The Suitors of Yvonne: being a portion of the memoirs of the Sieur Gaston de Luynes
CHAPTER XVIII. OF HOW I LEFT CANAPLES
Whilst a man might tell a dozen did those two remain motionless, theone eyeing the other. But their bearing was as widely different as theirfigures; Eugene's stalwart frame stood firm and erect, insolence inevery line of it, reflected perchance from the smile that lurked aboutthe corners of his thin-lipped mouth.
The hat, which he had not had the grace to doff, set jauntily upon hisstraight black hair, the jerkin of leather which he wore, and the stoutsword which hung from the plainest of belts, all served to give him theair of a ruffler, or tavern knight.
The Chevalier, on the other hand, stood as if turned to stone. From hisenervated fingers the letter fluttered to the ground, and on his pale,thin face was to be read a displeasure mixed with fear.
At length, with an oath, the old man broke the silence.
"What seek you at Canaples?" he asked in a quivering voice, as headvanced into the room. "Are you so dead to shame that you dare presentyourself with such effrontery? Off with your hat, sir!" he blazed,stamping his foot, and going from pale to crimson. "Off with your hat,or Mortdieu, I'll have you flung out of doors by my grooms."
This show of vehemence, as sudden as it was unexpected, drew from Eugenea meek obedience that I had not looked for. Nevertheless, the youngman's lip curled as he uncovered.
"How fatherly is your greeting!" he sneered. The Chevalier's eyesflashed a glance that lacked no venom at his son.
"What manner of greeting did you look for?" he returned hotly. "Did youexpect me to set a ring upon your finger, and have the fattened calfkilled in honour of your return? Sangdieu, sir! Have you come hitherto show me how a father should welcome the profligate son who hasdishonoured his name? Why are you here, unbidden? Answer me, sir!"
A deep flush overspread Eugene's cheeks.
"I had thought when I crossed the threshold that this was the Chateau deCanaples, or else that my name was Canaples--I know not which. ClearlyI was mistaken, for here is a lady who has no word either of greeting orintercession for me, and who, therefore, cannot be my sister, and yondera man whom I should never look to find in my father's house."
I took a step forward, a hot answer on my lips, when from the doorway atmy back came Yvonne's sweet voice.
"Eugene! You here?"
"As you see, Sister. Though had you delayed your coming 't is probableyou would no longer have found me, for your father welcomes me withoaths and threatens me with his grooms."
She cast a reproachful glance upon the Chevalier, 'neath which the angerseemed to die out of him; then she went forward with hands outstretchedand a sad smile upon her lips.
"Yvonne!" The Chevalier's voice rang out sharp and sudden.
She stopped.
"I forbid you to approach that man!"
For a moment she appeared to hesitate; then, leisurely pursuing her way,she set her hands upon her brother's shoulders and embraced him.
The Chevalier swore through set teeth; Genevieve trembled, Andrea lookedaskance, and I laughed softly at the Chevalier's discomfiture. Eugeneflung his hat and cloak into a corner and strode across the room towhere his father stood.
"And now, Monsieur, since I have travelled all the way from Paris tosave my house from a step that will bring it into the contempt of allFrance, I shall not go until you have heard me."
The Chevalier shrugged his shoulders and made as if to turn away.Yvonne's greeting of her brother appeared to have quenched the spark ofspirit that for a moment had glimmered in the little man's breast.
"Monsieur," cried Eugene, "believe me that what I have to say is of theutmost consequence, and say it I will--whether before these strangers orin your private ear shall be as you elect."
The old man glanced about him like one who seeks a way of escape. Atlast--"If say it you must," he growled, "say it here and now. And whenyou have said it, go."
Eugene scowled at me, and from me to Andrea. To pay him for that scowl,I had it in my mind to stay; but, overcoming the clownish thought, Itook Andrea by the arm.
"Come, Andrea," I said, "we will take a turn outside while these familymatters are in discussion."
I had a shrewd idea what was the substance of Eugene's mission toCanaples--to expostulate with his father touching the proposed marriageof Yvonne to the Cardinal's nephew.
Nor was I wrong, for when, some moments later, the Chevalier recalled usfrom the terrace, where we were strolling--"What think you he has comehither to tell me?" he inquired as we entered. He pointed to his sonas he spoke, and passion shook his slender frame as the breeze shakes aleaf. Mademoiselle and Genevieve sat hand in hand--Yvonne deadly pale,Genevieve weeping.
"What think you he has the effrontery to say? Tetedieu! it seems that hehas profited little by the lesson you read him in the horse-market aboutmeddling in matters which concern him not. He has come hither to tell methat he will not permit his sister to wed the Cardinal's nephew; that hewill not have the estates of Canaples pass into the hands of a foreignupstart. He, forsooth--he! he! he!" And at each utterance of the pronounhe lunged with his forefinger in the direction of his son. "This he isnot ashamed to utter before Yvonne herself!"
"You compelled me to do so," cried Eugene angrily.
