"It will be better for me to die. My death will cost my mother fewer tears than my life, judging from those I have already compelled her to shed."
While he was thus awaiting the arrival of the marquis, a carriage that had left the chateau about three o"clock in the afternoon paused at the intersection of the footpath not far from the so-called Grand Sire"s Rock.
When this low, roomy equipage drawn by two magnificent horses stopped at the cross-roads, two tall, powdered footmen descended from their perch, and one of them opened the carriage door, through which the Dowager-Marquise de Pont Brillant alighted quite nimbly in spite of her eighty-eight years; after which another woman, quite as old as the dowager, also stepped out.
The other footman, taking one of the folding-chairs which invalids or very old people often use during their walks, was preparing to follow the two octogenarians when the marquise said, in a clear though rather quavering voice:
"Remain with the carriage, which will wait for me here. Give the folding-chair to Zerbinette."
To answer to the coquettish, pert name of Zerbinette at the age of eighty-seven seems odd indeed, but when she entered the service of her foster-sister, the charming Marquise de Pont Brillant, seventy years before, as a.s.sistant hair-dresser, her retrousse nose, pert manner, big, roguish eyes, provoking smile, trim waist, small foot, and dimpled hand richly ent.i.tled her to the sobriquet bestowed upon her at that time by the marquise, who, married direct from the convent at the age of sixteen, was already considerably more than flirtatious, and who, struck by her a.s.sistant hair-dresser"s boldness of spirit and unusual adaptability for intrigue, soon made Zerbinette her chief maid and confidante.
Heaven only knows the good times and larks of every sort this pair had enjoyed in their palmy days, and the devotion, presence of mind, and fertility of resource Zerbinette had displayed in a.s.sisting her mistress to deceive the three or four lovers she had had at one time.
The deceased husband of the marquise need be mentioned only incidentally in this connection; in the first place because one did not take the trouble to deceive a husband in those days, and in the second place because the high and mighty seigneur Hector-Magnifique-Raoul-Urbain-Anne-Cloud-Frumence, Lord Marquis of Pont Brillant and half a dozen other places, was too much of a man of his time to interfere with madame, his wife, in the least.
From this constant exchange of confidences on the part of the marquise and of services of every sort and kind on the part of Zerbinette there had resulted a decided intimacy between mistress and maid. They never left each other, they had grown old together, and their chief pleasure now consisted in talking over the escapades and love affairs of former years, and it must be admitted that each day had its saint in their calendar.
The dowager-marquise was small, thin, wrinkled, but very straight. She dressed in the most elaborate fashion and was always redolent with perfumes. She wore her hair crimped and powdered, and there was a bright red spot on each cheek that increased the brilliancy of her large black eyes, which were still bold and l.u.s.trous in spite of her advanced age.
She carried a small gold-headed ivory cane, and a richly jewelled snuff-box from which she regaled herself from time to time.
Zerbinette, who was a little taller than her mistress, but equally thin, wore her white hair in curls, and was attired with simple elegance.
"Zerbinette," said the dowager, after turning to take another look at the footman who had opened the carriage door, "who is that tall, handsome fellow? I don"t remember to have seen him before."
"I doubt if you have, madame. He was just sent down from Paris."
"He"s a fine-shaped fellow. Did you notice what broad shoulders he has, Zerbinette? Handsome lackeys always remind me"--the marquise paused to take a pinch of snuff--"handsome lackeys always remind me of that little devil the Baroness de Montbrison."
"Madame la marquise has forgotten. It was the French Guards the baroness--"
"You are right, and the Duc de Biron, their colonel--You remember M. de Biron, don"t you?"
"I should think I did. You had a pa.s.s-key to his little house on the Boulevard des Poissonniers, and for your first rendezvous you dressed in the costume of Diana, the huntress, exactly as in that handsome pastel portrait of yourself. And how beautiful, ravishingly beautiful, you looked in the costume, with your slim waist and white shoulders and gleaming eyes!"
"Yes, my girl, yes. I had all those, and I made a good use of what the Lord gave me. But to return to my story; you are right, Zerbinette, in regard to the little baroness, it was the French Guards she went so crazy about, so much so, in fact, that M. de Biron, their colonel, went to the king and complained that his regiment was being ruined. "I can"t have that," replied the king, "I want my French Guards for myself.
Montbrison got money enough by his wife to buy a regiment for her if she wants it.""
"Unfortunately, M. de Montbrison was not a sufficiently gallant gentleman to do that. And speaking of handsome lackeys, madame must be thinking of President de Lunel"s wife, for--"
"Lunel!" exclaimed the dowager, pausing and glancing around her. "Say, we are not far from Grand Sire"s Rock, are we?"
"No, madame."
