CHAPTER XIX
A PAGE FROM MYTHOLOGY BY THE WAY AND A LETTER
A man's brain can accept only so many blows or surprises at one time;after that he becomes dazed, incapable of lucid thought. At thismoment it seemed to the Chevalier that he was passing through someextravagant dream. The marquis was unreal; yonder was a vapor assumingthe form of a woman. He stared patiently, waiting for the dream todissolve.
He was staring into a beautiful face, lively, yet possessing thatunmarred serenity which the Greeks gave to their female statues; but itwas warm as living flesh is warm. Every feature expressed nobility inthe catholic sense of the word; the proud, delicate nose, the amiable,curving mouth, the firm chin and graceful throat. In the candle-lightthe skin had that creamy pallor of porcelain held between the eye andthe sun. The hair alone would have been a glory even to a Helen. Itcould be likened to no color other than that russet gold which linesthe chestnut bur. The eyes were of that changing amber of woodlandpools in autumn; and a soul lurked in them, a brave, merry soul, moregiven to song and laughter than to tears. The child of Venus had takenup his abode in this woman's heart; for to see her was to love her, andto love her was to despair.
The tableau lasted several seconds. She was first to recover; being awoman, her mind moved swifter.
"Do I wear the shield of Perseus, and is the head of Medusa thereupon?Truly, I have turned Monsieur du Cevennes into stone!"
"Diane, can it be you?" he gasped, seeing that the beautiful vision didnot vanish into thin air.
"Diane?" she repeated, moving toward the mantel. "No; not Diane. I amno longer the huntress; I flee. Call me Daphne."
He sprang forward, but she raised her hand warningly.
"Do not come too close, Monsieur, or I shall be forced to change myselfinto laurel," still keeping hold of the mythological thread.
"What does it all mean? I am dazed!" He covered his eyes, thenwithdrew his hand. "You are still there? You do not disappear?"
"I am flesh and blood as yet," with low laughter.
"And you are here in Quebec?" advancing, his face radiant with love andjoy.
"Take care, or you will stumble against your vanity." Her glance rovedtoward the door. There was something of madness in the Chevalier'seyes. In his hands her mask had become a shapeless mass of silkencloth. "I did not come to Quebec because you were here, Monsieur;though I was perfectly aware of your presence here. That is why I askyou not to stumble against your vanity."
"What do you here, in Heaven's name?"
"I am contemplating peace and quiet for the remainder of my days. Itis quite possible that within a few weeks I shall become . . . a nun."
"A nun?" stupefied.
"The idea seems to annoy you, Monsieur," a chill settling upon hertones.
"Annoy me? No; it terrifies me. God did not intend you to be a nun;you were born for love. And is there a man in all the world who lovesyou half as fondly as I? You are here in Quebec! And I never evendared dream of such a possibility!"
"I accompanied a dear friend of mine, whose intention to enter theUrsulines stirred the desire in my own heart. Love? Is any man worthyof a woman's love? What protestations, what vows to-day! Andto-morrow, over a cup of wine, the man boasts of a conquest, and castsabout for another victim. It is so."
"You wrote a letter to me," he said, remembering. "It was in quite adifferent tone." He advanced again.
"Was I so indiscreet?" jestingly, though the rise and fall of her bosomwas more than normal. "Monsieur, do not think for the briefest momentthat I followed you!"
"I know not what to think. But that letter . . ."
"What did I say?"
"You said that France was large, but that if I loved you I would findyou."
"And you searched diligently; you sought the four ends of France?" withquiet sarcasm.
He could find no words.
"Ah! Have you that letter? I should like to read it." She put forthher hand with a little imperious gesture.
He fumbled in his blouse. Had his mind been less blunted he would havethought twice before trusting the missive into her keeping. But hegave it to her docilely. There beat but one thought in his brain: shewas here in Quebec.
