Book: Short Stories

V >> Various >> Short Stories




Such was Alain, Sire de Maletroit.

Denis and he looked silently at each other for a second or two.

"Pray step in," said the Sire de Maletroit. "I have been expecting you
all the evening."

He had not risen, but he accompanied his words with a smile and a
slight but courteous inclination of the head. Partly from the smile,
partly from the strange musical murmur with which the sire prefaced
his observation, Denis felt a strong shudder of disgust go through his
marrow. And what with disgust and honest confusion of mind, he could
scarcely get words together in reply.

"I fear," he said, "that this is a double accident. I am not the
person you suppose me. It seems you were looking for a visit; but for
my part, nothing was further from my thoughts--nothing could be more
contrary to my wishes--than this intrusion."

"Well, well," replied the old gentleman indulgently, "here you are,
which is the main point. Seat yourself, my friend, and put yourself
entirely at your ease. We shall arrange our little affairs presently."

Denis perceived that the matter was still complicated with some
misconception, and he hastened to continue his explanation.

"Your door," he began.

"About my door?" asked the other raising his peaked eyebrows. "A
little piece of ingenuity." And he shrugged his shoulders. "A
hospitable fancy! By your own account, you were not desirous of making
any acquaintance. We old people look for such reluctance now and then;
when it touches our honor, we cast about until we find some way of
overcoming it. You arrive uninvited, but believe me, very welcome."

"You persist in error, sir," said Denis. "There can be no question
between you and me. I am a stranger in this countryside. My name is
Denis, damoiseau de Beaulieu. If you see me in your house it is
only--"

"My young friend," interrupted the other, "you will permit me to have
my own ideas on that subject. They probably differ from yours at the
present moment," he added with a leer, "but time will show which of us
is in the right."

Denis was convinced he had to do with a lunatic. He seated himself
with a shrug, content to wait the upshot; and a pause ensued, during
which he thought he could distinguish a hurried gabbling as of a
prayer from behind the arras immediately opposite him. Sometimes there
seemed to be but one person engaged, sometimes two; and the vehemence
of the voice, low as it was, seemed to indicate either great haste or
an agony of spirit. It occurred to him that this piece of tapestry
covered the entrance to the chapel he had noticed from without.

The old gentleman meanwhile surveyed Denis from head to foot with a
smile, and from time to time emitted little noises like a bird or a
mouse, which seemed to indicate a high degree of satisfaction. This
state of matters became rapidly insupportable; and Denis, to put an
end to it, remarked politely that the wind had gone down.

The old gentleman fell into a fit of silent laughter, so prolonged and
violent that he became quite red in the face. Denis got upon his feet
at once, and put on his hat with a flourish.

"Sir," he said, "if you are in your wits, you have affronted me
grossly. If you are out of them, I flatter myself I can find better
employment for my brains than to talk with lunatics. My conscience is
clear; you have made a fool of me from the first moment; you have
refused to hear my explanations; and now there is no power under God
will make me stay here any longer; and if I cannot make my way out in
a more decent fashion, I will hack your door in pieces with my sword."

The Sire de Maletroit raised his right hand and wagged it at Denis
with the fore and little fingers extended.

"My dear nephew," he said, "sit down."

"Nephew!" retorted Denis, "you lie in your throat;" and he snapped his
fingers in his face.

"Sit down, you rogue!" cried the old gentleman, in a sudden, harsh
voice like the barking of a dog. "Do you fancy," he went on, "that
when I had made my little contrivance for the door I had stopped short
with that? If you prefer to be bound hand and foot till your bones
ache, rise and try to go away. If you choose to remain a free young
buck, agreeably conversing with an old gentleman--why, sit where you
are in peace, and God be with you."

"Do you mean, I am a prisoner?" demanded Denis.

"I state the facts," replied the other. "I would rather leave the
conclusion to yourself."

Denis sat down again. Externally he managed to keep pretty calm, but
within, he was now boiling with anger, now chilled with apprehension.
He no longer felt convinced that he was dealing with a madman. And if
the old gentleman was sane, what, in God's name, had he to look for?
What absurd or tragical adventure had befallen him? What countenance
was he to assume?

While he was thus unpleasantly reflecting, the arras that overhung the
chapel door was raised, and a tall priest in his robes came forth,
and, giving a long, keen stare at Denis, said something in an
undertone to Sire de Maletroit.

