Keep not in twain for ever heart and heart
—Swinburne.
The next moment the door which gave on the landing was thrown open, and Michael stood face to face with M. Legros.
Thus premonition had come true. Thus would nothing remain of the past delicious hour only remembrance and bitter, bitter longing5 for what could never be.
The light of the one candle fell full upon the unromantic figure of the good tailor, on his pallid6 face whereon beads7 of perspiration8 told their mute tale of anxiety and of fulsome9 wrath10. His eyes, dilated11 and tawny12 in colour were fastened full upon the reprobate13, demanding above all things to know if the outraged14 father had perchance arrived too late.
The man's gay wedding clothes were torn and awry15; mud covered his shoes and stockings for he had not even stopped to be booted and spurred. The old English serving-man who had vainly tried earlier in the day to gain speech with the master tailor, had reached the august presence at last, and had handed to M. Legros the letter which was to be given to him and to no one else. It was written in a bold, clear hand and in scholarly French for the better understanding of Monsieur the tailor to the king. Mistress Peyton having penned a few ill-scrawled, ill-spelt words had[212] bethought herself of a young Huguenot clerk of French parentage who earned his living in London by the work of his pen; and being desirous above all that M. Legros should fully18 comprehend her letter, she caused it to be translated and writ16 clearly by that same young clerk, ere she finally entrusted19 it to Daniel Pye for delivery.
Thus it was that that which was written in the letter did not fail to reach the understanding of good Papa Legros. It was a full and detailed20 account of the treachery which had been perpetrated on the tailor's daughter by one Michael Kestyon, who was naught21 but a dissolute profligate22, a liar23 and a cheat, since his own cousin was Earl of Stowmaries, and no one else had any right to such title but he.
Papa Legros did not trouble to ask many questions, and since the English lout24 knew not a word of French, the good tailor took no further heed25 of him. He spoke26 to no one, not even to his wife. The letter said something which must be verified at once—at once—before it was too late. He gave orders that no one—least of all Mme. Legros—was to be disturbed, the merrimaking was to go on, the dancing, the eating and drinking, the speech making and all.
Then he slipped out by the back door and reached the small outbuilding where he kept a horse, which served him on occasions when he had to go to Versailles to try on a pair of breeches for His Majesty27 the King. It took good M. Legros no time to saddle his horse, and a ride of over three hours had no terrors for him beside the awful fear which gripped his paternal28 heart.
Before he left his home he detached from a nail on the wall of the shed an enormous stick with heavy leather thong29, with which he at times administered castigation30 to refractory31 or evil-minded 'prentices.
He knew his way to St. Denis and to the inn whither he wished to go. He put his horse to a gentle canter and it was just past nine o'clock when he saw the light in the old tower of the Church of St. Denis.
He was tired and stiff from riding, but he had sufficient control of himself to speak quietly to the host of the little inn, and to ask cheerfully of good Mme. Blond which room his daughter was occupying.
The amiable33 old soul pointed34 the way up the stairs, then returned to her stock-pot with the cheerful comment that she would serve the soup in a few moments.
Then Papa Legros went upstairs and pushing open the door stood face to face with Michael. With one hand he gripped the heavy stick with the stout35 leather thong on it, with the other he fumbled36 in the pocket of his surcoat until he found the letter again—the letter which was penned in such scholarly French by the Huguenot clerk, and which revealed such damnable treachery.
But Papa Legros wanted above all to be fair. During the long, monotonous37 ride in the silence and darkness of this spring evening he had had time to collect his thoughts somewhat, to weigh the value of the anonymous38 writing, to think of milor as he had known him these past three weeks: gallant39 and plucky40 to a fault, proud, generous and brave; and now that he stood before the man, saw the noble bearing of the head, the fine dark eyes, the mouth that was so ready to smile or to speak gentle words, his terror fled from him, and though his voice still shook a little from the intensity41 of his emotion, he contrived42 to say quite quietly, as he held the crumpled43 letter out toward Michael:
"My lord—you will forgive me—I know you will un[214]derstand—but it is the child's happiness—and—and—my lord, will you read this letter and tell me if its contents are true?"
Michael took the paper from him quite mechanically, for of course he had guessed its contents, but mayhap he had a vague desire to know who it was that had so wantonly destroyed his happiness. He went to the table and drew the flickering44 candle a little nearer, then bent45 his tall figure to read that cruel letter.
