Francezka Part 15

We were riding forward rapidly, and when we came within close view of this garden, Francezka clapped her hands wildly.

"There, there, just as I have seen it in my dreams!" she cried. "I never dreamed of Capello in my life that I did not dream of the lake and the Italian garden--and I have not seen them since I was six years old! That statue is Petrarch's--and on the base is an inscription from the sonnet,

La vita fugge, e non s'aretta un ora,--

I forget the rest."

"I remember," said Gaston, riding by her side.

"E la morte vien dietro a gran giornate.

I recall that statue well."

Whether he really remembered it, or being well learned in poetry, took up the thread from memory, I know not, but it delighted Francezka. She turned to him two lambent eyes. They both laughed with delight; neither one of them seemed to understand the gloom of the words they spoke so lightly. Francezka continued in a voice half laughter and half tears:

"And around the sun-dial are the words:

Horas non numero nisi serenas--

I read it--'Only the sunny hours I mark.' Oh, what serene and sunny hours shall I have in that garden! There is no spot at Capello I love so well--no spot in the world I love so well. It shall not be touched--it shall remain green and mossy and secluded just as it is now. Much of my life shall be lived in that old garden."

Her enthusiasm was quite extraordinary. The rich blood was mounting to her cheek, her vivid face became more vivid. It seemed to me as if even her dark hair glowed more deeply.

We entered the great park of the chateau by an avenue of horse chestnuts. The path was singularly varied and charming. Although it was autumn and the woods were bare and the earth was brown, the beauty of the spot seemed only delicately veiled. I have seen many grander places, although this was grand for a private person; but for sweetness of air, for soft repose, for a calm and penetrating beauty, always I prefer this chateau of Capello. The Scotch gentleman, Francezka's father, must have had uncommon skill in choice. We rode up the broad esplanade in front of the chateau. Smoke was coming from the chimneys, the great doors were wide open, and old Peter, smiling with pleasure, was standing there with a respectable staff of servants he had collected. Francezka sprang from her horse, ran up the marble steps, Gaston Cheverny hotly pursuing, and entered under her own roof, crying, with smiles and tears:

"This is my _Joyeuse Entree_, as the old Brabantians had it! Welcome, welcome--Monsieur Cheverny and my own good Babache!"

We entered a magnificent hall, with many suites of rooms. On the left, was a handsome red saloon, and on this side, overlooking the bright waters of the ca.n.a.l was a gallery of Diana, with the story of Actaeon torn by his dogs told in panels on the walls. Beyond this still was a small yellow saloon, with a large fireplace in it. Francezka's father, it would appear, did not take kindly to the huge porcelain stoves of the region, and followed the custom of his country in having fireplaces in which great logs of wood were burned. Francezka ran from room to room, Gaston Cheverny following her. I walked after them, examining things at my leisure; among others, in the red saloon, recognizing the portraits of Francezka's parents. Both of them had died early, and their portraits were those of youth. Francezka was a mingled likeness of both. She had not the exact and cla.s.sic beauty of her mother, for Francezka's beauty was highly irregular; but I fancy it was the more seductive. And she had, in a great degree, the esprit and the high-sparkling glance of the Scotch captain.

Among the servants and dependents who had a.s.sembled for the great occasion, old Peter did not fail to point out to me his niece, Lisa.

She was a quiet-footed, slim little creature. She was not homely at all, contrary to my expectations, and had very soft shy eyes, that looked at one like the eyes of a bird that is shot.

In a little while the rest of the party arrived. Francezka met Madame Riano and Count Saxe at the entrance to the chateau, a.s.suming, from the beginning, the air of being chatelaine of her own house--and she scarce sixteen! And with such grace, such intelligence! She was extremely polite now to Regnard Cheverny, being in her own bailiwick, and he seemed to cherish no memory of her past behavior. She was equally polite to Jacques Haret, for whom old Peter had reserved two of the best rooms in the chateau. All of us, however, were well lodged, and Count Saxe was given the apartment in which Louis le Grand had once been quartered.

My master was full of compliments on the chateau, as well he might be.

We retired to our rooms when it was growing dusk, and in an hour supper was announced. It was served in the little yellow saloon, which was a favorite one of Francezka's father, and was likely to be favored by her, too. It was a merry supper table, with white waxlights and red firelight s.h.i.+ning on it, and we had the wine of the G.o.ds. The Scotch gentleman had provided his cellars with vintages worth the housing.

Francezka chose to appear at supper in a dress new to us--the dress of Brabant, with the lace lappets falling over her hair, the lace ap.r.o.n, and red-heeled shoes, with clocked stockings. Whether she was bewitching or not, one may judge.