"She is in a better frame of spirit?" asked the latter.

"She is more resigned, messire," replied the priest.

"Now the Lord help her, she is hard to please!" sneered the old
gentleman. "A likely stripling--not ill-born--and of her own choosing,
too? Why, what more would the jade have?"

"The situation is not usual for a young damsel," said the other, "and
somewhat trying to her blushes."

"She should have thought of that before she began the dance! It was
none of my choosing, God knows that; but since she is in it, by our
Lady, she shall carry it to the end." And then addressing Denis,
"Monsieur de Beaulieu," he asked, "may I present you to my niece? She
has been waiting your arrival, I may say, with even greater impatience
than myself."

Denis had resigned himself with a good grace--all he desired was to
know the worst of it as speedily as possible; so he rose at once, and
bowed in acquiescence. The Sire de Maletroit followed his example and
limped, with the assistance of the chaplain's arm, toward the chapel
door. The priest pulled aside the arras, and all three entered. The
building had considerable architectural pretensions. A light groining
sprang from six stout columns, and hung down in two rich pendants from
the centre of the vault. The place terminated behind the altar in a
round end, embossed and honeycombed with a superfluity of ornament in
relief, and pierced by many little windows shaped like stars,
trefoils, or wheels. These windows were imperfectly is glazed, so that
the night air circulated freely in the chapel. The tapers, of which
there must have been half a hundred burning on the altar, were
unmercifully blown about; and the light went through many different
phases of brilliancy and semi-eclipse. On the steps in front of the
altar knelt a young girl richly attired as a bride. A chill settled
over Denis as he observed her costume; he fought with desperate energy
against the conclusion that was being thrust upon his mind; it could
not--it should not--be as he feared.

"Blanche," said the sire, in his most flute-like tones, "I have
brought a friend to see you, my little girl; turn round and give him
your pretty hand. It is good to be devout; but it is necessary to be
polite, my niece."

The girl rose to her feet and turned toward the newcomers. She moved
all of a piece; and shame and exhaustion were expressed in every line
of her fresh young body; and she held her head down and kept her eyes
upon the pavement, as she came slowly forward. In the course of her
advance her eyes fell upon Denis de Beaulieu's feet--feet of which he
was justly vain, be it remarked, and wore in the most elegant
accoutrement even while travelling. She paused--started, as if his
yellow boots had conveyed some shocking meaning--and glanced, suddenly
up into the wearer's countenance. Their eyes met; shame gave place to
horror and terror in her looks; the blood left her lips, with a
piercing scream she covered her face with her hands and sank upon, the
chapel floor.

"That is not the man!" she cried. "My uncle, that is not the man!"

The Sire de Maletroit chirped agreeably. "Of course not," he said; "I
expected as much. It was so unfortunate you could not remember his
name."

"Indeed," she cried, "indeed, I have never seen this person till this
moment--I have never so much as set eyes upon him--I never wish to see
him again. Sir," she said, turning to Denis, "if you are a gentleman,
you will hear me out. Have I ever seen you--have you ever seen
me--before this accursed hour?"

"To speak for myself, I have never had that pleasure," answered the
young man. "This is the first time, messire, that I have met with your
engaging niece."

The old gentleman shrugged his shoulders.

"I am distressed to hear it," he said. "But it is never too late to
begin. I had little more acquaintance with my own late lady ere I
married her; which proves," he added, with a grimace, "that these
impromptu marriages may often produce an excellent understanding in
the long run. As the bridegroom is to have a voice in the matter, I
will give him two hours to make up for lost time before we proceed
with the ceremony." And he turned toward the door, followed by the
clergyman.

The girl was on her feet in a moment. "My uncle, you cannot be in
earnest," she said. "I declare before God I will stab myself rather
than be forced on that young man. The heart rises at it; God forbids
such marriages; you dishonor your white hair. Oh, my uncle, pity me!
There is not a woman in all the world but would prefer death to such a
nuptial. Is it possible," she added, faltering--"is it possible that
you do not believe me--that you still think this"--and she pointed at
Denis with a tremor of anger and contempt--"that you still think
_this_ to be the man?"

