Events had succeeded each other with such strange rapidity since the day before, that I felt like one walking in a dream. First, Kondjé-Gul's revelations of her mother's duplicity, then my discussion with Daniel, and now finally this cynical dialogue with the Circassian, in the course of which she had just confessed her schemes quite openly; all these things had given such a succession of rude shocks to my spirit, which had been reposing until then in the tranquil assurance of undisturbed happiness, that I had hardly found time to estimate the extent of my misfortune. Overwhelmed with distress when I perceived the possibility of losing Kondjé-Gul, I almost thought I should go mad. I made a desperate struggle against the despair which was taking possession of my mind. It was necessary for me to carry on the contest in order to defend my very soul and life, yet I felt my soul slipping out of control. Like a mystic fascinated by his vision, I might have allowed myself to be deluded by a vain mirage of security, for I had never imagined that my rights could be disputed. I had been living in the peaceful but foolish confidence that I could obtain redress, when necessary, by the sword, for my rival's presumption.
And now I had woke up in consternation at finding myself caught in this stupid trap which I had permitted them to set in my path. Kondjé-Gul's mother had become Kiusko's accomplice. How was I to defeat this conspiracy between two minds animated by consuming passions, resolute and pitiless, who were determined not to be deterred by any scruples or any sense of honour? I could now see my weakness; I was paralysed and defenceless against this wretched woman who, in order to constrain her daughter and dispose of her future, had only to claim her legal authority over her. She could take her from me, and carry her away. Once back in Turkey, supported by the horrible laws of Islam, all she need do was to sell her to Kiusko and thus give her up to him.
My mind was struck by a sudden idea. Was it not the height of folly on my part to give way to childish alarms, and to defer action until after Kiusko and the Circassian had matured their plans? Was it not possible for me to escape, carrying Kondjé-Gul off with me, and placing her out of reach of their pursuit?
As soon as this idea had taken possession of my mind, it fixed itself there, and soon developed into a resolution. I felt surprised that it had not occurred to me earlier, and decided to put it into execution that very day. I knew that Kondjé-Gul would follow me, for we had often cherished the idea of taking a journey together alone, and I had promised her we would carry it out some day. In order to assure our successful escape, I resolved to give her no notice beforehand, lest she should let it out to her mother.
It was necessary, however, to provide for the consequences of this disappearance, and the gossip which would inevitably result in connection with it. Well, after a good deal of hesitation, I confided the whole matter to my uncle.
"You old stupid!" said he to me, "why, I have known all about your little love-knot for the last six months!"
"What! do you mean to say you knew that Kondjé-Gul?—"
"Lord bless you! Don't you suppose that I heard enough from Mohammed to make me keep my eyes open?"
After I had come to a complete understanding with my uncle, I made my own arrangements. I was expected to dinner at Kondjé's that day. I found her quite sad; and on the pretext of giving her some distraction, I ordered the carriage at about half-past eight, as if for a drive to the Bois. We started off.
As soon as we were alone, she said to me:
"Good gracious, André! whatever has been passing between you and my mother? I am worried to death. She has been talking again to me about my departure with her, and Fanny believes that she is making her preparations for it already.—She is going to carry me away."
"All right, never mind her!" I answered with a laugh; "you're out of danger already."
"How so?"
"I'm taking you away! You won't go back to the house, for we are off to Fontainebleau, where we shall both of us remain in concealment, while watching events."
Need I describe to you her joy? In the Champs Elysées we got out, as if in order to walk, and I sent back the carriage. An hour after this, a cab set us down at the railway station!
We spent a delightful week in the forest, playing truant. Fanny, who is a reliable girl, has joined us here. We really had a narrow escape; for it seems that Madame Murrah had, the very day we made our flight, got everything planned for leaving the day after. When she found in the morning that Kondjé-Gul was gone, she nearly had a fit. Kiusko came to the house, being sent for at once; all of which pretty clearly indicates an understanding between them. The Circassian of course rushed after me to the Rue de Varennes, noisily demanding her daughter. So my aunt got to know all about it! My uncle, whom I had taken into my confidence, put them at once completely off the scent, by replying that I had started for Spain.
