Scaramouche: A Romance of the French Revolution, Page 2

  CHAPTER II. THE ARISTOCRAT

  The sleepy village of Gavrillac, a half-league removed from the mainroad to Rennes, and therefore undisturbed by the world's traffic, layin a curve of the River Meu, at the foot, and straggling halfway up theslope, of the shallow hill that was crowned by the squat manor. By thetime Gavrillac had paid tribute to its seigneur--partly in money andpartly in service--tithes to the Church, and imposts to the King, it washard put to it to keep body and soul together with what remained. Yet,hard as conditions were in Gavrillac, they were not so hard as in manyother parts of France, not half so hard, for instance, as with thewretched feudatories of the great Lord of La Tour d'Azyr, whose vastpossessions were at one point separated from this little village by thewaters of the Meu.

  The Chateau de Gavrillac owed such seigneurial airs as might be claimedfor it to its dominant position above the village rather than to anyfeature of its own. Built of granite, like all the rest of Gavrillac,though mellowed by some three centuries of existence, it was a squat,flat-fronted edifice of two stories, each lighted by four windows withexternal wooden shutters, and flanked at either end by two square towersor pavilions under extinguisher roofs. Standing well back in a garden,denuded now, but very pleasant in summer, and immediately fronted by afine sweep of balustraded terrace, it looked, what indeed it was, andalways had been, the residence of unpretentious folk who found moreinterest in husbandry than in adventure.

  Quintin de Kercadiou, Lord of Gavrillac--Seigneur de Gavrillac was allthe vague title that he bore, as his forefathers had borne before him,derived no man knew whence or how--confirmed the impression that hishouse conveyed. Rude as the granite itself, he had never sought theexperience of courts, had not even taken service in the armies of hisKing. He left it to his younger brother, Etienne, to represent thefamily in those exalted spheres. His own interests from earliest yearshad been centred in his woods and pastures. He hunted, and he cultivatedhis acres, and superficially he appeared to be little better than any ofhis rustic metayers. He kept no state, or at least no state commensuratewith his position or with the tastes of his niece Aline de Kercadiou.Aline, having spent some two years in the court atmosphere of Versaillesunder the aegis of her uncle Etienne, had ideas very different fromthose of her uncle Quintin of what was befitting seigneurial dignity.But though this only child of a third Kercadiou had exercised, eversince she was left an orphan at the early age of four, a tyrannical ruleover the Lord of Gavrillac, who had been father and mother to her, shehad never yet succeeded in beating down his stubbornness on thatscore. She did not yet despair--persistence being a dominant note inher character--although she had been assiduously and fruitlessly at worksince her return from the great world of Versailles some three monthsago.

  She was walking on the terrace when Andre-Louis and M. de Vilmorinarrived. Her slight body was wrapped against the chill air in a whitepelisse; her head was encased in a close-fitting bonnet, edged withwhite fur. It was caught tight in a knot of pale-blue ribbon on theright of her chin; on the left a long ringlet of corn-coloured hair hadbeen permitted to escape. The keen air had whipped so much of her cheeksas was presented to it, and seemed to have added sparkle to eyes thatwere of darkest blue.

  Andre-Louis and M. de Vilmorin had been known to her from childhood. Thethree had been playmates once, and Andre-Louis--in view of his spiritualrelationship with her uncle--she called her cousin. The cousinlyrelations had persisted between these two long after Philippe deVilmorin had outgrown the earlier intimacy, and had become to herMonsieur de Vilmorin.

  She waved her hand to them in greeting as they advanced, and stood--anentrancing picture, and fully conscious of it--to await them at the endof the terrace nearest the short avenue by which they approached.

  "If you come to see monsieur my uncle, you come inopportunely,messieurs," she told them, a certain feverishness in her air. "He isclosely--oh, so very closely--engaged."

  "We will wait, mademoiselle," said M. de Vilmorin, bowing gallantly overthe hand she extended to him. "Indeed, who would haste to the uncle thatmay tarry a moment with the niece?"

  "M. l'abbe," she teased him, "when you are in orders I shall take youfor my confessor. You have so ready and sympathetic an understanding."

  "But no curiosity," said Andre-Louis. "You haven't thought of that."

  "I wonder what you mean, Cousin Andre."

