Double Sight.
WHEN ANDREE was alone, she gradually recovered from the mental torpor into which she had fallen, and while Nicole was flying en croupe behind M. Beausire, she knelt down and offered up a fervent prayer for Philip, the only being in the world she loved with a true and deep attachment; and while she prayed, her trust in God assumed new strength and inspired her with fresh courage.
The prayers which Andree offered were not composed of a succession of words strung one to the other; they were a kind of heavenly ecstasy, during which her soul rose to her God and mingled with his spirit.
In these impassioned supplications of the mind, freed from earthly concerns, there was no alloy of self. Andree in some degree abandoned all thoughts of herself, like a shipwrecked mariner who has lost hope, and who prays only for his wife and his children, soon to become orphans. This inward grief had sprung up in Andree’s bosom since her brother’s departure, but it was not entirely without another cause. Like her prayer, it was composed of two distinct elements, one of which was quite inexplicable to her.
It was, as it were, a presentiment, the perceptible approach of some impending misfortune. It was a sensation resembling that of the shooting of a cicatrized wound. The acute pain is over, but the remembrance survives, and reminds the sufferer of the calamity, as the wound itself had previously done. She did not even attempt to explain her feelings to herself. Devoted heart and soul to Philip, she centered in her beloved brother every thought and every affection of her heart.
Then she rose, took a book from her modestly furnished library, placed the light within reach of her hand, and stretched herself on a couch. The book she had chosen, or rather upon which she had accidentally placed her hand, was a dictionary of botany. It may readily be imagined that this book was not calculated to absorb her attention, but rather to lull it to rest. Gradually, drowsiness weighed down her eyelids, and a filmy veil obscured her vision. For a moment the young girl struggled against sleep; twice or thrice she collected her scattered thoughts, which soon escaped again from her control; then, raising her head to blow out the candle, she perceived the glass of water prepared by Nicole, stretched out her hand and took the glass, stirred the sugar with the spoon, and, already half asleep, she approached the glass to her lips.
All at once, just as her lips were already touching the beverage, a strange emotion made her hand tremble, a moist and burning weight fell on her brow, and Andree recognized with terror, by the current of the fluid which rushed through her nerves, that supernatural attack of mysterious sensations which had several times already triumphed over her strength and overpowered her mind. She had only time to place the glass upon the plate, when instantly, without a murmur, but with a sigh which escaped from her half-open lips, she lost the use of voice, sight, and reason, and, seized with a death-like torpor, fell back as if struck by lightning upon her bed. But this sort of annihilation was but the momentary transition to another state of existence. For an instant she seemed perfectly lifeless, and her eyes closed in the slumber of death; but all at once she rose, opened her eyes, which stared with a fearful fixity of gaze, and like a marble statue descending from its tomb, she once more stood upon the floor. There was no longer room for doubt. Andree was sunk in that marvelous sleep which had several times already suspended her vital functions.
She crossed the chamber, opened the glass door, and entered the corridor, with the fixed and rigid attitude of breathing marble. She reached the stairs, descended step by step without hesitation and without haste, and emerged upon the portico. Just as Andree placed her foot upon the topmost step to descend, Gilbert reached the lowest on his way to his attic. Seeing this white and solemn figure advancing as if to meet him, he recoiled before her, and, still retreating as she advanced, he concealed himself in a clump of shrubs. It was thus, he recollected, that he had already seen Andree de Taverney at the chateau of Taverney.
Andree passed close by him, even touched him, but saw him not. The young man, thunderstruck, speechless with surprise, sank to the ground on one knee. His limbs refused to support him — he was afraid.
Not knowing to what cause to attribute this strange excursion, he followed her with his eyes; but his reason was confounded, his blood beat impetuously against his temples, and he was in a state more closely bordering on madness than the coolness and circumspection necessary for an observer.
He remained therefore crouching on the grass among the leaves, watching as he had never ceased to do since this fatal attachment had entered his heart. All at once the mystery was explained; Andree was neither mad nor bewildered, as he had for a moment supposed — Andree was, with this sepulchral step, going to a rendezvous. A gleam of lightning now furrowed the sky, and by its blue and livid light Gilbert saw a man concealed beneath the somber avenue of linden trees, and, notwithstanding the rapidity of the flash, he had recognized the pale face and disordered garments of the man, relieved against the dark background.
Andree advanced toward this man, whose arm was extended as if to draw her toward him.
