The Mesmerist's Victim

He was handsome with vigor, nobility and devotion while he uttered these words, although he put into them all the simplicity which the truest respect commands.

But it was decreed that everything he should say and do was to displease, offend and drive Andrea to make insulting retorts, as though each of his offers were an outrage and his supplications provocation.

She meant to rise to suit an action most harsh to words most stern; but a nervous shiver kept her in her seat. She thought, besides, that she would be more likely to be seen if erect, and she did not wish to be remarked talking with a Gilbert! She kept her seat, but she determined once for all to crush this tormenting little insect under foot.

“I thought I had already told you that you dreadfully displease me; your voice irritates me, and your Philosophical nonsense is repugnant to me. Why then, as I told you this much, are you obstinate in speaking to me?”

“Lady, no woman should be irritated by sympathy being expressed for her.” He was pale but constrained. “An honest man is the peer of any human creature, and perchance I, whom you so persistently ill-treat, deserve the sympathy which I regret you do not show for me.”

“Sympathy,” repeated Andrea at this reiteration of the word, fastening her eyes widely open with impertinence on him, “sympathy from me towards you? In truth, I have made a mistake about you. I took you for a pert fellow and you are a mad one.”

“I am neither pert nor mad,” returned the low-born lover, with an apparent calm which was costly to the pride we know he felt. “No, for nature made me your equal and chance made you my debtor.”

“Chance again, eh?” sneered the baron’s daughter.

“I ought to say, Providence. I should never have mentioned it but your insults bring it up in my mind.”

“Your debtor, I think you say – why do you say that?”

“I should be ashamed if you had ingratitude in your composition, for God only knows what other defects have been implanted in you to counterbalance your beauty.”

Andrea leaped to her feet at this.

“Forgive me,” said he, “but you gall me too much at times and I forget the interest you inspire.”

Andrea burst out into such hearty laughter that the lover ought to have been lifted to the height of wrath; but to her great astonishment, Gilbert did not kindle. He folded his arms on his breast, retaining his hostile expression and fiery look, and patiently waited for the end of her outraging merriment.

“Deign, young lady,” said he coldly, “to reply to one question. Do you respect your father?”

“It looks, sirrah, as if you took the liberty of putting questions to me,” she replied with the greatest haughtiness.

“Yes, you respect your father,” he went on, “not on account of any parts of his or virtues: but simply because he gave you life. For this same boon, you are bound to love the benefactor. This laid down as a principle,” said the loving philosopher, “why do you insult me – why repulse me and hate me – who have not given you life, but I prevented you losing it.”

“You – you saved my life?” cried Andrea.

“You have not thought of it – rather, you have forgotten it; it is quite natural, for it was a year ago. Therefore I must remind or inform you. Yes, I saved your life at the risk of losing my own.”

“I should like to learn where and when?” said Andrea.

“On that day when a hundred thousand people, crushing one another as they fled from masterless horses and flashing swords, strewed Louis XV. Place with dying and the dead.”

“The last day of May?”

Andrea lost and regained her ironical smile.

“Oh, you are Baron Balsamo, are you? I cry you pardon for I did not know this either, before!”

“No, I am not the baron,” replied Gilbert, with flaming eyes and tremulous lip; “I am the poor boy, offspring of the dregs of the Kingdom, whose folly, stupidity, and misfortune it is to be in love with you. It was because of this I followed you into that multitude. I am Gilbert who, separated from you by the crush, recognized you by the dreadful scream you raised. Gilbert, who fell near you but encompassed you with his arms so that twenty thousand hands tearing at them could not have relaxed the clasp. Gilbert, who placed himself between the stone post on which you would be smashed, to make a buffer of his breast. Gilbert, who seeing in the throng the strange man who seemed to command the other men, called out your name to the Baron Balsamo, so that he and his allied friends should come to your rescue. He yielded you up to a happier saver, did Gilbert, retaining of his prize only the flag – the scrap of your dress torn in the struggle with the thousands; I pressed that to my lips, in time to stop the blood which flew up from my shattered bosom. The rolling sea of the terrified and brutal overwhelmed me but you ascended, like the Angel of the Resurrection, to the abode of the blessed.”

