CHAPTER XIV.
THREE years had passed. Stein, who could sojourn among these few men who required so little, believed himself happy. He loved his wife with tenderness, and was attached more every day to his father-in-law; and as to the excellent family, those who had rescued him, a dying man, his affection for them had never wavered. His uniform and rural life was in harmony with the modesty of his tastes, and with the tranquillity of his honest soul. And, besides, the monotony wanted not for attractions: an existence always uniformly calm resembles the man who peacefully sleeps without dreaming, or those melodies composed of a few words, but which charm us with so much sweetness. Perhaps there is nothing which leaves more agreeable souvenirs than this monotony of existence—this successive enchainment of days which have nothing to distinguish one from that which precedes, or from that which follows it.
What must have been the surprise to the inhabitants of the cabin when, one morning, Momo rushed in out of breath, calling to Stein to go to the convent without losing a single instant.
“Has any one of the family fallen ill?” asked Stein alarmed.
“No,” answered Momo, “it is a lord, whom they address as ‘your excellency,’ who has been hunting the wild boar and roebuck in the hillock with his friends; in leaping the ravine the horse missed, and both fell. The horse is slashed, the cavalier has broken as many bones as he has in his body, and they have conveyed him to the convent on a litter. The monastery was transformed into a real Babylon. They believed it was the day of judgment. People went and came like a crowd among which a wolf had forced his way. The only one who retained his tranquillity was he who had caused the excitement, and who at a glance it was seen was a man of the grand world, a real young man. There they were all in confusion, without knowing what to do. My grandma had told them that there was here a surgeon like whom there were few seen: they would not believe her; but as to obtain one from Cadiz would occupy two days, and three more to obtain one from Seville, his excellency said he would have the one recommended by my grandma. It is for this I am come here. Now I will give you my opinion. If I were in your place, at present, when they have despised you, I would not go to the convent if they dragged me there with two horses.”
“I am not capable,” replied Stein, “of forgetting my duties as a Christian, nor those of a surgeon. I should have a heart of bronze to see one of my kind suffer without alleviating his sufferings when I have the power to do it. Beyond this, they cannot have confidence in me, as I am unknown to them; it is not therefore an offence, it would not even be one if they knew me.”
Stein and Momo arrived promptly at the convent. Maria, who awaited the doctor with impatience, conducted him to the wounded man, who had been placed in the cell of the prior, where they had made up for him the best bed possible. Maria and Stein passed through the crowd of sportsmen and servants, by whom the invalid was surrounded. He was a tall young man; on his pale but tranquil face fell a profusion of black hair. So soon as Stein looked at him he uttered a cry, and rushed towards him; but, fearing to touch him, he suddenly stopped, and crossing his trembling hands he cried out—
“My God! the duke!”
“You know me?” demanded the stranger, for the person Stein had recognized was the Duke d’Almanza. “You know me?” repeated the duke, raising his head, and casting his large black eyes on Stein, without power to recall to his mind who it was that had addressed him.