The handwriting told him nothing, but the tale was plainly told. The avenging46 angel of God was already standing17 with flaming sword at the gate of his paradise, forbidding him ever to enter. He looked up from the letter to that black door behind which she was; it almost seemed as if his aching eyes could pierce the solid oak. She was there behind the door and he could never, never again go to her, he could never, never again hold her in his arms.
Heaven had vanished and at his feet now yawned merciless, illimitable Hell.
"My lord," and the trembling voice of the outraged father broke in upon his thoughts, "my lord, I still await your answer—I'll not believe that nameless scrawl—I ask your word—only your solemn word, my lord, and all my fears will vanish. Swear to me, my lord, on the innocent head of my darling child that this letter holds nothing but calumnies47 and I'll believe you, my lord—if you'll swear it on her golden head."
Do you know that hush48 that to the imagination seems to fall upon the whole world just when a human heart is about to break? Michael felt that hush all around him now; the April wind ceased its moaning in the boughs49 of the young acacia trees, the reeds by the river bank sighed no longer in the breeze, awakened50 nature just for one moment[215] fell back into winter-like sleep, and a shadow—blacker and more dense51 than any that can fall from an angry heaven over the earth—descended on Michael's soul.
To swear—as he had sworn this morning at the foot of the altar? To swear by that most sacred thing upon God's earth, her sweet head?—no!
And Michael gave answer loudly and firmly:
"It is the truth!"
Less like a man than like an infuriated beast, the meek54 man—now an outraged father—literally sprang forward with upraised arm wielding55 the heavy dog-whip, ready to strike the miscreant56 in the face.
The proud, defiant57 head, noble even now in its humiliation58, was bent without a murmur59. Michael made no movement to avert60 the blow.
"Will you not kill me instead?" was all the protest which he made.
Legros' upraised hand fell nerveless by his side. He threw the stick away from him. He, poor soul, had never learned to control emotion, he had gone through no hard school wherein tears are jeered61 at, and sorrows unshared. He had never learned to be ashamed either of joy or of grief, and now, face to face with this man who had so deeply wronged him, and whom, despite his wrath, he was powerless to strike, he sank into a chair, and buried his face in his hands whilst a pitiful moan escaped his lips.
"The child—the poor child—how shall I ever tell her? The shame of it all—the cruelty—the shame—how shall I tell her?"
And Time's callous62 hand marked these minutes of terrible soul-agony, just as awhile ago it had marked the fleeting[216] moments of celestial63 joy. Michael was silent, the while he wondered almost senselessly—stupidly—if Hell could hold more awful agony than he was enduring now.
Yet through it all his turbulent soul rebelled at the situation, the sentimental64 parleyings, the pitiful grief of the father and the enforced humility65 of his own attitude. He knew that he had lost his Rose Marie, that the parents would never give her to him now; the solid and indestructible wall of bourgeois66 integrity stood between him and those mad, glad dreams of triumph and of happiness.
It was characteristic of the man that he never for a moment attempted to guess or to find out the channel through which his own misery67 had come to him. He certainly never suspected his cousin of treachery. Fate had dealt the blow cruelly and remorselessly and sent him back to a worse hell than he had ever known; a hell which Satan reserves for those he hates the most—the way to it leads past the entrance to heaven.
"Good M. Legros," said Michael at last, striving to curb68 his impatience69 and to speak with gentleness, "will you try and listen to me? Nay70, you need not fear, 'tis not my purpose to plead justification71, nor yet leniency—I wish that you could bring yourself to believe that though I wooed and won your daughter by what you think is naught but an abominable72 trick, I had one great thought above all others and that was that I would make her happy. This I do swear by the living God, and by what I hold dearer still, by the love which I bear to Rose Marie. And as there is a heaven above me, I would have made her happy, for I had gained her heart, and anon when the bonds of mine own boundless73 love had rivetted her still more closely to me, I should have taught her to forgive my venial74 sin of hav[217]ing entered heaven by a tortuous75 way. The name which I bear is mine own, the title which I have assumed is mine by right, I would have conquered it for myself and for her. You say that it is not to be—yet I swear to you that she will not be happy if you take her from me. This I know; if I did not I would go to her myself and tell her that I have lied to her. If despite what you know you will still confide76 her to me, you will never regret it to your dying day, for apart from the life of love and happiness which will be hers, I will lavish77 upon her all the treasures of satisfied ambition, far surpassing anything which you—her father—have ever wished for her."
