Distressed by these indications, she dismissed Stephanette, and returned to her chamber.
A new object of astonishment, almost of terror, awaited her there.
CHAPTER IX. THE PICTURE
After having shut the door which communicated with her father’s rooms. Reine walked mechanically to the table standing in the embrasure of the window. What was her astonishment to see on this table a little picture encased in a frame of filigree, set with precious stones.
Her heart beat violently; she recalled the crystal vase, and a secret presentiment told her that this picture had some mysterious connection with the adventure among the rocks of Ollioules.
She approached it, trembling.
The perfection of this picture, painted on vellum, in imitation of ancient manuscripts, was incredible.
It represented the scene in the gorges of Ollioules at the very moment when the baron, embracing his daughter, had extended his hand to the young stranger; at a distance on the rock, Pog and Trimalcyon, the two foreign personages of whom we have spoken, appeared to command the scene.
Although Reine had seen these two men but a moment, the likeness in the picture was so striking that she recognised them. She shuddered involuntarily at the sinister expression of Fog’s face, easily known by his long red beard and the bitter smile which contracted his lips.
The features of the baron, as well as those of Reine, were rendered with surprising fidelity and perfect art, although the faces were scarcely larger than the nail of the little finger. They were drawn with a delicacy which was marvellous.
Notwithstanding the inimitable skill displayed in this ravishing picture, an odd, extravagant thing destroyed its harmony and effect.
The pose, person, and costume of Erebus – the strange young man – were perfectly portrayed; but his head disappeared beneath a small cloud, in the centre of which was represented the enamelled dove already portrayed on the crystal vase.
This omission was strange, and perhaps cleverly calculated, inasmuch as Reine, in spite of her fear and astonishment, could not help calling memory to her aid in order to complete the portrait of the stranger.
She saw it in her own mind, instead of on the vellum which she held in her hand.
There was, besides, on the part of the stranger, a sort of delicacy in thus effacing his own features under a symbol which represented to his mind the most precious memory of that day; or he may have adopted this means to quiet the scruples of the young girl, should she decide to keep the picture.
In order to comprehend the struggle between the desire to keep the picture and the resolve to destroy it, which rose in the young girl’s mind, we must say a few words about Reine’s love for Honorât de Berrol, and her own sentiments after the adventure in the gorges of Ollioules.
Honorât de Berrol was an orphan and distant relative of Raimond V. He had considerable fortune, his estates lying near those of the baron, and community of interest as well as other ties bound the chevalier and the old gentleman.
For two or three years Honorât came almost every day to Maison-Forte. The chevalier was the impersonation of rectitude, sincerity, and honour. His education, without being extraordinary, was superior to that of most young men of his age.
He was actively occupied in the management of his estates; his order and his economy were remarkable, although, when an opportunity presented itself, he knew how to be generous.
His mind was not unusual, but he had plenty of good sense and reason, and his character, naturally charming, could be firm and decided when circumstances demanded it.
His predominating characteristic was a love of justice. Little given to enthusiasm or exaggeration, and supremely happy in his position, he looked forward to his marriage with the baron’s daughter with a pure and serene joy.
There was no romantic aspect to this love. Before allowing himself to fall in love with Reine, Honorât had frankly expressed his intentions to the baron, and asked him to learn his daughter’s feelings.
The good gentleman, who never temporised or resorted to half-measures, replied to Honorât that the alliance would be agreeable to him, and at once told Reine of the chevalier’s proposal.
Reine was then sixteen years old; she was pleased with the appearance and bearing of the Chevalier de Berrol, for the manners of most of the country gentlemen who visited Maison-Forte suffered much by comparison with those of her amiable relative.
Reine accepted the baron’s plans, and the baron wrote at length to his brothers, the commander and Father Elzear, without whose advice he did nothing, concerning the happy betrothal.
Their response was favourable to Honorât, and the marriage was fixed for the Christmas celebration which would follow the young girl’s eighteenth birthday.
Thus passed two years in the midst of sweet hopes and a pure, calm love.
Honorât, serious and gentle, began at once his part as mentor, and by degrees acquired a great ascendancy over the mind of Reine.
Raimond V. loved his daughter so foolishly and idolatrously, that the happy influence of Honorât saved her from her father’s weakness.
