Francezka. Molly Elliot Seawell

purpose; it drove Monsieur Voltaire away from the supper table. He glared at the laughing faces about him, sat still a moment, then rising, with a half bow, half scowl at Mademoiselle Lecouvreur, stalked out of the room. It was well known that, like most wits, he bore ridicule extremely ill, and could not stand being laughed at. As for Count Saxe, he hugged me, and I had so many compliments made to me that I was alarmed for fear I should be reckoned a wit.

      When supper was over, Mademoiselle Lecouvreur, by a sign, indicated that Count Saxe was to remain after the rest had left. All took their departure, including Regnard Cheverny, who bade me a civil adieu. Mademoiselle Lecouvreur took Count Saxe into her boudoir. I went into the saloon, where the candles were dying in their sockets. Presently the two came out of the boudoir. Count Saxe had a casket in his hand, which he gave to me. His eyes were full of tears, and he was silent from emotion. Mademoiselle was smiling—smiling when she said to him:

      “Trouble not yourself about returning it. I think I shall not have use for money much longer. I am 61 often ill—more ill than any one supposes—and when I leave the theater I am more dead than alive. So give me in return but an occasional thought—a word of remembrance—it will be enough.”

      Count Saxe said something—I know not what; the beauty, the touching sweetness, the majesty of this woman’s love was enough to overcome any man. He kissed her hand and her cheek in farewell; she gave me, as always, some kind words, and we left her, bowing to her with the reverence due a queen.

      Count Saxe said not one word to me on our way to the Luxembourg. I believe he shed some tears as he sat back in the corner of the coach.

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CHAPTER VI

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ON THE BALCONY

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      The hour of action was at hand, however. The next day came the storm and stress of preparation. Count Saxe was besieged with persons wishing to go to Courland with him, chiefly gentlemen out at elbows who had nothing to lose; men of a doubtful past, men who had failed at everything else and thought themselves fitted to conquer a kingdom. Out of these and others Count Saxe selected three hundred men, whom he armed and equipped as Uhlans, and who were added to the body-guard I had under me before. There were other troops promised, and these Uhlans were meant to be the human rampart between Count Saxe and harm.

      Monsieur Voltaire had gone to England, his departure hastened, so Count Saxe declared, laughing uproariously, by his dread of encountering Babache, the rival wit.

      I found time, in the midst of running about from one end of Paris to the other, to call daily at Gaston Cheverny’s lodgings and ask after the young man. His improvement continued rapidly and steadily. I did not once see the young girl, Mademoiselle Capello, who had brought about all this fine coil, but she was not out of my mind for a moment. I may be, as I am, the 63 ugliest man on earth, without riches and not wanting them, humbly born and not disguising it, but yet I can have my dreams as well as any man. I often passed the great Hôtel Kirkpatrick in those days, and longed to know how Mademoiselle Capello fared, and whether her escapade had come to Madame Riano’s ears or not. Several times I caught sight of old Peter, who seemed to be majordomo of the establishment. The man’s face always arrested my attention. He was an ordinary looking elderly man, still retaining something of his soldier’s life about him, but the look in his eyes always went to the heart like a poniard. Afterward I heard why this was so. I saw Madame Riano often enough driving in or out of her courtyard in her great purple and gold coach, with her purple and canary postilions and four cream-colored horses. When she went to court she had six horses.

      The days on which I saw Mademoiselle Capello were well marked in my memory. I never forgot the hour, nor the place, nor whether the sun shone, nor if she looked well or ill. Once on a soft and lovely evening I saw her sitting opposite Madame Riano in the coach, as it rolled over the Pont Neuf. The young lady leaned forward and smiled and bowed to me. Another time I saw her walking in the garden of the Hôtel Kirkpatrick. It was morning then, a May morning, and she was bare-headed, the sun kissing freely her dark rich hair, with the little rings around her milk-white brow and throat. Another day, toward sunset, when a great thunder storm was brewing, I passed the back part of the garden where the theater had been set up, and I saw her walking there alone. As I watched Mademoiselle Capello’s pensive 64 face—for that day she seemed to be in a reflective mood—the rain suddenly descended in sheets. She ran laughing toward the hôtel. Her face, her flying figure, her unconscious grace, were all childlike that day, and after all she was only fourteen; but maids were married often at fourteen.

      On the twelfth day after I had made a hole in Gaston Cheverny’s carcass I was admitted to see him; we then thought ourselves on the verge of our departure for Courland. It was in the evening, and I was ushered into Gaston Cheverny’s saloon, where he sat in a great chair. He was pale and thin and showed his sufferings, but his eye was undimmed and full of light and laughter. With him sat Jacques Haret, dressed in Gaston Cheverny’s coat, waistcoat, breeches, stockings, and everything from his skin. He greeted me with the utmost cheerfulness and complaisance. In parting with most of his virtues he had retained two of the greatest—cheerfulness and courage.

      “Good evening, Captain Babache,” cried Gaston, in a pleasant, though weak voice. “I swear to you by all the great gods of Olympus that from the moment I felt your sword sticking into me I have believed Count Saxe to be greater than Hannibal, Cæsar, Alexander the Great, St. Louis and the Cid Campeador, rolled in one.”

      “That is most wise of you,” I replied, sitting down by him. “Believe that always and you will keep out of trouble.”

      Here Jacques Haret, who was lolling in a chair, said:

      “Our friend has been much concerned to know what has become of my late leading lady, Mademoiselle 65 Capello. It is in vain that I have reminded him of that old Spanish malediction on an enemy: ‘May you marry an only child; may you have a law suit, win it, and have to pay the lawyers!’ ”

      A flush came into Gaston Cheverny’s pale face, and he looked displeased, as well he might, at hearing Mademoiselle Capello’s name in Jacques Haret’s mouth. I took no notice of his question, but began to tell Gaston Cheverny of our plans for Courland. His eyes kindled as I spoke, and at last he filled my heart with rapture by asking, eagerly:

      “Do you think Count Saxe would take me with him?”

      “With great joy!” I answered, for that was exactly what I was leading up to. And, to tell the truth, there were very few men of Gaston Cheverny’s character and standing among us.

      Jacques Haret got up and whistled.

      “I must leave you now, my friend,” he said to Gaston; “I am going for a promenade. I wish you would have your shoes made of Spanish leather—I don’t like these at all. And a gentleman should always wear silk stockings. That rascal of a valet of yours has twice brought me woolen ones. I am a patient man, but I can’t stand everything.”

      To this Gaston replied: “Go to the devil.”

      Jacques Haret went out.

      Gaston Cheverny and I talked long and earnestly together. I did everything in my power to induce him to cast his fortunes with us. At every moment the sympathy between us grew keener. At last he said, blushing like a girl, and fingering the love locks that hung from his temple:

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      “To tell you the truth, Babache, I am set upon some adventure, out of which glory and fortune may be wrung. For I love a young lady, not indeed above me in rank, but as far beyond me in fortune as in merit, and I must bridge the gulf between us before I can aspire to her. It is—it is—Mademoiselle—”

      “Francezka Capello,” I said.

      He