She took down a candle from the mantel. She read aloud, and her tonewas flippant. "'Forgive! How could I have doubted so gallant agentleman!' What was it I doubted?" puckering her brow. "No matter."She went on: "'You have asked me if I love you. Find me and put thequestion. France is large. If you love me you will find me. You havecomplained that I have never permitted you to kiss me.'" She paused,glanced obliquely at the scrawl, and shrugged. "Can it be possiblethat I wrote this--'I kiss your handsome grey eyes a thousand times'?"Calmly she folded the letter. "Well, Monsieur, and you searchedthoroughly, I have no doubt. This would be an incentive to the mostlaggard gallant."
"I . . . I was in deep trouble." The words choked him. "I was aboutto start . . ." He glanced about helplessly.
"And . . . ?" The scorn on her face deepened. He became consciousthat the candle and the letter were drawing dangerously close.
"Good God, Diane! how can I tell you? You would not understand! . . .What are you doing?" springing toward her to stay her arm. But he wastoo late. The flame was already eating into the heart of that precioustestament.
She moved swiftly, and a table stood between them. He was powerless.The letter crumbled into black flakes upon the table. She set down thecandle, breathing quickly, her amber eyes blazing with triumph.
"That was not honorable. I trusted you."
"I trusted, too, Monsieur; I trusted overmuch. Besides, desiring tobecome a nun, it would have compromised me."
"Did you come three thousand miles to accomplish this?" anger swellinghis tones.
"It was a part of my plans," coolly. "To how many gallants have youshown this ridiculous letter?"
His brain began to clear; for he saw that his love hung in the balance."And had I followed you to the four ends of France, had I sought youfrom town to city and from city to town . . . ?"
"You would have grown thin, Monsieur."
"And mad! For you would have been here in Quebec. And I have kissedthat letter a thousand times!"
"Is it possible?"
"Diane . . ."
"I am Diane no longer," she interrupted.
"In God's name, what shall I call you, then?" his despair maddening him.
"You may call me . . . a dream. And I advise you to wake soon."
The man in him came to his rescue. He suddenly reached across thetable and caught her wrist. With his unengaged hand he caught up theashes and let them flutter back to the table.
"A lie, a woman's lie! Is that why the ash is black? Have I wrongedyou in any way? Has my love been else than honest? Who are you?"vehemently.
"I am play, Monsieur; pastime, frolic," insolently. "Was not that whatyou named me in the single hours?"
"Are you some prince's light-o'-love?" roughly.
The blood of wrath spread over her cheeks.
"Your name?"
"I am not afraid of you, Monsieur; but you are twisting my arm cruelly.Will you not let go? Thank you!"
"You will not tell me who you are?"
"No."
"Nor what your object was in playing with my heart?"
"Perhaps I had best tell you the truth. Monsieur, it was a trap I setfor you that night in Paris, when I came dressed as a musketeer. Mylove of mischief was piqued. I had heard so much about the fascinatingChevalier du Cevennes and his conquests. There was Mademoiselle deLongueville, Mademoiselle de Fontrailles, the little Coislin, and Iknow not how many others. And you walked over their hearts in such acavalierly way, rumor had it, that I could not resist the temptation tosee what manner of man you were. You were only the usual lord ofcreation, a trite pattern. You amused me, and I was curious to see howlong you would remain constant."
"Are you not also a trite pattern?"
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p; "I constituted myself a kind of vengeance. Mademoiselle Catharineexpected you to establish her in the millinery. Have you done so?"
The Chevalier fell back from the table. This thrust utterly confusedand bewildered him. It was so groundless and unexpected.
"She is very plump, and her cheeks are like winter apples. She had atone time been in my service, but I had reasons to discharge her. Icompliment you upon your taste. After kissing my hands, these,"holding out those beautiful members of an exquisite anatomy, "you couldgo and kiss the cheeks of a serving-wench! Monsieur, I come from aproud and noble race. A man can not, after having kissed my hands,press his lips to the cheeks of a Catharine and return again to me. Iwrote that letter to lead you a dance such as you would not soonforget. And see! you did not trouble yourself to start to find me.And a Catharine! Faugh! Her hands are large and red, her eyes arebold; when she is thirty she will be fat and perhaps dispensing cheapwine in a low cabaret. And you called me Rosalind between times andsigned your verses and letters Orlando! You quoted from Petrarch andsaid I was your Laura. My faith! man is a curious animal. I havebeen told that I am beautiful; and from me you turned to a Catharine!I suspect she is lodged somewhere here in Quebec."
