The Duke's Motto: A Melodrama Page 23

  XXII

  THE FAMILY COUNCIL

  Lagardere remained alone for a while in the room, pensively contemplatingthe portraits of the Three Louis. Then the sound of footsteps came to hisears, footsteps advancing from many directions, footsteps all makingtowards the great hall. He smiled as a man smiles who is prepared toencounter cheerfully great odds, and then, as if there were observingeyes upon him, though indeed no eyes beheld him save those that werepainted in the canvases of the three friends, he slouched across theroom, more markedly the hunchback than ever, till he came to thecurtained door by the side of the picture of Louis de Nevers. He liftedthe curtain, glanced round him for a moment at the empty room, and thendipped behind the curtain.

  The curtain fell, the room was empty, save for the painted presences ofthe Three Louis. But the room was not empty long. A few moments laterGonzague entered the room respectfully escorting his illustrious masterand friend, Louis of France. At their heels followed a little crowd ofnotabilities, eminent lawyers, eminent ecclesiastics, all of whom hadclaim, by virtue of their kinship or by virtue of their authority ondelicate, contested family matters, to a seat and a voice in the councilthat Louis of Gonzague had been pleased to summon. After these again cameGonzague's own little tail of partisans, Navailles and Noce, Taranne andOriol, Choisy and Gironne, Albret and Montaubert, with Chavernayfluttering about them like an impudent butterfly, laughing at them,laughing at his august cousin, laughing at the king, laughing athimself--laughing at everything. To him such a family gathering as thiswhich he attended was almost the most ridiculous thing imaginable on theface of the whole world, and therefore deserving of consideration, if notof serious consideration.

  The king took his place upon the kind of little throne which had been setapart for him. The rest of the company arranged themselves withinstinctive sense of precedence upon the chairs that were ranged behindit. To Chavernay the whole thing looked like a pompous parody of a trialwhere there was nobody to be tried, and he made unceasing jokes to hisneighbors, which compelled them to laugh. This earned for him adisapproving glance from the dark eyes of Gonzague, which had no effectwhatever in depressing his spirits.

  When all the guests were duly seated, Gonzague gravely rose, and, turningtowards the king, saluted him respectfully. "I thank your majesty," hesaid, "for honoring us on this occasion, when matters of great moment tome and to the lady whom I am proud to call my wife, and to the greatfamily with which I am associated at once by ties of blood and alliance,are in question. Your majesty will readily understand that nothing butthe gravest sense of duty could have urged me to bring together solearned, so just, so brilliant an assembly of men to deal with delicatematters which have perhaps been too long left undealt with. Suchdifferences of opinion as may perhaps be admitted to exist between madamethe Princess de Gonzague and myself, however trivial in the beginning,have in a sense grown with the passing of time into an importance whichcalls imperatively for some manner or form of adjustment."

  He paused in his speech, as if to control his emotions and to collect histhoughts. The king leaned forward and addressed him. "Does any one," heasked, "appear here for madame the Princess de Gonzague?"

  Gonzague looked about him with a melancholy glance. "I had hoped, sire,"he said, "that madame the princess would have chosen some one torepresent her." But even as he spoke he paused, for the door that led tothe princess's apartment was thrown open, and the Princess de Gonzagueappeared, clad in black as usual, and as usual leaning upon the arm ofher faithful Brigitte.

  As the princess entered the room, every one rose, and all eyes were fixedupon the stately figure and melancholy features of the still beautiful,if prematurely aged, widow of Nevers. The princess made a deepinclination to the king, and then spoke: "Your majesty, I need no one torepresent me. I am here."

  Gonzague allowed his features to betray the satisfaction he felt at thepresence of his consort. He hastened to advance to her as she seatedherself close to the curtained alcove, saying as he did so: "Madame, youare indeed welcome." And there was a sincerity in his tone not alwayscharacteristic of his utterances.

  The king bowed in his courtliest manner to the unhappy lady, andaddressed her: "Princess, you know why we are assembled here?"

  Slowly the princess inclined her head. "I do," she said, and said nomore, but sat looking fixedly before her, the image of a patience thatshielded a strong purpose and a resignation that was now kindled by a newhope.

  The king turned to his friend and host: "Prince de Gonzague, we awaityour pleasure."

  Louis de Gonzague rose to his feet and surveyed his assembled guests witha grave countenance that seemed to suggest boldness without effronteryand a grief nobly borne. All present admired his beauty, his dignity, theproud humility of his carriage towards the great lady who was in name hiswife. Many sympathized with him in what they knew to be his strangeposition, and felt that the princess was indeed to blame in refusingfriendship and sympathy to such a man.

