The Suitors of Yvonne: being a portion of the memoirs of the Sieur Gaston de Luynes
CHAPTER VI. OF HOW ANDREA BECAME LOVE-SICK
With what fictions I could call to mind I put off Andrea's questionstouching the peculiar fashion of St. Auban's leave-taking. Tell himthe truth and expose to him the situation whereof he was himself theunconscious centre I dared not, lest his high-spirited impetuosityshould cause him to take into his own hands the reins of the affair, andthus drive himself into irreparable disaster.
Andrea himself showed scant concern, however, and was luckily contentwith my hurriedly invented explanations; his thoughts had suddenly foundoccupation in another and a gentler theme than the ill-humour of men,and presently his tongue betrayed them when he drew the conversation tothe ladies to whom he had resigned his apartments.
"Pardieu! Gaston," he burst out, "she is a lovely maid--saw you ever abonnier?"
"Indeed she is very beautiful," I answered, laughing to myself at thethought of how little he dreamt that it was of Yvonne St. Albaret deCanaples that he spoke, and not minded for the while to enlighten him.
"If she be as kind and gentle as she is beautiful, Gaston, well--UncleGiulio's plans are likely to suffer shipwreck. I shall not leaveChoisy until I have spoken to her; in fact, I shall not leave until sheleaves."
"Nevertheless, we shall still be able to set out, as we had projected,after dining, for in an hour, or two at most, they will proceed on theirjourney."
He was silent for some moments, then:
"To the devil with the Cardinal's plans!" quoth he, banging his fist onthe table. "I shall not go to Blois."
"Pooh! Why not?"
"Why not?" He halted for a moment, then in a meandering tone--"You haveread perchance in story-books," he said, "of love being born from thefirst meeting of two pairs of eyes, as a spark is born of flint andsteel, and you may have laughed at the conceit, as I have laughed atit. But laugh no more, Gaston; for I who stand before you am one who hasexperienced this thing which poets tell of, and which hitherto I haveheld in ridicule. I will not go to Blois because--because--enfin,because I intend to go where she goes."
"Then, mon cher, you will go to Blois. You will go to Blois, if not asa dutiful nephew, resigned to obey his reverend uncle's wishes, at leastbecause fate forces you to follow a pair of eyes that have--hum, whatwas it you said they did?"
"Do you say that she is going to Blois? How do you know?"
"Eh? How do I know? Oh, I heard her servant speaking with the hostler."
"So much the better, then; for thus if his Eminence gets news of mywhereabouts, the news will not awaken his ever-ready suspicions. Ciel!How beautiful she is! Noted you her eyes, her skin, and what hair, monDieu! Like threads of gold!"
"Like threads of gold?" I echoed. "You are dreaming, boy. Oh, St. Gris!I understand; you are speaking of the fair-haired chit that was withher."
He eyed me in amazement.
"'T is you whose thoughts are wandering to that lanky, nose-in-the-airMadame who accompanied her."
I began a laugh that I broke off suddenly as I realised that it was notYvonne after all who had imprisoned his wits. The Cardinal's plans were,indeed, likely to miscarry if he persisted thus.
"But 't was the nose-in-the-air Madame, as you call her, with whom youspoke!"
"Aye, but it was the golden-haired lady that held my gaze. Pshaw! Whowould mention them in a breath?"
"Who, indeed?" said I, but with a different meaning.
Thereafter, seeing him listless, I suggested a turn in the village tostretch our limbs before dining. But he would have none of it, and whenI pressed the point with sound reasoning touching the benefits whichhealth may cull from exercise, he grew petulant as a wayward child.She might descend whilst he was absent. Indeed, she might require someslight service that lay, perchance, in his power to render her. Whatan opportunity would he not lose were he abroad? She might even departbefore we returned; and than that no greater calamity could justthen befall him. No, he would not stir a foot from the inn. A fig forexercise! to the devil with health! who sought an appetite? Not he. Hewished for no appetite--could contrive no base and vulgar appetite forfood, whilst his soul, he swore, was being consumed by the overwhelming,all-effacing appetite to behold her.
Such meandering fools are most of us at nineteen, when the heart isyoung--a flawless mirror ready to hold the image of the first fair maidthat looks into it through our eyes, and as ready--Heaven knows!--torelinquish it when the substance is withdrawn.
But I, who was not nineteen, and the mirror of whose heart--to pursue mymetaphor--was dulled, warped, and cracked with much ill-usage, grew sickof the boy's enthusiasm and the monotony of a conversation which I coulddivert into no other channel from that upon which it had been startedby a little slip of a girl with hair of gold and sapphire eyes--I useAndrea's words. And so I rose, and bidding him take root in the tavern,if so it pleased his fancy, I left him there.
