CHAPTER VIII
THE ABBE'S DISASTER
The force of circumstances had proved too great. What strength had histraining or his age to resist them? The old master, Love, the compellerof so many heroisms and so many crimes, from Eve and Helen to ManonLescaut, had grasped him with his wizard power. Poor Germain, thithertoso worthy and so well-intentioned, rose in the morning an adventurer--anadventurer, it is true, driven by desperation and anguish into hisdangerous part, and grasping the hope of nevertheless yet winning bysome forlorn good deed the forgiveness of her who was otherwise lost tohim.
As Dominique, the Auvergnat valet who had been assigned to him by deBailleul--because he had been foster father to the Chevalier's son--tiedhis hair, put on his morning coat and sword, buckled the sparklingbuckles on his shoes, and handed him his jewelled snuff-box, eachprocess seemed to Germain a preparation for some unknown accident thatmight happen, and in which he must be ready to conquer. When he steppeddown to meet his companions, it was distinctly and consciously tohenceforth play a _role_.
He saw Cyrene sitting on a seat in the garden, putting together, withthe critical fingers of a girl, a large bouquet. There was a statue ofFame close by, and beside it a laurel. She had plucked some of theleaves to tie with her blossoms.
He went out to her and proffered a word of greeting. She was about toreply, but the meeting was interrupted by a voice, and the Abbe appearedfrom behind the pedestal.
"What! a laurel twig among your flowers, Baroness?" said he. "Excellent!for Fame herself is not a goddess more suited to distribute favours. DoI not in you Madame, see again Daphne, the friend of Apollo, who turnedinto that tree?" and, smiling atrociously over his classical sweetspeech, he looked at Lecour.
"The insolence!" thought Germain, who also took it as a good opportunityto begin his _role_. "Well, sir," he exclaimed sharply, "talking ofApollo, did you ever hear that this god flayed one Marsyas forpresumption?"
Cyrene flashed him a surprised and grateful glance.
"I have heard, sir," replied Jude, "that the Princess de Poix desires meto find and conduct to her Madame the Baroness de la Roche Vernay."
So saying, he carried off Cyrene again, like some black piraticalcruiser, and she reluctantly accompanied him, looking back regretfullyover her shoulder.
Lecour could not understand the eternal use of the formal orders of thePrincess. He watched the two in a vexed stupor until they disappeared.Then he recalled the inanity and exacting requests of the great lady,and guessed how her reader was able to so boldly play his annoyingtrick.
Just then Grancey laid his hand on Germain's shoulder. There was so muchfriendship in the face of the golden-haired Life Guard that Lecour atonce raised the question uppermost in his mind.
"Baron," said he, "tell me, who is Madame de la Roche Vernay?"
Grancey's eyes twinkled intelligently.
"It is an affair, then? I can keep secrets."
"An affair only on my unfortunate side," Germain admitted gloomily.
"As on that of many another. Your Cyrene is the bearer of a very greatname: she is a Montmorency."
"A Montmorency!"
"Yes; she is a widow, you see."
"Never."
"While an orphan. Her father, the Vicomte Luc de Montmorency, who was amadman of a spendthrift, ended up in two bankruptcies, and was banishedfrom Court. Cyrene was brought up in a mouldy old chateau near St. Ouen.When only thirteen her hand was sought by an ambitious financier,Trochu, for his son, Baron la Roche Vernay, who was then with hisregiment in Dominica. Money was necessary to the Vicomte, and, in short,Mademoiselle was sold for two million livres, and the marriagecelebrated by proxy, as both the fathers were impatient to finish thebargain. It appeared by the mails that the young man died of fever twodays after.
"She wears no mourning," said Germain.
"Her father forbade it, and he brought her back with her dowry at onceto his own roof, away from the Trochus."
"But why is such a beautiful woman not married again?"
"Do you not know that at the Court nobody except the bald and toothlessmarries, except for fortune. There are plenty of lovers, but nohusbands. Because she is poor she is passed about in the family,sometimes as lady of honour to the Princess, sometimes to the Marechalede Noailles, her grand-aunt."
