CHAPTER XIII.
At the invitation of the archduke, Frantz de Neuberg continued his recital with charming frankness:
"For three days Mlle. Antonine did not appear, monseigneur. Overwhelmed with sadness, and hoping nothing, I went, nevertheless, at the accustomed hour to the garden. What was my surprise, my joy, monseigneur, when, arriving near the wall, I saw just below me Mlle.
Antonine, seated on the bench! She held in her hand, lying on her lap, my bouquet of roses, faded a long time; her head was bent over; I could only see her neck and the edge of her hair; she did not suspect I was there; I remained motionless, hardly daring to breathe, for fear I might drive her away by revealing my presence. Finally I grew bolder, and I said, trembling, for it was the first time I had spoken to her, "Good evening, mademoiselle." She trembled so that the faded bouquet fell out of her lap. She did not notice it, and, without changing her att.i.tude or lifting her head, she replied, in a low voice, as agitated as my own, "Good evening, monsieur." Seeing I was so well received, I added: "You have not come to water your flowers for three days, mademoiselle." "That is true, monsieur," answered she, in a broken voice, "I have been a little sick." "Oh, my G.o.d!" I exclaimed, with such evident distress that mademoiselle raised her head a moment and looked at me. I saw, alas!
that she was, monseigneur, really very pale, but she soon resumed her first att.i.tude, and again I saw only her neck, which seemed to me to be slightly blushing: "And now, mademoiselle, you are better?" "Yes, monsieur," said she. Then, after a short silence, I added: "You will then be able to water your flowers every evening as you have done in the past." "I do not know, monsieur, I hope so." "And do you not feel afraid the fresh evening air will be injurious to you, after having been sick, mademoiselle?" "You are right, monsieur," replied she, "I thank you, I am going back into the house." And really, monseigneur, it had rained all the morning and it was growing very cold. The moment she left the bench I said to her: "Mademoiselle, will you give me this faded bouquet which has fallen at your feet?" She picked it up and handed it to me in silence, without lifting her head or looking at me. I took it as a treasure, monseigneur, and soon Mlle. Antonine disappeared in a turn of the garden walk."
The prince listened to his G.o.dson with profound attention. The frankness of this recital proved its sincerity. Until then, his only thought was that Frantz had been the sport of one of those Parisian coquettes, so dangerous to strangers, or the dupe of an adventurous and designing girl; but now a graver fear a.s.sailed him: a love like this, so chaste and pure, would, for reason of its purity, which banished all remorse from the minds of these two children,--one fifteen and a half and the other twenty,--become profoundly rooted in their hearts.
Frantz, seeing the countenance of the prince grow more and more gloomy, and meeting his glance, which had regained its usual haughty coldness, stopped, utterly confounded.
"So," said the archduke, sarcastically, when his G.o.dson discontinued his story, "you wish to marry a young girl to whom you have addressed three or four words, and whose rare beauty, as you say, has turned your head."
"I hope to obtain the consent of your Royal Highness to marry Mlle.
Antonine, because I love her, monseigneur, and it is impossible for our marriage to be postponed."
At these words, so resolutely uttered in spite of the timidity of Frantz, the prince trembled and reproached himself for having believed it to be one of those chaste loves of such proverbial purity.
"And why, sir," said the prince, in a threatening voice, "why cannot this marriage be postponed?"
"Because I am a man of honour, monseigneur."
"A man of honour! You are either a dishonest man, sir, or a dupe."
"Monseigneur!"
"You have basely abused the innocence of a child of fifteen years, I tell you, or you are her dupe. Parisian girls are precocious in the art of cheating husbands."
Frantz looked at the prince a moment in silence, but without anger or confusion, vainly trying to ascertain the meaning of these words which touched him neither in his love nor in his honour.
"Excuse me, monseigneur, I do not understand you."
Frantz uttered these words with such an expression of sincerity, with such ingenuous a.s.surance, that the prince, more and more astonished, added, after a moment"s silence, looking at the young man with a penetrating gaze:
"Did you not just tell me that your marriage with this young lady could not be deferred?"