"Frankly," said the old gentleman, pausing on the threshold, "I do.
But let me explain to you once for all, Blanche de Maletroit, my way
of thinking about this affair. When you took it into your head to
dishonor my family and the name that I have borne, in peace and war,
for more than threescore years, you forfeited, not only the right to
question my designs, but that of looking me in the face. If your
father had been alive, he would have spat on you and turned you out of
doors. His was the hand of iron. You may bless your God you have only
to deal with the hand of velvet, mademoiselle. It was my duty to get
you married without delay. Out of pure goodwill, I have tried to find
your own gallant for you. And I believe I have succeeded. But before
God and all the holy angels, Blanche de Maletroit, if I have not, I
care not one jack-straw. So let me recommend you to be polite to our
young friend; for, upon my word, your next groom may be less
appetizing."

And with that he went out, with the chaplain at his heels; and the
arras fell behind the pair.

The girl turned upon Denis with flashing eyes.

"And what, sir," she demanded, "may be the meaning of all this?"

"God knows," returned Denis, gloomily, "I am a prisoner in this house,
which seems full of mad people. More I know not; and nothing do I
understand."

"And pray how came you here?" she asked.

He told her as briefly as he could. "For the rest," he added, "perhaps
you will follow my example, and tell me the answer to all these
riddles, and what, in God's name, is like to be the end of it."

She stood silent for a little, and lie could see her lips tremble and
her tearless eyes burn with a feverish lustre. Then she pressed her
forehead in both hands.

"Alas, how my head aches!" she said, wearily--"to say nothing of my
poor heart! But it is due to you to know my story, unmaidenly as it
must seem. I am called Blanche de Maletroit; I have been without
father or mother for--oh! for as long as I can recollect, and indeed I
have been most unhappy all my life. Three months ago a young captain
began to stand near me every day in church. I could see that I pleased
him; I am much to blame, but I was so glad that any one should love
me; and when he passed me a letter, I took it home with me and read it
with great pleasure. Since that time he has written many. He was so
anxious to speak with me, poor fellow! and kept asking me to leave the
door open some evening that we might have two words upon the stair.
For he knew how much my uncle trusted me." She gave something like a
sob at that, and it was a moment before she could go on. "My uncle is
a hard man, but he is very shrewd," she said, at last. "He has
performed many feats in war, and was a great person at court, and much
trusted by Queen Isabeau in old days. How he came to suspect me I
cannot tell; but it is hard to keep anything from his knowledge; and
this morning, as we came from mass, he took my hand into his, forced
it open, and read my little billet, walking by my side all the while.

"When he finished, he gave it back to me with great politeness. It
contained another request to have the door left open; and this has
been the ruin of us all. My uncle kept me strictly in my room until
evening, and then ordered me to dress myself as you see me--a hard
mockery for a young girl, do you not think so? I suppose, when he
could not prevail with me to tell him the young captain's name, he
must have laid a trap for him; into which, alas! you have fallen in
the anger of God. I looked for much confusion; for how could I tell
whether he was willing to take me for his wife on these sharp terms?
He might have been trifling with me from the first; or I might have
made myself too cheap in his eyes. But truly I had not looked for such
a shameful punishment as this? I could not think that God would let a
girl be so disgraced before a young man. And now I tell you all; and I
can scarcely hope that you will not despise me."

Denis made her a respectful inclination.

"Madam," he said, "you have honored me by your confidence. It remains
for me to prove that I am not unworthy of the honor. Is Messire de
Maletroit at hand?"

"I believe he is writing in the _salle[6]_ without," she answered.

"May I lead you thither, madam?" asked Denis, offering his hand with
his most courtly bearing.

She accepted it; and the pair passed out of the chapel, Blanche in a
very drooping and shamefast condition, but Denis strutting and
raffling in the consciousness of a mission, and the boyish certainty
of accomplishing it with honor.

The Sire Maletroit rose to meet them with an ironical obeisance.

"Sir," said Denis, with the grandest possible air, "I believe I am to
have some say in the matter of this marriage; and let me tell you at
once, I will be no party to forcing the inclination of this young
lady. Had it been freely offered to me, I should have been proud to
accept her hand, for I perceive she is as good as she is beautiful;
but as things are, I have now the honor, messire, of refusing."

Blanche looked at him with gratitude in her eyes; but the old
gentleman only smiled and smiled, until his smile grew positively
sickening to Denis.

