Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 15 (29 page)

 
          
“I
am out of breath; let us stroll about and hear people’s comments on me and
mine; that will be amusing,” she said, pausing, and her escort obeyed.

           
It was amusing, and something more,
for as they passed through the glittering throng, or mingled with the groups
gathered about each statue- haunted alcove, Cecil saw and heard the wonder,
admiration, and reverence her husband’s genius inspired. This was the first
time his works had been exhibited, and there was something so romantic in the
fact that these fine statues had stood unknown, unseen, till they were brought
to decorate his wife’s home, as if love alone could make him care for fame,
that their beauty seemed increased fourfold in the spectators’ eyes; and so
warm were the commendations bestowed upon the marbles, so varied and beautiful
the tributes paid the man, that Cecil glowed behind the mask, and was glad of
that screen to hide her smiles and tears. From many lips she heard the same
story, sorrow, love, and fame, with endless embellishments, but always the same
contrast between romance and reality for her.
If he loved
her, why so careless about Germain?
What was the mystery that bound the
two so closely together, with such a strange mingling of dislike and gratitude,
forbearance and submission? Had she not a right to solve the secret if she
could, now that her happiness depended on it? These thoughts saddened and
silenced her so visibly that her companion soon perceived it.

 
          
“Where
are all your spirits gone? Have I really offended you by coming? Or do these
chattering people weary you? Tell me, Cecil, and let me do my best to make you
gay again,” he whispered, bending till his curling locks touched her shoulder.

 
          
“Neither,
Sir Walter; the heat oppresses me, so take me out into the garden, and leave me
to rest, while you play the cavalier to some other lady, lest your devotion to
one should give offense.”

 
          
“If
I submit now, I may join you when I’ve done penance in a single dance,
may
I not? Remember how short my time is, and how much I
have to say.”

 
          
“You
may come if you will forget the past, and think only of the future.”

 
          
“I
can safely promise that, for it is now the desire of my heart,” and with a
curious blending of joy and regret in his voice, Sir Walter left the marquise
on the broad steps that led down into the garden. Moonlight flooded the
terrace, grove, and flowery paths where changing figures wandered to and fro,
or sat in the green nooks, each group making a graceful picture in that magic
light. Here a troubadour sang to his guitar, as knights and ladies listened to
his lay; there glided a monk or nun, somber and silent, as if blind and deaf to
the gaiety about them; elves glittered in the grove; Mephistopheles followed a
blond Margaret; Louis Fourteenth and Marie Stuart promenaded with stately pace
along the terrace; and Rebecca the Jewess was flirting violently with Cardinal
Wol- sey on the steps. Enjoying the mirth and mystery with a divided mind,
Cecil wandered on, declining all courteous offers of companionship from fellow
wanderers, and came at last to a retired nook, where a rustic seat stood under
a leafy arch before the little fountain that sparkled in the moonlight.
Scarcely was she seated, however, before a long shadow fell across the path,
and turning, she saw a black domino behind her.

 
          
“Does
Madame recognize me?”

 
          
The
voice was feigned, nothing but the outline of the figure was visible, and no
badge distinguished this domino from a dozen others, but after a moment’s pause
and a brief scrutiny, Cecil seemed satisfied, and removing her mask, exclaimed
with an air of perfect confidence, “It is Germain; you cannot hide yourself
from me.”

 
          
“Is
Madame sure?”

 
          
“Yes,
I know you by the rapid beating of your heart. You forget that,
mon
ami.”

 
          
“Does
no other heart beat fast when it approaches you, lovely marquise?”

 
          
“None
but yours, I fancy. You have been dancing, and I bade you not, it is dangerous.
Come now, and rest with me; the music is delicious from this distance, and the
night too beautiful to waste in crowded rooms.”

 
          
With
an inviting gesture she swept her silken train aside, that he might share the
little seat, and as he took it, put up her hand to remove his mask, with the
smile still shining on her face, the friendly tone still softening her voice.

 
          
“Take
off that ugly thing, it impedes your breathing, and is bad for you.”

 
          
But
he caught the hand, and imprisoned it in both his own, while the heartbeats
grew more audible, and some inward agitation evidently made it difficult to
speak quietly.

 
          
“No,
permit me to keep it on; I cannot show as calm a face as you tonight, so let me
hide it.”

 
          
Something
in the touch and tone caused Cecil to look closer at the mask, which showed
nothing but glittering eyes and glimpses of a black beard.

 
          
“Where
is the sign that will assure me you are Germain?” she demanded.

 
          
“Here,”
and turning to a fold of the black domino she saw the rose still hanging as she
had tied it.

 
          
“No
wonder you did not care to show your badge, it is so faded. Break a fresh one
from the trellis yonder, and I will place it better for you.”

 
          
“Give
me one from your
bouquet, that
is fresher and sweeter
to me than any other in the garden or the world.”

