CHAPTER XIII. A MYSTERY
I knew by the light that it was evening when I awoke. So prisoners markthe passing of the days by a bar of sun light. And as I looked at thegreen trees in the courtyard, vaguely troubled by I knew not what, someone came and stood in the doorway. It was Nick.
“You don’t seem very cheerful,” said he; “a man ought to be who has beensnatched out of the fire.”
“You seem to be rather too sure of my future,” I said, trying to smile.
“That’s more like you,” said Nick. “Egad, you ought to be happy--we allought to be happy--she’s gone.”
“She!” I cried. “Who’s gone?”
“Madame la Vicomtesse,” he replied, rubbing his hands as he stood overme. “But she’s left instructions with me for Lindy as long as Monsieurde Carondelet’s Bando de Buen Gobierno. You are not to do this, and youare not to do that, you are to eat such and such things, you are to bemade to sleep at such and such times. She came in here about an hour agoand took a long look at you before she left.”
“She was not ill?” I said faintly.
“Faith, I don’t know why she was not,” he said. “She has done enough totire out an army. But she seems well and fairly happy. She had her jokeat my expense as she went through the court-yard, and she reminded methat we were to send a report by André every day.”
Chagrin, depression, relief, bewilderment, all were struggling withinme.
“Where did she go?” I asked at last.
“To Les Îles,” he said. “You are to be brought there as soon as you arestrong enough.”
“Do you happen to know why she went?” I said.
“Now how the deuce should I know?” he answered. “I’ve done everythingwith blind servility since I came into this house. I never asked for anyreason--it never would have done any good. I suppose she thought thatyou were well on the road to recovery, and she knew that Lindy was anold hand. And then the doctor is to come in.”
“Why didn’t you go?” I demanded, with a sudden remembrance that he wasstaying away from happiness.
“It was because I longed for another taste of liberty, Davy,” helaughed. “You and I will have an old-fashioned time here together,--adeal of talk, and perhaps a little piquet,--who knows?”
My strength came back, bit by bit, and listening to his happiness didmuch to ease the soreness of my heart--while the light lasted. It wasin the night watches that my struggles came--though often some unwittingspeech of his would bring back the pain. He took delight in telling me,for example, how for hours at a time I had been in a fearful delirium.
“The Lord knows what foolishness you talked, Davy,” said he. “It wouldhave done me good to hear you had you been in your right mind.”
“But you did hear me,” I said, full of apprehensions.
“Some of it,” said he. “You were after Wilkinson once, in a burrow, Ibelieve, and you swore dreadfully because he got out of the other end.I can’t remember all the things you said. Oh, yes, once you were talkingto Auguste de St. Gré about money.”
“Money?” I repeated in a sinking voice.
“Oh, a lot of jargon. The Vicomtesse pushed me out of the room, andafter that I was never allowed to be there when you had those flights.Curse the mosquitoes!” He seized a fan and began to ply it vigorously.“I remember. You were giving Auguste a lecture. Then I had to go.”
These and other reminiscences gave me sufficient food for reflection,and many a shudder over the possibilities of my ravings. She had put himout! No wonder.
After a while I was carried to the gallery, and there I would talkto the little doctor about the yellow fever which had swept the city.Monsieur Perrin was not much of a doctor, to be sure, and he hada heartier dread of the American invasion than of the scourge. Heworshipped the Vicomtesse, and was so devoid of professional pride as togive her freely all credit for my recovery. He too, clothed her with thequalities of statesmanship.
“Ha, Monsieur,” he said, “if that lady had been King of France, do youthink there would have been any States General, any red bonnets, anyJacobins or Cordeliers? Parbleu, she would have swept the vicemongersand traitors out of the Palais Royal itself. There would have been ahouse-cleaning there. I, who speak to you, know it.”
Every day Nick wrote a bulletin to be sent to the Vicomtesse, and hetook a fiendish delight in the composition of these. He would come outon the gallery with ink and a blank sheet of paper and try to enlist myhelp. He would insert the most ridiculous statements, as for instance,“Davy is worse to-day, having bribed Lindy to give him a pint of Madeiraagainst my orders.” Or, “Davy feigns to be sinking rapidly because hewishes to have you back.” Indeed, I was always in a torture of doubt toknow what the rascal had sent.