"I am afraid," he said, "Monsieur de Beaulieu, that you do not
perfectly understand the choice I have offered you. Follow me, I
beseech you, to this window." And he led the way to one of the large
windows which stood open on the night. "You observe," he went on,
"there is an iron ring in the upper masonry, and reeved through that,
a very efficacious rope. Now, mark my words: if you should find your
disinclination to my niece's person insurmountable, I shall have you
hanged out of this window before sunrise. I shall only proceed to such
an extremity with the greatest regret, you may believe me. For it is
not at all your death that I desire, but my niece's establishment in
life. At the same time, it must come to that if you prove obstinate.
Your family, Monsieur de Beaulieu, is very well in its way; but if you
sprung from Charlemagne[7], you should not refuse the hand of a
Maletroit with impunity--not if she had been as common as the Paris
road--not if she was as hideous as the gargoyle over my door. Neither
my niece nor you, nor my own private feelings, move me at all in this
matter. The honor of my house has been compromised; I believe you to
be the guilty person, at least you are now in the secret; and you can
hardly wonder if I request you to wipe out the stain. If you will not,
your blood be on your own head! It will be no great satisfaction to me
to have your interesting relics kicking their heels in the breeze
below my windows, but half a loaf is better than no bread, and if I
cannot cure the dishonor, I shall at least stop the scandal."

There was a pause.

"I believe there are other ways of settling such imbroglios among
gentlemen," said Denis. "You wear a sword, and I hear you have used it
with distinction."

The Sire de Maletroit made a signal to the chaplain, who crossed the
room with long silent strides and raised the arras over the third of
the three doors. It was only a moment before he let it fall again; but
Denis had time to see a dusky passage full of armed men.

"When I was a little younger, I should have been delighted to honor
you, Monsieur de Beaulieu," said Sire Alain: "but I am now too old.
Faithful retainers are the sinews of age, and I must employ the
strength I have. This is one of the hardest things to swallow as a man
grows up in years; but with a little patience, even this becomes
habitual. You and the lady seem to prefer the _salle_ for what remains
of your two hours; and as I have no desire to cross your preference, I
shall resign it to your use with all the pleasure in the world. No
haste!" he added, holding up his hand, as he saw a dangerous look come
into Denis de Beaulieu's face. "If your mind revolt against hanging,
it will be time enough two hours hence to throw yourself out of the
window or upon the pikes of my retainers. Two hours of life are always
two hours. A great many things may turn up in even as little a while
as that. And, besides. If I understand her appearance, my niece has
something to say to you. You will not disfigure your last hours by a
want of politeness to a lady?"

Denis looked at Blanche, and she made him an imploring gesture.

It is likely that the old gentleman was hugely pleased at this symptom
of an understanding; for he smiled on both, and added sweetly: "If you
will give me your word of honor, Monsieur de Beaulieu, to await my
return at the end of the two hours before attempting anything
desperate, I shall withdraw my retainers, and let you speak in greater
privacy with mademoiselle."

Denis again glanced at the girl, who seemed to beseech him to agree.

"I give you my word of honor," he said.

Messire de Maletroit bowed, and proceeded to limp about the apartment,
clearing his throat the while with that odd musical chirp which had
already grown so irritating in the ears of Denis de Bealieu. He first
possessed himself of some papers which lay upon the table; then he
went to the mouth of the passage and appeared to give an order to the
men behind the arras; and lastly he hobbled out through the door by
which Denis had come in, turning upon the threshold to address a last
smiling bow to the young couple, and followed by the chaplain with a
hand lamp.

No sooner were they alone than Blanche advanced toward Denis with her
hands extended. Her face was flushed and excited, and her eyes shone
with tears.

"You shall not die!" she cried, "you shall marry me after all."

"You seem to think, madam," replied Denis, "that I stand much in fear
of death."

"Oh, no, no," she said, "I see you are no poltroon[8]. It is for my
own sake--I could not bear to have you slain for such a scruple."

"I am afraid," returned Denis, "that you underrate the difficulty,
madam. What you may be too generous to refuse, I may be too proud to
accept. In a moment of noble feeling toward me, you forget what you
perhaps owe to others."