We are safe! Everything has been accomplished, as if by enchantment. For fifteen days past my Kondjé-Gul has been settled in a charming cottage at Ermont, in the middle of the forest, hidden away like a daisy in a field of standing corn. She has disappeared from view, leaving no more traces behind her than a bird in its flight through the air; and I am back in Paris, as if I had just returned from a journey. I have sent word to Madame Murrah that her daughter, having resolved to become a Christian, has taken refuge in a remote convent. You may picture to yourself her rage; but, as she is henceforth powerless, I fear her no more. Being a foreigner, and in her precarious position, she cannot venture to charge me with abduction, and, as you may imagine, I am not likely to let her take us by surprise. In order to get rid of her, I have offered to give her an annuity to live in Turkey, but she has declined it.
There can be no doubt that Kiusko guides her, and that they have by no means given up their game, but are ready to resort to any violence. You may be sure I keep a sharp eye on them, and am prepared for them. The contest, however, is too unequal for me to alarm myself very much. My uncle, who never troubles himself much with legal scruples, telegraphed to a couple of his old sailors, Onésime and Rupert, to come up from Toulon: they were born on our Férouzat estate, and are, moreover, his "god-children." They are ridiculously like him, except that one of them is two inches taller than the captain. Their godfather has installed them at Ermont, and I don't mind betting that, with a couple of strapping fellows like them about the place, any attempt at carrying off Kondjé-Gul in my absence would meet with a few trifling obstacles!
As to myself, I defy them to get on my scent.
Being accustomed to taking morning rides, I could find my way to our happy cottage home by various routes, starting from opposite sides of the city. Once on the road, it was impossible to follow me, even at a distance; for I should soon recognize any one on horseback who appeared too inquisitive about my journey. Moreover, if these tactics failed, the pace at which Star goes would easily baffle any pertinacious pursuit. I often stay for two or three days at this delicious retreat. My uncle delights in coming there from time to time to take his madeira.
In short, after the little adventures we have lately gone through, we are now leading a very pleasant existence.
You can see what a simple matter it is.
My famous system, you will tell me, has come to grief. Here I am, all forlorn, among the ruins of my harem, running my head against impossibilities opposed to our laws, morals, and conventionalities, with my last sultana leaning on my arm; here I am, like some little St. John[2], reduced to shady expedients in order to get a minute's interview with my mistress, imprisoned in her tower. I am trembling between our caresses, you will say, lest a commissary of police should come to cut the golden thread upon which my remaining blisses hang, and force me by legal authority to give back Kondjé-Gul to her cruel mother.
[2]Referring to a familiar French nursery-legend similar to that of Santa Claus.—Trans.
Well, my dear friend, I will answer you very briefly, I am in love! Yes, I am in love! These words are a reply, I think, to everything; although I must own that fear of the commissary, which certainly does threaten my felicity, has considerably humbled my Oriental pride—I am in love! I have burnt my essay for the Academy.
Well, then, I have abjured my polygamy. What more can I say to you?
To-day I must confide to you a most valuable discovery I have made; for I beg you to believe that love is not, as so many foolish people imagine, an extinguisher to the fire of the human intellect. On the contrary, it stimulates the perceptions; and an enthusiastic lover, who is familiar with the elements of science, can extend therein his field of observations quite as easily as persons whose hearts are whole.
As an example of this, then, I have just been realising the beauty of a charming phenomenon of nature—a most ordinary one, and yet one which so far has remained, I think, completely unobserved. I refer to the spring!
As a great artist, you of course know, as well as any one in the world, that this is the season which leads from the winter to the summer; but what I feel sure you don't know is the full charm of this transitory period, in which the whole forest awakens, in which the bushes sprout, and the young birds twitter in their nests!
According to Vauvenargues, "The first days of spring possess less charm than the growing virtue of a young man."
Well, it would ill befit me to depreciate the value of such an axiom, coming from the pen of such a great philosopher; still, and without wishing to disdain his politeness in so far as it is really flattering to myself at this particular moment of my career, I do not hesitate to raise my voice after his, and assert, without any pretence of modesty, that this charm is at least as great in the case of Flora's lover as in mine, and that it is only fair to accord to each his just portion. If my budding virtue possesses ineffable charms, no less powerful are those of the lilacs and the roses. It is really, I assure you, a wonderful spectacle. You ought to have witnessed it! Some day I will tell you all about it, as I have just been doing to my uncle, who finds it all very curious, although he professes only to understand me "very approximately."
