CHAPTER XVI. ANGELIQUE DES MELOISES.
"Come and see me to-night, Le Gardeur." Angelique des Meloises drew thebridle sharply as she halted her spirited horse in front of the officerof the guard at the St. Louis Gate. "Come and see me to-night: I shallbe at home to no one but you. Will you come?"
Had Le Gardeur de Repentigny been ever so laggard and indifferent alover the touch of that pretty hand, and the glance from the dark eyethat shot fire down into his very heart, would have decided him to obeythis seductive invitation.
He held her hand as he looked up with a face radiant with joy. "I willsurely come, Angelique; but tell me--"
She interrupted him laughingly: "No; I will tell you nothing till youcome! So good-by till then."
He would fain have prolonged the interview; but she capriciously shookthe reins, and with a silvery laugh rode through the gateway and intothe city. In a few minutes she dismounted at her own home, and givingher horse in charge of a groom, ran lightly up the broad steps into thehouse.
The family mansion of the Des Meloises was a tall and rather pretentiousedifice overlooking the fashionable Rue St. Louis.
The house was, by a little artifice on the part of Angelique, empty ofvisitors this evening. Even her brother, the Chevalier des Meloises,with whom she lived, a man of high life and extreme fashion, wasto-night enjoying the more congenial society of the officers of theRegiment de Bearn. At this moment, amid the clash of glasses and thebubbling of wine, the excited and voluble Gascons were discussing inone breath the war, the council, the court, the ladies, and whatever gaytopic was tossed from end to end of the crowded mess-table.
"Mademoiselle's hair has got loose and looks like a Huron's," said hermaid Lizette, as her nimble fingers reaerranged the rich dark-goldenlocks of Angelique, which reached to the floor as she sat upon herfauteuil.
"No matter, Lizette; do it up a la Pompadour, and make haste. Mybrain is in as great confusion as my hair. I need repose for an hour.Remember, Lizette, I am at home to no one to-night except the Chevalierde Repentigny."
"The Chevalier called this afternoon, Mademoiselle, and was sorry hedid not find you at home," replied Lizette, who saw the eyelashes ofher mistress quiver and droop, while a flush deepened for an instant theroseate hue of her cheek.
"I was in the country, that accounts for it! There, my hair will do!"said Angelique, giving a glance in the great Venetian mirror before her.Her freshly donned robe of blue silk, edged with a foam of snowy lacesand furbelows, set off her tall figure. Her arms, bare to the elbows,would have excited Juno's jealousy or Homer's verse to gather effortsin praise of them. Her dainty feet, shapely, aspiring, and full ofcharacter as her face, were carelessly thrust forward, and upon one ofthem lay a flossy spaniel, a privileged pet of his fair mistress.
The boudoir of Angelique was a nest of luxury and elegance. Itsfurnishings and adornings were of the newest Parisian style. A carpetwoven in the pattern of a bed of flowers covered the floor. Vases ofSevres and Porcelain, filled with roses and jonquils, stood on marbletables. Grand Venetian mirrors reflected the fair form of their mistressfrom every point of view--who contemplated herself before and behindwith a feeling of perfect satisfaction and sense of triumph over everyrival.
A harpsichord occupied one corner of the room, and an elaboratebookcase, well-filled with splendidly bound volumes, another.
Angelique had small taste for reading, yet had made some acquaintancewith the literature of the day. Her natural quick parts and good tasteenabled her to shine, even in literary conversation. Her bright eyeslooked volumes. Her silvery laugh was wiser than the wisdom of aprecieuse. Her witty repartees covered acres of deficiencies with somuch grace and tact that men were tempted to praise her knowledge noless than her beauty.
She had a keen eye for artistic effects. She loved painting, althoughher taste was sensuous and voluptuous--character is shown in the choiceof pictures as much as in that of books or of companions.
There was a painting of Vanloo--a lot of full-blooded horses in a fieldof clover; they had broken fence, and were luxuriating in the rich,forbidden pasture. The triumph of Cleopatra over Antony, by Le Brun, wasa great favorite with Angelique, because of a fancied, if not a real,resemblance between her own features and those of the famous Queenof Egypt. Portraits of favorite friends, one of them Le Gardeur deRepentigny, and a still more recent acquisition, that of the IntendantBigot, adorned the walls, and among them was one distinguished for itscontrast to all the rest--the likeness, in the garb of an Ursuline, ofher beautiful Aunt Marie des Meloises, who, in a fit of caprice someyears before, had suddenly forsaken the world of fashion, and retired toa convent.