  Gonzague bowed respectfully to the king, and his eyes travelled over thewhole range of his audience as he spoke. "Sire," he said, "I have tospeak to-day of the sorrow that has haunted me, as it has haunted yourmajesty, for seventeen years. Louis de Lorraine, Duke de Nevers, was mycousin by blood, my brother by affection. His memory lives here, eternalas is the grief of his widow, who has not disdained to wear my name afterwearing his."

  He paused for a moment, and in that pause the princess spoke in a voicethat was shaken with emotion, in spite of her determination to be firm:"Do not speak of that. I have passed those seventeen years in solitudeand in tears."

  Gonzague paid to her and her sorrow the homage of a bow; then he resumed:"When madame the princess did me the honor to accept my name, she madepublic her secret but legitimate marriage with the late Duke de Neversand the birth of a daughter of that union. This child disappeared on thenight of Nevers's death. The registration of its birth is torn out of thechapel register and lost. For seventeen years the princess has patientlysought for her lost child, and has sought in vain."

  The princess sighed: "Alas!" Gonzague paused for a moment as if to allowthe princess to say more, and then, seeing she kept silent, he continued:"Calumniators have hinted that it was my wish that the child should notbe found. Have they not, madame?"

  "Such things have been said," the princess replied, gravely.

  Again Gonzague spoke: "There were even those who hinted that my handmight strike at a child's life. Is not that so?"

  Again the princess repeated her former phrase: "Such things have beensaid."

  Now Gonzague questioned her directly: "And you believed the accusation?"

  The princess inclined her head: "I believed it."

  At this reply a murmur not to be repressed ran through the assembly.Those that sympathized with Gonzague before now sympathized more deeplyon hearing such an answer come so coldly from his wife's lips. Gonzagueallowed himself the luxury of a little, patient sigh, the privilegedprotest of the good and just under an intolerable suspicion.

  "I am not surprised. The princess does not know me. For seventeen yearsthe princess and I have been strangers. Now, for the first time, I canshow myself to my wife as I am." He addressed himself directly to theprincess: "Through all these seventeen years I, too, have been seekingwhat you sought; but, more fortunate than you, I have succeeded where youhave failed."

  He turned to Peyrolles, who was standing close to his master's side, andcommanded: "Bring in Mademoiselle Gabrielle de Nevers."

  In a moment Peyrolles had vanished from the room, leaving every man inthe assembly impressed and startled by Gonzague's statement. The kinglooked from Gonzague, whose face he had been studying while he spoke withadmiration and approval, and fixed his keen gaze upon the princess. Shealone, of all those in the room, seemed unmoved by the momentous tidingsthat her husband had communicated. The younger men whispered amongthemselves, the elders kept silence, but it was plain that theircuriosity was very great.

  In a few moments Peyrolles ret
urned to the room escorting Flora, now verybeautifully attired in a dress of simple richness.

  Chavernay could not restrain his surprise as she entered. "The littledancing-girl," he whispered to his right-hand neighbor, Choisy, but hesaid no more. Even his airy nature was impressed by the stillness of thecompany and the gravity of the situation.

  Gonzague took the hand of Flora and conducted her across the room to theprincess. "Madame," he said, "I restore your child."

  The princess looked fixedly at the girl, her thin hands clasping the armsof her chair convulsively, and it could be seen that she was tremblingfrom head to foot. She was waiting for a voice, she was wondering if shewould hear a voice, and as she waited and wondered she heard a voice frombehind the curtain near where she sat apart, a voice which reached herears, a voice with a mysterious message--"I am here."

  The princess clasped her hand to her heart. "Ah!" she murmured, "willthe dead speak? Is this my child?" And again the voice spoke andanswered: "No."

  By this time Gonzague and the girl had reached the princess, who now roseto her feet and confronted the pair as she spoke. "My child should havewith her a packet containing the page torn away from the register of thechapel of Caylus, torn away with my own hands." She turned to Flora andquestioned her: "Have you that packet?"

  Flora dropped on her knees and stretched out her hands with a pretty,pathetic air of supplication. "Madame, I have nothing. Ah, madame, thepoor little gypsy girl asks of you neither wealth nor station; she onlyentreats you to love her as she loves you."

  The princess prayed silently: "Oh, Heaven help me! Heaven inspire me!"

