Francezka Part 18

CHAPTER XV

THE LOST SHEEP

On the first of January, 1728, my master again took up his abode in his old quarters at the palace of the Luxembourg.

And how did he employ himself? Chiefly with _amusettes_, as far as I know. This answer I have made many thousands of times. I always have to explain what _amusettes_ are. They are not young ladies of the ballet, or anything of the sort, but very complete military toys, with which many scientific experiments may be made. Count Saxe was the first man to do this, and he had whole cabinets full of small bra.s.s cannon, and toy arms of every description, with which he made useful and serious improvements. And these toys were his _amusettes_. But was that all he did? For I have been asked that also many times. Well, he studied much--more out of books than was commonly thought; and he went often to the theater, and only occasionally to court, albeit the king doted on him so far as Louis XV could dote on any man. Philippe de Comines has said that there is but one thing more severe on a man than the favor of kings, and that is their enmity. This is a great truth, and my master acknowledged it when I read it out of the book of Philippe de Comines.

The king would not let Count Saxe out of France except with extreme reluctance, and for short periods; but kept him, for five mortal years, standing, as Count Saxe said, like an equestrian statue, with one foot always uplifted to march, but never marching. Now, if any one wishes to know what else Count Saxe was doing during those five long years, let him ask some one who knew him better and was more in his company than Babache, his captain of the body-guard of Uhlans. I swear I knew nothing on earth of anything concerning Count Saxe, except what is put down in this book. I know that the women ran after him enough to drive him to drink, had he been so inclined. How much attention Count Saxe paid them in return I have not the slightest notion, and I never was the man to pretend to know what I did not know.

In January of 1728 Gaston Cheverny joined us. We had scarcely established ourselves in our old quarters at the Luxembourg, when one evening, while the snow lay deep on the streets of Paris, the door to my room, next Count Saxe's, burst open, and Gaston Cheverny, gay and bold, dashed in.

I was rejoiced to see him again, and only grumbled that he had not arrived before to aid me in many troublesome matters, like that of providing an equipage for Count Saxe at a night's notice; but he took my rating with laughter. The evening was cold, and a fire blazed upon the hearth, before which Gaston stretched his legs and pulled off his boots, replacing them with fine shoes of Spanish leather. We had only been separated four weeks, but we had many questions to ask of each other. Gaston, as a soldier, was eager to know of Count Saxe's plans.

I told him of the project to buy the regiment of Spar, which was shortly after carried through, and of the king's evident determination to keep Count Saxe in his service.

"Good!" cried Gaston; "I knew I made no mistake when I cast my fortunes with Count Saxe. Let but the drum beat on the Rhine, in the Pyrenees, or in Savoy, and we shall be on the march within twenty-four hours."

Such is the way ardent young men talk.

Then I asked what had been burning on my tongue ever since he entered the room. What of the ladies at the chateau of Capello--meaning Francezka, but naming Madame Riano first.

"Madame Riano is the same Peggy Kirkpatrick. The warfare between her and the Bishop of Louvain is grown more b.l.o.o.d.y and desperate than ever. Quarter is neither asked nor given. Madame Riano has told the story of the bishop being near frightened out of his wits by the burning out of a chimney, and declares he was so panic-stricken he had to take to his bed that minute. The bishop preaches openly at Madame Riano, doing everything but calling her by name from the pulpit."

And then I spoke the word both of us had longed to hear.

"And Mademoiselle Capello?"

It was as if the sun had blazed out of twilight, Gaston Cheverny's face glowed so.

"She is in great beauty, perfect health and happiness. She desired me to ask of you not to forget her; that she remembered you daily."

So did I remember her daily.

"And you have gone away and left the field to your brother and rival?"

I said.

"Babache," replied Gaston, coming and sitting on the arm of my chair, his arm about my neck, "the afternoon before I left I sat with Francezka--I call her that to you, but to no other man--I sat with Francezka in the Italian garden at the foot of Petrarch's statue. I had a volume of Petrarch, and read to her that sonnet from the poet's heart beginning:

Sweet bird, that singest on thy airy way.

"I had often read it to her in that spot--and I reminded her that it was the last, last time for long--perhaps forever--that we should sit in that place and read that book of enchantment together, when--Babache, will you promise me on your sword never to breathe what I tell you?"

I promised; lovers can not keep their own secrets, but expect others to do it.

"When I had finished reading the sonnet, Francezka remained silent. I looked at her, and the big, beautiful tears were dropping upon her cheeks. Babache, can you imagine the exquisite rapturous pain of seeing the woman you love weeping at the thought of parting from you?"

He got up and walked about the room, and sat down, this time opposite me.

"You understand, Babache, she is not yet quite seventeen. In another year she will be her own mistress; but I think she regards as sacred her father's injunction not to marry for two years after her majority.