"A Catharine!" he repeated, wildly. The devil gathered up the reins."This is a mad, fantastic world! You kiss my handsome grey eyes athousand times, then? What rapture! Catharine? What a pretext! Ithas no saving grace. You are mad, I am mad; the world is one of thoseItalian panoramas! A thousand kisses, Diane . . . No; you have ceasedto be the huntress. You are Daphne. Well, I will play Apollo to yourDaphne. Let us see if you will change into laurel!" Lightly he leapedthe table, and she was locked in his arms. "What! daughter of Perseusand Terra, you are still in human shape? Ah! then the gods themselvesare lies!"
She said nothing, but there was fear and rage in her eyes; and herheart beat furiously against his.
Presently he pressed her from him with a pressure gentle but steady."Have no fear, Diane, or Daphne, or whatever you may be pleased to callyourself. I am a gentleman. I will not take by force what you wouldnot willingly give. I have never played with a woman's heart nor witha man's honor. And as for Catharine, I laugh. It is true that Ikissed her cheeks. I had been drinking, and the wine was still in myhead. I had left you. My heart was light and happy. I would havekissed a spaniel, had a spaniel crossed my path instead of a Catharine.There was no more taint to those kisses I gave to her than to those youhave often thoughtlessly given to the flowers in your garden. I lovedyou truly; I love you still. Catharine is a poor pretext. There issomething you have not told me. Say truthfully that your belief isthat I was secretly paying court to that poor Madame de Brissac, andthat I wore the grey cloak that terrible night; that I fled from Francebecause of these things. You say that you are about to become a nun.You do, then, believe in God. Well," releasing her, "I swear to you bythat God that I never saw Madame de Brissac; that I was far away fromParis on the nineteenth of February. You have wantonly and cruellydestroyed the only token I had which was closely associated with mylove of you. This locket means nothing." He pulled it forth, took thechain from round his neck. "You never wore it; it is nothing. I donot need it to recall your likeness. Since I have been the puppet,since even God mocks me by bringing you here, take the locket."
She looked, not at the locket nor at the hand which held it, but intohis eyes. In hers the wrath was gone; there was even a humoroussparkle under the heavy lashes. She made no sign that she saw thejeweled miniature. She was thinking how strong he was, how handsomelydignity and pride sat upon his face.
"Will you take it?" he repeated.
Her hands went slowly behind her back.
"Does this mean that, having lain upon my heart for more than a year,it is no longer of value to you?" He laid the chain and locket uponthe table. "Yesterday I had thought my cup was full." The mask laycrumpled at his feet, and he recovered it absently. "You?" he cried,suddenly, as the picture came back. He looked at the mask, then ather. "Was it you who came into that room at the Corne d'Abondance inRochelle, and when I addressed you, would not speak? Oh! You, wereimplicated in a conspiracy, and you were on the way to Spain.Saumaise! He knows who you are, and by the friendship he holds for meand I for him, he shall tell me!" He became all eagerness again."Vervain! I might have known. Diane, give me some hope that all thismystery shall some day be brushed aside. I am innocent of any evil; Ihave committed no crime. Will you give me some hope, the barest straw?"
She did not answer. She was nervously fingering the ashes of herletter.
"You do not answer? So be it. You have asked me why I did not seekyou. Some day you will learn. Since you refuse to take the locket, Iwill keep it. Poor fool that I have been, with all these dreams!"
"You are destroying my mask, Monsieur."
He pressed his lips against the silken lips where hers had been sooften.
"Keep it," she said, carelessly, "or destroy it. It is valueless.Will you stand aside? I wish to go."