Gilbert exhibited himself wholly in this outburst, wild, simple and sublime, the same in his determination as in his love. In spits of her contempt, Andrea could not view him without astonishment. He believed for an instant that his story had the irresistibility of love and truth. But the poor lad reckoned without unbelief, the want of faith which hate has. Hating Gilbert, Andrea let none of the arguments capture in this disdained lover.

“I see,” she said, “that the author Rousseau has taught you how to weave romances.”

“My love a romance?” he exclaimed, indignant.

“And one which you forced me to listen to.”

“Is this all your answer?” faltered he, with dulled eyes and his heart aching as in a vice.

“I do not honor with any answer at all,” responded Andrea, pushing him aside as she went by to meet Nicole who was seeking her.

On recognizing her former sweetheart, Nicole regretted that she had not gone round so as to approach unseen and listen. She came also to announce that the baron and the Duke of Richelieu were wishful to see her young lady.

Andrea departed, with Nicole following, who glanced behind ironically at Gilbert, who, rather livid than merely pale, mad than agitated, and frenzied than angered, shook his fists after the enemies, muttering between his grinding teeth:

“Oh, thou creature without a heart and body with no soul, I saved thy life and concentrated my love upon thee and silenced all sentiment which might offend what I deemed thy candor; for in my delirium I believed thee a virgin holy as the Madonna. Now that I closely see you, I behold but a woman, and I am a man who will be revenged some day on you, Andrea Taverney! Twice have you been under my hand and I spared you. Beware of the third time, Andrea – and we shall meet again!”

He bounded into the underwood like a wounded wolf-cub, turning round as it flies to show its tusks and bloodshot eyes.

CHAPTER XXIII

FATHER AND DAUGHTER

AT the end of the walk, Andrea perceived her father and the marshal, strolling before the vestibule as they awaited her. They seemed the happiest brace of friends in the world: they were arm in arm like a new Orestes and Pylades.

They seemed to brighten up still more at the sight of the girl, and made one another notice her beauty, enhanced by her vexation and the swiftness of her steps.

The marshal saluted the girl as he might have done were she the officially proclaimed royal mistress. This did not escape Taverney: it delighted him; but this mixture of gallantry and respect surprised the receiver. For the skilled courtier could put as much in one bow as the rogue in the comedy can put into one pretended Turkish word.

Andrea replied with a courtsey as ceremonious, and with charming grace invited them into her suite.

The duke admired the elegant daintiness which made the prim rooms not a palace but a fane. He and the baron took armchairs and the young hostess sat on a folding-chair, with one elbow on her harpsichord.

“Young lady,” began the marshal, “I bring you from his Majesty all the compliments which your enchanting voice and consummate musicianly skill won from the auditors yesterday. His Majesty feared to make jealous folk cry out if he praised you too publicly. So he charged me to express the pleasure you caused him.”

All blushes, the girl was so lovely that the marshal continued as though he were speaking for himself.

“The King affirmed that he had never seen any person in the court who so bountifully united gifts of the mind with those of the physique.”

“You forget the qualities of the heart, my lord; Andrea is the best of daughters,” added the baron, gushingly.

For a space the marshal feared that the old rogue was about to weep. Full of admiration for this effort of paternal sensitiveness, he exclaimed:

“The heart – Alas! you are the sole judge of what tenderness may be enclosed in that heart. Were I in my twenty-fifth year, I would lay my life and fortune at her feet.”

As Andrea did not yet know how to meet the courtier’ fulsome compliments, all the duke earned was a murmur.

“The King wishes to be allowed a testimonial of his satisfaction, and he charges your father, the baron, to transmit it to you. What am I to answer his Majesty on your behalf?”

“Your grace is to assure his Majesty of my entire gratitude,” replied Andrea who saw in the exaggeration only the respect of a subject to the sovereign. “Tell the King that I am overwhelmed with kindness at being thought of, and that I am unworthy the attention of so mighty a monarch.”

Richelieu appeared enthusiastic after this reply, uttered in a steady voice without any hesitation. He took her hand and kissed it respectfully, saying, as he gloated over her:

“A queenly hand, a fairy foot: wit, will and candor. Ah, my lord, what a treasure! It is not a lady you have there, but a queen.”