His company was most agreeable when he was recounting the manyadventures he had had during the five years after he had left NewOrleans and been lost to me. These would fill a book, and a mostreadable book it would be if written in his own speech. His love for theexcitement of the frontier had finally drawn him back to the Cumberlandcountry near Nashville, and he had actually gone so far as to raise ahouse and till some of the land which he had won from Darnley. Itwas perhaps characteristic of him that he had named the place“Rattle-and-Snap” in honor of the game which had put him in possessionof it, and “Rattle-and-Snap” it remains to this day. He was going backthere with Antoinette, so he said, to build a brick mansion and to livea respectable life the rest of his days.
There was one question which had been in my mind to ask him, concerningthe attitude of Monsieur de St. Gré. That gentleman, with Madame, hadhurried back from Pointe Coupée at a message from the Vicomtesse, andhad gone first to Les Îles to see Antoinette. Then he had come, in spiteof the fever, to his own house in New Orleans to see Nick himself. Whattheir talk had been I never knew, for the subject was too painful to bedwelt upon, and the conversation had been marked by frankness on bothsides. Monsieur de St. Gré was a just man, his love for his daughter washis chief passion, and despite all that had happened he liked Nick. Ibelieve he could not wholly blame the younger man, and he forgave him.
Mrs. Temple, poor lady, had died on that first night of my illness,and it was her punishment that she had not known her son or her son’shappiness. Whatever sins she had committed in her wayward life wereatoned for, and by her death I firmly believe that she redeemed him. Shelies now among the Temples in Charleston, and on the stone which marksher grave is cut no line that hints of the story of these pages.
One bright morning, when Nick and I were playing cards, we heard someone mounting the stairs, and to my surprise and embarrassment I beheldMonsieur de St. Gré emerging on the gallery. He was in white linen andwore a broad hat, which he took from his head as he advanced. He hadaged somewhat, his hair was a little gray, but otherwise he was thefirm, dignified personage I had admired on this same gallery five yearsbefore.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said in English; “ha, do not rise, sir”(to me). He patted Nick’s shoulder kindly, but not familiarly, as hepassed him, and extended his hand.
“Mr. Ritchie, it gives me more pleasure than I can express to see you somuch recovered.”
“I am again thrown on your hospitality, sir,” I said, flushing withpleasure at this friendliness. For I admired and respected the mangreatly. “And I fear I have been a burden and trouble to you and yourfamily.”
He took my hand and pressed it. Characteristically, he did not answerthis, and I remembered he was always careful not to say anything whichmight smack of insincerity.
“I had a glimpse of you some weeks ago,” he said, thus making light ofthe risk he had run. “You are a different man now. You may thank yourScotch blood and your strong constitution.”
“His good habits have done him some good, after all,” put in myirrepressible cousin.
Monsieur de St. Gré smiled.
“Nick,” he said (he pronounced the name quaintly, like Antoinette), “hisgood habits have turned out to be some advantage to you. M
r. Ritchie,you have a faithful friend at least.” He patted Nick’s shoulder again.“And he has promised me to settle down.”
“I have every inducement, sir,” said Nick.
Monsieur de St. Gré became grave.
“You have indeed, Monsieur,” he answered.
“I have just come from Dr. Perrin’s, David,”--he added, “May I call youso? Well, then, I have just come from Dr. Perrin’s, and he says youmay be moved to Les Îles this very afternoon. Why, upon my word,” heexclaimed, staring at me, “you don’t look pleased. One would think youwere going to the calabozo.”
“Ah,” said Nick, slyly, “I know. He has tasted freedom, Monsieur, andMadame la Vicomtesse will be in command again.”
I flushed. Nick could be very exasperating.
“You must not mind him, Monsieur,” I said.
“I do not mind him,” answered Monsieur de St. Gré, laughing in spite ofhimself. “He is a sad rogue. As for Hélène--”
“I shall not know how to thank the Vicomtesse,” I said. “She has done methe greatest service one person can do another.”
“Hélène is a good woman,” answered Monsieur de St. Gré, simply. “She ismore than that, she is a wonderful woman. I remember telling you of heronce. I little thought then that she would ever come to us.”