The proud beauty threw back her thick golden tresses as she scanned herfair face and magnificent figure in the tall Venetian mirror. She drankthe intoxicating cup of self-flattery to the bottom as she comparedherself, feature by feature, with every beautiful woman she knew in NewFrance. The longer she looked the more she felt the superiority of herown charms over them all. Even the portrait of her aunt, so like her infeature, so different in expression, was glanced at with something liketriumph spiced with content.
"She was handsome as I!" cried Angelique. "She was fit to be a queen,and made herself a nun--and all for the sake of a man! I am fit to be aqueen too, and the man who raises me nighest to a queen's estate getsmy hand! My heart?" she paused a few moments. "Pshaw!" A slight quiverpassed over her lips. "My heart must do penance for the fault of myhand!"
Petrified by vanity and saturated with ambition, Angelique retainedunder the hard crust of selfishness a solitary spark of womanly feeling.The handsome face and figure of Le Gardeur de Repentigny was herbeau-ideal of manly perfection. His admiration flattered her pride. Hislove, for she knew infallibly, with a woman's instinct, that he lovedher, touched her into a tenderness such as she felt for no man besides.It was the nearest approach to love her nature was capable of, and sheused to listen to him with more than complacency, while she let herhand linger in his warm clasp while the electric fire passed from oneto another and she looked into his eyes, and spoke to him in those sweetundertones that win man's hearts to woman's purposes.
She believed she loved Le Gardeur; but there was no depth in the soilwhere a devoted passion could take firm root. Still she was a womankeenly alive to admiration, jealous and exacting of her suitors, neverwillingly letting one loose from her bonds, and with warm passions anda cold heart was eager for the semblance of love, although never feelingits divine reality.
The idea of a union with Le Gardeur some day, when she should tire ofthe whirl of fashion, had been a pleasant fancy of Angelique. She hadno fear of losing her power over him: she held him by the veryheart-strings, and she knew it. She might procrastinate, play false andloose, drive him to the very verge of madness by her coquetries, but sheknew she could draw him back, like a bird held by a silken string. Shecould excite, if she could not feel, the fire of a passionate love. Inher heart she regarded men as beings created for her service, amazement,and sport,--to worship her beauty and adorn it with gifts. She tookeverything as her due, giving nothing in return. Her love was an emptyshell that never held a kernel of real womanly care for any man.
Amid the sunshine of her fancied love for Le Gardeur had come a dayof eclipse for him, of fresh glory for her. The arrival of the newIntendant, Bigot, changed the current of Angelique's ambition. Hishigh rank, his fabulous wealth, his connections with the court, andhis unmarried state, fanned into a flame the secret aspirations of theproud, ambitious girl. His wit and gallantry captivated her fancy, andher vanity was full fed by being singled out as the special object ofthe Intendant's admiration.
She already indulged in dreams which regarded the Intendant himself asbut a stepping-stone to further greatness. Her vivid fancy, conjuredup scenes of royal splendor, where, introduced by the courtly Bigot,princes and nobles would follow in her train and the smiles of majestyitself would distinguish her in the royal halls of Versailles.
Angelique felt she had pow
er to accomplish all this could she butopen the way. The name of Bigot she regarded as the open sesame to allgreatness. "If women rule France by a right more divine than that ofkings, no woman has a better right than I!" said she, gazing into themirror before her. "The kingdom should be mine, and death to all otherpretenders! And what is needed after all?" thought she, as she brushedher golden hair from her temples with a hand firm as it was beautiful."It is but to pull down the heart of a man! I have done that many a timefor my pleasure; I will now do it for my profit, and for supremacy overmy jealous and envious sex!"
