The Maids of Paradise. Chambers Robert William

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ less vital than the colorless shadow of a crystal.

      She was not only beautiful, she was Beauty itself, incarnate, alive, soul and body. Later I noticed that she was badly sun-burned under the eyes, that her delicate nose was adorned by an adorable freckle, and that she had red hair… Could this be the Countess de Vassart? What a change!

      I stepped forward to meet her, and took off my forage-cap.

      “Is it true, monsieur, that you have come to arrest us?” she asked, in a low voice.

      “Yes, madame,” I replied, already knowing that she was the Countess. She hesitated; then:

      “Will you tell me your name? I am Madame de Vassart.”

      Cap in hand I followed her to the table, where the company had already risen. The young Countess presented me with undisturbed simplicity; I bowed to my turkey-girl, who proved, after all, to be the actress from the Odéon, Sylvia Elven; then I solemnly shook hands with Dr. Leo Delmont, Professor Claude Tavernier, and Monsieur Bazard, ex-instructor at the Fontainebleau Artillery School, whom I immediately recognized as the snipe-faced notary I had met on the road.

      “Well, sir,” exclaimed Dr. Delmont, in his deep, hearty voice, “if this peaceful little community is come under your government’s suspicion, I can only say, Heaven help France!”

      “Is not that what we all say in these times, doctor?” I asked.

      “When I say ‘Heaven help France!’ I do not mean Vive l’Empereur!’” retorted the big doctor, dryly.

      Professor Tavernier, a little, gray-headed savant with used-up eyes, asked me mildly if he might know why they all were to be expelled from France. I did not reply.

      “Is thought no longer free in France?” asked Dr. Delmont, in his heavy voice.

      “Thought is free in France,” I replied, “but its expression is sometimes inadvisable, doctor.”

      “And the Emperor is to be the judge of when it is advisable to express one’s thoughts?” inquired Professor Tavernier.

      “The Emperor,” I said, “is generous, broad-minded, and wonderfully tolerant. Only those whose attitude incites to disorder are held in check.”

      “According to the holy Code Napoléon,” observed Professor Tavernier, with a shrug.

      “The code kills the body, Napoleon the soul,” said Dr. Delmont, gravely.

      “It was otherwise with Victor Noir,” suggested Mademoiselle Elven.

      “Yes,” added Delmont, “he asked for justice and they gave him … Pierre!”

      “I think we are becoming discourteous to our guest, gentlemen,” said the young Countess, gently.

      I bowed to her. After a moment I said: “Doctor, if you do truly believe in that universal brotherhood which apparently even tolerates within its boundaries a poor devil of the Imperial Police, if your creed really means peace and not violence, suffering and patience, not provocation and revolt, demonstrate to the government by the example of your submission to its decrees that the theories you entertain are not the chimeras of generous but unbalanced minds.”

      “We never had the faintest idea of resisting,” said Monsieur Bazard, the notary, otherwise the Chevalier de Grey, a lank, hollow-eyed young fellow, already marked heavily with the ravages of pulmonary disease. But the fierce glitter in his eyes gave the lie to his words.

      “Yesterday, Madame la Comtesse,” I said, turning to the Countess de Vassart, “the Emperor could easily afford to regard with equanimity the movement in which you are associated. To-day that is no longer possible.”

      The young Countess gave me a bewildered look.

      “Is it true,” she asked, “that the Emperor does not know we have severed all connection with the Internationale?”

      “If that is so,” said I, “why does Monsieur Bazard return across the fields to warn you of my coming? And why do you harbor John Buckhurst at La Trappe? Do you not know he is wanted by the police?”

      “But we do not know why,” said Dr. Delmont, bending forward and pouring himself a glass of red wine. This he drank slowly, eating a bit of black bread with it.

      “Monsieur Scarlett,” said Mademoiselle Elven, suddenly, “why does the government want John Buckhurst?”

      “That, mademoiselle, is the affair of the government and of John Buckhurst,” I said.

      “Pardon,” interrupted Delmont, heavily, “it is the affair of every honest man and woman – where a Bonaparte is concerned.”

      “I do not understand you, doctor,” I said.

      “Then I will put it brutally,” he replied. “We free people fear a family a prince of which is a common murderer.”

      I did not answer; the world has long since judged the slayer of Victor Noir.

      After a troubled silence the Countess asked me if I would not share their repast, and I thanked her and took some bread and grapes and a glass of red wine.

      The sun had stolen into the corner where we had been sitting, and the Countess suggested that we move down to the lawn under the trees; so Dr. Delmont and Professor Tavernier lifted the table and bore it down the terrace steps, while I carried the chairs to the lawn.

      It made me uncomfortable to play the rôle I was playing among these misguided but harmless people; that I showed it in my face is certain, for the Countess looked up at me and said, smilingly: “You must not look at us so sorrowfully, Monsieur Scarlett. It is we who pity you.”

      And I replied, “Madame, you are generous,” and took my place among them and ate and drank with them in silence, listening to the breeze in the elms.

      Mademoiselle Elven, in her peasant’s dress, rested her pretty arm across her chair and sighed.

      “It is all very well not to resist violence,” she said, “but it seems to me that the world is going to run over us some day. Is there any harm in stepping out of the way, Dr. Delmont?”

      The Countess laughed outright.

      “Not at all,” she said. “But we must not attempt to box the world’s ears as we run. Must we, doctor?”

      Turning her lovely, sun-burned face to me, she continued: “Is it not charming here? The quiet is absolute. It is always still. We are absurdly contented here; we have no servants, you see, and we all plough and harrow and sow and reap – not many acres, because we need little. It is one kind of life, quite harmless and passionless, monsieur. I have been raking hay this morning. It is so strange that the Emperor should be troubled by the silence of these quiet fields – ”

      The distress in her eyes lasted only a moment; she turned and looked out across the green meadows, smiling to herself.

      “At first when I came here from Paris,” she said, “I was at a loss to know what to do with all this land. I owe much happiness to Dr. Delmont, who suggested that the estate, except what we needed, might be loaned free to the people around us. It was an admirable thought; we have no longer any poor among us – ”

      She stopped short and gave СКАЧАТЬ