The Suitors of Yvonne: being a portion of the memoirs of the Sieur Gaston de Luynes
CHAPTER XVII. FATHER AND SON
"Gaston," quoth Andrea next morning, "you will remain at Canaples untilto-morrow? You must, for to-morrow I am to be wed, and I would fain haveyour good wishes ere you go."
"Nice hands, mine, to seek a benediction at," I grumbled.
"But you will remain? Come, Gaston, we have been good friends, you andI, and who knows when next we shall meet? Believe me, I shall value your'God speed' above all others."
"Likely enough, since it will be the only one you'll hear."
But for all my sneers he was not to be put off. He talked and coaxed sowinningly that in the end--albeit I am a man not easily turned from thecourse he has set himself--the affectionate pleading in his fresh youngvoice and the affectionate look in his dark eyes won me to his way.
Forthwith I went in quest of the Chevalier, whom, at the indication of alackey, I discovered in the room it pleased him to call his study--thatsame room into which we had been ushered on the day of our arrival atCanaples. I told him that on the morrow I must set out for Paris, andalbeit he at first expressed a polite regret, yet when I had shown himhow my honour was involved in my speedy return thither, he did not urgeme to put off my departure.
"It grieves me, sir, that you must go, and I deeply regret the motivethat is taking you. Yet I hope that his Eminence, in recognition of theservices you have rendered his nephew, will see fit to forget what causefor resentment he may have against you, and render you your liberty. Ifyou will give me leave, Monsieur, I will write to his Eminence in thisstrain, and you shall be the bearer of my letter."
I thanked him, with a smile of deprecation, as I thought of the truecause of Mazarin's resentment, which was precisely that of the plea uponwhich M. de Canaples sought to obtain for me my liberation.
"And now, Monsieur," he pursued nervously, "touching Andrea and hisvisit here, I would say a word to you who are his friend, and may haplyknow something of his mind. It is over two months since he came here,and yet the--er--affair which we had hoped to bring about seems nonearer its conclusion than when first he came. Of late I have watchedhim and I have watched Yvonne; they are certainly good friends, yet noteven the frail barrier of formality appears overcome betwixt them, andI am beginning to fear that Andrea is not only lukewarm in this matter,but is forgetful of his uncle's wishes and selfishly indifferent toMonseigneur's projects and mine, which, as he well knows, are the reasonof his sojourn at my chateau. What think you of this, M. de Luynes?"
He shot a furtive glance at me as he spoke, and with his long, leanforefinger he combed his beard in a nervous fashion.
I gave a short laugh to cover my embarrassment at the question.
"What do I think, Monsieur?" I echoed to gain time. Then, thinking thata sententious answer would be the most fitting,--"Ma foi! Love is as thespark that lies latent in flint and steel: for days and weeks these twomay be as close together as you please, and naught will come of it; butone fine day, a hand--the hand of chance--will strike the one againstthe other, and lo!--the spark is born!"
"You speak in parables, Monsieur," was his caustic comment.
"'T is in parables that all religions are preached," I returned, "andlove, methinks, is a great religion in this world."
"Love, sir, love!" he cried petulantly. "The word makes me sick! Whathas love to do with this union? Love, sir, is a pretty theme for poets,romancers, and fools. The imagination of such a sentiment--for it is asentiment that does not live save in the imagination--may serve to drawpeasants and other low-bred clods into wedlock. With such as we--withgentlemen--it has naught to do. So let that be, Monsieur. Andrea deMancini came hither to wed my daughter."
"And I am certain, Monsieur," I answered stoutly, "that Andrea will wedyour daughter."
"You speak with confidence."
"I know Andrea well. Signs that may be hidden to you are clear to me,and I have faith in my prophecy."
He looked at me, and fell a victim to my confidence of manner. Thepetulancy died out of his face.
"Well, well! We will hope. My Lord Cardinal is to create him Duke, andhe will assume as title his wife's estate, becoming known to history asAndrea de Mancini, Duke of Canaples. Thus shall a great house be foundedthat will bear our name. You see the importance of it?"
"Clearly."
"And how reasonable is my anxiety?"