Angelique was not one to quail when she entered the battle in pursuitof any object of ambition or fancy. "I never saw the man yet," said she,"whom I could not bring to my feet if I willed it! The Chevalier Bigotwould be no exception--that is, he would be no exception"--the voiceof Angelique fell into a low, hard monotone as she finished thesentence--"were he free from the influence of that mysterious woman atBeaumanoir, who, they say, claims the title of wife by a token whicheven Bigot may not disregard! Her pleading eyes may draw his compassionwhere they ought to excite his scorn. But men are fools to woman'sfaults, and are often held by the very thing women never forgive. Whileshe crouches there like a lioness in my path the chances are I shallnever be chatelaine of Beaumanoir--never, until she is gone!"
Angelique fell into a deep fit of musing, and murmured to herself, "Ishall never reach Bigot unless she be removed--but how to remove her?"
Ay, that was the riddle of the Sphinx! Angelique's life, as she hadprojected it, depended upon the answer to that question.
She trembled with a new feeling; a shiver ran through her veins as ifthe cold breath of a spirit of evil had passed over her. A miner, boringdown into the earth, strikes a hidden stone that brings him to a deadstand. So Angelique struck a hard, dark thought far down in the depthsof her secret soul. She drew it to the light, and gazed on it shockedand frightened.
"I did not mean that!" cried the startled girl, crossing herself. "Merede Dieu! I did not conceive a wicked thought like that! I will not! Icannot contemplate that!" She shut her eyes, pressing both hands overthem as if resolved not to look at the evil thought that, like a spiritof darkness, came when evoked, and would not depart when bidden. Shesprang up trembling in every limb, and supporting herself against atable, seized a gilded carafe and poured out a full goblet of wine,which she drank. It revived her fainting spirit. She drank another, andstood up herself again, laughing at her own weakness.
She ran to the window, and looked out into the night. The bright starsshone overhead; the lights in the street reassured her. The peoplepassing by and the sound of voices brought back her familiar mood. Shethought no more of the temptation from which she had not prayed to bedelivered, just as the daring skater forgets the depths that underliethe thin ice over which he skims, careless as a bird in the sunshine.
An hour more was struck by the loud clock of the Recollets. The drumsand bugles of the garrison sounded the signal for the closing of thegates of the city and the setting of the watch for the night. Presentlythe heavy tramp of the patrol was heard in the street. Sober bourgeoiswalked briskly home, while belated soldiers ran hastily to get intotheir quarters ere the drums ceased beating the tattoo.
The sharp gallop of a horse clattered on the stony pavement, and stoppedsuddenly at the door. A light step and the clink of a scabbard rangon the steps. A familiar rap followed. Angelique, with the infallibleintuition of a woman who recognizes the knock and footstep of her loverfrom ten thousand others, sprang up and met Le Gardeur de Repentigny ashe entered the boudoir. She received him with warmth, even fondness, forshe was proud of Le Gardeur and loved him in her secret heart beyond allthe rest of her admirers.
"Welcome, Le Gardeur!" exclaimed she, giving both hands in his: "I knewyou would come; you are welcome as the returned prodigal!"
"Dear Angelique!" repeated he, after kissing her hands with fervor, "theprodigal was sure to return, he could not live longer on the dry husksof mere recollections."
"So he rose, and came to the house that is full and overflowing withwelcome for him! It is good of you to come, Le Gardeur! why have youstayed so long away?" Angelique in the joy of his presence forgot forthe moment her meditated infidelity.
A swift stroke of her hand swept aside her flowing skirts to clear aplace for him upon the sofa, where he sat down beside her.
"This is kind of you, Angelique," said he, "I did not expect so muchcondescension after my petulance at the Governor's ball; I was wickedthat night--forgive me."
"The fault was more mine, I doubt, Le Gardeur." Angelique recollectedhow she had tormented him on that occasion by capricious slights, whilebounteous of her smiles to others. "I was angry with you because of yourtoo great devotion to Cecile Tourangeau."
This was not true, but Angelique had no scruple to lie to a lover. Sheknew well that it was only from his vexation at her conduct that LeGardeur had pretended to renew some long intermitted coquetries with thefair Cecile. "But why were you wicked at all that night?" inquired she,with a look of sudden interest, as she caught a red cast in his eye,that spoke of much dissipation. "You have been ill, Le Gardeur!" Butshe knew he had been drinking deep and long, to drown vexation, perhaps,over her conduct.
"I have not been ill," replied he; "shall I tell you the truth,Angelique?"
