The Suitors of Yvonne: being a portion of the memoirs of the Sieur Gaston de Luynes
CHAPTER XVI. THE WAY OF WOMAN
For all that I realised that this love of mine for Yvonne was as a childstill-born--a thing that had no existence save in the heart that hadbegotten it--I rejoiced meanly at the thought that she was not destinedto become Andrea's wife. For since I understood that this woman--who tome was like no other of her sex--was not for so poor a thing as Gastonde Luynes, like the dog in the fable I wished that no other mightpossess her. Inevitable it seemed that sooner or later one must come whowould woo and win her. But ere that befell, my Lord Cardinal would havemeted out justice to me--the justice of the rope meseemed--and I shouldnot be by to gnash my teeth in jealousy.
That evening, when the Chevalier de Canaples had gone to pay a visit tohis vineyard,--the thing that, next to himself, he loved most in thisworld,--and whilst Genevieve and Andrea were vowing a deathless love toeach other in the rose garden, their favourite haunt when the Chevalierwas absent, I seized the opportunity for making my adieux to Yvonne.
We were leaning together upon the balustrade of the terrace, and ourfaces were turned towards the river and the wooded shores beyond--alandscape this that was as alive and beautiful now as it had been deadand grey when first I came to Canaples two months ago.
Scarce were my first words spoken when she turned towards me, andmethought--but I was mad, I told myself--that there was a catch in hervoice as she exclaimed, "You are leaving us, Monsieur?"
"To-morrow morning I shall crave Monsieur your father's permission toquit Canaples."
"But why, Monsieur? Have we not made you happy here?"
"So happy, Mademoiselle," I answered with fervour, "that at times itpasses my belief that I am indeed Gaston de Luynes. But go I must. Myhonour demands of me this sacrifice."
And in answer to the look of astonishment that filled her wondrous eyes,I told her what I had told Andrea touching my parole to Montresor, andthe necessity of its redemption. As Andrea had done, she also dubbed itmadness, but her glance was, nevertheless, so full of admiration, thatmethought to have earned it was worth the immolation of liberty--of lifeperchance; who could say?
"Before I go, Mademoiselle," I pursued, looking straight before me asI spoke, and dimly conscious that her glance was bent upon myface--"before I go, I fain would thank you for all that you have donefor me here. Your care has saved my life, Mademoiselle; your kindness,methinks, has saved my soul. For it seems to me that I am no longer thesame man whom Michelot fished out of the Loire that night two monthsago. I would thank you, Mademoiselle, for the happiness that has beenmine during the past few days--a happiness such as for years has notfallen to my lot. To another and worthier man, the task of thanking youmight be an easy one; but to me, who know myself to be so far beneathyou, the obligation is so overwhelming that I know of no words to fitlyexpress it."
"Monsieur, Monsieur, I beseech you! Already you have said overmuch."
"Nay, Mademoiselle; not half enough."
"Have you forgotten, then, what you did for me? Our trivial service toyou is but unseemly recompense. What other man would have come to myrescue as you came, with such odds against you--and forgetting theaffronting words wherewith that very day I had met your warning? Tellme, Monsieur, who would have done that?"
"Why, any man who deemed himself a gentleman, and who possessed suchknowledge as I had."
She laughed a laugh of unbelief.
"You are mistaken, sir," she answered. "The deed was worthy of one ofthose preux chevaliers we read of, and I have never known but one mancapable of accomplishing it."
Those words and the tone wherein they were uttered set my brain on fire.I turned towards her; our glances met, and her eyes--those eyes that buta while ago had never looked on me without avowing the disdain whereinshe had held me--were now filled with a light of kindliness, ofsympathy, of tenderness that seemed more than I could endure.
Already my hand was thrust into the bosom of my doublet, and my fingerswere about to drag forth that little shred of green velvet that I hadfound in the coppice on the day of her abduction, and that I had keptever since as one keeps the relic of a departed saint. Another momentand I should have poured out the story of the mad, hopeless passion thatfilled my heart to bursting, when of a sudden--"Yvonne, Yvonne!" cameGenevieve's fresh voice from the other end of the terrace. The spell ofthat moment was broken.
Methought Mademoiselle made a little gesture of impatience as sheanswered her sister's call; then, with a word of apology, she left me.
Half dazed by the emotions that had made sport of me, I leaned over thebalustrade, and with my elbows on the stone and my chin on my palms,I stared stupidly before me, thanking God for having sent Genevieve intime to save me from again earning Mademoiselle's scorn. For as I grewsober I did not doubt that with scorn she would have met the wild wordsthat already trembled on my lips.
I laughed harshly and aloud, such a laugh as those in Hell may vent."Gaston, Gaston!" I muttered, "at thirty-two you are more a fool thanever you were at twenty."
I told myself then that my fancy had vested her tone and look with akindliness far beyond that which they contained, and as I thought ofhow I had deemed impatient the little gesture wherewith she had greetedGenevieve's interruption I laughed again.
From the reverie into which, naturally enough, I lapsed, it wasMademoiselle who aroused me. She stood beside me with an unrest ofmanner so unusual in her, that straightway I guessed the substance ofher talk with Genevieve.
"So, Mademoiselle," I said, without waiting for her to speak, "you havelearned what is afoot?"
"I have," she answered. "That they love each other is no news to me.That they intend to wed does not surprise me. But that they shouldcontemplate a secret marriage passes my comprehension."
I cleared my throat as men will when about to embark upon a periloussubject with no starting-point determined.
