CHAPTER V. MADAME DE PLOUGASTEL
The postilion drew rein, and the footman opened the door, lettingdown the steps and proffering his arm to his mistress to assist her toalight, since that was the wish she had expressed. Then he openedone wing of the iron gates, and held it for her. She was a woman ofsomething more than forty, who once must have been very lovely, whowas very lovely still with the refining quality that age brings to somewomen. Her dress and carriage alike advertised great rank.
"I take my leave here, since you have a visitor," said Andre-Louis.
"But it is an old acquaintance of your own, Andre. You remember Mme. laComtesse de Plougastel?"
He looked at the approaching lady, whom Aline was now hastening forwardto meet, and because she was named to him he recognized her. He must,he thought, had he but looked, have recognized her without promptinganywhere at any time, and this although it was some sixteen years sincelast he had seen her. The sight of her now brought it all back to him--atreasured memory that had never permitted itself to be entirely overlaidby subsequent events.
When he was a boy of ten, on the eve of being sent to school at Rennes,she had come on a visit to his godfather, who was her cousin. Ithappened that at the time he was taken by Rabouillet to the Manor ofGavrillac, and there he had been presented to Mme. de Plougastel. Thegreat lady, in all the glory then of her youthful beauty, with hergentle, cultured voice--so cultured that she had seemed to speak alanguage almost unknown to the little Breton lad--and her majestic air ofthe great world, had scared him a little at first. Very gently had sheallayed those fears of his, and by some mysterious enchantment she hadcompletely enslaved his regard. He recalled now the terror in whichhe had gone to the embrace to which he was bidden, and the subsequentreluctance with which he had left those soft round arms. He remembered,too, how sweetly she had smelled and the very perfume she had used, aperfume as of lilac--for memory is singularly tenacious in these matters.
For three days whilst she had been at Gavrillac, he had gone daily tothe manor, and so had spent hours in her company. A childless woman withthe maternal instinct strong within her, she had taken this precociouslyintelligent, wide-eyed lad to her heart.
"Give him to me, Cousin Quintin," he remembered her saying on thelast of those days to his godfather. "Let me take him back with me toVersailles as my adopted child."
But the Seigneur had gravely shaken his head in silent refusal, andthere had been no further question of such a thing. And then, when shesaid good-bye to him--the thing came flooding back to him now--there hadbeen tears in her eyes.
"Think of me sometimes, Andre-Louis," had been her last words.
He remembered how flattered he had been to have won within so short atime the affection of this great lady. The thing had given him a senseof importance that had endured for months thereafter, finally to fadeinto oblivion.
But all was vividly remembered now upon beholding her again, aftersixteen years, profoundly changed and matured, the girl--for she had beenno more in those old days--sunk in this worldly woman with the air ofcalm dignity and complete self-possession. Yet, he insisted, he musthave known her anywhere again.
Aline embraced her affectionately, and then answering the questioningglance with faintly raised eyebrows that madame was directing towardsAline's companion--
"This is Andre-Louis," she said. "You remember Andre-Louis, madame?"
Madame checked. Andre-Louis saw the surprise ripple over her face,taking with it some of her colour, leaving her for a moment breathless.
And then the voice--the well-remembered rich, musical voice--richer anddeeper now than of yore, repeated his name:
"Andre-Louis!"
Her manner of uttering it suggested that it awakened memories, memoriesperhaps of the departed youth with which it was associated. And shepaused a long moment, considering him, a little wide-eyed, what time hebowed before her.
"But of course I remember him," she said at last, and came towardshim, putting out her hand. He kissed it dutifully, submissively,instinctively. "And this is what you have grown into?" She appraisedhim, and he flushed with pride at the satisfaction in her tone. Heseemed to have gone back sixteen years, and to be again the littleBreton lad at Gavrillac. She turned to Aline. "How mistaken Quintin wasin his assumptions. He was pleased to see him again, was he not?"
"So pleased, madame, that he has shown me the door," said Andre-Louis.