"I thought not. Do you remember that story of the osprey and poor President de Lunel?"
"I only remember that monsieur le president was as jealous as all possessed of the Chevalier de Bretteville, and he had good cause to be.
So it used to afford madame no end of amus.e.m.e.nt to invite them both to the castle at the same time."
"Yes, and that was what reminded me of that affair of the osprey."
"I really have no idea what you mean."
"Ah, Zerbinette, you are growing old."
"Alas, yes, madame!"
"Well, we might as well walk in one direction as another, so suppose we pay a visit to Grand Sire"s Rock. The sight of the dear old rock will rejuvenate me. Let me see, Zerbinette," added the marquise, taking another pinch of snuff, "when was it that poor Lunel and the chevalier were--"
"In October, 1779," responded Zerbinette, promptly.
"Sixty-odd years ago. Come and let us go and take a look at the famous rock. It will make me feel young again."
"Very well, madame, but won"t you find the walk too fatiguing?"
"I have the legs of fifteen this morning, girl, but if they should fail me, you have my chair, you know."
CHAPTER XII.
As the two octogenarians started slowly down the path leading to Grand Sire"s Rock, Zerbinette remarked to her mistress:
"You were going to tell the story of the osprey, madame."
"Oh, yes. You recollect how jealous President de Lunel was of the chevalier. Well, one day I said to him, "Sigismond, wouldn"t you like to help me play a fine joke upon the chevalier?" "I should be delighted, marquise." "But to do it, Sigismond, you must know how to imitate the cry of the osprey perfectly." You can imagine the look on the president"s face when I told him that; but when I said to him, "Learn it, Sigismond, and as soon as you know it we will have a good laugh at the poor chevalier"s expense," he promised he would begin that very evening, as there were plenty of them in the neighbourhood. When the president had learned to imitate the cry, I made an appointment to meet the chevalier here at dusk. I came a little in advance of the time, in company with the president, whom I ensconced in the sort of cave at Grand Sire"s Rock. "Now, Sigismond, listen carefully to what I am going to say to you," I began. "The chevalier will soon be here. You are to count one thousand, so as to give him time to press his suit. I, too, will count a thousand, but not until we get to nine hundred and ninety-eight will I show any signs of softening toward the chevalier.
Then you must begin to utter your osprey cries." "Capital, marquise, capital!" "Hush, you bad boy, and listen to me. I shall say to the chevalier, "Oh, that horrid bird! I am frightfully superst.i.tious about the osprey. Run to the chateau and get a gun to kill the hateful thing, and afterward we will see." The chevalier will run to get the gun, and then, my dear Sigismond, I will join you in the cave." "Really, marquise, you are the most charming little devil imaginable!" "Hide, hide quick! here comes the chevalier." And poor Lunel withdrew into his hole and began to count one, two, three, four, etc., while I went to join the chevalier."
"I can see the dear president"s face now, as he carefully counted one, two, three, four, while the chevalier was with you," exclaimed Zerbinette, laughing like mad.
"All I can tell you, girl, is that though I had promised poor Lunel not to soften toward the chevalier until we had got to nine hundred and ninety-eight, I really didn"t count more than ten. After awhile, the president, who had finished his thousand, began to play the osprey with all his might, and his strange, shrill, wild cries seemed to disturb the chevalier so much that I said:
""It is the osprey. Run to the chateau and get a gun to kill the horrid thing. I hate the abominable creature so I long to tear it in pieces with my own hands. Run and get the gun. I will wait for you here." "What a strange whim, marquise. It is getting very dark, and you will be afraid here in the forest alone." "Nonsense, chevalier, I am no coward.
Run to the chateau and come back as soon as you can." It was quite time, my girl, for when I went to the poor president, his voice had begun to fail him, but fortunately he was all right again in a minute."
"And when the chevalier returned, madame?"
"He found the president and me not far from the place where we are now.
"You have come at last, chevalier," I called out to him at a distance; "but for the president, whom I met by chance, I should have died of fear." "I told you so, marquise," he replied. "And the osprey, I think I must have frightened him off, for I haven"t heard him since I met the marquise," replied the president. "But, by the way, my dear chevalier,"
added poor Lunel, innocently, "do you know that the cry of the osprey always indicates some calamity?" and as he spoke the president slyly squeezed my left arm. "Yes, my dear president, I have always heard that the cry is prophetic of evil," responded the chevalier, squeezing my right arm. Afterward, when I went crazy over that actor, Clairville, he and I had many a good laugh over this little affair with the president and the chevalier, so for a long time "It is the osprey" was a sort of proverb among the people of our set."
"Alas! those were fine times, madame."
"Oh, hush up, Zerbinette, with your alases! Those good times will come again."
"But when, madame?"