The Scourge of God. John Bloundelle-Burton

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ so. There is probably one in existence."

      "Madame!" the young man exclaimed very quietly, yet startled, almost appalled. "Madame! A de Rochebazon in existence! Are you conscious of what you are saying?" and he leaned a little over the coverlet and gazed into her eyes as he spoke. Surely this was wandering.

      "As conscious as that I am dying here, as that you, Martin Ashurst, are sitting by my side."

      "I am astounded. How long has what you state been known-supposed-by you?"

      "Known-not supposed-since I became Henri de Beauvillier's wife, forty-six years ago."

      "My God! What does it mean? A de Rochebazon alive! Man or woman?"

      "Man!"

      Again Martin exclaimed, "My God!" Then added: "And this man, therefore, is, has been since the death of your husband, the Prince de Rochebazon?"

      "Before my husband's death," the other answered quietly, calmly, as though speaking on the most trivial subject. "My husband never was the prince."

      Unintentionally, without doubt-perhaps, too, unnoticed by her-his hand released hers, slipping down from the bedside to his knee, where it lay, while he, his eyes fixed full on her now and still seeking to read in her face whether that which she uttered was the frenzy of a dying woman or an absolute truth, said slowly and distinctly:

      "Nor you, therefore-that I must utter the words! – the princess?"

      "Nor I the princess."

      "It is incredible. Beyond all belief."

      "It is true."

      Again there was a pause; filled up on Martin Ashurst's part with a hurtling mass of thoughts which he could not separate one from the other, though above all others there predominated one-the thought that this was the derangement of a mind unhinged by the weakness of approaching death, clouded by the gradual decay of nature. And, thinking thus, he sat silent, wondering if in very truth-since all she had said seemed so utterly beyond the bound of possibility-it were worth disturbing her with questions.

      Yet her next words seemed uttered as though with a determination to force him to believe that what she had said was no delusion.

      "There are others who know it-only they will never tell."

      "Others! Who?"

      "Madame knows it" – he was well enough aware what "Madame" she referred to, and that it was to neither her of Orleans nor any of the daughters of the house of France-"so, too, does La Chaise, and also Chamillart. Also," and now her voice sank to a whisper, "Louis."

      "Louis!" he repeated, also whisperingly, yet not recognising that his voice was lowered instinctively. "The king! knows and permits. My God!"

      "He must permit, seeing that she-De Maintenon-holds him in a grasp of steel."

      "Knowing-herself?"

      "I have said."

      Again over the room there fell a silence, broken only by the ticking of the distant clock; also now the shadows of evening were drawing on, soon the night would be at hand-a silence caused by the dying woman having ceased to speak, by the man at her side forbearing to ask more questions.

      Yet he was warned by signs which even he, who had as yet but little acquaintance with death, could not misinterpret; that what more was to be told must be declared at once, or-never. For the dying woman made no further effort to divulge more, or to explain aught which should elucidate the strange statement she had startled him with; instead, lay back upon her pillows, her eyes open, it was true, but staring vacantly upon the embossed and richly-painted ceiling, her breathing still regular but very low.

      "She will speak no more," he said to himself, "no more. Thank God, the secret does not die with her. Yet will those whom she has mentioned-this woman who is the king's wife; the king himself; La Chaise, who, if all accounts are true, is a lying, crafty priest; the minister Chamillart-will they assist to right a wrong? Alas, I fear not! Ah, if she could but speak again-tell all!"

      As thus he thought, the door opened and the waiting maid came in, accompanied by a gentleman clad in sombre black, his lace being, however, of the whitest and most costly nature, and his face as white as that lace itself. And the girl, advancing down the room, followed by the other, explained to Martin, when she had reached the bed, that the gentleman accompanying her was Monsieur Fagon, premier Médecin du Roi.

      Bowing to him with much courtliness, the physician passed within the ruelle and stood gazing down upon the dying woman in what was now no better than twilight, but going through, as the other observed, none of the usual ceremonies of feeling the pulse or listening to the breathing. Then once he nodded his head, after which he turned away, stepping outside the ruelle.

      "What may we hope, monsieur?" the young man asked, following Fagon down the room.

      "What," answered Fagon in return, "does monsieur hope?"

      "That she may be spared for yet some hours-more, I fear, can scarcely be expected. Also that she may be able to speak again and clearly. I am her nephew, and, in a manner of speaking, am-was to be-her heir."

      From under his bushy eyebrows Fagon shot a glance out of his small twinkling eyes. Then he said: "So I have heard. Yet monsieur, if he will pardon me, phrases his statement strangely, in spite of his having the French extremely well. 'Was to be her heir!' Has monsieur reason to apprehend that Madame la Princesse has made any alteration in her testamentary dispositions?"

      "Monsieur has no reason to apprehend that such is the case. Yet," changing the subject, "he would be very glad if he could know that some hours of life will still be granted to-to-Madame la Princesse; that he might hope she will be able to converse again."

      "Sir," Fagon said, with still the little twinkling eyes upon him, "she may live two or three more hours. I doubt her ever speaking again. There is no more to be done. Sir, I salute you." With which words he departed, escorted by the maid servant Manon.

      It seemed, however, to Martin as though even should his aunt recover consciousness and be able to throw any further light upon the strange story which she had commenced, no opportunity would arise for her to do so, for Fagon had not been gone a quarter of an hour, during which time she lay so motionless in her bed that more than once he gazed down upon her, wondering if already the soul had parted from the body, before the monk who had previously been in attendance came in, and going toward the great fireplace drew forth his missal and began to read it. Nor was it without some difficulty that Martin was able to induce him to quit the room.

      "Depart!" this holy man said, glancing up at the tall form of the other as he whispered his request to him. "Depart, my son! Alas! do you not know that the end is near-that at any moment the last services of the Church may be required to speed the passing soul?"

      "I know, nor do I intend that she shall be deprived of those services. But, reverend sir, it is necessary I should be alone with my kinswoman; if she recovers her intelligence even at the last moment we have much to say to one another. I beg you, therefore, to leave us together; be sure you shall not be debarred from ministering to her when she desires you. I request you to remain outside-yet within call."

      Because he knew not how to resist, because also he was but a humble member of the Théatine confraternity who, in Paris at least, owed much to the wealth and support of the Rochebazons, also because in his ignorance he thought he stood in the presence of him who was, he imagined in his simplicity, the next possessor of that СКАЧАТЬ