The Chaplet of Pearls

by Charlotte M. Yonge

And with proud step and indifferent air he marched into the hall, answered the Chevalier’s polite inquiry whether the letter had brought good tidings by coolly thanking him and saying that all at home were well; and when he met the old man’s inquiring glance out of the little keen black bead in the puckered, withered eyelid, he put a perfectly stony unmeaningness into his own gaze, till his eyes looked like the blue porcelain from China so much prized by the Abbess. He even played at chess all the evening with such concentrated attention as to be uniformly victorious.

Yet half the night Philip heard suppressed moans and sobs—then knew that he was on his knees—then, after long and comparatively silent weeping, he lay down again, and from the hour when he awoke in the morning, he returned no more to the letters; and though for some little time more sad and dispirited, he seemed to have come to regard the misjudgment at home as a part of the burthen he was already bearing.

That burthen was, however, pressing more heavily. The temperaments of the two brothers so differed that while the French one was prostrated by the agony of a stroke, and then rallied patiently to endure the effects, the English character opposed a passive resistance to the blow, gave no sign of grief or pain, and from that very determination suffered a sort of exhaustion that made the effects of the evil more and more left. Thus, from the time Philip’s somewhat tardy imagination had been made to realize his home, his father, and his sisters, the home-sickness, and weariness of his captivity, which had already begun to undermine his health and spirits, took increasing effect.

He made no complaint—he never expressed a wish—but, in the words of the prophet, he seemed ‘pining away on his feet.’ He did not sleep, and though, to avoid remark, he never failed to appear at meals, he scarcely tasted food. He never willingly stirred from cowering over the fire, and was so surly and ill-tempered that only Berenger’s unfailing good-humour could have endured it. Even a wolf-hunt did not stir him. He only said he hated outlandish beasts, and that it was not like chasing the hare in Dorset. His calf-love for Madame de Selinville had entirely faded away in his yearnings after home. She was only one of the tediously recurring sights of his captivity, and was loathed like all the rest. The regulation rides with the Chevalier were more detestable than ever, and by and by they caused such fatigue that Berenger perceived that his strength must be warning, and became so seriously alarmed that one evening, when Philip had barely dragged himself to the hall, tasted nothing but a few drops of wine, and then dropped into an uneasy slumber in his chair, he could not but turn to the Chevalier an appealing, indignant countenance, as he said, in a low but quivering voice, ‘You see, sir, how he is altered!’

‘Alas! fair nephew, it is but too plain. He is just of the age when such restraint tells severely upon the health.’

Then Berenger spoke out upon the foul iniquity of the boy’s detention. For himself, he observed, he had nothing to say; he knew the term of his release, and had not accepted them; but Philip, innocent of all damage to the Ribaumont interests, the heir of an honourable family, what had he done to incur the cruel imprisonment that was eating away his life?

‘I tell you, sir,’ said Berenger, with eyes filled with tears,’ that his liberty is more precious to me than my own. Were he but restored to our home, full half the weight would be gone from my spirit.’

‘Fair nephew,’ said the Chevalier, ‘you speak as though I had any power in the matter, and were not merely standing between you and the King.’

‘Then if so,’ said Berenger, ‘let the King do as he will with me, but let Philip’s case be known to our Ambassador.’

‘My poor cousin,’ said the Chevalier, ‘you know not what you ask. Did I grant your desire, you would only learn how implacable King Henri is to those who have personally offended him—above all, to heretics. Nor could the Ambassador do anything for one who resisted by force of arms the King’s justice. Leave it to me; put yourself in my hands, and deliverance shall come for him first, then for you.’