A sensation like the branding of a red-hot iron rushed through Gilbert’s heart; he raised himself upon his knees to see more clearly. At that moment another flash of lightning illumined the sky.
Gilbert recognized Balsamo, covered with dust and perspiration; Balsamo, who, by some mysterious means, had succeeded in entering Trianon, and thus drew Andree toward him as invincibly, as fatally, as the serpent fascinates its prey.
When two paces from him, Andree stopped. Balsamo took her hand; her whole frame shuddered.
“Do you see?” he asked.
“Yes,” replied Andree; “but in summoning me so suddenly you have nearly killed me.”
“Pardon, pardon!” replied Balsamo; “but my brain reels — I am beside myself — I am nearly mad — I shall kill myself.”
“You are indeed suffering,” said Andree, conscious of Balsamo’s feelings by the contact of his hand.
“Yes, yes,” replied Balsamo, “I suffer, and I come to you for consolation. You alone can save me.”
“Question me.”
“Once more, do you see?”
“Oh! perfectly.”
“Will you follow me to my house? Can you do so?”
“I can if you will conduct me there in thought.”
“Come!”
“Ah!” said Andree, “we are entering Paris — we follow the boulevard, we plunge into a street lighted by a single lamp.”
“Yes, that is it. Enter! enter!”
“We are in an antechamber. There is a staircase to the right, but you draw me toward the wall — the wall opens — steps appear —
“Ascend!” exclaimed Balsamo, “that is our way.”
“All! we are in a sleeping-chamber; there are lions’ skins, arms — Stay, the back of the fireplace opens.”
“Pass through; where are you?”
“In a strange sort of room, without any outlet, and the windows of which are barred. Oh! how disordered everything in the room appears!”
“But empty — it is empty, is it not?
“Yes, empty.”
“Can you see the person who inhabited it?”
“Yes, if you give me something which has touched her, which comes from her, or which belongs to her.”
“Hold! there is some hair.”
Andree took the hair and placed it on her heart.
“Oh! I recognize her.” said she; “I have already seen this woman. She was flying toward Paris.”
“Yes, yes; can you tell me what she has been doing during the last two hours, and how she escaped?”
“Wait a moment; yes; she is reclining upon a sofa; her breast is half bared, and she has a wound on one side.”
“Look, Andree, look! do not lose sight of her.”
“She was asleep — she awakes — she looks around — she takes a handkerchief and climbs upon a chair. She ties the handkerchief to the bars of the window — oh! God!”
“Is she really determined to die?”
“Oh, yes! she is resolute. But this sort of death terrifies her. She leaves the handkerchief tied to the bars — she descends — ah! poor woman!”
“What?”
“Oh! how she weeps, how she suffers, and wrings her hands! She searches for a corner of the wall against which to dash her head!”
“Oh! my God! my God!” murmured Balsamo.
“She rushes toward the chimney-piece! It represents two marble lions; she will dash out her brains against the lions!”
“What then? look Andree, look — it is my will!”
“She stops.”
Balsamo breathed again.
“She looks —
“What does she look at?” asked Balsamo.
“She has perceived some blood upon the lion’s eye.”
“Oh, heavens!”
“Yes, blood, and yet she did not strike herself against it. Oh! strange! the blood is not hers, it is yours.”
“Mine?” asked Balsamo, frantic with excitement.
“Yes, yours. You had cut your finger with a knife — with a poniard — and had touched the lion’s eye with your bleeding hand. I see you.”
“True, true. But how does she escape?”
“Stay, I see her examining the blood; she reflects; then she places her finger where you had placed yours. Ah! the lion’s eye gives way — a spring acts — the chimney board flies open!”
“Oh! imprudent, wretched fool that I am! I have betrayed myself!”
Andree was silent.
“And she leaves the room?” asked Balsamo; “she escapes?”
“Oh! you must forgive the poor woman — she was very miserable.”
“Where is she? whither does she fly? Follow her, Andree — it is my will.”
“She stops for a moment in the chamber of furs and armor; a cupboard is open; a casket, usually locked in this cupboard, is upon the table; she recognizes the box; she takes it.”
“What does the box contain?”
“Your papers, I think.”
“Describe it.”
“It is covered with blue velvet, and studded with brass nails; has clasps of silver, and a golden lock.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Balsamo, stamping with anger; “it is she, then, who has taken the casket!”