"Always, and all of it! The whole truth and nothing but the truth!" Herhand rested fondly on his; no word of equivocation was possible underthat mode of putting her lover to the question. "Tell me why you werewicked that night!"
"Because I loved you to madness, Angelique; and I saw myself thrust fromthe first place in your heart, and a new idol set up in my stead. Thatis the truth?"
"That is not the truth!" exclaimed she vehemently; "and never will be thetruth if I know myself and you. But you don't know women, Le Gardeur,"added she, with a smile; "you don't know me, the one woman you ought toknow better than that!"
It is easy to recover affection that is not lost. Angelique knew herpower, and was not indisposed to excess in the exercise of it. "Willyou do something for me, Le Gardeur?" asked she, tapping his fingerscoquettishly with her fan.
"Will I not? Is there anything in earth, heaven, or hell, Angelique, Iwould not do for you if I only could win what I covet more than life?"
"What is that?" Angelique knew full well what he coveted more than life;her own heart began to beat responsively to the passion she had kindledin his. She nestled up closer to his side. "What is that, Le Gardeur?"
"Your love, Angelique! I have no other hope in life if I miss that! Giveme your love and I will serve you with such loyalty as never man servedwoman with since Adam and Eve were created."
It was a rash saying, but Le Gardeur believed it, and Angelique too.Still she kept her aim before her. "If I give you my love," said she,pressing her hand through his thick locks, sending from her fingersa thousand electric fires, "will you really be my knight, my preuxchevalier, to wear my colors and fight my battles with all the world?"
"I will, by all that is sacred in man or woman! Your will shall be mylaw, Angelique; your pleasure, my conscience; you shall be to me allreason and motive for my acts if you will but love me!"
"I do love you, Le Gardeur!" replied she, impetuously. She felt thevital soul of this man breathing on her cheek. She knew he spoke true,but she was incapable of measuring the height and immensity of sucha passion. She accepted his love, but she could no more contain thefulness of his overflowing affection than the pitcher that is held tothe fountain can contain the stream that gushes forth perpetually.
Angelique was ALMOST carried away from her purpose, however. Had herheart asserted its rightful supremacy--that is, had nature fashioned itlarger and warmer--she had there and then thrown herself into his armsand blessed him by the consent he sought. She felt assured that here wasthe one man God had made for her, and she was cruelly sacrificing him toa false idol of ambition and vanity. The word he pleaded for hoveredon her tongue, ready like a bird to leap down in
to his bosom; but sheresolutely beat it back into its iron cage.
The struggle was the old one--old as the race of man. In the losingbattle between the false and true, love rarely comes out of thatconflict unshorn of life or limb. Untrue to him, she was true to herselfish self. The thought of the Intendant and the glories oflife opening to her closed her heart, not to the pleadings of LeGardeur,--them she loved,--but to the granting of his prayer.
The die was cast, but she still clasped hard his hand in hers, as if shecould not let him go. "And will you do all you say, Le Gardeur--makemy will your law, my pleasure your conscience, and let me be to you allreason and motive? Such devotion terrifies me, Le Gardeur?"
"Try me! Ask of me the hardest thing, nay, the wickedest, thatimagination can conceive or hands do--and I would perform it for yoursake." Le Gardeur was getting beside himself. The magic power of thosedark, flashing eyes of hers was melting all the fine gold of his natureto folly.
"Fie!" replied she, "I do not ask you to drink the sea: a small thingwould content me. My love is not so exacting as that, Le Gardeur."
"Does your brother need my aid?" asked he. "If he does, he shall haveit to half my fortune for your sake!" Le Gardeur was well aware that theprodigal brother of Angelique was in a strait for money, as was usualwith him. He had lately importuned Le Gardeur, and obtained a large sumfrom him.
She looked up with well-affected indignation. "How can you think sucha thing, Le Gardeur? my brother was not in my thought. It was theIntendant I wished to ask you about,--you know him better than I."
This was not true. Angelique had studied the Intendant in mind, person,and estate, weighing him scruple by scruple to the last attainableatom of information. Not that she had sounded the depths of Bigot'ssoul--there were regions of darkness in his character which no eye butGod's ever penetrated. Angelique felt that with all her acuteness shedid not comprehend the Intendant.
