Fairy Fingers Part 83

"Rather tardily remembered," answered the countess, with acerbity.

"Better late than never," retorted Bertha, gayly; "so, my dear aunt, you will not say 'No.'"

The countess would gladly have found some reason for refusing, but none presented itself, and Bertha was sufficiently self-willed to dispute her authority; it was therefore impolitic to make an open objection.

M. de Bois also received an invitation. Maurice and Madeleine joined the little circle in the evening,--a delightful surprise to Bertha and Gaston. This was the first evening that Madeleine had pa.s.sed out of her own dwelling during her residence in America. She had necessarily renounced society when she adopted a vocation incompatible with her legitimate social position; but, on this occasion, she could not resist Mrs. Walton's persuasions, and perhaps the promptings of her own inclination.

Once more Madeleine's vocal powers were called into requisition. She was ever ready to contribute her _mite_ (so she termed it) toward the general entertainment, and she would have despised the petty affectation of pretended reluctance to draw forth entreaty, or give value to her performance. Her voice had never sounded more touchingly, mournfully pathetic, and her listeners hung entranced upon the sounds. Maurice drank in every tone, and never moved his eyes from her face; but when the soft cadences sank in silence, what a look of anguish pa.s.sed over his manly features, and told that the sharp bayonet of his life-sorrow pierced him anew. He turned involuntarily toward Mrs. Walton, and met a look of sympathy not wholly powerless to soothe.

Mr. Walton was loud in his praises of Madeleine's vocalization; he had a courtier's felicity in expressing admiration, never more genuine than on the present occasion.

"We must not be so ungrateful as to forget to offer Mademoiselle de Gramont the only return in our power, however far it may fall short of what she merits," said he; "the 'Don' here, does not sing; he is not a poet even, except in soul, and all his inspirations flow through his brush; but he interprets poets with an art which I think is hardly less valuable than the poet's own divine afflatus."

Madeleine, delighted, seized upon the suggestion, and solicited Ronald to favor the company. His mother placed in his hands a volume of Mrs.

Browning's poems, and he turned to that surpa.s.singly beautiful romance, "Lady Geraldine's Courts.h.i.+p."

Ronald was one of those rare readers gifted with the power of filling, at pleasure, the poet's place, or of embodying the characters which he delineated. The young artist's rich, sonorous voice; obeyed his will, and was modulated to express every variety of emotion, while his animated countenance glowed, flushed, paled, grew radiant or clouded, with the scene he described. A master-spirit playing upon a thoroughly comprehended instrument manifested itself in his rendition of the author.

All eyes were riveted upon him as he read; he possessed in an eminent degree the faculty of magnetizing his hearers, taking them captive for the time being, and bearing them, as upon a rising or falling wave, whither he would. As the tale progressed, the silence grew deeper, and, save Ronald's voice, not a sound was to be heard, except, now and then, a quickened breath and Bertha's low sobbing; for she wept as though Bertram had been one whom she had known.

Mrs. Walton's eyes had been fixed upon her son, with an expression of ineffable soul-drawn delight; but, just before the poem drew to a close, they stole around the circle to note the effect produced by his masterly reading upon others. Every face mirrored such emotions as the poem might have awakened in minds capable of appreciating the n.o.ble and beautiful; but by Madeleine's countenance she was forcibly struck; a marble pallor overspread her visage, her eyes were strangely dilated and filled with moisture; if the lids for a moment had closed, the "silver tears" must have run down her cheeks as freely as ran Lady Geraldine's; but, when Ronald came to that pa.s.sage where Lady Geraldine thrills Bertram with joy by the confession that it was him whom she loved,--though he had never divined that love,--him only! Madeleine's lips quivered, and, with a sudden impulse, which defied control, she covered her face with her hands as though she dreaded that her heart might be perused in her countenance. It was an involuntary action, repented of as soon as made, for she withdrew the hands immediately, but the spontaneous movement spoke volumes.

As Mrs. Walton watched her, a sudden flash of _clairvoyance_ revealed a portion of the truth, and she e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, mentally,--

"The man whom Madeleine loves is unaware of her love, as Bertram was of Lady Geraldine's."

This suggestion, born in the under-current of her thoughts, floated constantly to the surface awaiting confirmation. If her belief were well-grounded, one step was taken toward fathoming the secret which Madeleine had doubtless some motive for preserving, but which Mrs.

Walton's sympathies with Maurice made her earnestly desire to bring to light. Madeleine might have conceived a pa.s.sion for one whom she would never more meet, or for one who was unconscious of her preference, though that seemed hardly possible.

Under ordinary circ.u.mstances Mrs. Walton would have been one of the last persons to take an active part in searching out the hidden springs of any human actions; but she was so deeply interested, both in Maurice and Madeleine, that a strong desire to be of service to them made her break one of the rules of her life. A wise rule, perhaps, so far as it frees one from responsibility, yet a rule which generous and impulsive spirits will often disregard in the hope of wafting into a drooping sail some favorable breeze that will send the s.h.i.+p toward a wished-for port.

It chanced the very next day, when Mrs. Walton was visiting Madeleine, that the latter was summoned away, and as she left the room, she said,--

"I will not be long absent; here are books with which I hope you can amuse yourself."

They had been sitting in Madeleine's boudoir; Mrs. Walton's chair was close to Madeleine's desk; upon the desk lay several volumes, probably those which had been last in use. Mrs. Walton made a haphazard selection, and took up a little sketch-book. Her interest was quickly awakened when she found that it contained sketches which were doubtless Madeleine's own. There was the chateau of Count Tristan de Gramont at Rennes, and the memorable little _chalet_--the chateau of the Marquis de Merrivale, and sketches of other localities in her native land, of which she had thus preserved the memory. Then followed fancy groups, composed of various figures, apparently ill.u.s.trative of scenes from books; but Mrs. Walton could not be certain of the unexplained subjects.

