mademoiselle de sainte-amour's sick-headache
the directors were lodged at the luxembourg, each according to his tastes and habits rather than his needs.
barras, the man of action and display, the great lord, the indian nabob, had taken the whole of the wing which now forms the picture-gallery and its appurtenances. rewbell and la reveillière-lepaux shared the other wing. carnot had taken the whole ground floor for himself and his brother, and had cut off an immense room for his maps from the rest of the apartment. barthélemy, who had come last, and who was coldly received by his colleagues because he had shared in the counter-revolution, had contented himself with what was left.
on the evening before the stormy meeting at the clichy club had taken place, barras had returned to his rooms in a bad temper. he had invited no one, intending to pass the evening with mademoiselle de sainte-amour, who had replied to his note, sent two hours earlier, by a charming letter saying that, as ever, she would be delighted to see him.
but when he presented himself at the door at nine o'clock, suzette answered his ring, coming on tiptoe, and entreating him with hand and voice to be silent, as her mistress had been attacked by one of those violent sick-headaches, for which the faculty had as yet found no rem[pg 466]edy, since their cause lay, not in the patient's constitution, but rather in her mind.
the director followed suzette, walking as cautiously as if he had a bandage over his eyes, and were engaged in a game of blind man's buff. as he passed the door of the boudoir, which was shut, he cast a suspicious glance at it before entering the sleeping apartment, with which we are familiar, and which was lighted only by an alabaster lamp in which perfumed oil was burning, and which was suspended from the ceiling.
there was nothing to be said. mademoiselle de sainte-amour was lying upon her bed of rosewood inlaid with sèvres porcelain. she was wearing a little lace cap especially reserved for days of great suffering, and spoke in the plaintive voice of one to whom speech is an effort.
"ah! my dear general!" she said, "how good you are to come; and how i longed to see you."
"was it not understood that i was to spend the evening with you?" replied barras.
"yes, and although i was suffering from this odious headache, i said nothing about it. i wanted so much to see you. when one is suffering, the presence of those one loves is more than ever appreciated."
she languidly withdrew a warm, moist hand from beneath the coverings, and extended it to barras, who kissed it gallantly, and then seated himself upon the foot of the bed. the pain made the invalid moan.
"ah!" said barras, "this is a severe headache, is it not?"
"yes and no," replied aurélie; "with a little rest it would pass off. ah! if i could only sleep!"
the words were accompanied with a sigh that might have made the god of sleep himself envious of the beautiful courtesan.
it is probable that within a week after they were driven from paradise, eve played this little comedy of the sick-headache for adam, which has lasted for six thousand years and which has always been attended with the same[pg 467] success. men joke about it; women laugh over it; but whenever it is needed the headache hastens to the aid of whoever summons it, and succeeds in getting rid of all importunates.
barras sat with the beautiful invalid for ten minutes, until she thought that she could decently shut her eyes, half sadly, half smilingly, and permit her breast to rise and fall with that gentle and regular breathing which indicates that while the soul may still be awake the body has already embarked upon the calm ocean of sleep.
barras laid the hand which he had been holding gently down upon the lace coverlet, deposited a paternal kiss upon the sleeper's white forehead, and bade suzette tell her mistress that his manifold occupations would possibly prevent him from returning within the next three or four days. then he left the room on tiptoe as he had entered it. as he passed the boudoir, he longed to push the door open, for something told him that the cause of the fair aurélie's headache was concealed there. suzette followed him to the outer door, which she took the precaution to double-lock after him.
when barras returned to the luxembourg, his valet informed him that a lady was awaiting him. barras asked the usual question: "young or old?"
"she must be young, sir," replied the valet; "but i have not been able to see her face because of her veil."
"how is she dressed?"
"like a woman in good society, in black satin. she looks like a widow."
"did you bring her in?"
"i put her in the pink boudoir. if monseigneur should not care to receive her, nothing is easier than to show her out without passing through the cabinet. will you receive her here, or will you go to the pink boudoir?"
"i will go there," said barras.
then, remembering that he might be about to meet a woman of rank, and that the proprieties must be observed[pg 468] even in the luxembourg, he said to the valet: "announce me."
the valet went first, opened the door of the boudoir, and said: "citizen-director barras."
he drew back at once to give place to him whom he had announced. barras entered with that grand air which he had derived from the aristocratic world to which he belonged, and to which, in spite of three years of revolution and two of directory, he still belonged.
in one of the corners of the room a couch had been built into the wall. a lady was standing there, dressed all in black, as the valet had said, and whose bearing indicated to barras at a glance that she did not belong to the frail sisterhood.
putting his hat on the table, he walked toward her, saying:
"you wished to see me, madame, and i am here."
the young woman, with a superb gesture, raised her veil, and disclosed a face of remarkable beauty.
beauty is the most powerful of all fairies and the most potent introducer. barras paused a moment as if dazzled.
"ah! madame," he said, "how fortunate i am, for i intended remaining out a portion of the night, and only a fortuitous circumstance brought me back to the luxembourg, where such good fortune awaits me! be good enough to sit down, madame, and tell me to what i owe the pleasure of your visit."
and he made a movement to take her hand and to lead her to the couch from which she had risen when he was announced.
but she, keeping her hands beneath the folds of her long veil, replied: "pardon, sir; i will remain standing, as befits a suppliant."
"a suppliant! you, madame? a lady like you does not beg, she commands, or at least she demands."
"well, sir, i demand! in the name of the town which gave birth to us both; in the name of my father, who was[pg 469] your friend; in the name of outraged humanity and in the name of outraged justice, i come to demand vengeance!"
"the word is a hard one to fall from the lips of one so young," said barras.
"sir, i am the daughter of the comte de fargas, who was assassinated at avignon by the republicans, and a sister of the vicomte de fargas, who has just been assassinated at bourg-in-bresse by the companions of jehu."
"those men again," muttered barras. "are you sure, mademoiselle?"
the young girl held out her hand and gave barras the dagger and the paper.
"what is that?" asked barras.
"the proof of what i have told you. my brother's body was found three days ago on the place de la prefecture, at bourg, with this dagger in his heart and this paper tied to the hilt of the dagger."
barras at first examined the weapon with interest. it was forged from a single piece of steel, in the form of a cross, like the ancient daggers of saint vehme. the only thing which distinguished it from them was the inscription, "companions of jehu," which was engraved upon the blade.
"but," said barras, "this dagger alone merely raises a presumption. it might have been stolen or forged purposely to lead the officers of justice astray."
"yes," returned the young girl; "but here is something which should place them on the right track. read this postscript, written in my brother's own handwriting and signed with his own name."
barras read:
i die because i have broken a sacred oath; consequently i admit that i deserve death. if you wish to give my body christian burial, it will be placed to-morrow night in the market-place at bourg. the dagger which will be found buried in my breast will indicate that i do not die the victim of a cowardly assassination, but of a just vengeance.
vicomte de fargas.
[pg 470]
"and this postscript was addressed to you, mademoiselle?" asked barras.
"yes, sir."
"and you are sure that it is in your brother's writing?"
"it is his writing."
"what does he mean by writing that he 'does not die the victim of a cowardly assassination, but of a just vengeance'?"
"my brother was himself a companion of jehu. when arrested he broke his oath and betrayed his comrades." then she added, with a strange laugh, "i ought to have joined in his stead."
"wait," said barras; "there should be a report of this among my papers."
