Nicole Legay.
WHILE THE SCENE of interrogation was passing in Balsamo’s chamber, Gilbert remained under the railings at the foot of the staircase in a state of indescribable torture. Not daring to ascend again to listen at the door of the red chamber, he fell into despair, and this despair was increased tenfold by the feeling of his weakness and his inferiority.
Balsamo was only a man (for Gilbert, being a profound thinker, a philosopher in embryo, had small faith in sorcerers); but then this man was strong, and he was weak — this man was courageous, and Gilbert was not so yet. Twenty times he arose, determined to beard the stranger, and twenty times his trembling limbs bent under him and he sank on his knees. Then the thought struck him that he would get a ladder used by La Brie (who was at the same time cook, butler and gardener) for nailing the jessamine and honeysuckle against the walls, and, by propping it against the balcony of the apartment, be enabled to mount to the window, and witness what he so ardently desired to discover.
He passed stealthily into the courtyard, ran to the spot where the, ladder lay, but, as he was stooping to take it up, he thought he heard a noise in the direction of the house, and he turned. He was almost certain that in the obscurity he saw a human form enter the dark frame of the open door, but moving so quickly and so noiselessly that it appeared rather a specter than a living being. He let the ladder fall, and, his heart beating audibly, hastened back toward the chateau.
Some minds are constitutionally superstitious, and these are generally the most exalted and the richest in fancy. They admit the fabulous more readily than the rational, because what is natural is too common for them, impelled as they are toward the impossible, or at least the ideal. Such spirits delight in the darkness of the forest, the depths of which they people with phantoms or genii. The ancients, who were poets in all things, saw these fantastic beings in open day; but as their sun, warmer and brighter than ours, forbade the fancy to bring forth specters and demons, they filled the forest with smiling dryads and woodnymphs. Gilbert, born in a gloomier clime, imagined he saw a spirit. This time, in spite of his incredulity, he recalled the words of the woman who had fled from Balsamo, and the idea flashed across his mind that the sorcerer might have summoned up some evil spirit to do his bad behests. But Gilbert had always, after a first impression, a second not more encouraging, for it was the result of reflection. He recalled all the arguments of powerful minds against the belief in the return of spirits to this world, and thinking of the article Specter in the “Philosophical Dictionary” restored his courage; but it was only to give him another apprehension, better founded and more alarming.
If he had indeed seen any one, it must have been a real individual deeply interested in watching him. Fear suggested M. de Taverney; his conscience whispered another name. He looked up to Nicole’s apartment; her candle was out, not a ray of light was visible; not a whisper, not a movement, not a light in all the house, except in the stranger’s room. He looked, he listened; then, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, he took up the ladder again, convinced that he had been deceived, and that this vision had been the result of a suspension of his observing faculties, rather than of their exercise.
Just as he was about to place his ladder, Balsamo’s door opened and then shut. At this sound he hurried in, and saw Andree glide out and descend the stairs without noise, and without a light, as if guided and supported by a supernatural power. Having reached the landing place, she passed by where he had now concealed himself in the shade, her dress touching him as she passed, and continued her way. The baron was asleep, La Brie in bed, Nicole in the other turret, Balsamo’s door closed; he could not be surprised by any one. He made a violent effort and followed her, adapting his step to hers, and keeping at a distance from her. She passed through the anteroom into the salon; but, although she left the door open, he stopped just before he reached it. Should he enter? He hesitated, then resolved; but, just as his foot was on the threshold, an arm was stretched out in the darkness, and he was firmly grasped. Gilbert turned, his heart panting as if it would burst his bosom.
“So I have caught you at last!” whispered an angry voice close at his ear. “Deny now, if you can, that you have meetings — that you are in love with her!”
Gilbert had not strength to shake himself loose from the gripe which detained him, yet it was only that of a young girl — it was simply the hand of Nicole Legay that held him.
“What do you mean?” whispered he, impatiently.
“Oh, I am to speak it out, then!” and Nicole raised her voice nearly to the loudest pitch.
“No; for God’s sake be quiet!” replied Gilbert, between his closed teeth, and dragging her away from the door.
“Well, come with me, then!”
This was what Gilbert wanted, for, by going away with her, he took her away from Andree. He followed Nicole, who led the way into the courtyard, shutting the door behind her when he hail passed.
