CHAPTER XXIII.
[A PASSAGE OF ARMS.]
Mademoiselle Algaé Brunelle was not on a bed of roses, and her growing impatience took the form of tartness. If Clovis could have looked on his affinity in his absence her prospects of becoming some day Marquise de Gange might have been less promising. In truth, she was very cross, and took no trouble to conceal her mood from Pharamond or Phebus. It was not her fault, but that of the silly Bertrand, that the cakes should have had a metallic flavour. She therefore soundly rated that worthy for his clumsiness, and threatened him with pains and penalties. The chef glanced at her with two pig's-eyes set close together, and replied, "I was engaged in Paris by Monsieur l'Abbé, not by mademoiselle, who should undertake her dirty work herself." He had no personal feeling against the recluse upstairs, but man must live, and with the present he was to receive he intended to escape from the French caldron, and make up for a trifling lapsus in another land by a future of exemplary virtue.
Energetic mademoiselle was all for taking the bull by the horns and acting with decision. Why beat about the bush in this provoking way, she argued, since the chatelaine was completely in their power? The domestics were the abbé's creatures, drafted one by one, and dropped each into his place. Madame de Vaux and Angelique were too much alarmed to leave their own precincts; and now that the marquis was gone, the old gentleman had no motive for ambling over from Montbazon, since he had never understood Gabrielle, and instinctively disliked the brothers. He was grateful to Algaé in that matter of the sciatic nerve, but it was not his place as a seigneur to make morning calls on a dependant. To prevent prying from without, it was easy to spread a report that Madame la Marquise de Gange had been attacked by typhus fever. The rustics of Touraine had a wholesome dread of the disease. Madame had none on whom she could rely except her faithful abigail. Would it not be the most natural thing in the world if the devoted foster-sister were likewise to succumb to the malady? There was nothing whatever to stop the prosecution of their plans, and it has long been an axiom that what has to be done is best done quickly. There was nothing to cause the delay but the abbé's tortuous method. It is said that each of us has been an animal in a previous phase, and that a shade of likeness, physical or moral, or both, yet clings to us in this. Mademoiselle was convinced that in his last existence the abbé had been a serpent. It was his nature to wriggle and twist, and he could not for the life of him move straight. If he beheld a dove upon a branch he must needs coil himself elaborately to fascinate it, instead of protruding a tongue and gobbling it up at once.
These and other views, did she propound to Pharamond, marching up and down the room as her wont was, when much in earnest, with elephantine tread, while the chevalier blinked at her in fear. A wonderful woman, an awful and terrible woman! It was not surprising that Clovis should have sunk under her thrall. She dared to beard, and even flout the still more awful Pharamond, and the two crossed swords sometimes with such a clash of arms that Phebus shivered in alarm. What two such strong ones willed, would certainly take place. No doubt about it. The poor thing upstairs was doomed. No effort that he, Phebus, could make, might stay her doom. Why, then, make any effort? He could only shed maudlin tears and wish her well through her misery. He quite agreed with Algaé, that the inevitable should take place at once.
Now lecturing and advice that looked too like command, was by no means palatable to Pharamond, and he had much ado to maintain the suavity of his temper. The idea of typhus was not bad, but it would entail certain consequences. Nearly everybody at this time, both in France and England, was seamed with smallpox, and dreadful as the scourge was, familiarity had paled its terrors. The report of a spread of typhus, on the other hand, was enough to depopulate a district. Happily, since the period which occupies us, advancing science has done much to mitigate its horrors, but in the eighteenth century, the sickening details of its course were enough to appal the bravest. The Marquise de Gange and her abigail having succumbed to the scourge, the inmates of the chateau must flee, or endure ostracism--they would be banned like lepers.
Though by the terms of the new will, the marquis would quietly inherit, it would not do for him and his brothers, after assisting at a typhus deathbed, to stay at Blois to transact necessary business. Unluckily the unstable legatee could not be trusted to do much unaided. As had been decided he was to raise money on his expectations, sufficient to waft the party to Geneva, and keep them in proper style during tedious but necessary negociations. It was obvious, therefore, that mademoiselle's impatience was vexatious and ill-advised. When Clovis wrote to say that the sum was raised, then they would perform their one act drama, and, bowing, retire behind the scenes.
"Surely there ought to be no difficulty about raising the necessary sum," grumbled Algaé, with arms crossed, and moody brow. "Clovis is so reprehensibly tardy. What can he be doing all this while! I would have settled the matter myself in half-an-hour, if the mission could have been confided to me."
Phebus blinked more than usual. Oh! A wonderful woman, who appeared to him as a vision of fate in a violent hurry. Could she who had been sprightly and kittenish, be so athirst for another woman's blood?
"You deem yourself vastly clever," sneered Pharamond, waxing wroth. "Can you not remember that every mistake has been due to your stupidity? Half-an-hour, forsooth! Do you not know that bullion is as rare a commodity as diamonds? that to refuse payment in assignats is to risk the guillotine, and that beyond the border, such things are but dirty paper? A pretty figure we should cut if we rattled into the courtyard of the Etoile d'Or, and attempted to pay the Swiss postilions with dead leaves! One cannot, of course, expect common sense from a woman, any more than grapes from thistles. Your querulous importunity is wearying. You must keep your promise and be content to be led by me."