The girl had lost her mother when she was in the cradle, and had been reared under the eyes of the baron by Stephanette’s mother, an excellent woman, and, although happily endowed with good instincts, had been permitted to indulge her caprice at will.
Her lively imagination exaggerated sympathy and antipathy, and she often received the wise and reasonable suggestions of Honorât with mischievous irony and even resentment.
Legend and romance were the mental food she craved, and often in thought she pictured herself as the heroine of some strange adventure. Honorât would dissipate these fantastic visions by a breath, and not infrequently reproached Reine, with as much good-humour as gaiety, for these vagabond imaginations.
But these little differences were soon forgotten. Reine would confess her wrong-doing with adorable frankness, and the beautiful affection of the two lovers seemed only to increase.
Unconsciously, Reine began to feel the influence of Honorât more and more in her daily life, and instead of indulging herself in vague reveries and foolish imaginations, occupied her mind with graver thoughts. She recognised the nothingness of her former dreams, and every step of this wise and happy way served to establish her love for Chevalier de Berrol.
Her mind and character had undergone such a complete transformation under the influence of Honorât, that her father, sometimes, when he had gone beyond the limits of temperance, would say in jest that Reine was becoming insupportably serious.
The sentiment of Reine for Honorât was by no means a passionate love, nourished by difficulties and uncertainties, but a calm, sincere, and reasonable affection, in which the young girl recognised, with a sort of tender veneration, the superior reason of her betrothed.
Such were the sentiments of Mlle, des Anbiez when the fatal meeting in the rocks of Ollioules took place.
The first time that she saw Erebus, placed her under the influence of a profound sentiment of gratitude; he had just saved the baron’s life.
Reine, perhaps, might never have observed the surprising beauty of the stranger, but for the startling circumstances by which he was presented to her.
The fact that he had just delivered her father from a frightful danger was the most powerful fascination that Erebus could offer.
No doubt the charm was broken when, after the few words uttered by his companions, his countenance and manner changed, and he had the audacity to press his lips to hers. The features of the stranger, that a moment before possessed a beauty so pure, and an amiability so lovely, seemed suddenly to disappear under the mask of an insolent libertine.
Since that day, Erebus appeared to her always under these two different physiognomies.
Sometimes she tried to banish from her memory all thought of an audacious stranger, who had insolently robbed her of what she would have given to her father’s saviour with reluctance. Again, she would dream, with a deep sentiment of gratitude, that her father owed his life to this same stranger who at first seemed so courageous and so timid.
Unhappily for Reine’s repose of mind, Erebus united and justified, so to speak, these two distinct natures, and in her thought she gave him sometimes her admiration, and sometimes her contempt.
So she wavered between these two sentiments.
Thus the natural exaggeration of her character, rather suppressed than destroyed, was excited by this singular adventure.
The unknown one seemed to her the genius of good and the genius of evil.
Involuntarily, her excitable mind tried to penetrate the secret of this double power.
Reine herself was made aware of her morbid mental condition only by the tender reproaches of Honorât, who accused her of distraction. For the first time, then, Reine realised with horror the empire that the unknown person had gained over her mind; she resolved to escape from it, but the resistance with which she endeavoured to drive Erebus from her mind, only made her think of him the more.
In her vexation she shed bitter tears, and sought refuge and diversion in the calm and wise conversation of Honorât.
Nothing could make her forget the past. Notwithstanding his goodness and kindness, her betrothed seemed to weary her, and even wound her.
She dared not open her heart to him. The baron, too, was the best of fathers, yet absolutely incapable of comprehending the unaccountable anguish of his daughter.
Concentrated by silence, and overexcited by solitude, a sentiment mingled with curiosity, admiration, and almost hatred, began to take deep root in the heart of Reine.
Many times she shuddered to see that the gravity of Honorât oppressed her. In her thought she reproached him for having nothing in his career that was adventurous or romantic.
She compared his peaceful and uniform life with the mystery which surrounded the stranger.
Then, ashamed of such thoughts, she sought to fix her hopes upon her approaching union with Honorât, – a union so sacred that, in the fulfilment of its duties, every foolish dream and imagination would be effaced.
Such was the state of Reine’s heart when, by an inexplicable mystery, she found in the same day two objects, the sight of which redoubled her anguish and excited every power of her imagination.
This stranger, or one of his agents, was then near her, though invisible.
She could not suspect the servants within the walls of Maison-Forte of being in collusion with the stranger. All of them were old servants, grown gray in the service of Raimond V.
