De L'Orme. / The Works of G. P. R. James, Esq., Vol. XVI.

by G. P. R. James

I followed the Countess de Soissons from the tower, thoughtful and dreamy; and I believe the old man Vanoni was somewhat pleased to witness the effect that his words had wrought upon me; though he could little see the strange and mingled web that fancy and reason were weaving in my breast--the golden threads of the one, though looking as light as a gossamer, proving fully strong enough to cross the woof of the other, and outshine it in the light of hope.

At the foot of the staircase we found the Countess's women waiting; and having suffered me to conduct her to the door of the Hôtel de Soissons, she gave me my dismissal with the same air of insufferable haughtiness, and retired into the house. As my apartments lay in one of the wings, I was again crossing the garden to reach them, when suddenly a figure glided past me, which for a moment rooted me to the ground. It was in vain I accused myself of superstition, of madness, of folly. The belief still remained fixed upon my mind, that I had seen Jean Baptiste Arnault, whom I had shot with my own hand. The moon had just risen--the space before me was clear; and if ever my eyes served me in the world, it was the figure of him I had killed that passed before me.

Without loss of time, I made my way to my own apartments; and pale, haggard, and agitated, I cast myself on a seat, while little Achilles, in no small surprise, gazed on me with open eyes, and asked a thousand times what he could do for me.

"It was he!" muttered I, without taking any notice of the little man.--"It was certainly Jean Baptiste Arnault, if ever I beheld him."

"My brother!" exclaimed Achilles; "I thought he was at Lourdes, with that most respectable gentleman his father, my mother's husband that was; and my parent that ought to have been--I certainly thought he was at Lourdes."

"He is in the grave, and by my hand," replied I, scarcely understanding what he had said; but gradually, as I grew calm, my mind took in his meaning, and I exclaimed, "Your brother! Was Jean Baptiste Arnault your brother?"

"That he certainly was, by the mother's side," replied the little player, "and as good a soul he was, when a boy, as ever existed." An explanation of course ensued; and on calling to mind the little man's history, I found that no great wit would have been necessary to have understood his connection with Arnault before. A more painful narrative followed on my part, for Achilles pressed me upon the words I had let fall. I could not tell him the circumstances of his brother's death--that would have been too dreadful for my state of mind at the moment; but I assured him that it had been accidental; and I told him the regret, the horror, the grief, which it had occasioned me ever since.

"Poor Jean Baptiste!" cried the little player, with more feeling than I thought he possessed, "he was as good a creature as ever lived; and now, when I hear that he is dead, all his tricks of boyhood, and all the happy hours when we played together, come up upon my mind, and I feel--what perhaps I never felt rightly before--what a sad thing it is to be an outcast, denied, and forgotten, and alone, without one tie of kindred between me and all the wide world." And the tears came up into his eyes as he spoke. "Do not let me vex you, monseigneur," continued he: "I am sure you would harm no one on purpose; and you have been to me far better than kind and kindred; for you alone, on all the earth, have borne with me, and showed me unfailing kindness; but yet I cannot help regretting poor Jean Baptiste."

It was a bitter and a painful theme; and we both dropped it as soon as it was possible. Ideas, however, were re-awakened in my mind, that defied sleep; and though I persuaded myself that the figure I had seen was but the effect of an imagination over-excited by what had passed during the day, and the thoughts that had lately occupied me; yet, as I lay in my bed, all the horrid memories, over which time had begun to exercise some softening power, came up as sharp and fresh as if the blood was still flowing that my hand had shed.

I rose late, and while Achilles was aiding me to dress, I saw that there was something on his mind that he wished to say. At length it broke forth. "I would not for the world speak to you, monseigneur, on a subject that is so painful," said the little player, with a delicacy of which I had hardly judged him capable; "but this morning something extraordinary has happened, that I think it best to tell you. As I was standing but now at the gate of the Hôtel de Soissons, who should pass by but Arnault the old procureur. He stopped suddenly, and looked at me; and as I thought he knew me, though in all probability I was mistaken, I spoke to him, and we had a long conversation. Me he seemed to care very little about, but he asked me a world of questions about you; and he seemed to know all that you were doing, a great deal better than I did myself. I assured him, however, that the death of poor Jean Baptiste was entirely accidental, as you told me; and I related to him all that you had suffered on that account, and how often, even now, it would make you as grave and as melancholy as if it were just done. I wanted him very much to tell me where he lived, but he would not; and took himself off directly I asked the question."