"Ah!" She frowned, conning him still with those dark, wistful eyes ofhers. "We must change that, Aline. He is of course very angry withyou. But it is not the way to make converts. I will plead for you,Andre-Louis. I am a good advocate."
He thanked her and took his leave.
"I leave my case in your hands with gratitude. My homage, madame."
And so it happened that in spite of his godfather's forbidding receptionof him, the fragment of a song was on his lips as his yellow chaisewhirled him back to Paris and the Rue du Hasard. That meeting with Mme.de Plougastel had enheartened him; her promise to plead his case inalliance with Aline gave him assurance that all would be well.
That he was justified of this was proved when on the following Thursdaytowards noon his academy was invaded by M. de Kercadiou. Gilles, theboy, brought him word of it, and breaking off at once the lesson uponwhich he was engaged, he pulled off his mask, and went as he was--in achamois waistcoat buttoned to the chin and with his foil under his armto the modest salon below, where his godfather awaited him.
The florid little Lord of Gavrillac stood almost defiantly to receivehim.
"I have been over-persuaded to forgive you," he announced aggressively,seeming thereby to imply that he consented to this merely so as to putan end to tiresome importunities.
Andre-Louis was not misled. He detected a pretence adopted by theSeigneur so as to enable him to retreat in good order.
"My blessings on the persuaders, whoever they may have been. You restoreme my happiness, monsieur my godfather."
He took the hand that was proffered and kissed it, yielding to theimpulse of the unfailing habit of his boyish days. It was an actsymbolical of his complete submission, reestablishing between himselfand his godfather the bond of protected and protector, with all themutual claims and duties that it carries. No mere words could morecompletely have made his peace with this man who loved him.
M. de Kercadiou's face flushed a deeper pink, his lip trembled, andthere was a huskiness in the voice that murmured "My dear boy!" Then herecollected himself, threw back his great head and frowned. His voiceresumed its habitual shrillness. "You realize, I hope, that you havebehaved damnably... damnably, and with the utmost ingratitude?"
"Does not that depend upon the point of view?" quoth Andre-Louis, buthis tone was studiously conciliatory.
"It depends upon a fact, and not upon any point of view. Since I havebeen persuaded to overlook it, I trust that at least you have someintention of reforming."
"I... I will abstain from politics," said Andre-Louis, that being theutmost he could say with truth.
"That is something, at least." His godfather permitted himself to bemollified, now that a concession--or a seeming concession--had been madeto his just resentment.
"A chair, monsieur."
"No, no. I have come to carry you off to pay a visit with me. You oweit entirely to Mme. de Plougastel that I consent to receive you again. Idesire that you come with me to thank her."
"I have my engagements here..." began Andre-Louis, and then broke off."No matter! I will arrange it. A moment." And he was turning away toreenter the academy.
"What are your engagements? You are not by chance a fencing-instructor?"M. de Kercadiou had observed the leather waistcoat and the foil tuckedunder Andre-Louis' arm.
"I am the master of this academy--the academy of the late Bertrand desAmis, the most flourishing school of arms in Paris to-day."
M. de Kercadiou's brows went up.
"And you are master of it?"
"Maitre en fait d'Armes. I succeeded to the acade
my upon the death ofdes Amis."
He left M. Kercadiou to think it over, and went to make his arrangementsand effect the necessary changes in his toilet.
"So that is why you have taken to wearing a sword," said M. deKercadiou, as they climbed into his waiting carriage.
"That and the need to guard one's self in these times."
"And do you mean to tell me that a man who lives by what is after allan honourable profession, a profession mainly supported by the nobility,can at the same time associate himself with these peddling attorneys andlow pamphleteers who are spreading dissension and insubordination?"
"You forget that I am a peddling attorney myself, made so by your ownwishes, monsieur."
M. de Kercadiou grunted, and took snuff. "You say the academyflourishes?" he asked presently.
"It does. I have two assistant instructors. I could employ a third. Itis hard work."
"That should mean that your circumstances are affluent."
"I have reason to be satisfied. I have far more than I need."
"Then you'll be able to do your share in paying off this national debt,"growled the nobleman, well content that--as he conceived it--some of theevil Andre-Louis had helped to sow should recoil upon him.