He took leave, while Taverney swelled with pride and hope. He was a trifle perplexed at being alone with his daughter, for her looks pierced him like a diver penetrating the sea with his electric lamp-ray.

“The Duke of Richelieu was saying, father, that the King had entrusted some token of his gratification to you – what is it, please?”

“Ha, she is interested,” uttered the old noble: “I would not have believed it. So much the better, Satan!”

Slowly he drew from his pocket the jewel-case given him by the marshal overnight, in the same way as fond papas produce the box of candies for the pet child.

“Jewels!” ejaculated Andrea.

“Do you like them?”

It was a string of pearls of great price; diamonds interlinked them: a diamond clasp, ear-rings, and a tiara for the headdress gave to the whole set the value of some thirty thousand crowns at the least.

“Heavens, father, the King must make some mistake,” cried Andrea, “it is too handsome. I should be ashamed to wear them. What dresses have I to go with such gems?”

“I like your finding fault with them for being too rich,” sneered the baron.

“You do not understand me, sir, I only say they are above my station.”

“The donor of these gems is able to give you a wardrobe in keeping.”

“But such bounty!”

“Do not my services warrant them?”

“Oh, I beg your pardon, I forgot them,” said Andrea, bending her head but unconvinced. She closed the case after a pause.

“I cannot wear such ornaments,” said she, “while you and my brother stand in need of the necessities of life; this superfluity would hurt my eyes in thinking of your wants.”

Taverney pressed her hand and smiled.

“Do not trouble yourself about that, my child,” he said. “The King does this more for me than you. We are in favor, darling. It would not be like a respectful subject or a grateful woman not to appear before our sovereign in the ornaments he kindly presented.”

“I shall obey, my lord.”

“And do it with pleasure. The set does not seem to be to your taste?”

“I am not a judge of such things.”

“Know then that those pearls are worth alone some fifty thousand livres.”

“It is strange,” said the girl, clasping her hands, “that his Majesty should make me such a present: only think!”

“I do not understand you, miss!” said Taverney in a dry tone.

“Everybody will be astounded if I wear such jewelry.”

“Jewels are made to astound the world. Why in your case?” said he in the same tone, with a cold and overbearing air which made her wince.

“A scruple.”

“This is strange, to hear you raise scruples where I do not see any. It takes these candid girls to recognize evil and see the snake in the grass though so well hidden that no one else perceives it. Long live the maiden of sixteen who makes old grenadiers like me blush!”

Hiding her confusion in her pearly hands, Andrea moaned:

“Oh, brother, why are you so far?”

Did Taverney hear this or only guess it by the marvellous perspicacity which was his? He changed his tone, at all events, and taking both her hands, he asked:

“Am I not by you to counsel and love you? do you not feel proud to contribute to the welfare of your brother and myself?”

“Yes,” she answered.

He concentrated a look full of caresses upon her.

“You will be the queen of Taverney,” he said, “to take up Richelieu’s words. The King has distinguished you: the Dauphiness also,” he added quickly, “and in the family of these illustrious personages you are to build up your future, while making their lives the happier. Friend of the princess and the King, what bliss! Remember Agnes Sorel. She restored honor to the French crown. All good Frenchmen will venerate your name. You may be the staff in his old age to the ruler of France. Our glorious monarch will cherish you like a daughter, and you will reign over France by the right of beauty, courage and fidelity.”

“Why, how can I be all this?” demanded she, opening her astonished eyes.

“My dear, I have often told you that people in society must be taught to like virtue by its being made agreeable. Virtue, prudish, lugubrious, whining psalms, makes those flee who were ardently going up to it. Give yours all the lures of coquetry, and even of vice. Be so lovely that the court will speak of none but you: so loveable that the King cannot do without you; be so secret and reserved, save for our master, that they will attribute the power to you before you grasp it.”

“I do not follow you in this last point,” observed Andrea.

“Let me guide you: execute without understanding, which is the best course in a wise and generous creature like you. By the way, to begin with the first point, here is a hundred louis to line your purse. Provide a wardrobe worthy of the rank to which you are summoned since the King has kindly distinguished us.”