  "Well you may," laughed Philippe. "For no one ever knows." And then,his glance straying across the terrace settled upon a carriage that wasdrawn up before the door of the chateau. It was a vehicle such as wasoften to be seen in the streets of a great city, but rarely in thecountry. It was a beautifully sprung two-horse cabriolet of walnut,with a varnish upon it like a sheet of glass and little pastoral scenesexquisitely painted on the panels of the door. It was built to carry twopersons, with a box in front for the coachman, and a stand behind forthe footman. This stand was empty, but the footman paced before thedoor, and as he emerged now from behind the vehicle into the range of M.de Vilmorin's vision, he displayed the resplendent blue-and-gold liveryof the Marquis de La Tour d'Azyr.

  "Why!" he exclaimed. "Is it M. de La Tour d'Azyr who is with youruncle?"

  "It is, monsieur," said she, a world of mystery in voice and eyes, ofwhich M. de Vilmorin observed nothing.

  "Ah, pardon!" he bowed low, hat in hand. "Serviteur, mademoiselle," andhe turned to depart towards the house.

  "Shall I come with you, Philippe?" Andre-Louis called after him.

  "It would be ungallant to assume that you would prefer it," said M. deVilmorin, with a glance at mademoiselle. "Nor do I think it would serve.If you will wait..."

  M. de Vilmorin strode off. Mademoiselle, after a moment's blank pause,laughed ripplingly. "Now where is he going in such a hurry?"

  "To see M. de La Tour d'Azyr as well as your uncle, I should say."

  "But he cannot. They cannot see him. Did I not say that they arevery closely engaged? You don't ask me why, Andre." There was an archmysteriousness about her, a latent something that may have been elationor amusement, or perhaps both. Andre-Louis could not determine it.

  "Since obviously you are all eagerness to tell, why should I ask?" quothhe.

  "If you are caustic I shall not tell you even if you ask. Oh, yes, Iwill. It will teach you to treat me with the respect that is my due."

  "I hope I shall never fail in that."

  "Less than ever when you learn that I am very closely concerned in thevisit of M. de La Tour d'Azyr. I am the object of this visit." And shelooked at him with sparkling eyes and lips parted in laughter.

  "The rest, you would seem to imply, is obvious. But I am a dolt, if youplease; for it is not obvious to me."

  "Why, stupid, he comes to ask my hand in marriage."

  "Good God!" said Andre-Louis, and stared at her, chapfallen.

  She drew back from him a little with a frown and an upward tilt of herchin. "It surprises you?"

  "It disgusts me," said he, bluntly. "In fact, I don't believe it. Youare amusing yourself with me."

  For a moment she put aside her visible annoyance to remove his doubts."I am quite serious, monsieur. There came a formal letter to my unclethis morning from M. de La Tour d'Azyr, announcing the visit and itsobject. I will not say that it did not surprise us a little..."

  "Oh, I see," cried Andre-Louis, in relief. "I understand. For a moment Ihad almost feared..." He broke off, looked at her, and shrugged.

  "Why do you stop? You had almost feared that Versailles had been wastedupon me. That I should permit the court-ship of me to be conducted likethat of any village wench. It was stupid of you. I am being sought inproper form, at my uncle's hands."

  "Is his consent, then, all that matters, according to Versailles?"

  "What else?"

  "There is your own."

  She laughed. "I am a dutiful niece... when it suits me."

  "And will it suit you to be dutiful if your uncle accepts this monstrousproposal?"

  "Monstrous!" She bridled. "And wh
y monstrous, if you please?"

  "For a score of reasons," he answered irritably.

  "Give me one," she challenged him.

  "He is twice your age."

  "Hardly so much," said she.

  "He is forty-five, at least."

  "But he looks no more than thirty. He is very handsome--so much you willadmit; nor will you deny that he is very wealthy and very powerful; thegreatest nobleman in Brittany. He will make me a great lady."

  "God made you that, Aline."

  "Come, that's better. Sometimes you can almost be polite." And she movedalong the terrace, Andre-Louis pacing beside her.

  "I can be more than that to show reason why you should not let thisbeast befoul the beautiful thing that God has made."

  She frowned, and her lips tightened. "You are speaking of my futurehusband," she reproved him.

  His lips tightened too; his pale face grew paler.

  "And is it so? It is settled, then? Your uncle is to agree? You are tobe sold thus, lovelessly, into bondage to a man you do not know. I haddreamed of better things for you, Aline."

  "Better than to be Marquise de La Tour d'Azyr?"