Reared, so to speak, by them, she was too well acquainted with their life and morality to believe them capable of underhand manoeuvres. The fact that the picture was placed on her praying-stool in her chamber, disquieted her above all.
She was on the point of going to her father and telling him all, but an instinctive love of the marvellous restrained her; she feared to break the charm. Her romantic character found a sort of pleasure, mingled with fear, in this mystery.
Inaccessible to superstition, of a firm and decided mind, and recognising the fact that, after all, there was nothing really dangerous in allowing this strange adventure to take its course, Reine reassured herself, after searching her chamber and the connecting one very carefully.
She took up the picture again, looked at it for some time, then, after dreaming awhile, she threw it into the fire.
She followed the destruction of this little masterpiece with a melancholy gaze.
By a strange chance the vellum, detached from the frame, caught first on both sides.
Thus the figure of Erebus burned the last and was outlined a moment on the burning embers, – then a light flame leaped upon it, and all disappeared.
Reine remained a long time gazing in the fireplace, as though she still saw there the picture which had been consumed.
The clock of Maison-Forte struck two in the morning; the young girl returned to her senses, went to bed, and, for a long time, tried to fall asleep.
CHAPTER X. THE RECORDER
The day after the occurrence of the events we have just related, a group of several persons, some on foot, and others on horseback, skirted the edge of the sea, and seemed to direct their course toward the Gulf of La Ciotat.
The most important personage of this little caravan was a man of considerable corpulence, with a solemn and formal countenance, wearing a travelling-cloak over his habit of black velvet.
He had a chain of silver around his neck, and rode a little horse with an ambling gait.
These personages were no other than Master Isnard, recorder of the admiralty of Toulon, and his clerk or scribe, who, mounted on an old white mule, carried behind enormous bags filled with bundles of papers, and two large registers in their boxes of black shagreen.
The clerk was a little middle-aged man, with a pointed nose, a pointed chin, high cheek-bones, and sharp eyes. This nose, this chin, and these cheek-bones, and these eyes were very red, thanks to the very keen wind from the north.
A valet, mounted on another mule, laden with wallets, and two halberdiers, dressed in green and orange-coloured cassocks trimmed with white lace, accompanied the recorder and his clerk.
It was evident that the two officers of justice did not enjoy an unmarred serenity.
Master Isnard, especially, betrayed his bad humour, from time to time, by imprecations upon the cold, the weather, the roads, and particularly upon his mission.
The clerk responded to these complaints with a humble and pitiful air.
“On my oath!” cried the recorder, “here I am only two days on my circuit, and it is far from promising anything agreeable. Hm! the nobility takes this census of arms ordered by the Marshal of Vitry very ill; they receive us in their castles like Turks – ”
“And we are happy to be received at all, Master Isnard,” said the clerk; “the lord of Signerol shut his door in our faces, and we were obliged to draw up our report by the light of the moon. The lord of Saint-Yves received us reluctantly.”
“And all these resistances, open or mute, to the orders of his Eminence, the cardinal, will be duly recorded, clerk, and bad intentions will be punished!”
“Fortunately, the reception given by the Baron des Anbiez will indemnify us for these tribulations, Master Isnard. They say the old lord is the best of men. His jovial nature is as well known throughout the country as the austerity of his brother, the commander of the black galley, or the charity of Father Elzear of the Order of Mercy, his other brother – ”
“Hm! Raimond V. does well to be hospitable,” growled the recorder; “he is one of those old strife-stirrers, always ready to draw his sword against any established power; but patience, clerk, good courage, the reign of men of peace and justice has come, thank God! All these arrogant disputants, with long rapiers and spurs, will keep as quiet in their strong castles as wolves in their dens, or, on my oath, we will rase their houses to the ground and sow salt on them. However,” added Master Isnard, as if he wanted to give himself artificial courage, “we are always sure of the support of the cardinal; just let them touch a hair of our heads, – why, you see, clerk, that it would be the same as pulling a hair out of the beard of his Eminence!”
“Which would be dreadfully injurious to the said Eminence, Master Isnard, as they say he has a regular cat’s beard, – thin and sharp.”
“You are an ass!” said the recorder, shrugging his shoulders, and giving his horse a thrust of the spur.
The clerk lowered his head, said no more, and blew through his fingers by way of keeping in countenance.