Getting up at sunrise, Kondjé and I take a run through the coppices, her little feet all wet with the dew. We feel free, merry, and careless, dismissing the commissary to oblivion, and trusting to each other's love, the full charms of which this solitary companionship has revealed to us. I do not risk more than two excursions to Paris each week, one to my aunt Eudoxia's, and one to my aunt Van Cloth's. Having made these angel's visits, and performed various family duties, I vanish, by day or by night as the case may be, eluding the vigilance of the spies who have no doubt been set at my heels by the unscrupulous mother, or bythat rascal Kiusko, as we now call him. These adventures augment my rapturous felicity; and if time and destiny have shorn me of the privilege of my sultanship, which you say rendered me so proud and vain, I retain at all events the glory of being happy.
I am in love, my dear fellow; and therefore I dream and forget. But there is another still darker speck on my serene sky. Anna Campbell is just approaching her eighteenth birthday, and I cannot think of this without a good deal of melancholy. Although my uncle is delighted to take occasional walks here, at the end of which he finds a capital glass of madeira waiting for him, he, as you are aware, is not a person of romantic temperament, and has already noted with his scrutinising eye the ravages caused by a double passion, which bodes no good for his daughter's married life.
The other night, on my return from my aunt Van Cloth's, he questioned me very seriously on the subject. As to my disappointing his hopes, he knows that the idea of such a thing would not even occur to me. That is a matter of honour between us.
I spoke of a further delay before preparing my poor Kondjé-Gul for the blow. He seemed touched at this token of the sincerity of my entirely filial devotion to him.
The commissary has at last come; we have been discovered!
Yesterday afternoon we were sitting in the garden, under the shade of a little clump of trees. My uncle, in a big arm-chair, was smoking and listening, while I read to him the newspapers, which had just been brought to us. Suddenly Kondjé-Gul, who was standing a few steps off from us, arranging the plants for her window, uttered a suppressed cry, and I saw her run up to me all at once, pale and trembling.
"What's the matter, dear?" I said to her.
"Look there! look there!" she answered, in a terrified voice, pointing towards the house, "my mother!"
At the same moment, on the door-step of the cottage, through which she had passed, and found it empty, appeared the Circassian.
She was accompanied by a man.
"This is my daughter, sir," she said to him.
I sprang forward to throw myself in front of Kondjé-Gul.
"Come, don't agitate yourself, my dear fellow!" said my uncle. "Do me the favour of keeping quiet!"
Then, rising up as he would to receive guests, he walked a few steps towards Madame Murrah, who had advanced towards us, and addressing himself to the man, said to him:
"Will you inform me, sir, to what I am indebted for the honour of this visit from you?"
"I am a Commissary of Police, sir, and am deputed by the court to assist this lady, who has come to demand the restitution of her daughter, illegally harboured by you at your house."
"Very well, sir," continued my uncle; "I am delighted to see you! But be so kind, if you please, as to walk into the house, where we can consider your demand more comfortably than in this garden."
"Take care," said the Circassian to the commissary: "they want to contrive her escape!"
"Nothing of the sort, my dear madam," replied my uncle: "this gentleman will tell you that we could not venture to do such a thing in his presence. Your daughter will remain with us to answer any questions which may be put to her. I am taking her arm, and if you will kindly follow us, I shall have the honour of showing you the way."
Onésime and Rupert might be distinguished in the dim perspective, waiting apparently for a signal from the captain to remove both the commissary and the unwelcome lady visitor.
Our hearts were beating fast: Kondjé-Gul could hardly restrain her feelings. We went in, and my uncle, as calm as ever, offered chairs to Madame Murrah and to the emissary of justice. Then he addressed him again, saying:
"May I inquire, sir, whether you are provided with a formal warrant authorizing you to employ force to take this young lady away, according to her mother's wish?"
"I have the judge's order!" exclaimed Madame Murrah with vehemence.
"Excuse me, excuse me," continued my uncle, "but let us avoid all confusion! Be so kind, if you please, madam, as to permit the commissary to answer my question. We are anxious to observe the respect which we owe to his office."