He turned to me. “Dr. Perrin will be here this afternoon, David, and hewill have you dressed. Between five and six if all goes well, we shallstart for Les Îles. And in the meantime, gentlemen,” he added with astateliness that was natural to him, “I have business which takes meto-day to my brother-in-law’s, Monsieur de Beauséjour’s.”
Nick leaned over the gallery and watched meditatively his prospectivefather-in-law leaving the court-yard.
“He got me out of a devilish bad scrape,” he said.
“How was that?” I asked listlessly.
“That fat little Baron, the Governor, was for deporting me for runningpast the sentry and giving him all the trouble I did. It seems that theVicomtesse promised to explain matters in a note which she wrote, andnever did explain. She was here with you, and a lot she cared aboutanything else. Lucky that Monsieur de St. Gré came back. Now hisExcellency graciously allows me to stay here, if I behave myself, untilI get married.”
I do not know how I spent the rest of the day. It passed, somehow. IfI had had the strength then, I believe I should have fled. I was to seeher again, to feel her near me, to hear her voice. During the weeks thathad gone by I had schooled myself, in a sense, to the inevitable. I hadnot let my mind dwell upon my visit to Les Îles, and now I was face toface with the struggle for which I felt I had not the strength. I hadfought one battle,--I knew that a fiercer battle was to come.
In due time the doctor arrived, and while he prepared me for mydeparture, the little man sought, with misplaced kindness, to raisemy spirits. Was not Monsieur going to the country, to a paradise?Monsieur--so Dr. Perrin had noticed--had a turn for philosophy. Couldtwo more able and brilliant conversationalists be found than Philippede St. Gré and Madame la Vicomtesse? And there was the happiness of thatstrange but lovable young man, Monsieur Temple, to contemplate. He wasin luck, ce beau garçon, for he was getting an angel for his wife. DidMonsieur know that Mademoiselle Antoinette was an angel?
At last I was ready, arrayed in my best, on the gallery, when Monsieurde St. Gré came. André and another servant carried me down into thecourt, and there stood a painted sedan-chair with the St. Gré arms onthe panels.
“My father imported it, David,” said Monsieur de St. Gré. “It has notbeen used for many years. You are to be carried in it to the levee, andthere I have a boat for you.”
Overwhelmed by this kindness, I could not find words to thank him as Igot into the chair. My legs were too long for it, I remember. I had aquaint feeling of unreality as I sank back on the red satin cushionsand was borne out of the gate between the lions. Monsieur de St. Gré andNick walked in front, the faithful Lindy followed, and people paused tostare at us as we passed. We crossed the Place d’Armes, the Royal Road,gained the willow-bordered promenade on the levee’s crown, and a widebarge was waiting, manned by six negro oarsmen. They lifted me into itsstern under the awning, the barge was cast off, the oars dipped, and wewere gliding silently past the line of keel boats on the swift currentof the Mississippi. The spars of the shipping were inky black, and thesetting sun had struck a red band across the waters. For a while thethree of us sat gazing at the green shore, each wrapped in his ownreflections,--Philippe de St. Gré thinking, perchance, of the waywardson he had lost; Nick of the woman who awaited him; and I of one whomfate had set beyond me. It was Monsieur de St. Gré who broke the silenceat last.
“You feel no ill effects from your moving, David?” he asked, with ananxious glance at me.
“None, sir,” I said.
“The country air will do you good,” he said kindly.
“And Madame la Vicomtesse will put him on a diet,” added Nick, rousinghimself.
“Hélène will take care of him,” answered Monsieur de St. Gré.
He fell to musing again. “Madame la Vicomtesse has seen more in sevenyears than most of us see in a lifetime,” he said. “She has beheld theglory of France, and the dishonor and pollution of her country. Had theold order lasted her salon would have been famous, and she would havebeen a power in politics.”
“I have thought that the Vicomtesse must have had a queer marriage,”Nick remarked.
Monsieur de St. Gré smiled.
“Such marriages were the rule amongst our nobility,” he said. “Itwas arranged while Hélène was still in the convent, though it was notcelebrated until three years after she had been in the world. Therewas a romantic affair, I believe, with a young gentleman of the Englishembassy, though I do not know the details. He is said to be the only manshe ever cared for. He was a younger son of an impoverished earl.”
I started, remembering what the Vicomtesse had said. But Monsieur de St.Gré did not appear to see my perturbation.
