The Suitors of Yvonne: being a portion of the memoirs of the Sieur Gaston de Luynes
CHAPTER XV. OF MY RESURRECTION
Even as the blow which had plunged me into senselessness had imparted tome the sinking sensation which I have feebly endeavoured to depict,so did the first dim ray of returning consciousness bring with it thefeeling that I was again being buoyed upwards through the thickwaters that had enveloped me, to their surface, where intelligence andwakefulness awaited.
And as I felt myself borne up and up in that effortless ascension, mysenses awake and my reason still half-dormant, an exquisite sense oflanguor pervaded my whole being. Presently meseemed that the surfacewas gained at last, and an instinct impelled me to open my eyes upon thelight, of which, through closed lids, I had become conscious.
I beheld a fair-sized room superbly furnished, and flooded with ambersunlight suggestive in itself of warmth and luxury, the vision of whichheightened the delicious torpor that held me in thrall. The bed Ilay upon was such, I told myself, as would not have disgraced a royalsleeper. It was upheld by great pillars of black oak, carved with ascore of fantastic figures, and all around it, descending from the domeabove, hung curtains of rich damask, drawn back at the side that lookedupon the window. Near at hand stood a table laden with phials and suchutensils as one sees by the bedside of the wealthy sick. All this Ibeheld in a languid, unreasoning fashion through my half-open lids, andalbeit the luxury of the room and the fine linen of my bed told me thatthis was neither my Paris lodging in the Rue St. Antoine, nor yet mychamber at the hostelry of the Lys de France, still I taxed not my brainwith any questions touching my whereabouts.
I closed my eyes, and I must have slept again: when next I opened thema burly figure stood in the deep bay of the latticed window, looking outthrough the leaded panes.
I recognised the stalwart frame of Michelot, and at last I asked myselfwhere I might be. It did not seem to occur to me that I had but to callhim to receive an answer to that question. Instead, I closed myeyes again, and essayed to think. But just then there came a gentlescratching at the door, and I could hear Michelot tiptoeing acrossthe room; next he and the one he had admitted tiptoed back towards mybedside, and as they came I caught a whisper in a voice that seemed todrag me to full consciousness.
"How fares the poor invalid this morning?"
"The fever is gone, Mademoiselle, and he may wake at any moment; indeed,it is strange that he should sleep so long."
"He will be the better for it when he does awaken. I will remain herewhile you rest, Michelot. My poor fellow, you are almost as worn withyour vigils as he is with the fever."
"Pooh! I am strong enough, Mademoiselle," he answered. "I will get amouthful of food and return, for I would be by when he wakes."
Then their voices sank so low that as they withdrew I caught not whatwas said. The door closed softly and for a space there was silence,broken at last by a sigh above my head. With an answering sigh Iopened wide my eyes and feasted them upon the lovely face of Yvonne deCanaples, as she bent over me with a look of tenderness and pity that atonce recalled to me our parting when I was arrested.
But suddenly meeting the stare of my gaze, she drew back with ahalf-stifled cry, whose meaning my dull wits sought not to interpret,but methought I caught from her lips the words, "Thank God!"
"Where am I, Mademoiselle?" I inquired, and the faintness of my voiceamazed me.
"You know me!" she exclaimed, as though the thing were a miracle. Thencoming forward again, and setting her cool, sweet hand upon my forehead,
"Hush," she murmured in the accents one might use to soothe a child."You are at Canaples, among friends. Now sleep."
"At Canaples!" I echoed. "How came I here? I am a prisoner, am I not?"
"A prisoner!" she exclaimed. "No, no, you are not a prisoner. You areamong friends."
"Did I then but dream that Montresor arrested me yesterday on the roadto Meung? Ah! I recollect! M. de Montresor gave me leave on parole to goto Reaux."
Then, like an avalanche, remembrance swept down upon me, and my memorydrew a vivid picture of the happenings at St. Sulpice.
"My God!" I cried. "Am I not dead, then?" And I sought to struggle upinto a sitting posture, but that gentle hand upon my forehead restrainedand robbed me of all will that was not hers.
"Hush, Monsieur!" she said softly. "Lie still. By a miracle and thefaithfulness of Michelot you live. Be thankful, be content, and sleep."
"But my wounds, Mademoiselle?" I inquired feebly.
"They are healed."
"Healed?" quoth I, and in my amazement my voice sounded louder than ithad yet done since my awakening. "Healed! Three such wounds as I tooklast night, to say naught of a broken head, healed?"
"'T was not last night, Monsieur."