Then the talk veered to Mme. de Plougastel. M. de Kercadiou, Andre-Louisgathered, but not the reason for it, disapproved most strongly of thisvisit. But then Madame la Comtesse was a headstrong woman whom there wasno denying, whom all the world obeyed. M. de Plougastel was at presentabsent in Germany, but would shortly be returning. It was an indiscreetadmission from which it was easy to infer that M. de Plougastel was oneof those intriguing emissaries who came and went between the Queen ofFrance and her brother, the Emperor of Austria.
The carriage drew up before a handsome hotel in the FaubourgSaint-Denis, at the corner of the Rue Paradis, and they were ushered bya sleek servant into a little boudoir, all gilt and brocade, that openedupon a terrace above a garden that was a park in miniature. Here madameawaited them. She rose, dismissing the young person who had been readingto her, and came forward with both hands outheld to greet her cousinKercadiou.
"I almost feared you would not keep your word," she said. "It wasunjust. But then I hardly hoped that you would succeed in bringinghim." And her glance, gentle, and smiling welcome upon him, indicatedAndre-Louis.
The young man made answer with formal gallantry.
"The memory of you, madame, is too deeply imprinted on my heart for anypersuasions to have been necessary."
"Ah, the courtier!" said madame, and abandoned him her hand. "We are tohave a little talk, Andre-Louis," she informed him, with a gravity thatleft him vaguely ill at ease.
They sat down, and for a while the conversation was of general matters,chiefly concerned, however, with Andre-Louis, his occupations and hisviews. And all the while madame was studying him attentively with thosegentle, wistful eyes, until again that sense of uneasiness began topervade him. He realized instinctively that he had been brought here forsome purpose deeper than that which had been avowed.
At last, as if the thing were concerted--and the clumsy Lord of Gavrillacwas the last man in the world to cover his tracks--his godfather roseand, upon a pretext of desiring to survey the garden, sauntered throughthe windows on to the terrace, over whose white stone balustrade thegeraniums trailed in a scarlet riot. Thence he vanished among thefoliage below.
"Now we can talk more intimately," said madame. "Come here, and sitbeside me." She indicated the empty half of the settee she occupied.
Andre-Louis went obediently, but a little uncomfortably. "You know," shesaid gently, placing a hand upon his arm, "that you have behaved veryill, that your godfather's resentment is very justly founded?"
"Madame, if I knew that, I should be the most unhappy, the mostdespairing of men." And he explained himself, as he had explainedhimself on Sunday to his godfather. "What I did, I did because it wasthe only means to my hand in a country in which justice was paralyzed byPrivilege to make war upon an infamous scoundrel who had killed my bestfriend--a wanton, brutal act of murder, which there was no law to punish.And as if that were not enough--forgive me if I speak with the utmostfrankness, madame--he afterwards debauched the woman I was to havemarried."
"Ah, mon Dieu!" she cried out.
"Forgive me. I know that it is horrible. You perceive, perhaps, whatI suffered, how I came to be driven. That last affair of which Iam guilty--the riot that began in the Feydau Theatre and afterwardsenveloped the whole city of Nantes--was provoked by this."
"Who was she, this girl?"
It was like a woman, he thought, to fasten upon the unessential.
"Oh, a theatre girl, a poor fool of whom I have no regrets. La Binet washer name. I was a player at the time in her father's troupe. That wasafter the Rennes business, when it was necessary to hide from suchjustice as exists in France--the gallows' justice for unfortunateswho are not 'born.' This added wrong led me to provoke a riot in thetheatre."
"Poor boy," she said tenderly. "Only a woman's heart can realize whatyou must have suffered; and because of that I can so readily forgiveyou. But now..."
"Ah, but you don't understand, madame. If to-day I thought that I hadnone but personal grounds for having lent a hand in the holy workof abolishing Privilege, I think I should cut my throat. My truejustification lies in the insincerity of those who intended that theconvocation of the States General should be a sham, mere dust in theeyes of the nation."