I felt done for. How could we resist the law? My poor Kondjé cast despairing looks at me.
"Madame Murrah being a foreigner, sir," answered the officer of the law, "as you appear to understand, my only instructions are to accompany her, and, in the event of opposition being made to her rights, to draw up a report in order to enable her to bring an action against you in a court of justice."
"Ah!" continued my uncle. "Well, then, sir! you may proceed, if you please, to take down our replies. In the first place, then, the young lady formally declines to return to her mother."
"That's false!" said the Circassian. "She is my daughter, and belongs only to me! She will obey me, for she knows that I shall curse her if——"
"Let us be quite calm, if you please, and have no useless words!" replied my uncle. "It is your daughter's turn to reply.—Ask her, sir."
The commissary then addressed himself to Kondjé-Gul, repeating the question. I saw her turn pale and hesitate, terror-stricken by her mother's looks.
"Do you want to leave me, then?" I said to her passionately.
"Oh, no!" she exclaimed. Then turning towards the commissary, she added in a firm voice: "I do not wish to go with my mother, sir."
At this the Circassian rose up in a fury.
Kondjé-Gul fell on her knees before her, supplicating her with tears, in piteous tones.
In my alarm I rushed forward.
"Get her out of the room; take her away!" my uncle said to me sharply.
My poor Kondjé-Gul resisted, so I took her up in my arms and carried her out. At the door I found Fanny, who had come up, and I left my darling in her care.
Madame Murrah darted forward to follow her daughter, but my uncle had seized her by the wrist, and forcing her down again, said to her in Turkish:
"We have not finished; and if you stir, beware!"
"Sir," exclaimed the Circassian, addressing the officer of the law, "you see how violently they are treating me, and how they are threatening me!"
All this had taken place so quickly that the commissary hardly had time to intervene with a gesture. Onésime and Rupert were strolling about outside the window.
"Excuse me for having sent this child out, sir," continued my uncle; "but you are, I believe, sufficiently acquainted already with her decision. Moreover, she is there to reply afresh to you, if you desire to question her alone, secure from all influence and pressure. It remains for me to speak now upon a subject which she ought not to hear mentioned. After her refusal to follow her mother, which she has just given so clearly, be so good as to add on your report that I also refuse very emphatically to give her up to her."
"You have no right to rob me of my daughter," exclaimed the Circassian, who was nearly delirious with rage.
"That is just the point we are about to discuss," replied my uncle. "Firstly, then, allow me to introduce myself to you, sir," he continued, quite calmly; "and to explain my position and rights in this matter. My name isThe LateBarbassou, ex-General and Pasha in the service of His Majesty the Sultan—ranks which entitle me to the privileges of a Turkish subject."
The commissary smiled and nodded to him, thus indicating that the name of Barbassou-Pasha was already known to him.
"As a consequence of these rights, sir," continued my uncle, "my private transactions cannot come before the French courts; so that this affair must be settled entirely between Madame Murrah and myself. I should even add, while expressing to you my regrets for the inconvenience which it is causing you, that it is I who have brought about this very necessary interview. I presented myself twice at Madame Murrah's house in Paris, with the object of bringing this stupid business to a conclusion. For reasons, no doubt, which you are already in a position to estimate, she refused to see me. I arranged, therefore, that she should be informed yesterday that her daughter was concealed in this house; and I came here at once myself, in order to have the pleasure of meeting the lady. There you have the whole story."
"I refused to see you," said Kondjé-Gul's mother, "simply because I do not know you! And I ask the judge to order the restitution of my daughter, which the Ambassador of our Sultan supports me in demanding. I have his order to this effect."
Here the commissary intervened, and, addressing my uncle, whose imperturbable composure quite astounded me, said gravely:
"Would you oblige me, sir, by stating your motive for refusing to give up this young lady to her mother? According to our laws, as you are aware, this is a circumstance which, notwithstanding the purely voluntary character of my mandate, I am bound to enter in my report."
"Certainly, sir," replied my uncle, "your request is a very proper one, and I will at once reply to it, as I would have done in the presence of the consul of His Excellency the Turkish Ambassador, were it not that Madame Murrah has strong motives for avoiding such an explanation before him, between good Mussulmans like herself and me."