"Not last night? Was it not last night that I went to Reaux?"
"It is nearly a month since that took place," she answered with a smile."For nearly a month have you lain unconscious upon that bed, with theangel of Death at your pillow. You have fought and won a silent battle.Now sleep, Monsieur, and ask no more questions until next you awaken,when Michelot shall tell you all that took place."
She held a glass to my lips from which I drank gratefully, then, withthe submissiveness of a babe, I obeyed her and slept.
As she had promised, it was Michelot who greeted me when next I openedmy eyes, on the following day. There were tears in his eyes--eyes thathad looked grim and unmoved upon the horrors of the battlefield.
From him I learned how, after they had flung me into the river, deemingme dead already, St. Auban and his men had made off. The swift streamswirled me along towards the spot where, in the boat, Michelot awaitedmy return all unconscious of what was taking place. He had heard thesplash, and had suddenly stood up, on the point of going ashore, whenmy body rose within a few feet of him. He spoke of the agony of mindwherewith he had suddenly stretched forth and clutched me by my doublet,fearing that I was indeed dead. He had lifted me into the boat to findthat my heart still beat and that the blood flowed from my wounds. Thesehe had there and then bound up in the only rude fashion he was masterof, and forthwith, thinking of Andrea and the Chevalier de Canaples,who were my friends, and of Mademoiselle, who was my debtor, also seeingthat the chateau was the nearest place, he had rowed straight across toCanaples, and there I had lain during the four weeks that had elapsed,nursed by Mademoiselle, Andrea, and himself, and thus won back to life.
Ah, Dieu! How good it was to know that someone there was still who caredfor worthless Gaston de Luynes a little--enough to watch beside him andwithhold his soul from the grim claws of Death.
"What of M. de St. Auban?" I inquired presently.
"He has not been seen since that night. Probably he feared that did hecome to Blois, the Chevalier would find means of punishing him for theattempted abduction of Mademoiselle."
"Ah, then Andrea is safe?"
As if in answer to my question, the lad entered at that moment, and uponseeing me sitting up, talking to Michelot, he uttered an exclamation ofjoy, and hurried forward to my bedside.
"Gaston, dear friend!" he cried, as he took my hand--and a thin,withered hand it was.
We talked long together,--we three,--and anon we were joined by theChevalier de Canaples, who offered me also, in his hesitating manner,his felicitations. And with me they lingered until Yvonne came to drivethem with protestations from my bedside.
Such, in brief, was the manner of my resurrection. For a week or so Istill kept my chamber; then one day towards the middle of April, theweather being warm and the sun bright, Michelot assisted me to don myclothes, which hung strangely empty upon my gaunt, emaciated frame, and,leaning heavily upon my faithful henchman, I made my way below.
In the salon I found the Chevalier de Canaples with Mesdemoiselles andAndrea awaiting me, and the kindness wherewith they overwhelmed me, asI sat propped up with pillows, was such that I asked myself again andagain if, indeed, I was that same Gaston de Luynes who but a littlewhile ago had held himself as destitute of friends as he was of fortune.I was the pampered hero of th
e hour, and even little Genevieve had asunny smile and a kind word for me.
Thereafter my recovery progressed with great strides, and gradually, dayby day, I felt more like my old vigorous self. They were happy days, forMademoiselle was often at my side, and ever kind to me; so kind was shethat presently, as my strength grew, there fell a great cloud athwart myhappiness--the thought that soon I must leave Canaples never to returnthere,--leave Mademoiselle's presence never to come into it again.
I was Monsieur de Montresor's prisoner. I had learned that in commonwith all others, save those at Canaples, he deemed me dead, and that,informed of it by a message from St. Auban, he had returned to Parison the day following that of my journey to Reaux. Nevertheless, sinceI lived, he had my parole, and it was my duty as soon as I had regainedsufficient strength, to journey to Paris and deliver myself into hishands.
Nearer and nearer drew the dreaded hour in which I felt that I mustleave Canaples. On the last day of April I essayed a fencing bout withAndrea, and so strong and supple did I prove myself that I was forced torealise that the time was come. On the morrow I would go.
As I was on the point of returning indoors with the foils under my arm,Andrea called me back.
"Gaston, I have something of importance to say to you. Will you take aturn with me down yonder by the river?"