M. Legros despite his grief which had completely overmastered him for awhile, raised his head in absolute astonishment78. Surely these English were the most astounding79 people in all the world! Here was this man who of a truth had committed the most flagrant, most impudent80 act of trickery, that had ever been perpetrated within memory of living man—he had done this thing and been ignominiously81 found out. By all the laws of decent and seemly behaviour he should now be standing humble82 and ashamed before the man whom he had tried to injure. And yet what happened? Here he stood, in perfect calm and undisguised pride, not a muscle of his face twitched83 with emotion, and his neck was as stiff as if he were exulting84 in some noble deed.
Had these English no sense of what was fitting? had they no heart? no feelings? no blood within their veins85? The man—so help us the living God!—was actually suggesting that his trickery be condoned86, that an innocent child be entrusted to him, who stood convicted of falsehood and of treachery! Good M. Legros' Gallic blood boiled within[218] him, overwhelming grief gave place to uncontrollable wrath. He rose to his feet, and pulled up his small stature87 to its uttermost height.
"You will make her happy!" he thundered, throwing an infinity88 of withering89 scorn into every word. "You—who like a prying90 jackal came to steal the fledgling from its nest? You who took money with one hand, the while you snatched a girl's honour with the other? With lying lips and soft, false words you stole our child's heart—even until father and mother were forgotten for the sake of the liar and the cheat who—"
Michael held up a quick warning hand, and instinctively91 the insults died on the other man's lips. Rose Marie—white as the clinging, crumpled gown which she had hastily refastened when anon she heard her father's voice raised in angered scorn—Rose Marie silent and still, and with great eyes fixed92 on Michael Kestyon, was standing in the doorway93.
At sight of her good M. Legros' grief swept over him with renewed force. Once more he sank into a chair, and buried his face in his hands whilst a moan of painful soul-agony escaped his lips.
"The child!—the child! My God how to tell her!"
But Rose Marie's voice came quite clear and distinct, there was no catch in her throat, nor tremor94 in the gentle tones as she said quietly:
"Nay! my dear father, an there is aught to tell—milor will best know how to say it to me."
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1
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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irreconcilable
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| adj.（指人）难和解的，势不两立的 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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albeit
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| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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7
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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8
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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fulsome
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| adj.可恶的，虚伪的，过分恭维的 | |
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wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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11
dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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reprobate
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| n.无赖汉；堕落的人 | |
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outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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15
awry
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| adj.扭曲的，错的 | |
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writ
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| n.命令状，书面命令 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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profligate
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| adj.行为不检的；n.放荡的人，浪子，肆意挥霍者 | |
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liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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lout
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| n.粗鄙的人；举止粗鲁的人 | |
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heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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thong
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| n.皮带；皮鞭；v.装皮带 | |
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castigation
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| n.申斥，强烈反对 | |
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refractory
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| adj.倔强的，难驾驭的 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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plucky
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| adj.勇敢的 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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42
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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43
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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46
avenging
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| adj.报仇的，复仇的v.为…复仇，报…之仇( avenge的现在分词 )；为…报复 | |
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calumnies
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| n.诬蔑，诽谤，中伤（的话）( calumny的名词复数 ) | |
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48
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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50
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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53
calumny
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| n.诽谤，污蔑，中伤 | |
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54
meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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55
wielding
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| 手持着使用（武器、工具等）( wield的现在分词 )； 具有； 运用（权力）； 施加（影响） | |
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miscreant
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| n.恶棍 | |
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defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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59
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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avert
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| v.防止，避免；转移(目光、注意力等) | |
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61
jeered
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| v.嘲笑( jeer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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callous
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| adj.无情的，冷淡的，硬结的，起老茧的 | |
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celestial
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| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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bourgeois
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| adj./n.追求物质享受的(人)；中产阶级分子 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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68
curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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70
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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71
justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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72
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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73
boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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74
venial
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| adj.可宽恕的；轻微的 | |
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75
tortuous
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| adj.弯弯曲曲的，蜿蜒的 | |
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76
confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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77
lavish
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| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
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78
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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79
astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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80
impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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81
ignominiously
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| adv.耻辱地，屈辱地，丢脸地 | |
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82
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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83
twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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84
exulting
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| vi. 欢欣鼓舞，狂喜 | |
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85
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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86
condoned
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| v.容忍，宽恕，原谅( condone的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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87
stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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88
infinity
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| n.无限，无穷，大量 | |
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89
withering
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| 使人畏缩的，使人害羞的，使人难堪的 | |
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90
prying
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| adj.爱打听的v.打听，刺探（他人的私事）( pry的现在分词 )；撬开 | |
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91
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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92
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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93
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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94
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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