 
          
“Moonlight
and masquerading make you romantic; I feel so too, and will make a little
bargain with you, since you prize my rose so highly. You shall take your choice
of these I wear, if you will answer a few questions.”

 
          
“Ask
anything—” he began eagerly, but caught back the words, adding, “put your
questions, and if I can answer them without forfeiting my word, I will, truly
and gladly.”

 
          
“Ah,
I thought that would follow. If I forfeit my word in asking, surely you may do
the same in answering. I promised Bazil to control my curiosity; I have kept my
promise till he broke his, now I am free to satisfy myself.”

 
          
“What
promise has he broken?”

 
          
“I
will answer that when you have earned the rose. Come, grant my wish, and then
you may question in return.”

 
          
“Speak,
I will do my best.”

 
          
“Tell
me then what tie binds you to Yorke?”

 
          
“The closest, yet most inexplicable.”

 
          
“You
are his brother?”

 
          
“No.”

 
          
“He
cannot be your
father, that
is impossible?”

 
          
“Decidedly,
as there are but a few years difference between our ages.”

 
          
She
heard a short laugh as this answer came, and smiled at her own foolish
question.

 
          
“Then
you must be akin to me, and so hound to him in some way. Is that it?”

 
          
“I
am not akin to you, yet I am bound to you both, and thank God for it.”

 
          
“What
is the mystery? Why do you haunt me? Why does Yorke let you come? And why do I
trust you in spite of everything?”

 
          
“The
only key I can give you to all this is the one word, love.”

 
          
She
drew back, as he bent to whisper it, and put up her hand as if to forbid the
continuance of the subject, but Germain said warmly, “It is because I love you
that I haunt you. Yorke permits it, because he cannot prevent it, and you trust
me, because your heart is empty and you long to fill it. Is not this true? I
have answered your questions, now answer mine, I beg of you.”

 
          
“No,
it is not true.”

 
          
“Then
you do love?”

 
          
“Yes.”

 
          
“Whom, Cecil, whom?”

 
          
“Not
you, Germain, believe that, and ask no more.”

 
          
“Is
it a younger, comelier man than
ft
”

 
          
“Yes.”

 
          
“And
you have loved him long?*”

 
          
“For years.”

 
          
“He
is here tonight?*”

 
          
“He
is. Now let us go in, I am tired of this.”

 
          
“Not
yet, stay and answer me once more. You shall not go till I am satisfied. Tell
me,
have you no love for Yorke?”

 
          
His
sudden violence terrified her, for, as she endeavored to rise, he held her
firmly, speaking vehemently, and waiting her reply, with eyes that flashed
behind the mask. Remembering his wild nature, and fearing some harm to Bazil,
she dared not answer truly, and hoping to soothe him, she laid her hand upon
his arm, saying, with well-feigned coldness, “How can I love him, when I have
been taught for years only to respect and obey him? He has been a stern master,
and I never can forget my lesson. Now release me, Germain, and never let this
happen again. It was my fault, so I forgive you, hut there must be no more of
it.”

 
          
There
was no need to bid him release her, for as the words left her lips, like one in
a paroxysm of speechless repentance, grief, or tenderness, he covered her hands
with passionate tears and kisses, and was gone as suddenly as he had come.
Cecil lingered a moment to recover herself and readjust her mask, and hardly
had she done so when down the path came Hamlet, as if in search of her. The
difference between the two had never been more strongly marked than now, for
Germain had been in his most impetuous mood, and Yorke seemed unusually mild
and calm, as Cecil hurried toward him, with a pleasant sense of safety as she
took his arm, and listened to his quiet question.

 
          
“What
has frightened you, my child?”

 
          
“Germain,
he is so violent, so strange, that I can neither control nor understand him,
and he must be banished, though it is hard to do it.” “Poor Germain, he suffers
for the sins of others as well as for his own. But if he makes you unhappy, he
shall go, and go at once. Why did you not tell me so before?”

 
          
“I
did, but you said, let him stay. Have you forgotten that so soon?” Yorke
laughed low to himself.

 
          
“It
seems that I have forgotten. It was kind of me, however, to let him stay where
he was the happiest; did you not think so, Cecil?”

 
          
“No,
I thought it very unwise. I was hurt at yOur indifference, and tried to show
you your mistake; but I have done harm to Germain, and he must go, although in
him I lose my dearest friend, my pleasantest companion. I am very proud, but I
humble myself to ask this favor of you, Bazil.”

 
          
“Gentle
heart, how can he ever thank you for your compassion and affection;5 Be easy,
he shall go; but as a last boon, give him one more happy day, and I will make
sure that he shall not offend again, as he seems to have done tonight. I, too,
am proud, but I humble myself, Cecil, to ask this favor of you.”

 
          
So
gently he spoke, so entirely changed he seemed, that Cecil's eyes filled, for
her heart felt very tender, and before she could restrain it, an impulsive
exclamation escaped her.