Idleness brings out the bad points of most people; and both Clovis and Pharamond were chafing. The latter, having nothing else to do, studied his brother carefully, and the proceeding increased his disquietude. Clovis fretted, and fumed, and yawned, and wished himself away, listening with eagerness to the abbé's insidious innuendoes, then growling and muttering to himself. He had something on his mind which he was keeping back. It was not well that he should keep anything from the abbé, so the son of the Church, with appropriate little jests anent confession, set himself to expose the secret. It was as instinct bade him fear. Clovis was hankering after the absent affinity.
Pharamond had had cause to suspect that since the advent of Mademoiselle Brunelle his own power had been permanently weakened. As he had told Gabrielle, to obtain complete mastery over this wavering specimen of fleshliness it was necessary that the leading-rein should be held by a woman; and--without fault of his--the abbé chanced to be a man.
The marquis had not been aware of the delights of feminine companionship till the arrival of the enchanting governess, and Pharamond understood with reluctance now that although the subject had been tabooed, Clovis yet pined for his affinity. He remembered the parting words of Aglaé at the moment of her banishment. "In the solitude of the country," she had said, "the neophyte would miss her." The capital under its present aspect was as lonely to him, for he had always been more or less of a recluse, and most of his town friends had joined the army of emigrants.
To avoid contact with the scum, and to save appearances in the matter of compulsory attendance on his wife, he had taken up his studies with ardour in the capital, and missed his late comrade each day more and more. As his lips unclosed, he poured forth his confession to the churchman; Pharamond reflected with perturbation that if the temple were left long without its tenant, a new one might crawl in and occupy. What was to prevent this flabby Clovis, since he felt the void so much, from seeking another adept, even from applying to Mesmer for just such another siren as the last? And if he did, what of the abbé and his plans? Though not so docile as could be wished, and given to casual deceit, it was possible for the abbé and the governess to work together smoothly enough. That much had been proven. Supposing that, taking the bull by the horns, he were cunningly to bring about her re-introduction into the ménage, would she be grateful, and, singing peccavi, promise to behave better in future? Gratitude is so scarce a commodity! And by what artifice could she be introduced again without raising a whirlwind of remonstrance? On the other hand, if Clovis were allowed to find another leader, the new affinity might eschew an alliance with the abbé, even deliberately work for his suppression. How complicated the game! How difficult were his cards to play! Was it safe to leave the ball to roll, or must it be checked in mid career? How would the marquise behave deprived of parental support, at sight of the apparition of her rival? These were knotty problems, and another false move might mean irremediable discomfiture. Impossible as it was to see far ahead, it was necessary to feel step by step like a blind man groping. How delicate an operation to re-introduce the massive form of the offender! On what plea, since after what had passed she could not assume the attributes of teacher? Move the fragments of his puzzle as he would, they declined to fit together, and the abbé ground his teeth with fury and confessed that for the moment he was nonplussed.
If only the marquise could be induced to return home quickly, remove herself from the influence of supporters. Would it be well to have a fictitious message sent announcing the illness of the darlings? A scrap of paper a few inches square would send her posting back to Lorge at lightning speed; but then discovering that she was fooled, suspicion would arise, alert. Could Clovis be persuaded to go home without her? In that case his brothers must accompany him, lest, left to his devices, he should do something regrettable; and it was of equal importance to keep an eye on wife as well as husband.
Turning the subject over and over with infinite care, the abbé admitted with an impatient sigh that for the time being he was powerless, and that the ball must be allowed to roll. Meanwhile it would be advisable not to lose touch of the governess, lest some day, when wanted, she should turn rusty and accuse him of neglect. He accordingly sat down and wrote a long and entertaining letter full of sly quip and graphic description, ending with the assurance that the marquis did not forget, and that the humble scribe was her slave.
This precaution taken, he settled himself down to drift with hands before him: nor had he long to wait to perceive the direction of the current.
It was the twentieth of June. The day was balmy, and the windows open. The queen sat in a low causeuse in her tiny library relating to the Marquise de Gange the ominous occurrences of the morning. Paris was a penful of sheep now distracted by too many shepherds--a weathercock its most fitting symbol. What was happening every day would be laughable but for the lurid cloud above with its blood-red lining, and the low rumbling of thunder, each hour more distinct. The Assembly whose mission was to guide the nation was no better than a den of noxious animals, each bent on biting his neighbour. The president had committed the grievous error of opening the flood-gates to the waters. The sacred precincts over which he ruled were thrown open to a mob of thirty thousand scoundrels who, their imaginations inflamed by novelty and drunken with success, licked their foul lips and prepared for further outrage. Women danced like Mœnads, waving a pike in one hand and an olive-branch in the other--symbols of peace and war. From a chorus of brawny throats rolled the familiar strains of Ça Ira. The unkempt porters of the markets, the cadaverous workers from the cellars of St. Antoine; a weak-limbed squad, a sturdy crew of ruffians, equally bent on mischief, waved rude bits of jagged iron bound to the ends of bludgeons. There was no end to the muster. Women possessed of the devil Hysteria--men maddened and excited by the women. More men--more women--women--men. What did they want? What was the object of the saturnalia in the sacred precincts of the Assembly? Ragged breeches were held up with a yell of "Vive les sans culottes!" Some one flourished a pike aloft on which was transfixed the bleeding heart of a calf. Through the drip the scrawled description could be deciphered--"This is the heart of an aristocrat!"
"If the accepted authorities were to be bearded thus, what next?" suggested Marie Antoinette. "We are marching straight downwards to our doom. We know it, and being blameless, look to the end with thankfulness. But when we are sacrificed--what then--afterwards. Après?"
When Gabrielle strove to persuade her benefactress that she saw things en noir the latter gave her haughty head a toss. "Conflict with the inevitable is not always an absurd mockery, for self-respect, when we are innocent, insists on battle to the death."