The little caravan followed the road for some time along the beach, the sea on the right, and interminable rocks on the left, when they were joined by a traveller modestly seated on a donkey.
The tawny complexion of this man, with his overcoat of leather, his red cap, from which escaped a forest of black hair, curled and standing on end, and a little portable forge, fastened to one side of the pack-saddle on the back of his donkey, proved him to be one of those strolling Bohemians who go from farm to village, offering their services to housekeepers as repairers of household utensils.
Notwithstanding the cold, the legs and feet of this man were naked. His delicate and nervous limbs, and his expressive face, scarcely shaded by a black and distinctly marked beard, presented the type peculiar to the men of his race.
His donkey was quiet and tractable, and had neither bit nor bridle, – he guided it by means of a stick which he held to the animal’s left eye, if he wished to go to the right, and to the right eye if he wished him to go to the left. As he approached the recorder and his attendants, the Bohemian took the donkey by one of his long, pendent ears, and stopped him suddenly.
“Can you tell me, sir,” said the Bohemian to the recorder, respectfully, “if I am still far from La Ciotat?”
The recorder, thinking, doubtless, the man unworthy of a reply from him, made a disdainful gesture, and said to his scribe:
“Answer him, clerk,” and rode on.
“The mouth is the mistress, the ear is the slave,” said the Bohemian, bowing himself humbly before the clerk.
The clerk inflated his thin cheeks, assumed a haughty air, seated himself on his mule with triumphant dignity, and said to the valet who followed him, as he pointed to the Bohemian:
“Lackey, reply to him,” and passed on.
Little John, more compassionate, told the wanderer that he could follow the caravan, as it was on its way to a place quite near the town of La Ciotat.
The two halberdiers were a short distance in the rear, and, joining the principal group, all continued to move forward on the beach. The sun soon made its influence felt; although it was in the month of December, its rays became so warm that Master Isnard felt the need of relieving himself of his cloak. He tossed it to his clerk, saying:
“Are you sure, clerk, that you recognise the route to Maison-Forte, the castle of Raimond V., Baron des Anbiez? For we are to stop first at his dwelling. It is from that point that I will begin the census of arms in this diocese. Eh, eh, clerk, the morning air and salt odour of the beach gives me an appetite! They say the baron has the good cheer of an abbé, and the hospitality of the good King René. So much the better, on my oath! so much the better, clerk. Instead of putting up for fifteen days at some paltry hostelry of La Ciotat, eh, eh! I will make my winter quarters at Maison-Forte of Raimond V., and you will follow me, clerk,” said the recorder, giving himself airs. “Instead of your bacon with garlic and beans, and your codfish seasoned with oil for high days, you will only have to choose between fowl, venison, and the best fish of the gulf. Eh, eh! for a starved wretch like you, it is a rare windfall, so, clerk, you can get a big mouthful – ”
The poor scribe made no reply to these coarse pleasantries, by which he felt humiliated, and only said to the recorder: “I recognise the road easily, Master Isnard, because there is a post bearing the escutcheon of Raimond V., and a milestone which marks the land belonging to the house of Baux.”
“The lands of Baux!” cried the recorder, with indignation. “Another one of the abuses that his Eminence will destroy, on my oath! It is enough to make one insane to try to find his way out of-this labyrinth of feudal privileges!” Then, passing from grave to gay, the recorder added, with a loud laugh, “Eh, eh! it would be as difficult a task as for you to distinguish the wine of Xeres from the wine of Malaga, accustomed as you are to drink the second pressing of the grape like a fish, and then taste a glass of Sauve-chrétien, to put a good taste in your mouth.”
“And happy when this grape-water does not fail us, Master Isnard,” said the poor clerk, with a sigh.
“Eh, eh! then the river never fails, and asses can drink at their ease,” replied the recorder, insolently.
His unhappy victim could only hang his head in silence, while the recorder, proud of his triumph, put his hand above his eyes, hoping to discover the roof of Maison-Forte des Anbiez, as his appetite was growing clamorous.
The Bohemian, who rode behind the two talkers, had heard their conversation.
Although his features were common, they showed much penetration and intelligence. His little, piercing, changing black eyes constantly moved from the recorder to the clerk with an expression by turns ironical and compassionate. When Master Isnard had finished conversation by his coarse witticism on asses, he contracted his eyebrows into a severe frown, and seemed about to speak, but whether he feared the recorder, or was afraid of saying too much, he remained silent.
