The Maid of Honour (Historical Novel). Wingfield Lewis
unpractical creature--to unearth an adept learned in mystic lore. It became his habit to join the family circle once a day, and on these occasions he grew almost genial under the skilled banter of his brother. Pharamond, a miracle of resource and ready usefulness, ferreted out curtains of thick silk from mouldering trunks, and made of the boudoir at the end of the suite quite a tempting and delightful nest. With heaps of cushions he arranged a species of divan about the fire, and stretched out at full length on it declaimed by the hour with nice emphasis the sparkling lines of Beaumarchais. Gabrielle did not quite take in the sense of all he read, but the voice was singularly sweet and soothing--so different from the groaning 'cello--and she grew accustomed as time went on to the singular expression in the eyes.
Those were peaceful, placid days. When the snow swirled without in blustering eddies, the curtains were drawn close, and logs were piled upon the fire till they hissed and sparkled, and Gabrielle, as she listened to the rhythm of the verse, broken pleasantly from time to time by the distant mirth of the children as they romped now and then with the attentive chevalier, was fain to confess herself content. How smoothly the water runs as it approaches the edge of the precipice, and with what angry foam crests it hurries away after the fall. If the chatelaine had been asked at this juncture whether she pined for aught, she would have said No. Clovis, the shadowy one, was nearer to her than he had ever been, condescending sometimes to discuss affairs with her and even play with the darling prodigies. We can't fashion our spouses to our liking. Those who are undemonstrative must not be expected to coruscate. Clovis was not wilfully unkind. The chevalier had forgotten his folly. What a mercy that was! The abbé, with all his lightly scintillating oddities, was a pearl of price. All things considered, existence was not unpleasant.
The dream was interrupted in this wise. On a certain stormy evening the abbé had laid down his book. The chevalier reclined in his chair, gulping in stentorous slumber, while Gabrielle sat listening to the saddest sound in the world--the soughing of the winter wind. At her feet lay Pharamond with flushed face, excited by the story he had been reading--that of Francesca da Rimini.
"That pig will die in a fit," he remarked presently, with a glance of scorn at his brother, who lay with his back to them in gurgling unconsciousness; "and the sooner the better, for then we shall be alone."
"That day they read no more!" Ah me, what a tale it is, old as the hills but ever new!
A silence. Gabrielle too was reflecting on the story of Francesca.
"An all-devouring consuming love. Tell me, Gabrielle, is it a curse or a blessing?"
"That depends," replied the other, slowly, "whether it be pure or not. The condition of real love implies abnegation of self in favour of the one who is loved."
"Too cold a view of it for me," returned the abbé. "I belong to the south, where it burns and scorches. I believe that illicit love is best. Poor Gabrielle! Ignorant sleeping princess, yet awaiting the awakening kiss! How strange, that one so beautiful should never have felt the divine breath! Clovis could not love. He is too selfish. With that brute snoring there, the god-like sentiment rises no higher than the lust of the uncultured savage."
Tears welled into the eyes of Gabrielle. "I take it," she murmured, "that the reason love is so often a curse lies in its inequality, since it is given to no couple to love with equal fervour."
Under influence of the reading and of the abbé's words, old yearnings had sprung newly into life again which she had deemed dead. Alas! If the affection of Clovis had been as true and staunch as hers, how unclouded a career would have been theirs. Illicit love, he had dared to say--this insidious Pharamond! No; never--never that! She sighed, and with chin on hand, gazed into the fire. It was mere idle prate. Men of a poetic turn run into such extremes.
How beautiful she looked in the warm fitful glow in a plain sacque of palest rose, her hair loosely gathered to display to advantage the poise of the graceful head. What a perfect neck and shoulder, and how exquisitely modelled an arm. One hand lay carelessly upon her lap. It was as though he saw that shapely arm for the first time. The blood surging to his brain, the abbé bent down and impressed a burning kiss on it.
Goaded by circumstances--an irresistible temptation--he had betrayed himself. Well! Why not now as well as later? On the whole, he was rather glad to have been drawn out of his usual caution.
Rising from the cushions to his knees, he pressed another kiss upon her shoulder, and whispered with hot and labouring breath, which seemed to burn the skin--"Gabrielle--my Gabrielle--my own, spite all; it is I who am to teach you the love that maddens and entrances."
Bewildered by the suddenness of the act, crimson to the roots of her fair hair, Gabrielle sank panting, speechless, against the carven oak-panel--till, feeling a hand gliding round her waist, she writhed out of the embrace, and, revolted, half-choked, with swimming head, staggered to her feet.
"You too!" she faltered faintly, glancing from one brother to the other in fear. "Oh, Pharamond! You must be insane! You did not know what you were doing!"
"Did I not? Hush. Why wake that idiot?" whispered the abbé, striving, as he clung, to wreathe again about her arm his trembling sinuous fingers. "I know right well what I have done, and glory in it since I have made you my own. On the first evening that I set eyes on your lustrous beauty, I swore that some day you should be mine. That day is come; you are hemmed round. Others want you, but not so much as I; and when I say I will, all must give way to that! I hold you in my hand as I might a fluttering bird just caught. Aha! How the poor heart beats. Be calm; oh, heart of mine! I can be patient and wait until the bird shall cease to struggle, and will like you all the better for the fluttering!"
Gabrielle's blood chilled in growing horror, and she endeavoured to recoil, as he approached. Now she understood the strange expression that he wore sometimes. Her chosen counsellor had been slowly winding a limed thread about her limbs which should hold her fast--a helpless victim to his unhallowed passions--ere she knew that she was bound. Fool! Vain, wicked fool! Could one so astute have so completely missed the key to the situation? She adored the husband who, in her ignorance and inexperience, she deemed a demigod. To her he was a genius of whom she was unworthy. Here was her shield of unsullied steel, and brilliant, cynical Pharamond, who saw through and despised Clovis, guessed nothing of its existence.
Then, as thought swiftly followed thought in tumultuous wave, it fell on her with a numb dead weight of misgiving, how much this discovery might mean to her. What would she do without the abbé's help? With terror, she realized now as she looked steadily at him, that this was no wild impulse borne of chance, to be condoned and forgotten like that of the chevalier, but the result of a deep-laid scheme. She could see before her an obstinate man whose will was iron and scruples nil, who had resolved some day to snatch what she had not to give. To whom in so strange an extremity could she turn for help? Wringing her hands together, she moaned out, "I am alone, without a friend!"
"Not so!" the abbé whispered, edging nearer. "Trust to me in this as in other matters, for I know best, and you will thank me--oh, how much. Are not you to learn and I to teach? I hold the clue of the mystery, which is still veiled to you. Learn love from me--burning, devouring love; and for the first time you will know happiness."
"Another step and I will wake the chevalier!" Gabrielle faltered, wrapping round her a poor tattered shred of shivering dignity.
Pharamond laughed his long sweet laugh of rippling music, which now caused Gabrielle to shudder.
"Awake him? Do!" gibed he, "or shall I? Look at his bull neck and broad fat back! He is not yours, for he is mine, though he would have been yours if you had wished it. Why not admit the truth in order that you may know me? It will save useless trouble. I loyally allowed him as my elder the first chance, on condition that if he failed the prize should be left to me. Ha, ha! Awake him by all means, that I may bid him remove his carcase. It cumbers the ground! Pah! What a pig-like snore!"
Again, though she had retreated, with feet faltering among the draperies, to an extreme corner behind the cushions, Gabrielle felt the wreathing arm stealing round her waist.
"Pharamond!" she pleaded huskily, exhausted. "To yourself and me be merciful, and you will have my