There was a serious, almost nervous look on his comely face, whicharrested my attention. I dropped the foils, and taking his arm I wentwith him as he bade me. We seated ourselves on the grass by the edge ofthe gurgling waters, and he began:
"It is now two months since we came to Blois: I, to pay my court tothe wealthy Mademoiselle de Canaples; you, to watch over and protectme--nay, you need not interrupt me. Michelot has told me what St. Aubansought here, and the true motives of your journey to St. Sulpice. Nevershall I be able to sufficiently prove my gratitude to you, my poorGaston. But tell me, dear friend, you who from the outset saw howmatters stood, why did you not inform St. Auban that he had no cause tohunt me down since I intended not to come between him and Yvonne?"
"Mon Dieu!" I exclaimed, "that little fair-haired coquette has--"
"Gaston," he interrupted, "you go too fast. I love Genevieve deCanaples. I have loved her, I think, since the moment I beheld her inthe inn at Choisy, and, what is more, she loves me."
"So that--?" I asked with an ill-repressed sneer.
"We have plighted our troth, and with her father's sanction, or withoutit, she will do me the honour to become my wife."
"Admirable!" I exclaimed. "And my Lord Cardinal?"
"May hang himself on his stole for aught I care."
"Ah! Truly a dutiful expression for a nephew who has thwarted hisuncle's plans!"
"My uncle's plans are like himself, cold and selfish in their ambition."
"Andrea, Andrea! Whatever your uncle may be, to those of your blood, atleast, he was never selfish."
"Not selfish!" he cried. "Think you that he is enriching and contractinggreat alliances for us because he loves us? No, no. Our uncle seeks togain our support and with it the support of those noble houses to whichhe is allying us. The nobility opposes him, therefore he seeks to findrelatives among noblemen, so that he may weather the storm of which hisfar-seeing eyes have already detected the first dim clouds. What to himare my feelings, my inclinations, my affections? Things of no moment, tobe sacrificed so that I may serve him in the manner that will bring himthe most profit. Yet you call him not selfish! Were he not selfish, Ishould go to him and say: 'I love Genevieve de Canaples. Create me Dukeas you would do, did I wed her sister, and the Chevalier de Canapleswill not withstand our union.' What think you would be his answer?"
"I have a shrewd idea what his answer would be," I replied slowly. "AlsoI have a shrewd idea of what he will say when he learns in what manneryou have defied his wishes."
"He can but order me away from Court, or, at most, banish me fromFrance."
"And then what will become of you--of you and your wife?"
"What is to become of us?" he cried in a tone that was almost that ofanger. "Think you that I am a pauper dependent upon my uncle's bounty?I have an estate near Palermo, which, for all that it does not yieldriches, is yet sufficient to enable us to live with dignity and comfort.I have told Genevieve, and she is content."
I looked at his flushed face and laughed.
"Well, well!" said I. "If you are resolved upon it, it is ended."
He appeared to meditate for a moment, then--"We have decided to bemarried by the Cure of St. Innocent on the day after to-morrow."
"Credieu!" I answered, with a whistle, "you have wasted no time indetermining your plans. Does Yvonne know of it?"
"We have dared tell nobody," he replied; and a moment later he addedhesitatingly, "You, I know, will not betray us."
"Do you know me so little that you doubt me on that score? Have nofear, Andrea, I shall not speak. Besides, to-morrow, or the next day atlatest, I leave Canaples."
"You do not mean that you are returning to the Lys de France!"
"No. I am going farther than that. I am going to Paris."
"To Paris?"
"To Paris, to deliver myself up to M. de Montresor, who gave me leave togo to Reaux some seven weeks ago."
"But it is madness, Gaston!" he ejaculated.
"All virtue is madness in a world so sinful; nevertheless I go. In ameasure I am glad that things have fallen out with you as they havedone, for when the news goes abroad that you have married Genevieve deCanaples and left the heiress free, your enemies will vanish, and youwill have no further need of me. New enemies you will have perchance,but in your strife with them I could lend you no help, were I by."
He sat in silence casting pebbles into the stream, and watching theripples they made upon the face of the waters.
"Have you told Mademoiselle?" he asked at length.
"Not yet. I shall tell her to-day. You also, Andrea, must take her intoyour confidence touching your approaching marriage. That she will provea good friend to you I am assured."
"But what reason shall I give form my secrecy?" he inquired, andinwardly I smiled to see how the selfishness which love begets in us hadcaused him already to forget my affairs, and how the thought of hisown approaching union effaced all thought of me and the doom to which Iwent.
"Give no reason," I answered. "Let Genevieve tell her of what youcontemplate, and if a reason she must have, let Genevieve bid her cometo me. This much will I do for you in the matter; indeed, Andrea, it isthe last service I am like to render you."
"Sh! Here comes the Chevalier. She shall be told to-day."