"They are not eyes, rather G.o.ds are they, They are above kings in power true.

G.o.ds, no! they are the heavens of tender blue, And their radiant glance makes kings obey."

"One must choose, chevalier," said Blue Beard; "are they eyes, or G.o.ds, or the heavens?"

Croustillac's reply was a happy one:

"The heavens, no! each a radiant sun Whose burning rays but blind the view.

Suns? not so, but light so strong, so true, They predict the love but just begun!"

"Really, chevalier, I am curious to know where you will stop. Suns, I own, please me; G.o.ds also."

Croustillac continued with a languorous softness:

"Ah! if G.o.ds, would they work me ill?

If the heavens, would add more sorrow still?

Two suns? 'tis false--that orb is one----"

"Ah, heavens, chevalier, you delight me; among all these charming comparisons there remains nothing more for me but lightening----"

Croustillac bowed his head:

"Stars! no, the stars are too many, too clear, Always my meaning shineth still, Eyes, G.o.ds, suns, and stars appear."

"How charming; at least, chevalier," said Angela, laughing, "you have given me a choice of comparisons, and I have but to select; therefore I shall keep them all--G.o.ds, heavens, suns and stars."

The adventurer looked at Blue Beard a moment in silence; then he said, in a tone the sadness of which was so sincere that the little widow was struck by it, "You are right, madame; this sonnet is absurd; you do well to mock at it, but what would you have? I am unhappy, I am justly punished for my mad presumption, my stupidity."

"Ah, chevalier, chevalier, you forget my request; I told you to divert me, to amuse me----"

"And if, in so doing, I suffer? if, in spite of my absurd situation, I experience a cruel mortification; how can I play the buffoon?"

The adventurer uttered these words quietly but in a penetrating tone, and with considerable emotion. Angela looked at him in astonishment, and was almost touched by the expression of the chevalier's face. She reproached herself for having played with this man's feelings; after all, he lacked neither heart, courage nor goodness; these reflections plunged the young woman into the midst of melancholy thoughts. In spite of the pa.s.sing effort which she had made to be gay and to laugh at the sonnet of the Gascon, she was a prey to inexplicable forebodings, oppressed by vague fears, as if she felt instinctively the dangers that were gathering about her.

Croustillac had fallen into a sad reverie. Angela's eyes fell upon him and she felt sorry for him; she would no longer prolong the mystery of which he was a victim. She rose abruptly from the table and said to him, with a serious air, "Come, we will walk in the garden and rejoin Youmaale. His absence worries me. I do not know why, but I am oppressed as if a violent tempest were about to break upon this house."

The widow left the room, the chevalier offered her his arm, and they descended into the garden, where they sauntered through the different paths. The adventurer was so impressed by the anxious frame of mind in which he saw Angela that he retained little hope, and hardly dared to recall to her the promise which she had made him. Finally he said with some embarra.s.sment, "You promised me, madame, to explain the mystery of----"

Blue Beard interrupted the chevalier by saying, "Listen to me, sir; whether it is owing to timidity or to premonition, I grow more and more agitated--it seems to me that misfortune menaces us; on no account would I at this time, and in the condition of my spirits, prolong any further a jest which has already lasted too long."

"A jest, madame?"

"Yes, sir; but I beg of you, let us descend to the lower terrace. Do you see Youmaale there?"

"No, madame; the night is very clear, but I see no one. You say, then, a jest only----"

"Yes, sir; I learned through our friend, Father Griffen, that you intended to offer yourself to me; I sent the buccaneer to meet you, charging him to bring you here. I received you with the intention, I confess, and I beg your pardon, of amusing myself a little at your expense."

"But, madame, this evening, even, you intended to explain to me the mystery of your triple widowhood--the death of your husbands and the presence successively, of the filibuster, the----"

Angela interrupted the Gascon by saying, "Do you not hear a footfall? Is it Youmaale?"

"I hear nothing," said Croustillac, overwhelmed in the view of his ruined hopes, though he held himself in readiness for anything, now that a true love had extinguished his stupid and foolish vanity.

"Let us go further," said Blue Beard; "the Caribbean is among the orange trees by the fountain, perhaps."

"But, madame, this mystery?"

"The mystery," replied Angela, "if it is one, cannot, must not be solved by you. My promise to reveal this secret to you to-night was a jest of which I am now heartily ashamed, I tell you; and if I kept this foolish promise it would be to make you the object of another mystery more culpable still."