“Yes. She descends the stairs leading into the anteroom, opens the door, draws back the chain of the street door, and goes out.”
“Is it late?”
“It must be late, for it is dark.”
“So much the better; she must have fled shortly before my return, and I shall perhaps have time to overtake her. Follow her, Andree! follow her!”
“Once outside the house, she runs as if she were mad! she reaches the boulevard — she hastens on without pausing.”
“In which direction?”
“Toward the Bastille.”
“You see her yet?”
“Yes; she looks like a mad-woman; she jostles against the passers-by; she stops — she endeavors to discover where she is; she inquires.”
“What does she say? Listen, Andree, listen; in Heaven’s name do not lose a syllable! You said she inquired?”
“Yes, from a man dressed in black.”
“What does she ask?”
“She wishes to know the address of the lieutenant of police.”
“Oh! then it was not a vain threat. Does the person give it her?”
“Yes.”
“What does she do?”
“She retraces her steps and turns down a winding street. She crosses a large square.”
“The Place Royale — it is the direct way. Can you read her intention?”
“Follow her quickly! — hasten! — she goes to betray you! If she arrives before you and sees M. de Sartines, you are lost!”
Balsamo uttered a terrible cry, plunged into the thicket, rushed through a little door, which a shadowy apparition opened and closed after him, and leaped with one bound on his faithful Djerid, who was pawing the ground at the little gate. Urged on at once by voice and spur, he darted like an arrow toward Paris, and soon nothing was heard but the cluttering of his hoofs on the paved causeway.
As for Andree, she remained standing there, cold, mute, and pale. Then, as if Balsamo had borne away with him life and strength, she tottered, drooped, and fell. Balsamo, in his eagerness to follow Lorenza, had forgotten to awaken her.
Andree did not sink, as we have said, all at once, but gradually in the manner we will attempt to describe.
Alone, abandoned, overpowered with that deathlike coldness which succeeds any violent nervous shock, Andree began to tremble and totter like one suffering from the commencement of an epileptic fit.
Gilbert had never moved — rigid, immovable, leaning forward and devouring her with his gaze. But, as it may readily be imagined, Gilbert, entirely ignorant of magnetic phenomena, dreamed neither of sleep, nor of suffered violence. He had heard nothing, or almost nothing, of her dialogue with Balsamo. But for the second time, at Trianon as at Taverney, Andree had appeared to obey the summons of this man, who had acquired such a strange and terrible power over her. To Gilbert, therefore, everything resolved itself in this; Mademoiselle Andree has, if not a lover, at least a man whom she loves, and to whom she grants a rendezvous at night.
The dialogue which had taken place between Andree and Balsamo, although sustained in a low voice, had all the appearance of a quarrel. Balsamo, excited, flying, frantic, seemed like a lover in despair; Andree, left alone, mute and motionless, like the fair one he had abandoned.
It was at this moment that he saw the young girl totter, wring her hands, and sink slowly to the ground. Then she uttered twice or thrice a groan so deep that her oppressed heart seemed torn by the effort. She endeavored, or rather nature endeavored, to throw back the overpowering mass of fluid which, during the magnetic sleep, had endowed her with that double sight which we have seen, in the preceding pages, produce such strange phenomena.
But nature was overpowered; Andree could not succeed in throwing off the remains of that mysterious will which Balsamo had forgotten to withdraw. She could not loose the marvelous, inexplicable ties which had bound her hand and foot; and by dint of struggling, she fell into those convulsions which in the olden time the Pythoness suffered upon her triped, before the crowd of religious questioners who swarmed around the peristyle of the temple. Andree lost her equilibrium, and uttering a heartrending groan, fell to the ground as if she had been struck by the flash which at that moment furrowed the vault of heaven.
But she had not yet touched the earth when Gilbert, strong and agile as a panther, darted toward her, seized her in his arms, and without being conscious that he carried a burden, bore her back into the chamber which she had left to obey Balsamo’s summons, and in which the candle was yet burning beside the disarranged couch.
Gilbert found all the doors open as Andree had left them. As he entered, he stumbled against the sofa, and placed on it the cold and inanimate form of the young girl. The most pressing matter was to recall the beautiful statue to life. He looked round for the carafe, in order to sprinkle some drops of water in Andree’s face.