"I understand you," continued the commissary, suppressing another smile at this declaration of Barbassou-Pasha.
"Sir," added my uncle, "I have the advantage of being a Mahometan; and according to the special customs of my country, with which you are acquainted, this lady sold me her daughter by a straightforward and honourable contract, sanctioned by our usages, recognized and supported by our laws: these laws formally enjoin me to protect her, and to maintain her always in a position corresponding with my own rank and fortune, while they forbid me ever to abandon her. Under the same contract this lady duly received her 'gift' or legitimate remuneration, which had been estimated, fixed, and agreed to by her. Therefore, as you will perceive, sir," he added, "no discussion in this case would ever be listened to by an Ottoman tribunal, and Madame Murrah's suit would be ignominiously dismissed."
"We are in France," said Madame Murrah, "and my daughter has become free!"
"To conclude, sir," continued my uncle, without taking any notice of this objection, "this lady and I are both subjects of His Majesty the Sultan. Ours is simply a private dispute between fellow-Turks, coming entirely under the jurisdiction of our national tribunals, and is one in which your French courts, as you will understand, have no authority to interfere."
"You are not my daughter's husband!" exclaimed the Circassian; "she does not belong to you any longer, for you have given her to your nephew, a Giaour, an infidel!"
"Quite true, madam!" replied my uncle. "But," he continued, "these are details in a private dispute, with which this gentleman is not concerned. And I fancy he has by this time obtained sufficient information."
"Certainly, sir," said the officer of the law, rising from his seat. "I have taken down your replies, and my mission is accomplished."
Barbassou-Pasha, upon this conclusion, saluted him in his most dignified manner and conducted him out with every polite attention.
The Circassian, exasperated beyond measure, had not moved: rage was depicted on her whole countenance, and she looked like one determined to fight it out to the bitter end.
"I must insist upon speaking to my daughter," she said passionately, "and then we shall see!"
Just as he caught these words, my uncle came in, leading my poor Kondjé-Gul by the hand.
"Come, you silly old fool," he said to Madame Murrah, changing his tone quite suddenly, "you can see now that there is nothing left to you but to submit. Swallow all your stupid threats! You will make a good thing out of it all the same—for I give your daughter in marriage to my nephew!"
I thought I must have misunderstood him.
"Uncle!" I exclaimed, "what did you say?"
"Why, you rascal, I see that I must give her to you, since you love each other so consumedly!"
Kondjé-Gul could not repress a scream of joy. We both threw ourselves into my uncle's arms at the same time.
"Yes," he said, "what a jolly couple they look! But it was your aunt Eudoxia who led me at last to play this card! Here I am nicely balked of all my fine schemes!"
"Oh!" exclaimed Kondjé-Gul, "we will love each other so much!"
"Well, well! There, they're quite smothering me! May the good God bless you! go along. But now we shall have to come to an understanding with this excellent mother; for according to these infernal French laws, which complicate everything, her consent is necessary for your marriage."
"I certainly shall not give it," said Madame Murrah furiously.
"All right! We will see about that," he continued. "That is a matter to be arranged between us, and for that purpose I shall go to your house to-morrow. Only, I give you warning, no noise, please, no silly attempts to carry off your daughter, otherwise we shall wait until she is of age in two years' time, and then you will have nothing."
Don't be surprised, Louis, if for the rest of this page I scrawl like a monkey. At the recollection of this scene, my eyes are quite obscured by a veil of mist. By Jove, so much the worse! for now it's all breaking into real tears.
Dear me, what a brick of an uncle he is to me!
Notwithstanding Barbassou-Pasha's Turkish tactics, and in spite of the happiness which for the moment quite overwhelmed us, my poor Kondjé-Gul began to tremble again with fear after the departure of her mother, whom we knew to be capable of any mad act. We decided that, in order to avoid a very real danger, we would take her that very day to the convent of the Ladies of X.; this we did. Before she becomes my wife she is going to become a Christian, in pursuance of the wish which, as you know, she has expressed a long time since, of embracing my faith. This visit, which will account to the world for her disappearance, will be explained quite naturally by thisfinaleof our marriage; and if people ever discover anything about this queer story of our amours, well—I shall have married my own slave, that's all.