  He made a gesture of exasperation. "Are men and women nothing more thannames? Do the souls of them count for nothing? Is there no joy in life,no happiness, that wealth and pleasure and empty, high-sounding titlesare to be its only aims? I had set you high--so high, Aline--a thingscarce earthly. There is joy in your heart, intelligence in your mind;and, as I thought, the vision that pierces husks and shams to claim thecore of reality for its own. Yet you will surrender all for a parcel ofmake-believe. You will sell your soul and your body to be Marquise de LaTour d'Azyr."

  "You are indelicate," said she, and though she frowned her eyes laughed."And you go headlong to conclusions. My uncle will not consent to morethan to allow my consent to be sought. We understand each other, myuncle and I. I am not to be bartered like a turnip."

  He stood still to face her, his eyes glowing, a flush creeping into hispale cheeks.

  "You have been torturing me to amuse yourself!" he cried. "Ah, well, Iforgive you out of my relief."

  "Again you go too fast, Cousin Andre I have permitted my uncle toconsent that M. le Marquis shall make his court to me. I like the lookof the gentleman. I am flattered by his preference when I consider hiseminence. It is an eminence that I may find it desirable to share. M. leMarquis does not look as if he were a dullard. It should be interestingto be wooed by him. It may be more interesting still to marry him, andI think, when all is considered, that I shall probably--veryprobably--decide to do so."

  He looked at her, looked at the sweet, challenging loveliness of thatchildlike face so tightly framed in the oval of white fur, and all thelife seemed to go out of his own countenance.

  "God help you, Aline!" he groaned.

  She stamped her foot. He was really very exasperating, and somethingpresumptuous too, she thought.

  "You are insolent, monsieur."

  "It is never insolent to pray, Aline. And I did no more than pray, as Ishall continue to do. You'll need my prayers, I think."

  "You are insufferable!" She was growing angry, as he saw by thedeepening frown, the heightened colour.

  "That is because I suffer. Oh, Aline, little cousin, think well of whatyou do; think well of the realities you will be bartering for theseshams--the realities that you will never know, because these cursed shamswill block your way to them. When M. de La Tour d'Azyr comes to make hiscourt, study him well; consult your fine instincts; leave your own noblenature free to judge this animal by its intuitions. Consider that..."

  "I consider, monsieur, that you presume upon the kindness I have alwaysshown you. You abuse the position of toleration in which you stand. Whoare you? What are you, that you should have the insolence to take thistone with me?"

  He bowed, instantly his cold, detached self again, and resumed themockery that was his natural habit.

  "My congratulations, mademoiselle, upon the readiness with which youbegin to adapt yourself to the great role you are to play."

  "Do you adapt yourself also, monsieur," she retorted angrily, and turnedher shoulder to him.

  "To be as the dust beneath the haughty feet of Madame la Marquise. Ihope I shall know my place in future."

  The phrase arrested her. She turned to him again, and he perceived thather eyes were shining now suspiciously. In an instant the mockery in himwas quenched in contrition.

  "Lord, what a beast I am, Aline!" he cried, as he advanced. "Forgive meif you can."

  Almost had she turned to sue forgiveness from him. But his contritionremoved the need.

  "I'll try," said she, "provided that you undertake not to offend again."

  "But I shall," said he. "I am like that. I will fight to save you, fromyourself if need be, whether you forgive me or not."

  They were standing so, confronting each other a little breathlessly, alittle defiantly, when the others issued from the porch.

  First came the Marquis of La Tour d'Azyr, Count of Solz, Knight of theOrders of the Holy Ghost and Saint Louis, and Brigadier in the armiesof the King. He was a tall, graceful man, upright and soldierly ofcarriage, with his head disdainfully set upon his shoulders. He wasmagnificently dressed in a full-skirted coat of mulberry velvet that waslaced with gold. His waistcoat, of velvet too, was of a goldenapricot colour; his breeches and stockings were of black silk, and hislacquered, red-heeled shoes were buckled in diamonds. His powdered hairwas tied behind in a broad ribbon of watered silk; he carried a littlethree-cornered hat under his arm, and a gold-hilted slender dress-swordhung at his side.

  Considering him now in complete detachment, observing the magnificenceof him, the elegance of his movements, the great air, blending in soextraordinary a manner disdain and graciousness, Andre-Louis trembledfor Aline. Here was a practised, irresistible wooer, whose bonnesfortunes were become a by-word, a man who had hitherto been the despairof dowagers with marriageable daughters, and the desolation of husbandswith attractive wives.