"I?" ejaculated the Chevalier. "Did I compel you to come hither withyour 'I will' and 'I will not'? Who are you, that you should give lawsat Canaples? And he adds, sir," quoth the old knight excitedly, "thatsooner than allow this marriage to take place he will kill M. deMancini."
"I shall be happy to afford him the opportunity!" shouted Andrea,bounding forward.
Eugene looked up quickly and gave a short laugh. Thereupon followed awild hubbub; everyone rushed forward and everyone talked; even littleGenevieve--louder than all the rest.
"You shall not fight! You shall not fight!" she cried, and her voicewas so laden with command that all others grew silent and all eyes wereturned upon her.
"What affair is this of yours, little one?" quoth Eugene.
"'T is this," she answered, panting, "that you need fear no marriage'twixt my sister and Andrea."
In her eagerness she had cast caution to the winds of heaven. Her fatherand brother stared askance at her; I gave an inward groan.
"Andrea!" echoed Eugene at last. "What is this man to you that you speakthus of him?"
The girl flung herself upon her father's breast.
"Father," she sobbed, "dear father, forgive!"
The Chevalier's brow grew dark; roughly he seized her by the arms and,holding her at arm's length, scanned her face.
"What must I forgive?" he inquired in a thick voice. "What is M. deMancini to you?"
Some sinister note in her father's voice caused the girl to grow of asudden calm and to assume a rigidity that reminded me of her sister.
"He is my husband!" she answered. And there was a note of pride--almostof triumph--in her voice.
An awful silence followed the launching of that thunderbolt. Eugenestood with open mouth, staring now at Genevieve, now at his father.Andrea set his arm about his bride's waist, and her fair head was laidtrustingly upon his shoulder. The Chevalier's eyes rolled ominously. Atlength he spoke in a dangerously calm voice.
"How long is it--how long have you been wed?"
"We were wed in Blois an hour ago," answered Genevieve.
Something that was like a grunt escaped the Chevalier, then his eyefastened upon me, and his anger boiled up.
"You knew of this?" he asked, coming towards me.
"I knew of it."
"Then you lied to me yesterday."
I drew myself up, stiff as a broomstick.
"I do not understand," I answered coldly.
"Did you not give me your assurance that M. de Mancini would marryYvonne?"
"I did not, Monsieur. I did but tell you that he would wed yourdaughter. And, ma foi! your daughter he has wed."
"You have fooled me, scelerat!" he blazed out. "You, who have beensheltered by--"
"Father!" Yvonne interrupted, taking
his arm. "M. de Luynes has behavedno worse than have I, or any one of us, in this matter."
"No!" he cried, and pointed to Andrea. "'T is you who have wrought thisinfamy. Eugene," he exclaimed, turning of a sudden to his son, "you havea sword; wipe out this shame."
"Shame!" echoed Genevieve. "Oh, father, where is the shame? If it wereno shame for Andrea to marry Yvonne, surely--"
"Silence!" he thundered. "Eugene--"
But Eugene answered him with a contemptuous laugh.
"You are quick enough to call upon my sword, now that things have notfallen out as you would have them. Where are your grooms now, Monsieur?"
"Insolent hound!" cried his father indignantly. Then, letting fall hisarms with something that was near akin to a sob--"Is there no one leftto do aught but mock me?" he groaned.
But this weakness was no more than momentary.
"Out of my house, sir!" he blazed, turning upon Andrea, and for a momentmethought he would have struck him. "Out of my house--you and this wifeof yours!"
"Father!" sobbed Genevieve, with hands outstretched in entreaty.
"Out of my house," he repeated, "and you also, M. de Luynes. Away withyou! Go with the master you have served so well." And, turning on hisheel, he strode towards the door.
"Father--dear father!" cried Genevieve, following him: he slammed thedoor in her face for answer.
With a moan she sank down upon her knees, her frail body shaken byconvulsive sobs--Dieu! what a bridal morn was hers!
Andrea and Yvonne raised her and led her to a chair. Eugene watched themwith a cynical eye, then laughed brutally, and, gathering up his hat andcloak, he moved towards the balcony door and vanished.
"Is M. de Luynes still there?" quoth Genevieve presently.
"I am here, Madame."
"You had best set out, Monsieur," she said. "We shall follow soon--verysoon."
I took Andrea aside and asked him whither it was his intention to takehis wife. He replied that they would go to Chambord, where they wouldremain for some weeks in the hope that the Chevalier might relentsufficiently to forgive them. Thereafter it was his purpose to take hisbride home to his Sicilian demesne.
Our farewells were soon spoken; yet none the less warm, for all itsbrevity, was my leave-taking of Andrea, and our wishes for each other'shappiness were as fervent as the human heart can shape. We littlethought that we were not destined to meet again for years.
Yvonne's adieu was cold and formal--so cold and formal that it seemed torob the sunshine of its glory for me as I stepped out into the open air.
After all, what mattered it? I was a fool to have entertained a singletender thought concerning her.