"Assuredly."
"And you are in sympathy with me?"
"Pardieu! Why else did I go so near to killing your son?"
"True," he mused. Then suddenly he added, "Apropos, have you heard thatEugene has become one of the leaders of these frondeur madmen?"
"Ah! Then he is quite recovered?"
"Unfortunately," he assented with a grimace, and thus our interviewended.
That day wore slowly to its close. I wandered hither and thither in thechateau and the grounds, hungering throughout the long hours for a wordwith Mademoiselle--a glimpse of her, at least.
But all day long she kept her chamber, the pretext being that she wasbeset by a migraine. By accident I came upon her that evening, at last,in the salon; yet my advent was the signal for her departure, and allthe words she had for me were:
"Still at Canaples, Monsieur? I thought you were to have left thismorning." She looked paler than her wont, and her eyes were somewhatred.
"I am remaining until to-morrow," said I awkwardly.
"Vraiement!" was all she answered, and she was gone.
Next morning the Chevalier and I breakfasted alone. Mademoiselle'smigraine was worse. Genevieve was nursing, so her maid broughtword--whilst Andrea had gone out an hour before and had not returned.
The Chevalier shot me an apologetic glance across the board.
"'T is a poor 'God speed' to you, M. de Luynes."
I made light of it and turned the conversation into an indifferentchannel, wherein it abided until, filling himself a bumper of Anjou, theChevalier solemnly drank to my safe journey and good fortune in Paris.
At that moment Andrea entered by the door abutting on the terracebalcony. He was flushed, and his eyes sparkled with a joyous fever.Profuse was he in his apologies, which, howbeit, were passing vaguein character, and which he brought to a close by pledging me as theChevalier had done already.
As we rose, Genevieve appeared with the news that Yvonne was somewhatbetter, adding that she had come to take leave of me. Her composuresurprised me gladly, for albeit in her eyes there was also a telltalelight, the lids, demurely downcast as was her wont, amply screened itfrom the vulgar gaze.
Andrea would tell his father-in-law of the marriage later in the day;and for all I am not a chicken-hearted man, still I had no stomach to beat hand when the storm broke.
The moment having come for my departure, and Michelot awaiting mealready with the horses in the courtyard, M. de Canaples left us to seekthe letter which I was to carry to his Eminence. So soon as the door hadclosed upon him, Andrea came forward, leading his bride by the hand, andasked me to wish them happiness.
"With all my heart," I answered; "and if happiness be accorded you in ameasure with the fervency of my wishes then shall you, indeed, be happy.Each of you I congratulate upon the companion in life you have chosen.Cherish him, Mademoi--Madame, for he is loyal and true--and such arerare in this world."
It is possible that I might have said more in this benign and fatherlystrain--for it seemed to me that this new role I had assumed suitedme wondrous well--but a shadow that drew our eyes towards the nearestwindow interrupted me. And what we saw there drew a cry from Andrea, ashudder from Genevieve, and from me a gasp that was half amazement, halfdismay. For, leaning upon the sill, surveying us with a sardonic, evilgrin, we beheld Eugene de Canaples, the man whom I had left with asword-thrust through his middle behind the Hotel Vendome two months ago.Whence was he sprung, and why came he thus to his father's house?
He started as I faced him, for doubtless St. Auban had boasted to himthat he had killed me in a duel. For a moment he remained at the window,then he disappeared, and
we could hear the ring of his spurred heel ashe walked along the balcony towards the door.
And simultaneously came the quick, hurrying steps of the Chevalier deCanaples, as he crossed the hall, returning with the letter he had goneto fetch.
Genevieve shuddered again, and looked fearfully from one door to theother; Andrea drew a sharp breath like a man in pain, whilst I rappedout an oath to brace my nerves for the scene which we all three foresaw.Then in silence we waited, some subtle instinct warning us of thedisaster that impended.
The steps on the balcony halted, and a second later those in the hall;and then, as though the thing had been rehearsed and timed so that thespectators might derive the utmost effect from it, the doors openedtogether, and on the opposing thresholds, with the width of the roombetwixt them, stood father and son confronted.