“But,” said Gilbert, “mademoiselle will be retiring to her apartment; she will call you to help her to undress, and you will not be in the house.”
“Do you think I care for that now? Let her call or not, I must speak to you.”
“You might put off until to-morrow what you have got to say, Nicole. You know Mademoiselle Andree is strict.”
“Yes, I would advise her to be strict — particularly with me.”
“To-morrow, Nicole, I promise.”
“You promise! I know what your fine promises are. This very day you promised to meet me near Maison Rouge. Where were you? Why, in the very opposite direction, since you brought the traveler here! Your promises indeed! I believe them just as I did those of our confessor at the Annonciades, who swore to keep secret what we confessed, and then told all our sins to the abbess!”
“But, Nicole, you will be dismissed if you are seen.”
“And you — will you not be dismissed for being in love with my young lady? Do you think the baron too generous for that?”
“He could surely have no motive for dismissing me,” said Gilbert, endeavoring to defend himself.
“Oh, none in the world! The baron, perhaps, allows you to pay your addresses to his daughter. I really did not know he was quite so great a philosopher!”
Gilbert might easily have proved to Nicole, by relating what he had just witnessed, that, if he was to blame, at least Andree was not privy to his misconduct; and, incredible as her visit to the stranger’s apartment would have appeared, Nicole, thanks to the good opinion women have of one another, would have believed him. But deeper reflection arrested the words on his lips. Andree’s secret was one that might serve him, as it placed her completely in his power; and as he loved Andree infinitely more than he feared Nicole, he was silent on the singular events he had just witnessed.
“Well,” said he, “since you insist on having an explanation, let us understand each other.”
“Oh, that is easily done. But you are right — this is a bad place for it; let us go to my room.”
“To your room? Impossible!”
“Why so?”
“We might be surprised.”
“Indeed! and who would surprise us? Mademoiselle? True; she might be jealous about her sweet youth! Unfortunately for her, since her secret is discovered. I am nut afraid of her. Mademoiselle Andree jealous of Nicole! What an honor!” And the forced laugh of the young girl frightened Gilbert more than any invective or menace could possibly have done.
“It is not mademoiselle of whom I am afraid,” said he; “I am only anxious on your own account, Nicole.”
“Oh, most anxious, no doubt! But you are going to my room for no bad purpose; and you have often told me, where there is no bad intention there should be no shame. Philosophers are Jesuits sometimes; and our confessor at the Annonciades told me all that before you. Come, come, no more false reasons! Come to my room; I am resolved you shall!”
“Nicole!” said he, grinding his teeth.
“Well! what more, pray?”
“Take care!” and he raised his hand.
“Oh. I am not afraid! You struck me once; but you were jealous then. At that time you loved me, and I allowed you to strike me. But I shall not now — no, no, no! for you no longer love me, and it is I who am jealous now.”
“But what will you do?” cried Gilbert, grasping her wrist.
“I shall scream, and mademoiselle will hear me. I advise you to let go your hold of me.”
Gilbert dropped her hand; then, seizing the ladder, and dragging it cautiously after him, he placed it against the wall of the turret, so that it reached nearly to Nicole’s window.
“See how things turn in this world,” said she maliciously; “the ladder which was to assist you to climb to mademoiselle’s apartment must merely serve you to descend from my humble attic. Very flattering for me, is it not?”
Nicole, perceiving the advantage she had gained, declared her triumph with that precipitate eagerness which women, unless, indeed, of very superior minds, often exhibit — a victory which is often too dearly purchased.
Gilbert, who felt himself in a false position, was silent, and followed the young girl, reserving all his powers for the approaching contest.
In the first place, however, like a prudent general, he satisfied himself on two points. The first was, in passing before the window, that Mademoiselle de Taverney was still in the salon; and the second, on reaching Nicole’s chamber, that, in case of necessity, he could reach the ladder without much risk of breaking his neck, and thus allow himself to slide to the ground.