“Tell me, clerk,” cried the recorder, stopping short before a post, painted with a coat of arms, which marked a division of the road, “is not this the route to Des Anbiez?”
“Yes, Master Isnard, but we must leave the shore. This is the road to Maison-Forte; it is about two hundred steps from here; this rock hides it from you,” answered the clerk, as he pointed to a sort of little promontory which thrust itself into the sea, and thus interfered with a view of the castle.
“Then, clerk, go on before,” said the recorder, checking his own horse, and giving a blow of his switch to the scribe’s mule.
The clerk rode on in advance, and the little band ventured into a precipitous road which wound its way across the rocks on the coast.
After a quarter of an hour’s travel, the road became level, and wooded hills, vines, olive-trees, and sown fields succeeded the rocks. Master Isnard at last saw, to his great joy, the imposing pile of Maison-Forte. It stood out at the end of an immense avenue, planted with six rows of beeches and sycamores, which conducted to the vast court of which we have spoken.
“Eh, eh!” said the recorder, expanding his nostrils, “it is about midday; it ought to be the dinner-hour of Raimond V., for these country lords follow the old Provençal custom: they take four meals; every four hours, – breakfast at eight o’clock, dine in the middle of the day, lunch at four o’clock, and sup at eight.” “Indeed, then they must eat nearly all day long,” said the clerk, with a sigh of envy, “for they often sit three or four hours at table.”
“Eh, eh! you are licking your lean lips already, clerk; but do you not see a thick smoke on the side of the kitchens?”
“Master Isnard, I do not know where the kitchens are,” said the clerk. “I have never been inside Maison-Forte, but I do see a thick smoke above the tower which looks toward the west.”
“And you do not detect the odour of fish-soup, or roast? On my oath, in the house of Raimond V. it ought to be Christmas every day. Come, can’t you scent something, man?”
The clerk held his nose in the air like a dog on the scent, and replied, with a shake of the head: “Master, I scent nothing.”
When the recorder had arrived a few steps from the court of Maison-Forte, he was astonished to see no one outside of this large habitation, at an hour when domestic duties always require so much commotion.
As we have said, the court formed a sort of parallelogram.
At the farther end of this parallelogram rose the main dwelling.
On each side could be seen its wings at right angles, and the buildings occupied by persons in the employ of the castle.
On the first plane rose a high wall, pierced with loopholes for cannon, in the middle of which opened a massive door. In front of this wall stretched a wide and deep ditch, filled with water, which was crossed by means of a movable bridge, built directly in front of the door.
The recorder and his retinue arrived at the entrance of the bridge, where they found Master Laramée.
The majordomo, solemnly clothed in black, bore in his hand a white rod, a distinctive mark of office.
The recorder descended from his horse with an important air, and, turning to Laramée, said: “In the name of the king, and his Eminence, the cardinal, I, Master Isnard, recorder, have come to take census and catalogue of the arms and ammunition of war, retained here in this castle of Maison-Forte, belonging to Sir Raimond V., Baron des Anbiez.”
Then turning to his train, which the Bohemian had joined, he said: “All of you follow me.”
Laramée made a profound bow, and with a sly expression of face said to the recorder, as he indicated the road: “If you will follow me, Master Recorder, I will show you our magazine of arms and artillery.” Encouraged by this reception, Master Isnard and his retinue crossed the bridge, leaving their horses outside, tied to the parapet, according to the instruction of the majordomo.
As they entered the court planted with trees, the recorder said to Laramée: “Is your master at home? We are very hungry and very thirsty, friend.”
The majordomo looked up at the recorder, lifted his cap, and replied: “You condescend, sir; you call me friend; you honour me too much, Master Recorder.”
“Oh, go on! I am as kind as a prince. If the baron is not at table, conduct me first to him; if he is at table, conduct me to him all the sooner.”
“Monseigneur has just been served, Master Recorder. I am going to open the door of honour for you, as is proper.”
As he said these words, Laramée disappeared through a narrow passage.
The recorder, his clerk, his valet, the Bohemian, and the two halberdiers remained in the court, staring at the great portal of the castle, expecting every moment to see its massive doors open for their reception. They did not see that two men had removed the bridge, beyond the ditch, on the side of the fields, thus cutting off all retreat from the men of the law.