One familiar face struck her,--a most perfect likeness of Maurice,--it was unmistakable. Prominent in every group, though in different att.i.tudes and costumes, was that one figure. Maurice,--still Maurice, throughout the book. Mrs. Walton was pondering upon this singular discovery when Madeleine entered.

She flushed crimson when she saw the volume her visitor was examining, and said, in a confused tone, taking the book from Mrs. Walton's hands,--

"I thought I had locked this book in my desk; how could I have left it about? It only contains old sketches of remembered places, and similar trifles, not worth your contemplation."

"I found them very beautiful," replied Mrs. Walton, "and the likenesses of Maurice are perfect."

"Of Maurice?" was all that Madeleine could say, her agitation increasing every moment.

"Yes, I could not understand the subjects, but his face and form are admirably depicted. You have a true talent for making portraits."

Madeleine could not answer, but as Mrs. Walton glanced at her conscious and troubled countenance, woman's instinct whispered, "It is Maurice whom she loves."

CHAPTER LI.

SEED SOWN.

Once more Count Tristan was convalescent. He could move his limbs with tolerable freedom,--could walk without support, though with slow, uncertain, uneven steps; his articulation was now hardly impaired, though he never spoke except in answer to questions, and then with evident unwillingness. He took little or no notice of what pa.s.sed around him, but ever seemed brooding over his own misfortunes,--that is, if his mind retained any activity, of which it was not easy to judge.

In another week the month for which Mrs. Gratacap considered herself engaged would expire. That worthy, but voluble and independent person determined that she would not submit to the slight of having due notice of dismissal given her, and therefore herself gave warning that she purposed to take her departure. At the same time she said to Maurice,--

"I vow to goodness that grandmother of yours hasn't got the least idea of manners. I wonder if that's the style in her country? Why, we shouldn't call it common decency here! Law sakes! she's had a lesson or two from me, I think. Would you believe it, this very blessed morning she had no more civility than just to bid me leave the room as she wanted to speak to the doctor. I vow to goodness, I wouldn't have stirred a step if it hadn't been that I knew she didn't know any better, and I never force myself where I am not wanted; so I just took myself off."

"It was better to try and bear with my grandmother," answered Maurice, soothingly.

"And it's bearing with a bear to do it!" responded Mrs. Gratacap. "I don't mind it on my own account,--I am accustomed to all sorts of queer folks, but I suspected the old lady was up to something that would worry the poor dear, and, to be sure, I was right."

"What do you mean?" inquired Maurice, anxiously.

"Why, I couldn't help catching a word or two of what the doctor said when he went out; I just heard him say that the patient _could_ make the voyage if it were necessary, though it would be better to keep him quiet. Mark my words, she wants to pack off, bag and baggage, at short notice,--and _she'll do it_! Never trust my judgment if she don't."

Mrs. Gratacap was right; one hour later, the countess, with a look which reminded Maurice, of the days when she swayed unopposed, informed him that Count Tristan had been p.r.o.nounced by his physician sufficiently convalescent to bear a sea-voyage, and that she intended to leave Was.h.i.+ngton that day week, for New York, and take the first steamer that sails for Havre.

Maurice could only stammer out, "So suddenly?"

"Suddenly?" echoed the imperious lady; "it is a century to me! a century of torture! And you call it _suddenly_? _Nothing_ will prevent my leaving this city in a week, and this detestable country as soon after as possible. Do you understand me?"

"I do."

"Then I depend upon you to make all the needful preparations. There will be no change in my plans; the matter is settled and requires no further discussion."

Maurice knew too well that there was but one course left, and that was submission to her despotic will. He at once apprised Gaston of the determination of the countess. M. de Bois was more grieved for his friend than for himself, and said he could be ready to accompany the party in twenty-four hours.

After this, Maurice took his way to the Waltons. He could not yet summon resolution to go to Madeleine.

We have already said that Mrs. Walton, through her woman's instincts, thought she had discovered Madeleine's secret, and every day some trivial circ.u.mstance confirmed her in her belief. But her shrinking nature made it difficult for her ever to take the initiative, or to attempt to change the current of events by any strong act of her own.

There was no absence of _power_ in her composition, but a distrust of her own powers which produced the same effect. Hers was a _pa.s.sive_ and not _suggestive_ nature; if the first step in some desirable path were taken by another she would follow, and labor heart and hand, and by her judgment and zeal accomplish what that other only projected; but she had a horror of taking the responsibility, of "meddling with other people's affairs," even in the hope of bringing about some happy issue.

Ronald's impulses were precisely opposite to his mother's. He had an internal delight in swaying, in influencing, in bending circ.u.mstances to his will, in making all the crooked paths straight and righting all the wrongs of mankind. He was always ready to form projects (his father would say in a Quixotic style) and carry them into execution, to benefit his friends. He was deterred by no const.i.tutional timidity, and the rash impulsiveness of youth looks only to happy results, and is seldom curbed by the reflection of possible evil. Ronald would have served Maurice at all hazards, and by all means in his power, or _out of his power_. He was expressing to his mother the chagrin he felt at the sad position of his friend, and his fear that it would throw a blight over his energies, when the latter remarked,--

"I think I have made a discovery which concerns Maurice, though I do not see how it can benefit him. Yet I am sure I know a secret which he would give almost his existence to learn."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Ronald. "Tell him then at once!"

"I cannot make up my mind that it would tend to any good result. It would be better, I think, not to touch upon the subject at all; let events take their natural course."

"We should build no houses, we should write no books, and paint no pictures, if we adopted that doctrine," answered Ronald. "At least, tell me what you have learned."