Nicole’s room was as simple in its furniture as the rest of the house. It was a loft, the walls of which were covered with a drab and green paper. A wooden bed, and a large geranium placed near the window, were its whole furniture and decorations, except a large bonnet-box, given her by Andree, which served both for table and wardrobe. Nicole sat down on the edge of the bed, Gilbert on a corner of the box. She had had time to calm down while ascending the stairs, and now, completely mistress of herself, she felt strong in having justice on her side. Gilbert, on the contrary, was agitated, and could not recover his coolness; his anger had increased as hers decreased.
“So,” said she, “you are in love with mademoiselle, and you have attempted to deceive me?”
“Who told you I was in love with mademoiselle?”
“Dame! were you not going to a rendezvous with her?”
“How do you know that I had a rendezvous with her?”
“How do I know? Why, there was no one else to go to but the sorcerer!”
“Well, I might have been going to him; I am ambitious.”
“Say envious.”
“It is the same word taken in a bad sense.”
“Don’t let us dispute about words — you love me no longer.”
“Yes, I do — I love you still.”
“Then why do you avoid me?”
“Because you quarrel with me whenever I meet you.”
“That is because you always avoid me.”
“You know I am shy — that I love solitude.”
“Yes; and you seek solitude ladder in hand!”
Gilbert was beaten on, his first move.
“Come, come! — Be frank if you can, Gilbert, and confess that you no longer love me, or that you love two women at once.”
“Well! and if I did, what would you say?”
“I should say it was monstrous!”
“No, no! that there was an error somewhere.”
“In your heart?”
“No — in our social state. You know there are nations where every man is allowed seven or eight wives.”
“They are not Christians,” said Nicole pettishly.
“They are philosophers,” said Gilbert, with dignity.
“So, Master Philosopher, you would wish me to take a second lover, as you have done!”
“I would not be unjust and tyrannical; I should not wish to repress the impulses of your heart. Freedom, blessed freedom, respects free-will. If you change your love, Nicole, I shall not force you to a fidelity which, in my opinion, is unnatural.”
“Ah, I see plainly you no longer love me!”
Gilbert was great in argument — not that he was skillful in logic, but he was an adept in paradox, and, however little he knew, he still knew more than Nicole. She had read only what amused her — he what taught him a little also — and, as they talked, he regained his presence of mind while Nicole began to lose hers.
“Has the great philosopher any memory?” asked Nicole, with an ironical smile.
“Sometimes,” replied Gilbert.
“Then you have not forgotten, perhaps, what you said to me five months ago when I came with mademoiselle from the Annonciades?”
“I have forgotten — tell it me.”
“You said, ‘I am poor;’ it was the day we were reading among the old ruins.”
“Well, go on.”
“You trembled very much that day —
“Very likely — I am naturally timid; but I do all I can to correct that fault, and some others also.”
“So that when you have corrected all your faults,” said Nicole, laughing, “you will be perfect.”
“I shall be strong — wisdom gives strength.”
“Where did you read that, pray?”
“Never mind — return to what you were saying.”
Nicole felt that she was losing ground every minute.
“Well, you said to me, ‘I am poor — no one loves me; yet there is something here,’ and you pressed your hand on your heart.”
“No, Nicole; if I pressed my hand anywhere when I said that, it must have been on my forehead. The heart is merely a forcing-pump, which drives the blood to the extremities of the body — read the article Heart in the ‘Philosophical Dictionary;’” and Gilbert drew himself up proudly. Humble before Balsamo, he gave himself the airs of a prince before Nicole.
“You are right, Gilbert; it must have been your head which you struck. Well, striking your forehead, you said, ‘I am treated here worse than a dog; indeed, Mahon is in a happier condition than I.’ I replied that they were wrong not to love you; that if you had been my brother I should have loved you also. I think, however, I said that from my heart, not from my head; but perhaps I am wrong, for I never read the ‘Philosophical Dictionary.’
“You ought to read it, Nicole.”
“Then you threw your arms round me. You said, ‘You are an orphan — I am one, too; let us love one another as if we were brother and sister — no I better than if we were; for if we were, we should be forbidden to love as I wish we should;’ then you kissed me.”
“Very possibly!”
“Did you think then as you spoke?”
“Oh, yes — one generally thinks what one says at the time one says it.”
“So that now — ?”
“Now I am five months older than I was. I have learned things of which I knew nothing then, and I look forward to things which I do not yet know; I think differently now.”