Wrapped in my cloak, for the air was raw and damp, I strode aimlesslyalong, revolving in my mind what had befallen at the Connetable thatmorning, and speculating upon the issue that this quaint affair mighthave. In matters of love, or rather, of matrimony--which is not quitethe same thing--opposition is common enough. But the opposersare usually members of either of the interested families. Now thefamilies--that is to say, the heads of the families--being agreed andeven anxious to bring about the union of Yvonne de Canaples and Andreade Mancini, it was something new to have a cabal of persons who, frommotives of principle--as St. Auban had it--should oppose the alliance sorelentlessly as to even resort to violence if no other means occurredto them. It seemed vastly probable that Andrea would be disposed of bya knife in the back, and more than probable that a like fate would bereserved for me, since I had constituted myself his guardian angel. Formy own part, however, I had a pronounced distaste to ending my days inso unostentatious a fashion. I had also a notion that I should prove anexceedingly difficult person to assassinate, and that those who soughtto slip a knife into me would find my hide peculiarly tough, and my handpeculiarly ready to return the compliment.
So deeply did I sink into ponderings of this character that it was notuntil two hours afterwards that I again found myself drawing near theConnetable.
I reached the inn to find by the door a coach, and by that coach Andrea;he stood bareheaded, despite the cold, conversing, with all outwardsemblances of profound respect, with those within it.
So engrossed was he and so ecstatic, that my approach was unheeded, andwhen presently I noted that the coach was Mademoiselle de Canaples's, Iceased to wonder at the boy's unconsciousness of what took place aroundhim.
Clearly the farrier had been found at last, and the horse shod afreshduring my absence. Loath to interrupt so pretty a scene, I waited,aloof, until these adieux should be concluded, and whilst I waitedthere came to me from the carriage a sweet, musical voice that was notYvonne's.
"May we not learn at least, Monsieur, the name of the gentleman to whosecourtesy we are indebted for having spent the past two hours withoutdiscomfort?"
"My name, Mademoiselle, is Andrea de Mancini, that of the humblestof your servants, and one to whom your thanks are a more than lavishpayment for the trivial service he may have been fortunate enough torender you."
Dame! What glibness doth a tongue acquire at Court!
"M. Andrea de Mancini?" came Yvonne's voice in answer. "Surely arelative of the Lord Cardinal?"
"His nephew, Mademoiselle."
"Ah! My father, sir, is a great admirer of your uncle."
From the half-caressing tone, as much as from the very words sheuttered, I inferred that she was in ignorance of the compact into whichhis Eminence had entered with her father--a bargain whereof she washerself a part.
"I am rejoiced, indeed, Mademoiselle," replied Andrea with a bow, asthough the compliment had been paid to him. "Am I indiscreet in askingthe name of Monsieur your father?"
"Indiscreet! Nay, Monsieur. You have a right to learn the name ofthose who are under an obligation to you. My father is the Chevalier deCanaples, of w
hom it is possible that you may have heard. I am Yvonne deCanaples, of whom it is unlikely that you should have heard, and this ismy sister Genevieve, whom a like obscurity envelops."
The boy's lips moved, but no sound came from them, whilst his cheekswent white and red by turns. His courtliness of a moment ago hadvanished, and he stood sheepish and gauche as a clown. At length heso far mastered himself as to bow and make a sign to the coachman, whothereupon gathered up his reins.
"You are going presumably to Blois?" he stammered with a nervous laugh,as if the journey were a humorous proceeding.
"Yes, Monsieur," answered Genevieve, "we are going home."
"Why, then, it is possible that we shall meet again. I, too, amtravelling in that direction. A bientot, Mesdemoiselles!"
The whip cracked, the coach began to move, and the creaking of itswheels drowned, so far as I was concerned, the female voices thatanswered his farewell. The coachman roused his horses into an amble; theamble became a trot, and the vehicle vanished round a corner. Some fewidlers stopped to gaze stupidly after it, but not half so stupidly asdid my poor Andrea, standing bareheaded where the coach had left him.
I drew near, and laid my hand on his shoulder; at the touch he startedlike one awakened suddenly, and looked up.
"Ah--you are returned, Gaston."
"To find that you have made a discovery, and are overwhelmed by yourerror."
"My error?"
"Yes--that of falling in love with the wrong one. Helas, it is but oneof those ironical jests wherewith Fate amuses herself at every stepof our lives. Had you fallen in love with Yvonne--and it passes myunderstanding why you did not--everything would have gone smoothly withyour wooing. Unfortunately, you have a preference for fair hair--"
"Have done," he interrupted peevishly. "What does it signify? To thedevil with Mazarin's plans!"
"So you said this morning."
"Yes, when I did not even dream her name was Canaples."
"Nevertheless, she is the wrong Canaples."
"For my uncle--but, mille diables! sir, 't is I who am to wed, and Ishall wed as my heart bids me."
"Hum! And Mazarin?"
"Faugh!" he answered, with an expressive shrug.
"Well, since you are resolved, let us dine."
"I have no appetite."
"Let us dine notwithstanding. Eat you must if you would live; and unlessyou live--think of it!--you'll never reach Blois."
"Gaston, you are laughing at me! I do not wish to eat."