  He was immediately followed by M. de Kercadiou, in completest contrast.On legs of the shortest, the Lord of Gavrillac carried a body that atforty-five was beginning to incline to corpulence and an enormous headcontaining an indifferent allotment of intelligence. His countenancewas pink and blotchy, liberally branded by the smallpox which had almostextinguished him in youth. In dress he was careless to the pointof untidiness, and to this and to the fact that he had nevermarried--disregarding the first duty of a gentleman to provide himselfwith an heir--he owed the character of misogynist attributed to him bythe countryside.

  After M. de Kercadiou came M. de Vilmorin, very pale and self-contained,with tight lips and an overcast brow.

  To meet them, there stepped from the carriage a very elegant younggentleman, the Chevalier de Chabrillane, M. de La Tour d'Azyr'scousin, who whilst awaiting his return had watched with considerableinterest--his own presence unsuspected--the perambulations of Andre-Louisand mademoiselle.

  Perceiving Aline, M. de La Tour d'Azyr detached himself from the others,and lengthening his stride came straight across the terrace to her.

  To Andre-Louis the Marquis inclined his head with that mixture ofcourtliness and condescension which he used. Socially, the young lawyerstood in a curious position. By virtue of the theory of his birth, heranked neither as noble nor as simple, but stood somewhere between thetwo classes, and whilst claimed by neither he was used familiarlyby both. Coldly now he returned M. de La Tour d'Azyr's greeting, anddiscreetly removed himself to go and join his friend.

  The Marquis took the hand that mademoiselle extended to him, and bowingover it, bore it to his lips.

  "Mademoiselle," he said, looking into the blue depths of her eyes, thatmet his gaze smiling and untroubled, "monsieur your uncle does me thehonour to permit that I pay my homage to you. Will you, mademoiselle,do me the honour to receive me when I come to-morrow? I shall havesomething of great importance for your ear."

  "Of importance, M. le Marqui
s? You almost frighten me." But there wasno fear on the serene little face in its furred hood. It was notfor nothing that she had graduated in the Versailles school ofartificialities.

  "That," said he, "is very far from my design."

  "But of importance to yourself, monsieur, or to me?"

  "To us both, I hope," he answered her, a world of meaning in his fine,ardent eyes.

  "You whet my curiosity, monsieur; and, of course, I am a dutiful niece.It follows that I shall be honoured to receive you."

  "Not honoured, mademoiselle; you will confer the honour. To-morrow atthis hour, then, I shall have the felicity to wait upon you."

  He bowed again; and again he bore her fingers to his lips, what time shecurtsied. Thereupon, with no more than this formal breaking of the ice,they parted.

  She was a little breathless now, a little dazzled by the beauty of theman, his princely air, and the confidence of power he seemed to radiate.Involuntarily almost, she contrasted him with his critic--the lean andimpudent Andre-Louis in his plain brown coat and steel-buckled shoes--andshe felt guilty of an unpardonable offence in having permitted even oneword of that presumptuous criticism. To-morrow M. le Marquis wouldcome to offer her a great position, a great rank. And already she hadderogated from the increase of dignity accruing to her from his veryintention to translate her to so great an eminence. Not again wouldshe suffer it; not again would she be so weak and childish as to permitAndre-Louis to utter his ribald comments upon a man by comparison withwhom he was no better than a lackey.

  Thus argued vanity and ambition with her better self and to her vastannoyance her better self would not admit entire conviction.

  Meanwhile, M. de La Tour d'Azyr was climbing into his carriage. He hadspoken a word of farewell to M. de Kercadiou, and he had also had aword for M. de Vilmorin in reply to which M. de Vilmorin had bowed inassenting silence. The carriage rolled away, the powdered footman inblue-and-gold very stiff behind it, M. de La Tour d'Azyr bowing tomademoiselle, who waved to him in answer.

  Then M. de Vilmorin put his arm through that of Andre Louis, and said tohim, "Come, Andre."

  "But you'll stay to dine, both of you!" cried the hospitable Lord ofGavrillac. "We'll drink a certain toast," he added, winking an eye thatstrayed towards mademoiselle, who was approaching. He had no subtleties,good soul that he was.

  M. de Vilmorin deplored an appointment that prevented him doing himselfthe honour. He was very stiff and formal.

  "And you, Andre?"

  "I? Oh, I share the appointment, godfather," he lied, "and I have asuperstition against toasts." He had no wish to remain. He was angrywith Aline for her smiling reception of M. de La Tour d'Azyr and thesordid bargain he saw her set on making. He was suffering from the lossof an illusion.