He gave the gold to his daughter, kissed her hand and went out. He walked so briskly up the alley by which he came that he did not notice Nicole there, chatting with a nobleman who whispered in her ear.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE RICHELIEU ELIXIR

ALWAYS bearer of good news, the Duke of Richelieu called on the Taverneys to announce that the King found a regiment for Captain Philip, not a company.

The conversation was the same as usual among the three at dinner; the duke spoke of his King, the baron of his daughter and Andrea of her brother. Richelieu preached on the same text as the baron, and enunciated his doctrine, so pagan, Parisian and courtier-like, that the girl had to confess that her kind of virtue could not be the true one if the nobles were to be the left-handed queens of the French monarchs whom the two tempters did not hesitate to cite.

At seven, the duke rose from the table as he had an appointment at Versailles, he said.

In going into the anteroom for his hat, he met Nicole who always had something to do there when the duke called.

“I wish you would come along with me, little lass,” he said; “I should like you to take a bouquet the Duchess of Noailles is getting ready for my daughter the Countess of Egmont.”

Nicole courtseyed as the shepherdesses did in Rousseau’s comic operas. Leaning on Nicole’s shoulder, he went down stairs, and when out on the lawn with her, said:

“Little maid, can you tell me the name of the sweetheart Nicole Legay has found – a well-turned gallant whom she used to welcome in Coq Heron Street, and receives here in Versailles. He is a French Guards corporal called – what do you say the name is?”

The girl was in hopes that the marshal did not know the name if he knew everything else.

“Faith, tell me, my lord, since you know so much,” she said saucily.

“Beausire,” said the marshal: “and he is a beau already; whether he will ever be a sire, I cannot say.”

Nicole clasped her hands in prudery which did not baffle the marshal.

“Pest take us!” he said: “making love appointments under the eaves of Trianon: if Lady Noailles catches a whiff of this she will have Nicole Legay sent to the Salpetriere House of Correction and Corporal Beausire will have a row in the royal galleys.”

“Not if I have your grace’s protection.”

“Oh, that is granted. You will not be imprisoned and driven from the place, but left free and enriched.”

“Oh, what must I do, my lord, tell me quick.”

“Mere child’s play.”

“Whom am I to do it for – my own good or your grace’s?”

“Zounds,” said the duke, eyeing her sharply, “what a sly puss you are!”

“Pray have done.”

“It is for your good,” he said plumply. “When Corporal Beausire comes to keep his tryst – ”

“At seven o’clock – ”

“Exactly. Say to him: We are discovered; but I have a patron who will save us both: you from the galleys, me from the jail. Let us be off.”

“Be off?”

“Since you love him, you will marry and be off,” said the duke.

“Love him, yes: but marry him? ha, ha, ha!” and the duke was stupefied by the laugh.

Even at court he had not met many hussies as shameless as this. Understanding the sly glance, he replied:

“In any case I will pay the expenses of this double journey.”

Nicole asked no more: as long as the excursion was paid for the rest mattered not a jot.

“Do you know what you are thinking of,” said he quickly, for he was beaten and he did not like to dwell at that point.

“Faith, I do not.”

“Why, the thought strikes you that your young mistress may wake up in the night and call you. This would raise the alarm before you got well away.”

“I never thought of that, but I do now, and that I had better stay.”

“Then Beausire will be caught and will expose you.”

“Never mind: Mdlle. Andrea is kind and will speak to the King, in whose good graces she is, and he will pardon me my offense.”

The marshal bit his lip.

“I tell you that Nicole is a fool. Mdlle. Andrea is not in the King’s good graces as deeply as you may suppose and I will have you locked up where good graces have no effect in softening the straw bed or shortening the whiplash.”

“Stay – How can my mistress be prevented from rising and ringing in the night for Nicole? She might be up a dozen times.”

“Oh, troubled with my complaint, insomnia. She ought to take the remedy I do: and if she would not, you could make her do it.”

“How could I make my mistress do anything, my lord?” inquired Nicole.

“It is the fashion to have an evening’s drink – orangeade or licorice water – ”

“My young lady has a glass of water by her bedside, sometimes with a lump of sugar in it, or perfumed with orangewater, if her nerves are out of order.”

“Wonderful, just like me,” said Richelieu, taking out a handful of Exchequer notes. “If you were to put a couple of drops from my own bottle which I hand you, the young lady would sleep all the night.”