Germain's feelings were trebly disturbed by the history of thechild-widow. He made an effort to speak to her once more by inviting herto the tennis-court, but the Abbe informed them just then that she wasrequested to read correspondence to the Princess.
When he was in his bedchamber having his hunting-boots pulled off aftera badger hunt with the male guests, the valet, Dominique, began to talk.
"That is a queer priest--that Messire Jude, the Abbe."
"Yes, Dominique."
"Yes, Monsieur Germain. He talks very freely with us servants. Thismorning he inquired a great deal of me about your affairs. He said youwere a close friend of his. Was _he_ a Canadian?"
"Not at all. What more, Dominique?"
"He asked how long you had been here; and what relationship you bore toour master; and what were your intentions about staying; and yourfortune and your rank; and how many were your clothes and jewels. Thenhe proposed to see into your chamber here."
"Did you let him?"
"I told him it was against my duty, sir; but he told me I mustnever dispute the Church, so he walked in and examinedeverything--_everything_; he even opened the cupboards."
"The thief! If you allow that man in my apartment again I will spit youboth. Remember!"
Grancey and d'Amoreau came in.
"Curses on that black beetle," exclaimed the latter.
"Amen," profoundly echoed the former. "If it were not for the Princess Iwould feed my rapier with him."
"He has no right to such an honour; I would have him whipped by thelackeys. Repentigny, he has got her to take us back to the Palaceto-morrow morning, and spoilt all our pleasure."
"That seems to be his vocation," Germain answered with warmth. "I wouldundertake to punish him myself."
"On a wager of ten to two half-louis?"
"Accepted."
The two officers laughed uproariously at the prospect.
"Repentigny, if you do this," cried Grancey, "we will speak for you tothe King for something good."
After dinner Madame proposed a promenade in the park. Strolling inprocession, they came to some marble steps by the lakeside, where thehost proposed that the young men should take boats and row the ladiesabout, and he assigned Germain to Cyrene.
They were entering one of the shallops, when Jude suggested that thePrincess should be taken too. She objected; she detested water.
"Well, I will enjoy it myself," he said, and with the utmost assurancestepped into the stern; while d'Amoreau and Grancey chuckled and lookedat each other and Germain. The latter smiled and rowed down the lake.
On the other side was a clearing in the grove, where a stone seat wasplaced near the bank. Here Lecour drew to shore, and handed out Cyrene.The two Guardsmen were watching him closely. When Jude rose from thestem seat he felt a sudden strong turn given to the boat. He clutchedthe air, it did not save him; one black silk leg kicked up, and hedisappeared under the water.
The face of Cyrene, who had seated herself on the stone bench, was for amoment one of alarm.
The depth was not, however, above the Abbe's waist, and when he rose hislook of furious misery was too comical for any pity. The water streamedin a cataract from his wig over his elongated countenance and ruinedclothes. He had screwed his face into the black slime of the bottom; itwas now besides distorted with his efforts to breathe, and heunconsciously held up his blackened hands in the attitude of blessing.The whole party could not contain their laughter. D'Amoreau, Grancey,and the other Guardsmen sent up continuous roars on roars from theirboats. The Prince smiled; de Bailleul's efforts to control himself wereineffectual; the ladies all tittered, except Madame, who stood on shore,and even the considerate Cyrene
could restrain herself no longer, butturned her head from the moving appeal of the unfortunate figure beforeher, and gave way to a silvery chime of undiluted enjoyment.
"Hush, cousin," cried the Princess de Poix, stilted as ever; "such a sadaccident."
"Repentigny, by Castor and Pollux," swore d'Amoreau at the first momentof their meeting in private, "here are not five louis, but twenty. Youwere made for a Marshal of France."
"Dominique," Germain called out, "spend this with your fellows" (byinstinct he knew it was part of his _role_ to be lavish), "and tell themto drink to that meddlesome blackleg."
"In cold water," d'Amoreau added.