We sat long at table. Gaston Cheverny sang songs, then we sang in chorus. Jacques Haret, the rogue, was a pleasant table companion, and exerted himself to make the time pa.s.s joyfully. It was late before we parted, and then, in good spirits. My chamber, as always, was next Count Saxe's. I tumbled into bed, and for the first time since I had crossed the French frontier, eighteen months before, I slept with both eyes shut. There was no need to keep one's pistol within reach, no need to rise through the night to be sure the horses were not stolen, no need to sleep with a part of one's clothes on, for fear of fighting or running before morning. One could sleep in peace. So slept I, and so snored I that Count Saxe waked me up with swearing at me in the middle of the night from the next room.

CHAPTER XIII

HIS GRACE AND PEGGY

Although it was not necessary for me to rise early at this place of peace and beauty, the chateau of Capello, yet, long habit was upon me, and, by sunrise, I was up and dressed and out in the fair, fresh autumn morning. I made straight for the Italian garden, and was not surprised to find Francezka there before me.

She was sitting on the bench by the statue of Petrarch. The h.o.a.r frost glittered on the ground, just touched by the shafts of light which were to grow into the great sun. The air was soft and mild, and Francezka had no hat upon her dark hair, but sat wrapped in her crimson mantle.

She was gravely studying the inscription on the statue of Petrarch.

"Life flies apace and tarries not an hour," she said, translating to me. "Monsieur Gaston Cheverny was mistaken in saying the next line is here--about Death following Life with huge strides. I am glad it is not here--it would be too sad."

"Whoever placed the inscription here had looked into the serious face of Life which always confronts us," I said.

Francezka turned on me two laughing eyes.

"Life turns a face all smiles to me now," she said. "I am glad I am not complete mistress of myself and my possessions yet. One should sip and taste of pleasure before drinking a full draft. My father, you must know, did not have the French idea of marrying me out of hand; and I mean not to marry until I find a man I can not live without. It will be time enough then. And as for being timid--only look at my Aunt Peggy! She does as she likes and has done so all her life; and instead of being herself afraid, everybody is afraid of her--and she is very much esteemed by all who know her."

I had seen, for long, that Madame Riano's example was not wasted on her niece, but Francezka, like most young spirits--or rather, all young spirits--knew not how to weigh and compare. Madame Riano had never enjoyed the beauty or the fortune of this young girl, and her youth was safe from the dangers that lie in the path of beauty and riches.

"But one thing I am resolved upon," said Francezka. "However happy I may be--and I am at this moment so happy I can scarcely forbear to sing--I danced this morning in my bedroom for very joy--I say no matter how happy I may be, I shall try to do some good in the world.

At least I can make gifts."

"Yes," I answered, "that is the cheapest form of goodness. You give away what would else be in your way." An ungallant speech, but made with a purpose.

Francezka looked at me angrily for a moment, then smiled and took my hand in her two velvet palms.

"Babache, you are like a chestnut bur, sometimes--but I love you--and I shall always heed what you tell me. Can I do more?"

She then rose and we walked about the garden, and looked down at the lake, still darkly shaded by the cedars on the brink, although the sun was now blazing in the east. We spoke not much. Francezka's joy seemed to have grown quieter, if more intense. In the pauses of our talk, I found the lake had a voice--a voice like itself, sad. There was some subterranean outlet which gave a motion and a sound to the water, and this sound was a mournful one. Francezka stopped and called my attention to it.

"I remember that moan of the lake," she said--"or I think I remember it--as Monsieur Gaston Cheverny thought he remembered the inscription on the statue."

"Yonder comes Gaston, now," I said.

"No," said she, sweeping her glance toward a figure afar off, descending the steps of the terrace. "It is Monsieur Regnard Cheverny."

"And here is the other Cheverny," said Gaston's voice behind us.

He did not look particularly happy; the splendors of the chateau of Capello were in marked contrast to his own modest house, the Manoir Cheverny, which lay a mile or two away.

Gaston pointed toward it--a low-lying building, of moderate size, with a carved stone gateway opening into a courtyard, and with a fair-sized pleasure ground around it. There was both comfort and beauty about it, but nothing in the least to compare with Capello.

"It is good enough for a bachelor," said Gaston, grimly. "There shall I end my lonely old age."

I have observed that when a man is deeply in love, he is apt to threaten the lady of his love with the suggestion of losing him.

To this Francezka replied, demurely:

"I shall be happy to have company; for, perhaps, I shall die a spinster."

The whole rich and peaceful landscape lay before us--the red-tiled village, the little stone church, the windmills--all singularly pleasant to look upon, giving one a sense of the well-being of the people; and to one who has seen the gardens of the world ravaged by fire and sword, this means much. Gaston a.s.sured us that as soon as his house was in order, he would have me to stay with him, thereby abandoning Count Saxe for the time; and Francezka diverted herself with asking me, if she and Count Saxe were in a burning building and I could only save one of them, which would it be--and other pleasantries.