"It is time, Mademoiselle," I began, "that you should learn the truecause of M. de Mancini's presence at Canaples. It will enlighten youtouching his motives for a secret wedding. Had things fallen out as wasintended by those who planned his visit--Monsieur your father and myLord Cardinal--it is improbable that you would ever have heard thatwhich it now becomes necessary that I should tell you. I trust,Mademoiselle," I continued, "that you will hear me in a neutralspirit, without permitting your personal feelings to enter into yourconsideration of that which I shall unfold."
"So long a preface augurs anything but well," she interposed, lookingmonstrous serious.
"Not ill, at least, I hope. Hear me then. Your father and his Eminenceare friends; the one has a daughter who is said to be very wealthy andwhom he, with fond ambition, desires to see wedded to a man who cangive her an illustrious name; the other possesses a nephew whom he canennoble by the highest title that a man may bear who is not a prince ofthe blood,--and borne indeed by few who are not,--and whom he desires tosee contract an alliance that will bring him enough of riches to enablehim to bear his title with becoming dignity." I glanced at Mademoiselle,whose cheeks were growing an ominous red.
"Well, Mademoiselle," I continued, "your father and Monseigneur deMazarin appear to have bared their heart's desire to each other, andM. de Mancini was sent to Canaples to woo and win your father's elderdaughter."
A long pause followed, during which she stood with face aflame, avertedeyes, and heaving bosom, betraying the feelings that stormed withinher at the disclosure of the bargain whereof she had been a part. Atlength--"Oh, Monsieur!" she exclaimed in a choking voice, and clenchingher shapely hands, "to think--"
"I beseech you not to think, Mademoiselle," I interrupted calmly, for,having taken the first plunge, I was now master of myself. "The ironicallittle god, whom the ancients painted with bandaged eyes, has led M. deMancini by the nose in this matter, and things have gone awry for theplotters. There, Mademoiselle, you have the reason for a clandestineunion. Did Monsieur your father guess how Andrea's affections have"--Icaught the word "miscarried" betimes, and substituted--"gone against hiswishes, his opposit
ion is not a thing to be doubted."
"Are you sure there is no mistake?" she inquired after a pause. "Is allthis really true, Monsieur?"
"It is, indeed."
"But how comes it that my father has seen naught of what has been soplain to me--that M. de Mancini was ever at my sister's side?"
"Your father, Mademoiselle, is much engrossed in his vineyard. Moreover,when the Chevalier has been at hand he has been careful to show nogreater regard for the one than for the other of you. I instructed himin this duplicity many weeks ago."
She looked at me for a moment.
"Oh, Monsieur," she cried passionately, "how deep is my humiliation! Tothink that I was made a part of so vile a bargain! Oh, I am glad that M.de Mancini has proved above the sordid task to which they set him--gladthat he will dupe the Cardinal and my father."
"So am not I, Mademoiselle," I exclaimed. She vouchsafed me a stare ofineffable surprise.
"How?
"Diable!" I answered. "I am M. de Mancini's friend. It was to shield himthat I fought your brother; again, because of my attitude towards himwas it that I went perilously near assassination at Reaux. Enemiessprang up about him when the Cardinal's matrimonial projects becameknown. Your brother picked a quarrel with him, and when I had dealt withyour brother, St. Auban appeared, and after St. Auban there were others.When it is known that he has played this trick upon 'Uncle Giulio' hisenemies will disappear; but, on the other hand, his prospects will allbe blighted, and for that I am sorry."
"So that was the motive of your duel with Eugene!"
"At last you learn it."
"And," she added in a curious voice, "you would have been better pleasedhad M. de Mancini carried out his uncle's wishes?"
"It matters little what I would think, Mademoiselle," I answeredguardedly, for I could not read that curious tone of hers.
"Nevertheless, I am curious to hear your answer."
What answer could I make? The truth--that for all my fine talk, I wasat heart and in a sense right glad that she was not to become Andrea'swife--would have seemed ungallant. Moreover, I must have added theexplanation that I desired to see her no man's wife, so that I might notseem to contradict myself. Therefore--
"In truth, Mademoiselle," I answered, lying glibly, "it would have givenme more pleasure had Andrea chosen to obey his Eminence."
Her manner froze upon the instant.
"In the consideration of your friend's advancement," she replied, halfcontemptuously, "you forget, M. de Luynes, to consider me. Am I, then, athing to be bartered into the hands of the first fortune-hunter whowoos me because he has been bidden so to do, and who is to marry me forpolitical purposes? Pshaw, M. de Luynes!" she added, with a scornfullaugh, "after all, I was a fool to expect aught else from--"
She checked herself abruptly, and a sudden access of mercy leftthe stinging "you" unuttered. I stood by, dumb and sheepish, notunderstanding how the words that I had deemed gallant could have broughtthis tempest down upon my head. Before I could say aught that might haverighted matters, or perchance made them worse--"Since you leave Canaplesto-morrow," quoth she, "I will say 'Adieu,' Monsieur, for it is unlikelythat we shall meet again."
With a slight inclination of her head, and withholding her handintentionally, she moved away, whilst I stood, as only a fool or astatue would stand, and watched her go.
Once she paused, and, indeed, half turned, whereupon hope knocked atmy heart again; but before I had admitted it, she had resumed her walktowards the house. Hungrily I followed her graceful, lissom figure withmy eyes until she had crossed the threshold. Then, with a dull ache inmy breast, I flung myself upon a stone seat, and, addressing myself tothe setting sun for want of a better audience, I roundly cursed her sexfor the knottiest puzzle that had ever plagued the mind of man in theunravelling.