quietlystole away.
This conversation, in which, under all his mischievous banter, the dukeseemed to have a definite and serious purpose in view, worried Isabellevery much, in spite of her efforts to banish it from her mind. Couldit be that Vallombreuse was nursing a secret resentment against deSigognac? He had never once spoken his name, or referred to him inany way, since he was wounded by him; and was he trying to place aninsurmountable barrier between his sister and the baron, by bringingabout her marriage with another? or was he simply trying to find outwhether the actress transformed to a countess, had changed insentiments as well as in rank? Isabelle could not answer these questionssatisfactorily to herself. As she was the duke's sister, of course therivalry between him and de Sigognac could no longer exist; but, on theother hand, it was difficult to imagine that such a haughty, vindictivecharacter as the young duke's could have forgotten, or forgiven, theignominy of his first defeat at the baron's hands, and still less of thesecond more disastrous encounter. Although their relative positionswere changed, Vallombreuse, in his heart, would doubtless always hatede Sigognac--even if he had magnanimity enough to forgive him, it couldscarcely be expected that he should also love him, and be willingto welcome him as a member of his family. No, all hope of such areconciliation must be abandoned. Besides, she feared that the prince,her father, would never be able to regard with favour the man who hadimperilled the life of his only son. These sad thoughts threw poorIsabelle into a profound melancholy, which she in vain endeavoured toshake off. As long as she considered that her position as an actresswould be an obstacle to de Sigognac, she had resolutely repelled theidea of a marriage with him, but now that an unhoped-for, undreamed-ofstroke of destiny had heaped upon her all the good things that heartcould desire, she would have loved to reward, with the gift of her handand fortune, the faithful lover who had addressed her when she was poorand lowly--it seemed an actual meanness, to her generous spirit, not toshare her prosperity with the devoted companion of her misery. But allthat she could do was to be faithful to him--for she dared not say aword in his favour, either to the prince or to Vallombreuse.
Very soon the young duke was well enough to join his father and sisterat meals, and he manifested such respectful and affectionate deferenceto the prince, and such an ingenuous and delicate tenderness towardsIsabelle, that it was evident he had, in spite of his apparentfrivolity, a mind and character very superior to what one would haveexpected to find in such a licentious, ungovernable youth as he hadbeen, and which gave promise of an honourable and useful manhood.Isabelle took her part modestly--but with a very sweet dignity, that satwell upon her--in the conversation at the table, and in the salon, andher remarks were so to the point, so witty, and so apropos, that theprince was astonished as well as charmed, and grew daily more proud ofand devoted to his new treasure; finding a happiness and satisfactionhe had longed for all his life in the affection and devotion of hischildren.
At last Vallombreuse was pronounced well enough to mount his horse, andgo for a ride in the forest--which he had long been sighing for--andIsabelle gladly consented to bear him company. They looked a wonderfullyhandsome pair, as they rode leisurely through the leafy arcades. Butthere was one very marked difference between them.
The young man's countenance was radiant with happiness and smiles,but the girl's face was clouded over with an abiding melancholy.Occasionally her brother's lively sallies would bring a faint smile toher sweet lips, but they fell back immediately into the mournful droopthat had become habitual with them. Vallombreuse apparently did notperceive it--though in reality he was well aware of it, and of itscause--and was full of fun and frolic.
"Oh! what a delicious thing it is to live," he cried, "yet how seldomwe think of the exquisite enjoyment there is in the simple act ofbreathing," and he drew a long, deep breath, as if he never could getenough of the soft, balmy air. "The trees surely were never so greenbefore, the sky so blue, or the flowers so fragrant. I feet as if I hadbeen born into the world only yesterday, and was looking upon nature forthe first time to-day. I never appreciated it before. When I rememberthat I might even now be lying, stiff and stark, under a fine marblemonument, and that instead of that I am riding through an elysium,beside my darling sister, who has really learned to love me, I am toodivinely happy. I do not even feel my wound any more. I don't believethat I ever was wounded. And now for a gallop, for I'm sure that ourgood father is wearying for us at home."
In spite of Isabelle's remonstrances he put spurs to his horse, and shecould not restrain hers when its companion bounded forward, so offthey went at a swift pace, and never drew rein until they reached thechateau. As he lifted his sister down from her saddle, Vallombreusesaid, "Now, after to-day's achievement, I can surely be treated like abig boy, and get permission to go out by myself."
"What! you want to go away and leave us already? and scarcely well yet,you bad boy!"
"Even so, my sweet sister; I want to make a little journey that willtake several days," said Vallombreuse negligently.
Accordingly, the very next morning he departed, after having taken anaffectionate leave of the prince, his father; who did not opposehis going, as Isabelle had confidently expected, but seemed, on thecontrary, to approve of it heartily. After receiving many charges tobe careful and prudent, from his sister, which he dutifully promised toremember and obey, the young duke bade her good-bye also, and said, in amysterious, yet most significant way,
"Au revoir, my sweet little sister, you will be pleased with what I amabout to do." And Isabelle sought in vain for the key to the enigma.