Regnard went to his own castle of Haret. He civilly entreated me to visit him, but Gaston putting in his claim strongly to all my time, I was, very willingly, driven to decline.

We parted from Regnard at Brussels, and rode out in a morning to the Manoir Cheverny. At every step of the road, Gaston swore a new, strong and strange oath, that he was done with Mademoiselle Capello; that no word or act of hers could ever induce him to return to her, no, not if she made her way from the chateau of Capello to the Manoir Cheverny on her knees. From reproaching her, he turned to bitterly reviling me, because I had not stuck my sword all the way through his body, instead of only about six inches, on our first acquaintance. To this I made irreverent answers as we rode through the pleasant country. It was barely noon of the summer day when we came within sight of the Manoir Cheverny, and at the same time saw the chateau of Capello sitting, white and beautiful and stately upon its marble terraces and above its fair gardens and green slopes, like a queen upon her throne. We skirted the domain and entered the pleasure grounds of the Manoir Cheverny, and soon were reposing ourselves in the ancient and comfortable old house.

Two or three old servants had been kept in the place, and it was well aired and in good order. Scarce had we sat down to an excellent dinner with good wine, when a letter was brought to Gaston Cheverny. It was from Mademoiselle Capello, and invited us, both in her own name and Madame Riano's, to become her guests at supper that evening.

Without one word of apology, Gaston Cheverny dashed away from the dinner table, wrote a letter of acceptance, and came back looking exactly as a man does when he has won the first prize in the lottery, or has just received a field marshal's baton. In an instant of time, and by a stroke of Francezka's pen, all of his grievances, his resolves, his fierce resentment, melted away like the mists of the morning. n.o.body could complain that Gaston Cheverny was coldly reasonable in his love.

Six o'clock was the hour named in Francezka's letter, but Gaston's impatience was so great that we set out a little after five, and spent the time loitering in the great park. If I had thought the chateau of Capello lovely in the autumn days, more than two years before, when the woods were russet, the earth brown, how much lovelier did it appear in this rare summer afternoon when it was one vast garden of beauty! The green, softly rolling hills, the rich park, the purple woods, the chateau rising from its emerald terraces, its marble bal.u.s.trades gleaming white, the fountains plashing diamonds, the lake blue and still and melancholy, the Italian garden like a poet's dream--my senses ached with so much beauty--but I forgot it all, when, in the sunset glow, I saw Francezka Capello.

The bell in the little village church was clanging musically, as Gaston Cheverny and I mounted the terrace steps. A table was set out in the rose garden by the side of the ca.n.a.l, for an _al fresco_ supper, and there in the sweet, warm evening air, sat Francezka, dressed in white, a book, her usual companion, in her hands. Madame Riano had not yet appeared. As soon as Francezka saw us, she dropped her book, and ran toward us merrily, like a child, a thin white scarf floating cloudlike behind her.

I think she felt that Gaston perhaps had some cause for complaint of her behavior at Radewitz, for never was woman kinder to a man than she to him at that meeting. And as for myself, one would have thought Babache, the Tatar prince, and native of the Marais, was the Crown Prince of Prussia. She wished to know how my health was, and praised and admired Count Saxe to my heart's content, and desired to know if I was ready to desert his service for hers.

Thus, warming our hearts with her sweetness, Francezka took us back to the rustic seats by the ca.n.a.l, where Madame Riano now awaited us.

As we had the good fortune to be favorites of that lady, we were well received by her also. Gaston Cheverny was a prime favorite of hers, having won her good will by many warm protestations of his devotion to what she called the cause of England's rightful king; a devotion which I think Gaston Cheverny very much exaggerated for purposes of his own.

We spent a pleasant hour at supper. Old Peter directed the servants who waited on us. The old man blushed under his tan and wrinkles when I greeted him kindly. I saw that the story of his niece's disgrace was ever present with him, and my presence recalled the fate of poor Lisa.