  Gonzague was startled by this sudden hostility to his scheme, but spokewith respectful earnestness: "Madame," he said, slowly, "we havedepositions, sworn to and duly attested in Madrid, that this girl, then ayear-old child, was given to a band of gypsies by a man whose descriptioncoincides exactly with that of one of the men believed to have beenconcerned in the attack upon Louis de Nevers in the moat of Caylus. Wehave their statements that in their hearing the man called the childGabrielle, that he said to the head gypsy that she was of noble birth,and that he gave her up to them because he wished the child to sufferfor the hate he bore her father. All this and more than this we canprove. For my part, I say that in this girl's lineaments I seem to seeagain the features of my dear dead friend. Madame, to reject the childwhom we believe to be the daughter of Nevers, you must have reasons graveindeed--the strongest proofs. Have you such reasons, such proofs?"

  From behind the curtain a voice travelled to the princess's ears,murmuring, "Yes," and the princess repeated, "Yes," confidently.

  Gonzague drew himself up with a look of pain and sorrow. "I understand,madame. Some impostor, speculating upon your sorrow, has told you that hehas found your child."

  Chavernay whispered behind his hand to Navailles: "Our cousin is losinghis temper."

  As the princess kept silent, Gonzague pressed his question: "Is that notso, madame? Speak! Is this not so? Some one has told you that she isalive?"

  The princess heard the voice behind the curtain whisper: "She lives."Looking steadily at Gonzague, she said: "She lives, in spite of you, bythe grace of God."

  The agitation of the audience was very great. The king directly addressedthe princess: "Can you produce her?"

  Again the voice whispered to the Princess, "Yes," and again the Princessrepeated, "Yes," as confidently as before.

  "When?" asked the king, to whom Gonzague had at once yielded theprivilege of question.

  The voice whispered, "To-night," and the princess repeated the words.

  The voice whispered again, "At the ball in the Palais Royal," and againthe Princess echoed it, "At the ball in the Palais Royal."

  The king had no more to say; he was silent. Gonzague groaned aloud as heturned to Flora. "My poor child, only God can give you back the heart ofyour mother."

  The girl, with the quick impulsiveness of her race, again flung herselfon her knees before the princess, while she cried: "Madame, whether youare my mother or not, I respect you, I love you!"

  The princess laid her hand gently on the girl's dark hair. "My child, mychild, I believe you are no accomplice of this crime. I wish you well."

  Flora was now sobbing bitterly, and seemed unable to rise. Peyrolleshastened to her side, hastened to lift her to her feet, and hurriedlyconducted the weeping girl from the room. The princess, holding her headhigh, turned and addressed the king: "Your majesty, my mourning endsto-day. I have recovered my daughter. I shall be your guest to-night,sire."

  The king bowed profoundly. "Believe that we shall be most proud towelcome you."

  The princess made him a reverence and turned to leave the room. The kingquitted his chair, hastened to her side, and gave her his arm to thedoor. When she had departed, Louis of France hastened to Gonzague wherehe stood alone, the centre of wondering eyes. "What is the meaning ofthis double discovery?" he asked.

  Gonzague shook his head with the air of one who is faced by a shamefulconspiracy, but who is not afraid to face it. "I have found Nevers'schild. Who the impostor is I do not know, but I shall know--and then--"

  He paused, but his menacing silence was more impressive than any speech.The king wrung his friend's hand warmly. "I hope you may. Till to-night,gentlemen."

  All were standing now. The king embraced the company in a generalsalutation and went out, followed by his friends. The lawyers, theecclesiastics took their leave. Only the friends of Gonzague remained inthe room, and they stood apart, eying their master dubiously, uncertainwhether he would wish them to go or to stay. Chavernay took it uponhimself, with his usual lightness of heart, to play their spokesman. Headvanced to Gonzague and addressed him.

  "Can we condole with you on this game of cross-purposes?"

  Gonzague turned to Chavernay, and his countenance was calm, bold, almostsmiling. "No. I shall win the game. We shall meet to-night. Perhaps Ishall need your swords."

  "Now, as ever, at your service," Navailles protested, and the restmurmured their agreement with the speaker. Then Gonzague's partisansslowly filed out of the room, Chavernay, as usual, smiling, the othersunusually grave. Gonzague turned to Peyrolles, who had returned from histask of convoying Flora to her apartments. "Who has done all this?" heasked.

  He thought he was alone with his henchman, but he was mistaken. AEsop hadquietly entered the room, and was standing at his side. AEsop answered thequestion addressed to Peyrolles. "I can tell you. The man you can neitherfind nor bind."

  Gonzague started. "Lagardere?"

  AEsop nodded. "Lagardere, whom I will give into your hands if you wish."

  Gonzague caught at his promise eagerly. "When?" he asked.

  "To-night, at the king's ball," AEsop answered.