"No, monseigneur; with the permission of your Royal Highness, it ought not to be and will not be!"
"Because without marriage you would be wanting in honour?"
"Yes, monseigneur."
"And in what and why would you be wanting in honour, if you did not marry Mlle. Antonine?"
"Because we have sworn before Heaven to belong to each other, monseigneur," replied Frantz, with restrained energy.
The prince, half rea.s.sured, added, however:
"And pray, under what circ.u.mstances have you exchanged this oath?"
"Fearing to displease you, monseigneur, or fatigue your attention, I discontinued my story."
"Well, continue it."
"Monseigneur, I fear--"
"Continue,--omit nothing. I wish to know all of this affair."
"The uncle of mademoiselle went out in the evening, monseigneur, and she remained at home alone. The season was so beautiful that Mlle. Antonine spent all her evenings in the garden. We grew better acquainted with each other; we talked long together many times,--she, on the little bench, I, leaning on my elbow on the wall; she told me all about her life; I told her about mine, and, above all, monseigneur, my respectful affection for you, to whom I owe so much. Mlle. Antonine shares this moment my profound grat.i.tude to your Royal Highness."
At this point of the conversation, the sound of a gradually approaching step attracted the attention of the prince. He turned and saw one of his aids, who advanced, but stopped respectfully at a little distance. At a sign from the archduke, the officer came forward.
"What is it, sir?" asked the prince.
"His Excellence, the minister of war, has just arrived; he is at the order of your Royal Highness for the visit which is to be made to the Hotel des Invalides."
"Say to his Excellence that I will be with him in a moment."
As the aide-de-camp departed, the prince turned coldly to Frantz, and said:
"Return to your apartments, monsieur; you are under arrest until the moment of your departure."
"My departure, monseigneur?"
"Yes."
"My departure?" repeated Frantz, amazed. "Oh, my G.o.d! And where are you going to send me, monseigneur?"
"You will see. I shall confide you to the care of Major Butler; he will answer for you to me. Before twenty-four hours you shall leave Paris."
"Mercy, monseigneur!" cried Frantz, in a supplicating voice, not able to believe what he had heard. "Have pity on me, and do not compel me to depart."
"Return to your apartments," said the prince, with the severity of a military command, making a sign for Frantz to pa.s.s before him. "I never revoke an order once given. Obey!"
Frantz, overwhelmed, returned in sadness to his chamber, situated on the first floor of the palace, not far from the apartment of the archduke, and looking out upon the garden. At seven o"clock a dinner was served the young prisoner, which he did not touch. Night came, and Frantz, to his great astonishment, and to his deep and painful humiliation, heard his outside doors fastened with a double lock. Toward midnight, when the whole palace was asleep, he opened his window softly, went out on the balcony, and leaning outside, succeeded, with the aid of his cane, in removing a little of the wall plastered on one of the posts of a window-blind on the ground floor. It was on this tottering support that Frantz, with as much dexterity as temerity, having straddled the balcony railing, set the point of his foot; then, aiding himself by the rounds of the blind as a ladder, he reached the ground, ran into the shady walk, jumped the little wall, and soon found himself in the garden of the house occupied by Antonine.
Although the moon was veiled by thick clouds, a dim light shone under the great trees which had served as a place of meeting for Antonine and Frantz; at the end of a few moments, he perceived at a distance a figure in white, rapidly approaching; the young girl soon approached him and said, in a voice which betrayed her excitement:
"I came only for one minute, that you might not be disappointed, Frantz.
I have taken advantage of my uncle"s sleep; he is very sick, and I cannot stay away from him a longer time. Good-bye, Frantz," added Antonine, with a deep sigh; "it is very sad to part so soon, but it must be. Good-bye, again,--perhaps I can see you to-morrow."
The young man was so crushed by the news he had to communicate to the young girl that he had not the strength to interrupt her. Then, in a voice broken by sobs, he exclaimed:
"Antonine, we are lost!"
"Lost!"
"I am going away."