"Ah, madame," said the chevalier quickly, "this is very cruel."

"What more would you ask, sir? I accuse myself and beg your pardon,"

said Angela, in a sweet and sad voice. "Forget the folly of what I have said; think no longer of my hand, which can belong to no one; but sometimes remember the recluse of Devil's Cliff, who is, perhaps, at once very culpable and very innocent. And then," she continued hesitatingly, "as a remembrance of Blue Beard, you will permit me, will you not, to offer you some of the diamonds of which you were so enamored before you had seen me."

The chevalier blushed with shame and anger; the pure feeling which he felt for Angela made him feel as derogatory an offer which at one time would, doubtless, have been accepted without the slightest scruple.

"Madame," said he, with as much pride as bitterness, "you have accorded me hospitality for two days; to-morrow I shall leave; the only request I make of you is to give me a guide. As to your offer, it wounds me doubly----"

"Sir!"

"Yes, madame, that you should believe me low enough to accept payment for the humiliating circ.u.mstances----"

"Sir, such was not my idea."

"Madame, I am poor, I am ridiculous and vain; I am what is termed a man of expediencies; but even I have my point of honor."

"But, sir----"

"But, madame, that I should barter my pride and will as an exchange for the hospitality offered me, would be a bargain like another, worse than another, perhaps; so be it; when one places oneself in dependence upon another more fortunate than oneself, one must be content with anything.

I entertained the captain of the Unicorn in exchange for my pa.s.sage, which he gave me on board his vessel. We are quits. I have cut a contemptible figure, madame; I know it more fully than any one else, for I have known misfortune more fully."

"Poor man!" said the widow, touched by his avowal.

"I do not say this to be pitied, madame," said Croustillac proudly. "I only desire to make you understand that if, from necessity, I have been compelled to accept the part of a complacent guest, I have never received money as a compensation for an insult." Then he continued, in a tone of profound emotion, "Can you, madame, be ignorant of the wrong which has been done me by this proposition, not so much because it is humiliating, as because it was made by you? My G.o.d! you wished to amuse yourself with me: that I would have endured without complaint; but to offer me money to compensate for your raillery--ah! madame, you have made me acquainted with a misery of which I was heretofore ignorant."

After a moment's silence he continued, with added bitterness, "After all, why should you have treated me otherwise? Who am I? Under what auspices did I come here? Even the clothes I wear are not my own! Why concern yourself with me?"

These last words of the poor man had an accent of such sincere grief and mortification that the young woman, touched by them, regretted deeply the indiscreet proffer she had made him. With bent head she walked beside Croustillac. They arrived, thus, near the fountain of white marble of which they had spoken.

The young widow still leaned on the adventurer's arm. After a few minutes of reflection she said, "You are right; I was wrong. I judged you wrongly. The compensation I offered you was almost an insult; but do not for a moment think that I wished to humiliate you. Recall what I said to you this morning of your courage and the generosity of your heart. Well, all this I still think. You say you love me; if this love is sincere it cannot offend me; it would be wrong in me to receive so flattering a feeling with contempt. So," she continued, with a charming air, "is peace declared? Are you still angry with me? Say no, that I may ask you to remain here some days as a friend, without fear of your refusal."

"Ah, madame," cried Croustillac, with transport "order, dispose of me--I am your servant, your slave, your dog. These kind words which you have spoken will make me forget all! Your friend! you have called me your friend! Ah, madame, why am I only the poor younger son of a Gascon? I should be so happy to have it in my power to prove my devotion."

"Who knows but that I have a reparation to make you? Await me here; I must go and look for Youmaale and find something, a present, yes, chevalier, a present which I defy you to refuse this time."

"But, madame----"

"You refuse? Ah, heavens! when I think that you desired to be my husband! Wait here, I will return." And so saying, Angela, who had reached the marble fountain, turned quickly into the path in the park on the side of the house.

"What does she wish to say--to do?" asked Croustillac of himself, looking mechanically into the fountain. Then he exclaimed, with fervor, "It is all the same, I am hers for life and death; she has called me her friend. I shall perhaps never see her again, but all the same, I worship her; that cannot hurt any one; and I do not know but that it will make me a better man. Two days ago I would have accepted the diamonds; to-day I would be ashamed to do so. It is wonderful how love changes one."