The Knight of Malta. Эжен Сю

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      “What do you mean by that?”

      “To-morrow morning, without doubt, they will be here,—not one house of the nobility will be exempt from this measure.”

      “They will be here to-morrow!” cried the baron, with an expression of joy difficult to portray. “Ah, the recorder will be here to-morrow, he who has condemned poor devils to the galleys for the crime of smuggling. Ah, he will be here to-morrow! As God lives, it fills my heart with joy. Laramée, do not have the horses saddled, no, no, only to-morrow at daybreak prepare twenty good poles from hazel-trees, because I hope we will break a good many; then arrange a seesaw above the moat, and—but I will tell you to-night when I go to bed. Some wine, Laramée, some wine; give me my father’s cup and Spanish wine, I must drink with solemnity to such a piece of news; some wine of Xeres, I tell you,—wine of Lamalgue to the devil! since the minions of the petty tyrant of Provence will be here to-morrow, and we will be able to lash them soundly with the straps that ought to be laid on Vitry.”

      Having said this, the baron sat down again in his armchair; each one took his place, to the great delight of the poor abbé, who, during this scene, had not dared to utter a word.

      The supper, interrupted by this incident, was finished with a certain constraint.

      Raimond V., preoccupied with the reception that he was preparing for the agents, stopped every few moments to whisper something in Laramée’s ear; it was easy to guess the subject of these secret conferences, by the air of profound satisfaction with which the old soldier received the instructions of his master.

      Like all soldiers, Laramée cherished an instinctive hatred of men of the law, and he did not dissimulate his joy at the thought of the reception awaiting the recorder and his scribe the next day.

      Reine and Honorât exchanged glances of distress; they knew the obstinate and irascible temper of the baron, his taste for rebellion, and aversion to Marshal of Vitry.

      The young girl and her lover feared, not without reason, that the baron might become involved in some serious difficulty. Recent and terrible examples had proven that Richelieu desired to put an end to the independence of the lords, and absorb their feudal privileges in the power of the king.

      Unfortunately, they could not dream of preventing Raimond V., when once he determined upon any course of action, and his dependents were only too willing to second his dangerous projects.

      The good Abbé Mascarolus ventured to say a few words on obedience,—that the lords owed it to themselves to set the example; but a severe glance from the eye of the baron cut short the chaplain’s moralising, and he dared not defend the marshal as he had defended the warlike bishops.

      Reine was not a little frightened at the baron’s extravagant bursts of merriment and laughter, as he talked aside with Laramée.

      When supper was over, according to the ancient and invariable usage of hospitality, the baron took a lamp, and himself conducted Honorât de Berrol to the chamber he was to occupy.

      As upon previous occasions, the young man wished to spare the baron this ceremonial, arguing that his position as a betrothed lover rendered it unnecessary, but the old gentleman replied that not until after the festivities of Christmas, when the marriage rite was to be celebrated, could he be treated with less formality; until then, he must receive all the attention due a gentleman who slept under his roof.

      Reine entered her chamber, followed by Stephanette. Her apartment was near that of her father, and listening she discovered to her great regret that Laramée remained with him longer than was his habit, and that the baron continued to make plans for the discomfiture of the recorder and officers. At a late hour of the night, she heard the majordomo order some of the baron’s servants to carry invitations.

      Distressed by these indications, she dismissed Stephanette, and returned to her chamber.

      A new object of astonishment, almost of terror, awaited her there.

CHAPTER IX. THE PICTURE

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      After having shut the door which communicated with her father’s rooms. Reine walked mechanically to the table standing in the embrasure of the window. What was her astonishment to see on this table a little picture encased in a frame of filigree, set with precious stones.

      Her heart beat violently; she recalled the crystal vase, and a secret presentiment told her that this picture had some mysterious connection with the adventure among the rocks of Ollioules.

      She approached it, trembling.

      The perfection of this picture, painted on vellum, in imitation of ancient manuscripts, was incredible.

      It represented the scene in the gorges of Ollioules at the very moment when the baron, embracing his daughter, had extended his hand to the young stranger; at a distance on the rock, Pog and Trimalcyon, the two foreign personages of whom we have spoken, appeared to command the scene.

      Although Reine had seen these two men but a moment, the likeness in the picture was so striking that she recognised them. She shuddered involuntarily at the sinister expression of Fog’s face, easily known by his long red beard and the bitter smile which contracted his lips.

      The features of the baron, as well as those of Reine, were rendered with surprising fidelity and perfect art, although the faces were scarcely larger than the nail of the little finger. They were drawn with a delicacy which was marvellous.

      Notwithstanding the inimitable skill displayed in this ravishing picture, an odd, extravagant thing destroyed its harmony and effect.

      The pose, person, and costume of Erebus—the strange young man—were perfectly portrayed; but his head disappeared beneath a small cloud, in the centre of which was represented the enamelled dove already portrayed on the crystal vase.

      This omission was strange, and perhaps cleverly calculated, inasmuch as Reine, in spite of her fear and astonishment, could not help calling memory to her aid in order to complete the portrait of the stranger.

      She saw it in her own mind, instead of on the vellum which she held in her hand.

      There was, besides, on the part of the stranger, a sort of delicacy in thus effacing his own features under a symbol which represented to his mind the most precious memory of that day; or he may have adopted this means to quiet the scruples of the young girl, should she decide to keep the picture.

      In order to comprehend the struggle between the desire to keep the picture and the resolve to destroy it, which rose in the young girl’s mind, we must say a few words about Reine’s love for Honorât de Berrol, and her own sentiments after the adventure in the gorges of Ollioules.

      Honorât de Berrol was an orphan and distant relative of Raimond V. He had considerable fortune, his estates lying near those of the baron, and community of interest as well as other ties bound the chevalier and the old gentleman.

      For two or three years Honorât came almost every day to Maison-Forte. The chevalier was the impersonation of rectitude, sincerity, and honour. His education, without being extraordinary, was superior to that of most young men of his age.

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