Nay, I believe she wants those two years of freedom. All this does not frighten me--but--her fortune will be very great, and that frightens me. Mine is but small. Had we but succeeded in Courland! If I could but give her glory in exchange for wealth. And--Babache--the kindness of her eyes--those tears were for me--" he got up again and walked about frantically, like your young lover. I saw he was not really very miserable, but had persuaded himself that he was.

"You will not find many men balking at her fortune," said I. "And remember: Mademoiselle Capello is in danger of sharing the usual wretched fate of heiresses, to be sold like a slave in the market.

You, at least, love her."

"Love her--" he pranced about wildly, protesting his love. He was but two and twenty, after all; but under this effervescence, I saw a deep and true pa.s.sion that possessed him body and soul.

Presently he calmed himself and talked seriously of Francezka. I had no doubt, although he preserved a manly modesty about it, that Francezka, impetuous like himself, wilful, proud, but loving, had given him much greater encouragement than a tear or two at his reading a sonnet of Petrarch's to her. But with that strain of sober sense, and that mastery of the will which I had so often noticed in Francezka's wildest dreams, and which I always attributed to her Scotch blood, she meant not to throw away her liberty rashly. She might lap her soul in Elysium, and dream dreams, and entertain love with magnificence, but she always knew where her footing was, and what she actually did would not be waited on by repentance.

Then I made inquiry about Regnard Cheverny.

"My brother, I think, has made up his mind to take service with the Austrians under Prince Eugene, and I believe he will in time become an Austrian. He is still at Castle Haret, and Jacques Haret--ah, the scoundrel! I can scarcely tell you without swearing of his latest villainy. Lisa--poor old Peter's niece--"

"Has he carried off the old man's one ewe lamb?" I cried.

"Yes--that poor, submissive girl."

Of all the villainies I had ever known up to that time, this of Jacques Haret seemed to me the worst. I had seen the seamy side of human nature often--too often. I had seen the rapine of camps, the iniquities of a great city; but this action of Jacques Haret's shone hideous alongside all I had ever known.

Gaston Cheverny continued, his wrath and disgust speaking in his face and voice.

"I wondered why Jacques Haret should remain in Brabant. I allowed him to stay at my house--may G.o.d forgive me! I thought he could not find much evil to his hand; but it seems, like Satan's darling, as he is, he made evil. For the girl was perfectly correct until he met her, and there was not the slightest suspicion of any wrong-doing until, one morning, less than a fortnight ago, when old Peter arose, he found she had gone. He ran at once to my house, having had, I fancy, some latent fear of Jacques Haret. I was wakened from sleep in the wintry dawn by the sound of the old man's crying and moaning at my door. He had gone to Jacques Haret's room and found he had decamped.

"I opened the door, and there stood the old man--he would have fallen but that I held him up. He could utter but one name, the tears meanwhile drenching his poor, wrinkled face:

"'Lisa! Lisa! My little Lisa!'

"Some intuition came to me. I said:

"'And Jacques Haret?'

"The old man nodded, and then fell against the doorpost. I asked if anything could be done. I would myself with pistols pursue Jacques Haret if required. I was likewise enraged on my own account that so vile a use should have been made of my hospitality.

"'Nothing can be done,' replied the old man, in a terrible voice--terrible because of its echo of despair. 'It is I--I who am to blame. All said that my other two nieces were bad--that they, and not I, were to blame--but now it is proved that it is I who should be judged. I made Monsieur Jacques welcome in my poor house. I made Lisa tend him. Now who, knowing his power over a poor and ignorant girl like my Lisa, can fail to see that it is I--I--who am the great sinner. I made the temptation for them--if Lisa's soul is lost, it is I who should be everlastingly punished.'

"What could one say to that, from a broken-hearted poor old creature?

However, I promised him and myself, too, that if ever I met Jacques Haret, if it were at the gates of h.e.l.l, or if it were in the presence of St. Peter, I would have one good blow at him. Then the old man's grief took on the aspect of strong despair. I walked with him through the fields to the chateau of Capello, for he was not really able to go alone. When we reached the terrace, there was Mademoiselle Capello.

She was ever an early riser. She ran toward us, and Peter uttered but two words, 'Jacques Haret--my Lisa,' and all was known. Mademoiselle Capello put her arm about the old man's neck--yes, the faithful old serving-man was embraced by that tender, loving heart.

"'Dear Peter,' she said, 'Lisa will come back--she will repent--doubt not that--and she shall be welcomed as the lost sheep who was found by the Good Shepherd, and restored to the sheepfold. But, for Jacques Haret, there shall be no mercy. Peter, I declare to you, I feel strong enough at this moment to fly at Jacques Haret's throat and strangle him--and do G.o.d service thereby.'

"'Mademoiselle,' said I, 'command me. This old man is not the only person Jacques Haret has injured. I, too, have a mortal injury to avenge--for he was my guest.'

"'Avenge it, then,' she said, her eyes sparkling--'vengeance is mine, saith the Lord--but I take it, G.o.d selects His instruments from among men. And I shall also ask that Captain Babache keep an eye open for that wicked man--'"

"I will," I interrupted.