Eh? What? You incorrigible carper! Is it not, after all, a charming romance?
A fortnight has passed since the intervention of the commissary. Kiusko has gone: he disappeared one morning. My aunt Eudoxia, who has taken us under her special care, goes to see Kondjé-Gul every day at the convent. She is charming in her kindness to us, but still we have our anxieties. The negotiation of the maternal consent is an arduous task, for the Circassian makes absurd pretensions; my uncle, however, undertakes to bring her down.
What will you say next, I wonder? That I am reduced to buying my own wife? I flatter myself that I shall find happiness in that bargain! How many others are there, who have done the same, that could say as much as that?
Here's a fine business! It is my uncle who has got into trouble this time! My aunt Eudoxia has found out everything, and I have just spent two days in helping my aunt Van Cloth to pack up and get back to Holland with my long string of cousins, the fat Dirkie, the cooking moulds, and the barrel-organ following by goods' train.
It was a veritable thunderclap!
I have told you all about this Dutch household and its patriarchal felicity, its sweetmeat and sausage pastries, and its inimitable tarts—less appetizing, however, than my aunt's fine eyes. I have told you about their quiet family evenings with my uncle's pipe and schiedam, in which domino-parties of three were varied by the delightful treat of a symphony from one of the great masters, executed in a masterly style by a pretty little plump hand covered with pink dimples.
Once or twice a week, as became a favourite and affectionate nephew, I came into the midst of this idyll of the land of tulips; and always quitted it full of sweetmeats and good advice.
However, the day before yesterday, Ernest, the second of my cousins, who is five years old, suddenly caught a violent fever; he grew scarlet in the face, and his stomach swelled up like a balloon.
My poor aunt, having exhausted all her arsenal of aperients and astringents against what she reckoned to be an indigestion due to preserved plums, quite lost her head. In the afternoon the child grew worse. Where in Paris could she find a Dutch doctor? She could only place confidence in a Dutchman. At the end of her wits with fear, she thought she would go after my uncle or me; so, without thinking any more about it, as she knew our address, she takes a cab and gets driven to the Rue de Varennes, believing in her simplicity that this was where our shops and offices were.
She arrives and asks for my uncle. Being seven o'clock, the hall-porter tells her that the captain will soon be in, shows her to the staircase, and rings the bell; one of the men-servants asks her for her name, and then opens the folding doors, announcing—
"Madame Barbassou!"
It is my aunt Eudoxia who receives her.
My aunt Van Cloth, who is distracted with anxiety, thinks that she sees before her some lady of my family, and in order to excuse herself for disturbing her, begins by saying that she has come to see Captain Barbassou,her husband.
Imagine the stupefaction of my aunt Eudoxia! But being too astute to betray herself, she lets the other speak, questions her and learns the whole story. Then, like the good soul that she is, and feeling sorry for poor Ernest and his swollen stomach, she rings and orders the carriage to be ready, so that she may go as soon as possible to her own doctor; upon which my aunt Van Cloth, who is of an effusive nature, embraces her most affectionately, calling her her dearest friend.
Just then my uncle arrives.
I was not present; but my aunt Eudoxia, who continues to laugh over it, has related to me all the details of the affair. At the sight of this remarkable fusion of "the two branches of his hymens," as she termed it, the Pasha was positively dumbfounded. All the more so as my aunt Van Cloth, who understood no more about this extraordinary position of affairs than she did of Hebrew, threw herself into his arms, and exclaimed:
"Ah! Anatole! here you are, dear!—Our Ernest is in danger!"
The bravest man will quail occasionally; and at this unfortunate and unavoidable attack, which tore asunder the whole veil of mystery, the splendid composure with which Nature has armed my uncle Barbassou really deserted him for a moment. But, like a man who is superior to misfortunes of this sort, when he found himself caught he did not on this occasion, more than on any other, waste any time over spilt cream.
"Quick! we must go and fetch the child!" he said.
And taking advantage of the fact that my aunt Van Cloth was hanging to him, he carried her off without any more ado, and went out by the door, without leaving her time to kiss the Countess of Monteclaro, as she certainly would have done out of politeness. From the ante-room he dragged her down to the carriage, where he packed her in.