“Be that as it may, if Hélène suffered, she never gave a sign of it.The marriage was celebrated with great pomp, and the world could onlyconjecture what she thought of the Vicomte. It was deemed on bothsides a brilliant match. He had inherited vast estates, Ivry-le-Tour,Montméry, Les Saillantes, I know not what else. She was heiress to theChâteau de St. Gré with its wide lands, to the château and lands ofthe Côte Rouge in Normandy, to the hotel St. Gré in Paris. Monsieur leVicomte was between forty and fifty at his marriage, and from what Ihave heard of him he had many of the virtues and many of the faults ofhis order. He was a bachelor, which does not mean that he had lackedconsolations. He was reserved with his equals, and distant with others.He had served in the Guards, and did not lack courage. He dressedexquisitely, was inclined to the Polignac party, took his easeeverywhere, had a knowledge of cards and courts, and little else. Hewas cheated by his stewards, refused to believe that the Revolution wasserious, and would undoubtedly have been guillotined had the Vicomtessenot contrived to get him out of France in spite of himself. They wentfirst to the Duke de Ligne, at Bel Oeil, and thence to Coblentz. Heaccepted a commission in the Austrian service, which is much to hiscredit, and Hélène went with some friends to England. There my letterreached her, and rather than be beholden to strangers or accept my moneythere, she came to us. That is her story in brief, Messieurs. As forMonsieur le Vicomte, he admired his wife, as well he might, respectedher for the way she served the gallants, but he made no pretence ofloving her. One affair--a girl in the village of Montméry--had lasted.Hélène was destined for higher things than may be found in Louisiana,” said Monsieur de St. Gré, turning to Nick, “but now that you are tocarry away my treasure, Monsieur, I do not know what I should have donewithout her.”
“And has there been any news of the Vicomte of late?”
It was Nick who asked the question, after a little. Monsieur de St. Grélooked at him in surprise.
“Eh, mon Dieu, have you not heard?” he said. “C’est vrai, you have
been with David. Did not the Vicomtesse mention it? But why should she?Monsieur le Vicomte died in Vienna. He had lived too well.”
“The Vicomte is dead?” I said.
They both looked at me. Indeed, I should not have recognized my ownvoice. What my face betrayed, what my feelings were, I cannot say.My heart beat no faster, there was no tumult in my brain, and yet--mybreath caught strangely. Something grew within me which is beyond themeasure of speech, and so it was meant to be.
“I did not know this myself until Hélène returned to Les Îles,” Monsieurde St. Gré was saying to me. “The letter came to her the day after youwere taken ill. It was from the Baron von Seckenbrück, at whose housethe Vicomte died. She took it very calmly, for Hélène is not a woman topretend. How much better, after all, if she had married her Englishmanfor love! And she is much troubled now because, as she declares, sheis dependent upon my bounty. That is my happiness, my consolation,” thegood man added simply, “and her father, the Marquis, was kind to me whenI was a young provincial and a stranger. God rest his soul!”
We were drawing near to Les Îles. The rains had come during my illness,and in the level evening light the forest of the shore was the tendergreen of spring. At length we saw the white wooden steps in the levee atthe landing, and near them were three figures waiting. We glided nearer.One was Madame de St. Gré, another was Antoinette,--these I saw indeed.The other was Hélène, and it seemed to me that her eyes met mine acrossthe waters and drew them. Then we were at the landing. I heard Madame deSt. Gré’s voice, and Antoinette’s in welcome--I listened for another.I saw Nick running up the steps; in the impetuosity of his love he hadseized Antoinette’s hand in his, and she was the color of a red rose.Creole decorum forbade further advances. André and another liftedme out, and they gathered around me,--these kind people and devotedfriends,--Antoinette calling me, with exquisite shyness, by name; Madamede St. Gré giving me a grave but gentle welcome, and asking anxiouslyhow I stood the journey. Another took my hand, held it for the briefestspace that has been marked out of time, and for that instant I lookedinto her eyes. Life flowed back into me, and strength, and a joy notto be fathomed. I could have walked; but they bore me through thewell-remembered vista, and the white gallery at the end of it was likethe sight of home. The evening air was laden with the scent of thesweetest of all shrubs and flowers.