“Good: and I will lock her in so that nobody can disturb her till the morning.”

“No,” said Richelieu, quickly. “That is just what you must not do. Leave the door ajar.”

He understood that the girl saw all the plot.

“Money for the flight – the phial for the sleep – but they lock the gates and I have no key.”

“But I am a First Gentleman in Attendance on the King and have my master-key.”

“How timely all falls in,” said Nicole; “it seems a whole calendar of miracles. Adieu, my lord.”

Laughing in her sleeve, the traitress glided away in the dark.

“Again I succeed,” thought Richelieu: “but I must be getting old to be rebuffed by this little imp. Never mind, if I come out the winner.”

CHAPTER XXV

SECOND SIGHT

FROM his garret, Gilbert was watching, or rather devouring Andrea’s room. It would be hard to tell whether his eyes now gazed with love or hatred. But the curtains were drawn and he could see nothing in that quarter; he turned to another.

Here he espied the plume of Corporal Beausire, as the soldier to beguile his waiting, whistled a tune. It was not till ten minutes had elapsed that Nicole appeared. She made her lover a sign which he understood, for he nodded and went towards a walk in a cutting leading to the Little Trianon.

Nicole ran back as lightly as a bird.

“Ha, ha,” thought Gilbert, “Nicole and her trooper have something to say to each other which will not bear witnesses. Good!”

He was no longer curious about Nicole’s flirtations, but he regarded her as a natural enemy and it was wise to know all her doings. In her immorality he wanted to find the weapon with which he might victoriously meet her in case she should attack him. He did not doubt that the campaign would open and he meant to have a good supply of weapons, like a true warrior.

So he nimbly came down from his loft, and reached the gardens by the chapel side-door. He had nothing to fear now as he knew all the coverts of the place like a fox at home. Thus he was able to reach the clump where he heard a strange sound for the woods – the chink of coin on a stone. Gliding like a serpent up to the terrace wall, hedged with lilacs, he saw Nicole at the grating, emptying a purse on a stone out of Beausire’s reach by being on her side of the railing. It was the purse given by Richelieu, or strictly speaking the cash for the Treasury notes which she had converted. The fat gold pieces clinked down, glittering, while the corporal, with kindled eye and trembling hand, attentively looked at Nicole and them without comprehending how they came into company.

“My dear Beausire, more than once you have wanted me to elope,” began Nicole.

“And to marry you,” added the soldier, quite enthusiastically.

“We will argue that point hereafter,” replied the girl; “at present, the main thing is to get away. Can we be off in a couple of hours?”

“In ten minutes, if you like.”

“No; I have some work to do first and a couple of hours will suit me. Take these fifty louis,” and she passed the amount between the bars; he pocketed them without counting, “and in an hour and a half be here with a coach.”

“I do not shrink: but I am fearful about you – when the money is spent you will regret the palace and – ”

“Oh, how thoughtful you are! do not be alarmed: I am not one of the sort to become unfortunate. Have no scruples. We shall see what comes next after the fifty louis.”

She counted another fifty louis into her own purse: Beausire’s eyes became phosphorescent.

“I would jump into a blazing furnace for you,” he said.

“You are not asked to do so much,” she returned: “get the coach and in two hours we are off.”

“Agreed,” and he drew her to the rails to kiss her. “Oh, how are you going to get through the railings?”

“Stupid, I have the pass-key.”

Beausire uttered an Ah! full of admiration, and fled.

With brisk feet and thoughtful head, Nicole returned to her mistress, leaving Gilbert alone, to cogitate the questions which this interview excited. All he could guess of the puzzles was how the girl had obtained the money. This negation of his perspicacity was so goading to his natural curiosity or his acquired mistrust – have it either way – that he decided to pass the night in the open air, cold though it was, under the damp trees, to await the sequel to this scene.

A huge black cloud, coming out of the south, covered all the sky, so that beyond Versailles the sombre pall gradually lapped up all the stars which had been gleaming a while before in their azure canopy.

Nicole feared that some whim of her mistress would contravene her plan, and with that air of interest which the artful cat knew so well how to take, she said:

“I am afraid that you are not very well to-night; your eyes are red and swollen; I should think repose would do you good.”