"Was it not, perhaps, wise to have been insincere in such a matter?"
He looked at her blankly.
"Can it ever be wise, madame, to be insincere?"
"Oh, indeed it can; believe me, who am twice your age, and know myworld."
"I should say, madame, that nothing is wise that complicates existence;and I know of nothing that so complicates it as insincerity. Consider amoment the complications that have arisen out of this."
"But surely, Andre-Louis, your views have not been so perverted that youdo not see that a governing class is a necessity in any country?"
"Why, of course. But not necessarily a hereditary one."
"What else?"
He answered her with an epigram. "Man, madame, is the child of his ownwork. Let there be no inheriting of rights but from such a parent. Thusa nation's best will always predominate, and such a nation will achievegreatly."
"But do you account birth of no importance?"
"Of none, madame--or else my own might trouble me." From the deep flushthat stained her face, he feared that he had offended by what was almostan indelicacy. But the reproof that he was expecting did not come.Instead--
"And does it not?" she asked. "Never, Andre?"
"Never, madame. I am content."
"You have never... never regretted your lack of parents' care?"
He laughed, sweeping aside her sweet charitable concern that was sosuperfluous. "On the contrary, madame, I tremble to think what theymight have made of me, and I am grateful to have had the fashioning ofmyself."
She looked at him for a moment very sadly, and then, smiling, gentlyshook her head.
"You do not want self-satisfaction... Yet I could wish that you sawthings differently, Andre. It is a moment of great opportunities fora young man of talent and spirit. I could help you; I could help you,perhaps, to go very far if you would permit yourself to be helped aftermy fashion."
"Yes," he thought, "help me to a halter by sending me on treasonablemissions to Austria on the Queen's behalf, like M. de Plougastel. Thatwould certainly end in a high position for me."
Aloud he answered more as politeness prompted. "I am grateful, madame.But you will see that, holding the ideals I have expressed, I could notserve any cause that is opposed to their realization."
"You are misled by prejudice, Andre-Louis, by personal grievances. Willyou allow them to stand in the way of your advancement?"
"If what I call ideals were really prejudices, would it be honest of meto run counter to them whilst holding them?"
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"If I could convince you that you are mistaken! I could help you so muchto find a worthy employment for the talents you possess. In theservice of the King you would prosper quickly. Will you think of it,Andre-Louis, and let us talk of this again?"
He answered her with formal, chill politeness.
"I fear that it would be idle, madame. Yet your interest in me is veryflattering, and I thank you. It is unfortunate for me that I am soheadstrong."
"And now who deals in insincerity?" she asked him.
"Ah, but you see, madame, it is an insincerity that does not mislead."
And then M. de Kercadiou came in through the window again, and announcedfussily that he must be getting back to Meudon, and that he would takehis godson with him and set him down at the Rue du Hasard.
"You must bring him again, Quintin," the Countess said, as they tooktheir leave of her.
"Some day, perhaps," said M. de Kercadiou vaguely, and swept his godsonout.
In the carriage he asked him bluntly of what madame had talked.
"She was very kind--a sweet woman," said Andre-Louis pensively.
"Devil take you, I didn't ask you the opinion that you presume to haveformed of her. I asked you what she said to you."
"She strove to point out to me the error of my ways. She spoke of greatthings that I might do--to which she would very kindly help me--if I wereto come to my senses. But as miracles do not happen, I gave her littleencouragement to hope."
"I see. I see. Did she say anything else?"
He was so peremptory that Andre-Louis turned to look at him.
"What else did you expect her to say, monsieur my godfather?"
"Oh, nothing."
"Then she fulfilled your expectations."
"Eh? Oh, a thousand devils, why can't you express yourself in a sensiblemanner that a plain man can understand without having to think aboutit?"
He sulked after that most of the way to the Rue du Hasard, or so itseemed to Andre-Louis. At least he sat silent, gloomily thoughtful tojudge by his expression.
"You may come and see us soon again at Meudon," he told Andre-Louis atparting. "But please remember--no revolutionary politics in future, if weare to remain friends."