He had the decency to keep his eyes on the floor as he said this, and
after he had finished, so as not to spy upon her confusion. She stood
silent for a moment, then walked suddenly away, and falling on her
uncle's chair, fairly burst out sobbing. Denis was in the acme of
embarrassment. He looked round, as if to seek for inspiration, and,
seeing a stool, plumped down upon it for something to do. There he
sat, playing with the guard of his rapier, and wishing himself dead a
thousand times over, and buried in the nastiest kitchen-heap in
France. His eyes wandered round the apartment, but found nothing to
arrest them. There were such wide spaces between the furniture, the
light fell so badly and cheerlessly over all, the dark outside air
looked in so coldly through the windows, that he thought he had never
seen a church so vast, nor a tomb so melancholy. The regular sobs of
Blanche de Maletroit measured out the time like the ticking of a
clock. He read the device upon the shield over and over again, until
his eyes became obscured; he stared into shadowy corners until he
imagined they were swarming with horrible animals; and every now and
again he awoke with a start, to remember that his last two hours were
running, and death was on the march.

Oftener and oftener, as the time went on, did his glance settle on the
girl herself. Her face was bowed forward and covered with her hands,
and she was shaken at intervals by the convulsive hiccough of grief.
Even thus she was not an unpleasant object to dwell upon, so plump and
yet so fine, with a warm brown skin, and the most beautiful hair,
Denis thought, in the whole world of womankind. Her hands were like
her uncle's: but they were more in place at the end of her young arms,
and looked infinitely soft and caressing. He remembered how her blue
eyes had shone upon him, full of anger, pity, and innocence. And the
more he dwelt on her perfections, the uglier death looked, and the
more deeply was he smitten with penitence at her continued tears. Now
he felt that no man could have the courage to leave a world which
contained so beautiful a creature; and now he would have given forty
minutes of his last hour to have unsaid his cruel speech.

Suddenly a hoarse and ragged peal of cockcrow rose to their ears from
the dark valley below the windows. And this shattering noise in the
silence of all around was like a light in a dark place, and shook them
both out of their reflections.

"Alas, can I do nothing to help you?" she said, looking up.

"Madam," replied Denis, with a fine irrelevancy, "if I have said
anything to wound you, believe me, it was for your own sake and not
for mine."

She thanked him with a tearful look.

"I feel your position cruelly," he went on. "The world has been
bitter, hard on you. Your uncle is a disgrace to mankind. Believe me,
madam, there is no young gentleman in all France but would be glad of
my opportunity, to die in doing you a momentary service."

"I know already that you can be very brave and generous," she
answered. "What I _want_ to know is whether I can serve you--now or
afterward," she added, with a quaver.

"Most certainly," he answered, with a smile. "Let me sit beside you as
if I were a friend, instead of a foolish intruder; try to forget how
awkwardly we are placed to one another; make my last moments go
pleasantly; and you will do me the chief service possible."

"You are very gallant," she added, with a yet deeper sadness--"very
gallant--and it somehow pains me. But draw nearer, if you please; and
if you find anything to say to me, you will at least make certain of a
very friendly listener. Ah! Monsieur de Beaulieu," she broke
forth--"ah! Monsieur de Beaulieu, how can I look you in the face?" And
she fell to weeping again with a renewed effusion.

"Madam," said Denis, taking her hand in both of his, "reflect on the
little time I have before me, and the great bitterness into which I am
cast by the sight of your distress. Spare me, in my last moments, the
spectacle of what I cannot cure even with the sacrifice of my life."

"I am very selfish," answered Blanche. "I will be braver, Monsieur de
Beaulieu, for your sake. But think if I can do you no kindness in the
future--if you have no friends to whom I could carry your adieux.
Charge me as heavily as you can; every burden will lighten, by so
little, the invaluable gratitude I owe you. Put it in my power to do
something more for you than weep."

"My mother is married again, and has a young family to care for. My
brother Guichard will inherit my fiefs; and if I am not in error, that
will content him amply for my death. Life is a little vapor that
passeth away, as we are told by those in holy orders. When a man is in
a fair way and sees all life open in front of him, he seems to himself
to make a very important figure in the world. His horse whinnies to
him; the trumpets blow and the girls look out of window as he rides
into town before his company; he receives many assurances of trust and
regard--sometimes by express in a letter--sometimes face to face, with
persons of great consequence falling on his neck. It is not wonderful
if his head is turned for a time. But once he is dead, were he as
brave as Hercules[9] or as wise as Solomon[10], he is soon forgotten.
It is not ten years since my father fell, with many other knights
around him, in a very fierce encounter, and I do not think that any
one of them, nor so much as the name of the fight, is now remembered.
No, no, madam, the nearer you come to it, you see that death is a dark
and dusty corner, where a man gets into his tomb and has the door shut
after him till the judgment day. I have few friends just now, and once
I am dead I shall have none."

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