[CHAPTER XXVIII]
On the next day Consuelo felt overcome both in body and mind. The cynical revelations of Supperville, following so closely on the paternal encouragements of the Invisibles, produced the same effect as if she had, after a pleasant warmth, been dipped in iced-water. She had been lifted to heaven, to sink again to earth, She was almost angry with the doctor for having undeceived her; for in her dreams she had already seen, clad with dazzling majesty, the august tribunal which opened its arms to her as a home, as a refuge against the dangers of earth and the mistakes of youth.
Nevertheless, the doctor seemed to merit the gratitude of Consuelo, who recognised it without being able to sympathise with him. Was not his conduct that of a sincere, brave, and disinterested man? Consuelo, however, found him too skeptical, too much of a materialist, and too much inclined to contemn good intentions and ridicule good characters. In spite of what he had said of the imprudent and dangerous credulity of the prince, she formed an exalted idea of the noble old man, who was ardent for good, and implicit in his belief of human perfectibility. She recalled to mind the conversation she had in the subterranean hall, which seemed full of calm authority and austere wisdom. Charity and kindness appeared beneath the mask of affected sternness, ready to burst forth at the first impulse of Consuelo's heart. Would swindlers, avaricious men, and charlatans have thus acted and spoken to her? The bold enterprise of reforming the world, which seemed so ridiculous to Supperville, was the eternal wish, the romantic hope with which Albert had inspired his wife, and with which she had found something sympathetic in the diseased but generous head of Gottlieb. Was not this Supperville to be hated, then, for having sought to tear away, at the same time, her faith in God and her confidence in the Invisibles.
Consuelo, more given to poetry of the soul, than to the dry contemplation of the sad realities of life, contended against the words of Supperville, and attempted to disprove them. Had he not indulged in gratuitous suppositions, had he not owned that he was not initiated in the subterranean world, and seemed ignorant even of the name and existence of the Invisibles? Trismegistus might be a Chevalier d'Industrie, yet the Princess Amelia affirmed the contrary, and the friendship of Golowken, the best and wisest of the grandees Consuelo had met at Berlin, spoke in his favor. If Cagliostro and St. Germain were both impostors, it did not render it impossible for them to be imposed on by a wonderful likeness. Though the three were condemned, it did not follow they were a part of the council of the Invisibles; and that body of venerable men might reject their advice as soon as Consuelo had established that Trismegistus was not Albert. Would it not be time to withdraw her confidence after this decisive test, should they persist in seeking to impose on her so grossly? Consuelo resolved, at that point, to tempt fate, and learn more of the Invisibles, to whom she was indebted for liberty, and whose paternal reproaches had reached her heart. She determined on this; and while awaiting the issue of the affair, resolved to consider what Supperville had told her as a test to which he had been authorised to subject her, or as a means of giving vent to his spleen against rivals who had more influence with, or were better treated by the prince than himself.
One hypothesis tormented Consuelo more than all others. Was it absolutely impossible for Albert to be alive? Supperville had not observed the phenomena which had preceded, by two years, his final illness. He even refused to believe them, persisting in thinking that the frequent absences of Albert in the cavern were consecrated to gallant rendezvous with Consuelo. She alone, with Zdenko, was in the secret of these lethargic crises. The vanity of the doctor would not permit him to own that he was mistaken in declaring him dead. Now that Consuelo was aware of the existence and material power of the Council of the Invisibles, she dared conjecture that means had been found to rescue Albert from the horrors of a premature burial, and that for secret purposes he had been received among them. All the revelations of Supperville, in relation to the mysteries and whimsicalities of the castle, and the prince aided the confirmation of this supposition. The resemblance of the adventurer, known as Trismegistus, might complicate the marvellous part of the circumstance, but could not destroy its possibility. This idea took such complete possession of Consuelo that she relapsed into profound melancholy. Were Albert alive, she would not hesitate to rejoin him as soon as she was permitted, and would devote herself eternally to him. She was now more than ever aware how much she would suffer from a devotion in which there was no element of love. The Chevalier appeared to her as a cause of deep regret, and her conscience a source of future remorse. Were she forced to renounce him, the new love would, like all love which was opposed, become a passion. Consuelo did not ask herself with hypocritical resignation, why her dear Albert would leave the tomb where he was so comfortable. She said it was in her destiny to sacrifice herself to this man, perhaps after he was dead, and she wished to fulfil this fate: yet she suffered strangely, and lamented the Chevalier, her most ardent, and her involuntary love.
She was roused from her meditations by a faint noise and the fluttering of a wing on her shoulder. She uttered an exclamation of surprise and joy at seeing a pretty red-throat enter the room and come kindly to her. After a hesitation of a few minutes, the bird took a flight from her hand.
"Is it you, my poor friend, my faithful companion?" said Consuelo, with tears of childish joy. "Can it be possible that you have sought for and found me? No, that cannot be. Pretty, confiding creature, you are like my friend, yet are not he. You belong to some gardener, and have escaped from the enclosure where you pass your time amid the flowers. Come to me, consoler of the prisoner. Since the instinct of your race impels you to associate with the solitary captive, I will bestow on you the love I felt for another of your race."
Consuelo toyed half an hour with the little captive, when she heard without a kind of whistle, which made the intelligent creature tremble. It dropped the food she had given it, made its great eyes glisten and expand, and flew through the window in obedience to an incontestable authority. Consuelo looked after it, and saw it lose itself amid the foliage. While looking at it, she saw in the depth of the garden, on the other side of the stream which bounded it, a person easy to be recognised, notwithstanding the distance. Gottlieb was walking along the bank, apparently happy, and attempting to leap and bound. Forgetting for a moment the order of the Invisibles, Consuelo sought, by waving her handkerchief, to attract his attention; but he was absorbed by the thought of regaining his bird. He looked up among the trees as he whistled, and went on without having seen Consuelo.
"Thank God, and the Invisibles too! in spite of Supperville," said she. "The poor lad appears happier and in better health. His guardian angel, the red-throat, is with him. This appears the presage of a smiling fate to me also. Come, let me not doubt our protectors any more. Distrust withers the heart."