He stood back, and she passed out. Her face remained in the shadow.He strove to read it, in vain. Ah, well, Quebec was small. And shehad taken the voyage on the same ship as his father. . . . She had notheard; she could not have heard! Ah, where was this labyrinth to lead,and who was to throw him the guiding thread? He had returned thatevening from Three Rivers, if not happy, at least in a contented frameof mind . . . to learn that a lie had sent him into the wilderness, alie crueler in effect than the accepted truth! . . . to learn that thewoman he loved was about to become a nun! No! She should not become anun. He would accept his father's word, resume his titles long growndusty, and set about winning this mysterious beauty. For she was worthwinning, from the sole of her charming foot to the glorious crown onher brow. He would see her again; Quebec was indeed small. He wouldcast aside the mantle of gloom, become a good fellow, laugh frequently,sing occasionally; in fine, become his former self.
Here Victor rushed in, breathless.
"Paul, lad," he cried, "have you heard the astonishing news?"
"News?"
"Monsieur le Marquis is here!"
"I have seen him, Victor, and spoken to him,"
"A reconciliation? The Virgin save me, but you will return to France!"
"Not I, lad," with a gaiety which deceived the poet. "I will tell yousomething later. Have you had your supper?"
"No."
"Then off with us both. And, a bottle of the governor's burgundy whichI have been saving."
"Wine?" excitedly.
"Does not the name sound good? And, by the way, did you know that thatwoman with the grey mask, who was at the Corne d'Abondance . . ."
"I have seen her," quietly.
"What is her name, and what has she done?" indifferently.
"Her name I can not tell you, Paul."
"Can not? Why not 'will not'?"
"Will not, then. I have given my promise."
"Have I ever kept a secret from you, Victor?"
"One."
"Name it."
"That mysterious mademoiselle whom you call Diane. You have never eventold me what she looks like."
"I could not if I tried. But this woman in the mask; at least youmight tell me what she has done."
"Politics. Conspiracy, like misery, loves company. . . . Who has beenburning paper?" sniffing.
"Burning paper?"
"Yes; and here's the ash. You've been burning something?"
"Not I, lad," with an abrupt laugh. "Hang it, let us go and eat."
"Yes; I am anxious to know why Monsieur le Marquis is here."
"And the burgundy; it will be like old times." There was sweat on theChevalier's forehead, and he drew his sleeve across it.
From an obscure corner of the council chamber the figure of a manemerged. He walked on tiptoe toward the table. The black ash on thetable fascinated him. For several moments he stared at it.
"'I kiss your handsome grey
eyes a thousand times'," he said, softly.He touched the ash with the tip of his finger, and the featheryparticles sifted about, as if the living had imparted to the inanimatethe sense of uneasiness. "For a space I thought he would kiss her. Infaith, there is more to Monsieur du Cevennes than I had credited to hisaccount. It takes power, in the presence of that woman, to resist thetemptation to kiss her. But here's a new element, a new page whichmakes interesting reading."
The man twirled the ends of his mustache.
"What a curious game of chess life is! Here's a simple play madecomplicated. How serenely I moved toward the coveted checkmate, tofind a castle towering in the way! I came in here to await youngMontaigne. He fails to appear. Chance brings others here, and lo! itbecomes a new game. And D'Herouville will be out of hospital to-morrowor next day. Quebec promises to become as lively as Paris. Diane, hecalled her. What is her object in concealing her name? By all thegargoyles of Notre Dame, but she would lure a bishop from his fish of aFriday!"
He gathered up a pinch of the ash and blew it into the air.
"Happily the poet smelt nothing but paper. Lockets and love-letters;and D'Herouville and I for cutting each other's throats! That isdroll. . . . My faith, I will do it! It will be a tolerably goodstroke. 'I kiss your handsome grey eyes a thousand times'! Chevalier,Chevalier! Dip steel into blood, and little comes of it; but dip steelinto that black liquid named ink, and a kingdom topples. She is tobecome a nun, too, she says. I think not."
It was the Vicomte d'Halluys; and when, shortly after this soliloquy,Montaigne came in, he saw that the vicomte was smiling and stabbingwith the tip of his finger some black ash which sifted about on thetable.