"You ask what I think of the Intendant?" asked he, surprised somewhat atthe question.
"Yes--an odd question, is it not, Le Gardeur?" and she smiled away anysurprise he experienced.
"Truly, I think him the most jovial gentleman that ever was in NewFrance," was the reply; "frank and open-handed to his friends, laughingand dangerous to his foes. His wit is like his wine, Angelique: onenever tires of either, and no lavishness exhausts it. In a word, I, likethe Intendant, I like his wit, his wine, his friends,--some of them, thatis!--but above all, I like you, Angelique, and will be more his friendthan ever for your sake, since I have learned his generosity towards theChevalier des Meloises."
The Intendant had recently bestowed a number of valuable shares in theGrand Company upon the brother of Angelique, making the fortune of thatextravagant young nobleman.
"I am glad you will be his friend, if only for my sake," added she,coquettishly. "But some great friends of yours like him not. Your sweetsister Amelie shrank like a sensitive plant at the mention of his name,and the Lady de Tilly put on her gravest look to-day when I spoke of theChevalier Bigot."
Le Gardeur gave Angelique an equivocal look at mention of his sister."My sister Amelie is an angel in the flesh," said he. "A man need belittle less than divine to meet her full approval; and my good aunt hasheard something of the genial life of the Intendant. One may excuse areproving shake of her noble head."
"Colonel Philibert too! he shares in the sentiments of your aunt andsister, to say nothing of the standing hostility of his father, theBourgeois," continued Angelique, provoked at Le Gardeur's want ofadhesion.
"Pierre Philibert! He may not like the Intendant: he has reason for notdoing so; but I stake my life upon his honor--he will never be unjusttowards the Intendant or any man." Le Gardeur could not be drawn into acensure of his friend.
Angelique shielded adroitly the stiletto of innuendo she had drawn. "Yousay right," said she, craftily; "Pierre Philibert is a gentleman worthyof your regard. I confess I have seen no handsomer man in New France.I have been dreaming of one like him all my life! What a pity I saw youfirst, Le Gardeur!" added she, pulling him by the hair.
"I doubt you would throw me to the fishes were Pierre my rival,Angelique," replied he, merrily; "but I am in no danger: Pierre'saffections are, I fancy, forestalled in a quarter where I need not bejealous of his success."
"I shall at any rate not be jealous of your sister, Le Gardeur," saidAngelique, raising her face to his, suffused with a blush; "if I do notgive you the love you ask for it is because you have it already; but askno more at present from me--this, at least, is yours," said she, kissinghim twice, without prudery or hesitation.
That kiss from those adored lips sealed his fate. It was thefirst--better it had been the last, better he had never been born thanhave drank the poison of her lips.
"Now answer me my questions, Le Gardeur," added she, after a pause ofsoft blandishments.
Le Gardeur felt her fingers playing with his hair, as, like Delilah, shecut off the seven locks of his strength.
"There is a lady at Beaumanoir; tell me who and what she is, LeGardeur," said she.
He would not have hesitated to betray the gate of Heaven at herprayer; but, as it happened, Le Gardeur could not give her the specialinformation she wanted as to the particular relation in which that ladystood to the Intendant. Angelique with wonderful coolness talked away,and laughed at the idea of the Intendant's gallantry. But she could getno confirmation of her suspicions from Le Gardeur. Her inquiry was forthe present a failure, but she made Le Gardeur promise to learn what hecould and tell her the result of his inquiries.
They sat long conversing together, until the bell of the Recolletssounded the hour of midnight. Angelique looked in the face of Le Gardeurwith a meaning smile, as she counted each stroke with her dainty fingeron his cheek. When finished, she sprang up and looked out of the latticeat the summer night.
The stars were twinkling like living things. Charles's Wain lay invertedin the northern horizon; Bootes had driven his sparkling herd down theslope of the western sky. A few thick tresses of her golden hair hungnegligently over her bosom and shoulders. She placed her arm in LeGardeur's, hanging heavily upon him as she directed his eyes to thestarry heavens. The selfish schemes she carried in her bosom dropped fora moment to the ground. Her feet seemed to trample them into the dust,while she half resolved to be to this man all that he believed her tobe, a true and devoted woman.