I was coming down from my own chambers just as he returned from this summary execution. Although about the last thing I expected to come in for was the climax of a tragic occurrence, I could see easily enough that my uncle had experienced some little shock; but the announcement of dinner and the ordinary tone of my aunt's reception creating a diversion, I did not feel certain until we were seated at table that there was some storm in the air which was only restrained from bursting by the presence of the servants. The Pasha, sitting in silence with his head bent down into his plate, seemed to be absorbed by some abstruse considerations, which caused him that evening to forget to grumble at the cook. My aunt, on the contrary, sparkling with humour, and in her most charming and gracious mood, suggested by her smiles a certain lightness of heart: he eyed her suspiciously from time to time, like a man with an uncomfortable conscience.
When the meal was over we returned to the drawing-room, and coffee being served, remained there alone. The Countess of Monteclaro, still as gracious as ever, made some sly thrusts at him, the significance of which escaped me somewhat. The captain evidently was keeping very quiet. Finally, after half an hour, as I was about to leave, and he showed symptoms of an intention to slip off, she said to him, in her most insinuating manner—
"I will detain you for a minute, my dear; I must have a little conversation with you about a matter on which I want to take your advice."
I kissed the hand which she held out to me, and which indicated that my presence was not wanted.
"Well, good night, old good-for-nothing!" she added, as she accompanied me as far as the door of the adjoining room.
What passed after I left, none will ever know. My aunt, with her exquisite tact, has only related to me the original and amusing side of the matter, laughing at her unfortunate discovery in the lofty manner of a noble lady who is smoothing over a family trouble. Apart from her very genuine affection for my uncle, she entertains also a certain esteem for him, which she could never depart from before his nephew.
As for myself, I remained still in ignorance of everything until nine o'clock, when the Pasha joined me again at the club, where he had particularly asked me to wait for him.
At the first glance I guessed that there had been a row. Without saying a word, he led me into a little detached room: there he fell into an arm-chair, and shook his head in silence, as he looked at me.
"Good gracious! what's the matter, uncle?" I asked.
"Pfuiii!" he replied, staring with his full eyes, and prolonging this kind of whistling exclamation, like a man who is breathing more freely after a narrow escape.
His gestures were so eloquent, his sigh so expressive and so reinvigorating, that I waited until he had given complete vent to it. When I saw him quite exhausted by it, I continued, feeling really anxious—
"Come! what is it?"
"Oh, I've just had such a nasty turn!" he answered at last, "Pfuiii!"
I respected this new effort at relief, which, moreover set him right this time.
"You've had some words with my aunt, I suppose?" I added, at a venture, recollecting the cloud which seemed to hang over us at dinner.
"A regular earthquake!" he drawled out, in that appalling Marseilles accent which he falls into whenever he is overcome by any strong emotion. "Your aunt Eudoxia has discovered the whole bag of tricks! The story of the Passy house, your aunt Gretchen, the children, Dirkie, and the whole blessed shop!"
"But, perhaps she has only suspicions—the consequence of some gossip she has heard?"
"Suspicions?" he exclaimed; "why, they have met each other!"
"Nonsense, that's impossible!—Are you really sure of this?"
"Tê!Sure indeed? I should think so! I return home to dinner, come into the drawing-room, and I actually find them both there, talking together. They were kissing each other!"
"The deuce!" I exclaimed, quite alarmed this time.
"Well, that was a stunner, wasn't it, my dear boy?"
"It was indeed! Whatever did you do?"
"I separated them, carrying Gretchen back at once to her carriage."
"Then now I understand the chill which seemed to be over us all dinner-time. So, after I went out, you had a heavy downfall?"
"Pfuiii!" my uncle began again.
This last sigh seemed to lose itself in such a vista of painful souvenirs, that the whole of Théramène's narrative would certainly have taken less time to tell. I proceeded as quickly as I could, foreseeing that my intervention would be necessary.
"Had I not better run over to my aunt Gretchen's?" I asked him.
"Yes, I certainly think you had. I promised that, except in case of Ernest's illness proving serious, they should all leave Paris to-morrow! You may still have time to arrange that this evening," he added, looking at the clock.