But just as his trembling hand was stretched forth to grasp the thin neck of the crystal ewer, it seemed to him that a firm but light step sounded on the stairs leading to Andree’s chamber.
It could not be Nicole, for Nicole had fled with M. Beausire; it could not be Balsamo, for Balsamo was spurring with lightning haste to Paris. It could therefore only be a stranger.
Gilbert, if discovered, was lost; Andree was to him like one of those princesses of Spain, whom a subject may not touch, even to save their life.
All these ideas rushed like a whirlwind through Gilbert’s mind in less time than we can relate them. He could not calculate the exact distance of the footstep, which every moment approached still nearer, for the storm which raged without dulled every other sound, but, gifted with extraordinary coolness and foresight, the young man felt that that was no place for him, and that the most important matter was to conceal himself from sight.
He hastily blew out the candle which illumined the apartment, and entered the closet which served as Nicole’s sleeping chamber. From this hiding-place he could see through the glass door into Andree’s apartment, and also into the antechamber.
In this antechamber a night-lamp was burning upon a little console-table. Gilbert had at first thought of extinguishing it, as he had done the candle, but he had not time; the step echoed upon the corridor, a repressed breathing was heard, the figure of a man appeared upon the threshold, glided timidly into the antechamber, and closed the door.
Gilbert had only time to hasten into Nicole’s closet, and to draw the glass door after him.
He held his breath, pressed his face against the stained glass panes, and listened eagerly.
The storm still howled wildly outside, large rain-drops beat against the windows of Andree’s apartment and those of the corridor, where a casement, accidentally left open, creaked upon its hinges, and every now and then, dashed back by the wind which rushed into the corridor, struck noisily against its frame.
But the war of the elements, terrible as it was, produced no effect on Gilbert. His whole soul was concentrated in his gaze, which was riveted upon this man. He crossed the antechamber, passed not two paces distant from Gilbert, and unhesitatingly entered the principal apartment.
As he advanced, he jostled with his arm against the candle upon the table. The candle fell, and Gilbert heard the crystal socket break in falling on the marble table. Then the man called twice in a subdued voice:
“Nicole! Nicole!”
“What! Nicole!” thought Gilbert in his hiding-place. “Why does this man call Nicole instead of Andree?”
But as no voice replied to his, the man lifted the candle from the floor, and proceeded on tiptoe to light it at the nightlamp in the antechamber. It was then that Gilbert riveted his whole attention upon this strange nocturnal visitor; he gazed as if his vision could have pierced the wall. All at once he trembled, and, even in his hiding-place, recoiled a step backward.
By the light of these two flames combined, Gilbert, trembling and half dead with affright, recognized, in this man who held the candle in his hands — the king!
Then all was explained; Nicole’s flight, the money she had given Beausire, the door left open, the interviews between Richelieu and Taverney, and the whole of that dark and mysterious intrigue of which the young girl was the center.
He would have cried out, but fear — that unreflecting, capricious, irresistible feeling — the fear he felt for this man, whose name had still a charm — the king of France — tied Gilbert’s tongue. He slipped stealthily from the closet, gained the antechamber, and fled as if the avenger were behind him.
In the meantime Louis entered the room, candle in hand, and perceived Andree reclining on the couch, wrapped in a long muslin dressing-gown, her head drooping on her shoulder.
He murmured some words in a caressing voice, and putting his light upon the table, he knelt beside the young girl and kissed her hand. It was icy cold. Alarmed, he started up, hastily put aside her dressing-gown, and placed his trembling hand upon her heart. Her heart was cold and motionless!
Just then fearful peal of thunder made every article of furniture in the room shake, even to the couch before which Louis was standing. A livid and sulphureous flash of lightning threw so dazzling a light over Andree’s countenance, that Louis, alarmed at her paleness, her motionless attitude, and her silence, started back, murmuring:
“This girl is surely dead!”
At the same instant, the idea of having a corpse before him sent an icy chill through the king’s veins. He seized the candle, held it close to Andrea’s face, and hastily examined her features by the light of the trembling flame. Beholding her livid lips, her swollen and discolored eyes, her disheveled hair, her chest which no breath stirred, he uttered a cry, let the light fall, staggered back, and reeled like a drunken man into the anteroom, against the walls of which he stumbled in his alarm.
Then his hasty step sounded upon the stairs, then on the gravel walks of the garden, and was soon lost in the howling storm which raged through the long alleys and shady groves of Trianon.