"Read my destiny, Le Gardeur," said she, earnestly. "You are aSeminarist. They say the wise fathers of the Seminary study deeply thescience of the stars, and the students all become adepts in it."
"Would that my starry heaven were more propitious, Angelique," repliedhe, gaily kissing her eyes. "I care not for other skies than these! Myfate and fortune are here."
Her bosom heaved with mingled passions. The word of hope and the wordof denial struggled on her lips for mastery. Her blood throbbed quickerthan the beat of the golden pendule on the marble table; but, like abird, the good impulse again escaped her grasp.
"Look, Le Gardeur," said she. Her delicate finger pointed at Perseus,who was ascending the eastern heavens: "there is my star. MereMalheur,--you know her,--she once said to me that that was my natalstar, which would rule my life."
Like all whose passions pilot them, Angelique believed in destiny.
Le Gardeur had sipped a few drops of the cup of astrology from thevenerable Professor Vallier. Angelique's finger pointed to the starAlgol--that strange, mutable star that changes from bright to dark withthe hours, and which some believe changes men's hearts to stone.
"Mere Malheur lied!" exclaimed he, placing his arm round her, as if toprotect her from the baleful influence. "That cursed star never presidedover your birth, Angelique! That is the demon star Algol."
Angelique shuddered, and pressed still closer to him, as if in fear.
"Mere Malheur would not tell me the meaning of that star, but bade me,if a saint, to watch and wait; if a sinner, to watch and pray. Whatmeans Algol, Le Gardeur?" she half faltered.
"Nothi
ng for you, love. A fig for all the stars in the sky! Your brighteyes outshine them all in radiance, and overpower them in influence.All the music of the spheres is to me discord compared with the voice ofAngelique des Meloises, whom alone I love!"
As he spoke a strain of heavenly harmony arose from the chapel of theConvent of the Ursulines, where they were celebrating midnight servicefor the safety of New France. Amid the sweet voices that floated up onthe notes of the pealing organ was clearly distinguished that of MereSt. Borgia, the aunt of Angelique, who led the choir of nuns. In trillsand cadences of divine melody the voice of Mere St. Borgia rose higherand higher, like a spirit mounting the skies. The words were indistinct,but Angelique knew them by heart. She had visited her aunt in theConvent, and had learned the new hymn composed by her for the solemnoccasion.
As they listened with quiet awe to the supplicating strain, Angeliquerepeated to Le Gardeur the words of the hymn as it was sung by the choirof nuns:
"'Soutenez, grande Reine, Notre pauvre pays! Il est votre domaine, Faites fleurir nos lis! L'Anglais sur nos frontieres Porte ses etendards; Exauces nos prieres, Protegez nos remparts!'"
The hymn ceased. Both stood mute until the watchman cried the hour inthe silent street.
"God bless their holy prayers, and good-night and God bless you,Angelique!" said Le Gardeur, kissing her. He departed suddenly, leavinga gift in the hand of Lizette, who courtesied low to him with a smileof pleasure as he passed out, while Angelique leaned out of the windowlistening to his horse's hoofs until the last tap of them died away onthe stony pavement.
She threw herself upon her couch and wept silently. The soft musichad touched her feelings. Le Gardeur's love was like a load of gold,crushing her with its weight. She could neither carry it onward northrow it off. She fell at length into a slumber filled with troubleddreams. She was in a sandy wilderness, carrying a pitcher of clear, coldwater, and though dying of thirst she would not drink, but perverselypoured it upon the ground. She was falling down into unfathomableabysses and pushed aside the only hand stretched out to save her. Shewas drowning in deep water and she saw Le Gardeur buffeting the waves torescue her but she wrenched herself out of his grasp. She would not besaved, and was lost! Her couch was surrounded with indefinite shapes ofembryo evil.
She fell asleep at last. When she awoke the sun was pouring in herwindows. A fresh breeze shook the trees. The birds sang gaily in thegarden. The street was alive and stirring with people.
It was broad day. Angelique des Meloises was herself again. Herday-dream of ambition resumed its power. Her night-dream of love wasover. Her fears vanished, her hopes were all alive, and she began toprepare for a possible morning call from the Chevalier Bigot.