I surveyed him gravely, with my arms akimbo.
"Can love so expand the heart of man that it fills even his stomach?Well, well, if you will not eat, at least have the grace to bear mecompany at table. Come, Andrea," and I took his arm, "let us ascend tothat chamber which she has but just quitted. Who can tell but that weshall find there some token of her recent presence? If nothing more, atleast the air will be pervaded by the perfume she affected, and sinceyou scorn the humble food of man, you can dine on that."
He smiled despite himself as I drew him towards the staircase.
"Scoffer!" quoth he. "Your callous soul knows naught of love."
"Whereas you have had three hours' experience. Pardieu! You shallinstruct me in the gentle art."
Alas, for those perfumes upon which I had proposed that he should feasthimself. If any the beautiful Genevieve had left behind her, they hadbeen smothered in the vulgar yet appetising odour of the steaming ragoutthat occupied the table.
I prevailed at length upon the love-lorn boy to take some food, but Icould lead him to talk of naught save Genevieve de Canaples. Presentlyhe took to chiding me for the deliberateness wherewith I ate, andbetrayed thereby his impatience to be in the saddle and after her.I argued that whilst she saw him not she might think of him. Butthe argument, though sound, availed me little, and in the end Iwas forced--for all that I am a man accustomed to please myself--tohurriedly end my repast, and pronounce myself ready to start.
As Andrea had with him some store of baggage--since his sojourn at Bloiswas likely to be of some duration--he travelled in a coach. Into thiscoach, then, we climbed--he and I. His valet, Silvio, occupied the seatbeside the coachman, whilst my stalwart Michelot rode behind leadingmy horse by the bridle. In this fashion we set out, and ere long thesilence of my thoughtful companion, the monotonous rumbling of thevehicle, and, most important of all factors, the good dinner that I hadconsumed, bred in me a torpor that soon became a sleep.
From a dream that, bound hand and foot, I was being dragged by St. Aubanand Malpertuis before the Cardinal, I awakened with a start to findthat we were clattering already through the streets of Etrechy; so thatwhilst I had slept we had covered some six leagues. Twilight had alreadyset in, and Andrea lay back idly in the carriage, holding a book whichit was growing too dark to read, and between the leaves of which he hadslipped his forefinger to mark the place where he had paused.
His eyes met mine as I looked round, and he smiled. "I should not havethought, Gaston," he said, "that a man with so seared a conscience couldhave slept thus soundly."
"I have not slept soundly," I grumbled, recalling my dream.
"Pardieu! you have slept long, at least."
"Out of self-protection; so that I might not hear the name of Genevievede Canaples. 'T is a sweet name, but you render it monotonous."
He laughed good-humouredly.
"Have you never loved, Gaston?"
"Often."
"Ah--but I mean did you never conceive a great passion?"
"Hundreds, boy."
"But never such a one as mine!"
"Assuredly not; for the world has never seen its fellow. Be good enoughto pull the cord, you Cupid incarnate. I wish to alight."
"You wish to alight! Why?"
"Because I am sick of love. I am going to ride awhile with Michelotwhilst you dream of her coral lips, her sapphire eyes, and what othergems constitute her wondrous personality."
Two minutes later I was in the saddle riding with Michelot in the wakeof the carriage. As I have already sought to indicate in these pages,Michelot was as much my friend as my servant. It was therefore no morethan natural that I should communicate to him my fears touching whatmight come of the machinations of St. Auban, Vilmorin, and even,perchance, of that little firebrand, Malpertuis.
Night fell while we talked, and at last the lights of Etampes, where weproposed to lie, peeped at us from a distance, and food and warmth.
It was eight o'clock when we reached the town, and a few moments laterwe rattled into the courtyard of the Hotel de l'Epee.
Andrea was out of temper to learn that Mesdemoiselles de Canaples hadreached the place two hours earlier, taken fresh horses, and proceededon their journey, intending to reach Monnerville that night. He was evenmad enough to propose that we should follow their example, but my soberarguments prevailed, and at Etampes we stayed till morning.
Andrea withdrew early. But I, having chanced upon a certain M. de laVrilliere, a courtier of Vilmorin's stamp, with whom I had some slightacquaintance, and his purse being heavier than his wits, I spent apassing profitable evening in his company. This pretty gentleman hailedmy advent with a delight that amazed me, and suggested that we shouldthrow a main together to kill time. The dice were found, and so clumsilydid he use them that in half an hour, playing for beggarly crowns, hehad lost twenty pistoles. Next he lost his temper, and with an oathpitched the cubes into the fire, swearing that they were toys forchildren and that I must grant him his revanche with cards. The cardswere furnished us, and with a fortune that varied little we playedlansquenet until long past midnight. The fire died out in the grate, andthe air grew chill, until at last, with a violent sneeze, La Vrilliereprotested that he would play no more.
Cursing himself for the unluckiest being alive, the fool bade megood-night, and left me seventy pistoles richer than when I had met him.