"All right, I'm off!" I replied, rising up.
As I was about to go out, he called me back.
"Ah! above all," he continued sharply, "don't forget to tell Eudoxia to-morrow that it is you who have undertaken this business, and that as for me, I have not stirred from here!"
"That's quite understood, uncle," I answered, laughing to myself at the blue funk he was in.
Needless to add, I did not lose any time. In a quarter of an hour I was at Passy. It so happened that a favourable crisis had come over Ernest and relieved him, and he gave no further cause for anxiety. My aunt Gretchen, who had gone through all this business as a blind man might pass under an arch, without knowing anything about it, did not evince the least surprise on hearing that my uncle "having received a telegram which had obliged him to leave Paris that evening, had commissioned me in his absence to send her off immediately to Amsterdam." She entrusted me with no end of compliments for the Countess of Monteclaro, whose acquaintance she was charmed to have made.
The next morning she was rolling away in the express, delighted to have made such an agreeable and enjoyable visit.
A week has now passed since this affair, and beyond that my uncle is still quite humiliated by a malicious sort of gaiety affected by my aunt, who often calls him "The Pasha," instead of "The Captain," which is the title she always gave him formerly, everything has resumed the harmonious tranquillity of the best regulated household. Attentions, politenesses, gallantries, &c., are quite the order of the day. Only he is ruining me with all the presents he lavishes upon her; and I have been forced to make serious complaints on the subject to my aunt, who has laughed insanely at them, maintaining that it is "the sinner's ransom." Still, some kind of restrictions are necessary in families, and I have warned her that, if it continues, I shall stop "the late Barbassou's" credit, seeing that he is dead.
"You see what a simple matter it is, as my uncle says," I added.
But she only laughed again, louder than ever. We have got on no further.
Louis, go and hang yourself! I was married yesterday, and you were not there!
The ceremony was very fine. It was at the church of Sainte Clotilde; all the Faubourg St. Germain was there, delighted at Kondjé-Gul's conversion, and with her beauty, her charming manners, and the romance connected with our marriage. Everyone was there who has made any name in the world of art, not to speak of that of finance. There was Baron Rothschild, who had a long conversation with my uncle. Three special correspondents for London newspapers were present, and all our own Paris reporters. High Mass, full choral; Fauré sang hisPie Jesus, Madame Carvalho and Adelina Patti theCredo.
At the entrance, the crowd nearly crushed us. Barbassou-Pasha, Count of Monteclaro, gave his arm to the bride. Poor Kondjé, what agitation, what emotion, what delight she evinced! I escorted Madame
Murrah in a splendid costume, tamed but very dignified still, and playing her part with noble airs, like a fatalist. "It was written!" She started off the same day to Rhodes, where my uncle is finding a position for her—as head manager of his Botany Bay.
The Countess of Monteclaro was there, and Anna Campbell was smiling all over as she acted, in company with Maud and Susannah Montague, as bridesmaid to her friend Kondjé-Gul.
It took them all exactly an hour to pass in procession through the vestry. We had to sign the register there, and my uncle headed it with his self-assumed title of "The lateBarbassou," to which he clings.
Then came the deluge of congratulations, my beautiful Christian wife blushing in her emotion, with her garland of orange-flowers. (Well, yes! And why not? It's the custom, you know.)
At two o'clock, back to the house, a family love-feast, and preparations for the flight of the young couple to Férouzat. Peace and joy in all hearts. My uncle, at last admitted to absolution, quivering with pleasure at hearing my aunt Eudoxia calling him no longer "Pasha," but "Captain," as of old.
Everywhere Love and Spring!
Come now, Louis, quite seriously, are you, who have made the experiment, quite sure that one heart suffices for one veritable love? I am anxious to know.
When evening arrived, the Count and Countess of Monteclaro accompanied us to the railway station. They will join us at the end of the month.
I leave you to imagine for yourself all the kisses and salutations, promises and grandparents' advice.
While my aunt was exhorting Kondjé-Gul, my uncle favoured me with a few words on his part.
"You see," he said to me quietly, standing by the side of our carriage, "there is one thing which it is indispensable for you not to forget, and that is never on any account to havetwo wives—in the same town!"
Louis, I think my uncle is a little wanting in principle.