“You are a deceiver, a hypocrite, a liar!” exclaimed she, furiously.
“No more than a traveler, should he make two different answers to the same question — if you asked him in a valley what he thought of the prospect, and again when he had got to the top of a mountain which before had closed his view.”
“So, then, you will not marry me?”
“I never said I would marry you,” said Gilbert contemptuously.
“And yet,” cried the exasperated girl, “I think Nicole Legay fully the equal of Sebastian Gilbert.”
“All human beings are equal; but nature or education makes certain faculties greater in, one man than another, and according as these faculties are more or less developed, men differ from one another.”
“So that your faculties being more developed than mine, you are raised above me?”
“Quite correct! — you do not reason yet, Nicole, but you understand.”
“Yes, yes! I understand!” cried Nicole, with redoubled passion.
“What do you understand?”
“That you are a bad man.”
“It is possible. Many are born with bad inclinations. Rousseau himself had such, but he corrected them — I shall do the same.”
“Oh, heavens!” cried Nicole, “how could I ever love such a man?”
“You did not love me, Nicole,” replied Gilbert, coldly; “I pleased you — that was all. You had just come from Nancy, where you had only seen students whom you laughed at, or soldiers who frightened you; so you took a fancy to me, and for a month or two we enjoyed our dream of love. But should we therefore be tied together to be eternally miserable? You see, Nicole, if we bound ourselves for our lives in a moment of happiness, we should give up our free-will, and that would be absurd!”
“Is that philosophy?” asked Nicole.
“I think so,” replied Gilbert.
“Then there is nothing sacred in the eyes of philosophers?”
“Oh, yes! — reason is.”
“Yet I think you once said something about being faithful to the choice of the heart. You recollect your theory on marriages—”
“On unions, Nicole, for I shall never marry.”
“You will never marry?”
“No! I shall be a learned man — a philosopher. Science requires perfect freedom of the mind, and philosophy that of the body.”
“Monsieur Gilbert,” said she, “you are a wretch; and whatever I am, I am at least better than you.”
“Now,” said Gilbert, rising, “we are only losing time — you in abusing me, I in listening to you — let us end! You loved me because you took pleasure in loving”
“Well?”
“Well! — there is no reason in the world that I should make myself unhappy, because you did a thing which gave you gratification.”
“Fool!” she exclaimed, “you think you can confound my common sense — and you pretend not to fear me.”
“Fear you! Why, Nicole, jealousy is turning your brain!”
“Jealous!” she cried, stamping her foot, “and why should I be jealous! Is their a prettier girl in the province than I? — if I had but as white hands as mademoiselle — and I shall have some day, when I do no more hard work. You are my first lover, it is true; but you are not the first man who has paid court to me. Gilbert, Gilbert! do not force me to seek revenge on you — do not make me leave the narrow path in which a last remembrance of my mother and the regular repetition of my prayers have kept me. Gilbert, if you do, you may have to reproach yourself with bringing many evils on yourself and others.”
“All in good time,” said Gilbert. “So now that you have got to the summit of your dignity, Nicole, I am perfectly satisfied on one point.”
“And what may that be?” inquired the girl.
“Simply that if I consented now to marry you—”
“What then?”
“Why, that you would refuse me.”
Nicole paused, her clenched hands and gnashing teeth showing the workings of her mind.
“You are right,” she exclaimed at length. “Yes; I also begin to ascend that mountain of which you spoke. I see a wider prospect before me. The wife of a learned man, a philosopher! No, I am destined for something greater than that! Mount your ladder! and don’t, break your neck — though I begin to think it would be a blessing for many persons if you would — perhaps even a blessing for yourself.”
She turned her back on him. Gilbert stood a moment wavering and irresolute; for Nicole, excited by anger and jealousy, was truly beautiful. But he had resolved to break with her — Nicole could blast at once his love and his ambition. His decision — was made.
In a few seconds, Nicole, hearing no sound, looked behind her. She was alone in the apartment.
“Gone!” she murmured; “and mademoiselle — oh, I shall know to-morrow whether she loves him or not!”
She went to the window and looked out; all was dark, every light extinguished. She stole on tiptoe to her young lady’s door and listened.
“She is in bed — she sleeps soundly,” said she, “but to-morrow I shall know all!”