After supper, when the harvest moon was rising in pale beauty, and the western sky glowed with gold and amber and green, we walked to the Italian garden. The air of retirement and repose and distance of the spot grew upon me. It seemed a place for sweet meditation. Francezka, pointing to the sun dial, said to me:

"So far, it has had none but sunny hours to mark for me." She said this with a little note of triumph in her voice; but what young girl situated as Francezka Capello was, at this period of her life, could have remained wholly undazzled?

Below us lay the lake, dark and solemn under the shadow of the cedars.

"Listen," said Francezka; and listening, we heard that faint, sad murmur of the water, that came, no one knew how.

We spent an hour sitting on the stone benches, under the yew and box hedges, and watching the purple twilight enfold the landscape, as we conversed. Francezka declared we must have some music, and calling in her clear voice, a servant heard and answered her, and brought from the chateau a Spanish guitar. To this Gaston Cheverny sang. Presently, in response to the silent request of Francezka's eyes, and an eloquent a.s.sent from his own, he sang that song to which I always thought they attached a fond and secret meaning:

O Richard, O mon roi!

Francezka, with her white scarf about her dark head, listened in her favorite att.i.tude, her cheek upon her hand; listened with an air that would have made any man's heart beat the quicker for it.

We did not leave the garden until late, and then it was time for us to go back to the Manoir Cheverny. On the way through the park and fields, under the harvest moon, Gaston Cheverny raved as only lovers rave; but I, of all men, excused him, knowing the object of his love.

The time sped away during that fortnight, albeit I was separated from Count Saxe. We saw the ladies at the chateau of Capello daily. The extraordinary kindness of Mademoiselle Capello toward me rather increased. It seemed as if she lay bare her mind, her heart, her soul, to me. I was not, and never could be, her lover, but I was her friend.

I found out many things about her that I did not know before. One was--whether it were a defect or not I do not know--she had few intimates. She was not only so differently placed, but so different in herself from most young creatures of her age, that she had not much in common with them. She confessed to me more than once that she had been disappointed in feminine friendships.

"When I think I have found a friend and companion I invariably find in the background a brother or a cousin--some one who wants to rule here," she said to me one day.

"And whenever you find one of the other s.e.x who seems to know what friendship is, does he not also resolve himself into a lover after a while?" I asked.

Francezka laughed and blushed.

"All, except you," she answered. "That is why I turn to you with so much confidence, Babache. You alone of the whole wide world, as I know it, can I call my friend, without any admixture of love or flattery.

You alone ever found fault with me, or told me my way was not a reasonable way."

"But I can not now recall ever having dared to find fault with you, Mademoiselle," I said, cudgeling my brains.

"Oh, it matters not exactly in words; but I know you would find fault with me, if you thought I was wrong, and would tell me so, though I can not bear to be told of my faults--and so I love you"--and then she laughed, as I did, at her own peculiar logic.

Regnard Cheverny by no means allowed his brother a monopoly of Mademoiselle Capello's company, but duly appeared, after a few days. I watched Francezka's behavior to him and came to the conclusion that in spite of the entertainment she derived from his company, she liked him no better than she had two years and a half before. I happened to speak to her one day of the resemblance between the two brothers, which was so marked.

"How can you think that?" she replied. "I never mistake one for the other. One is charming--the other is not."

That very evening, the two Chevernys and myself being at the chateau, we sat down to cards with Francezka and Madame Riano. It was stormy outside, and a sudden gust of wind coming, all the lights were in an instant blown out. While we sat in the dark, waiting for the servants to come and relight the candles, Regnard Cheverny spoke, and his voice being so much like his brother's, Francezka answered him for Gaston, and they talked together, much to our diversion. Francezka did not find out her mistake until the candles were again alight, and then, instead of laughing, was strangely vexed and offended at the pleasantry played upon her.

Regnard Cheverny, as well as Gaston, was fond of books, and on that ground he could hold his own with Francezka. She had all of the new books sent her from Paris, Brussels and the Hague, including Monsieur Voltaire's, much to Madame Riano's horror. Likewise, she diligently studied the harpsichord, having masters from Brussels to instruct her.

She loved to be praised for her good management of her affairs, but I was inclined to think that old Peter, whose gray, humble head was full of sound sense for other people's affairs, deserved more credit for this than he got. One morning, meeting him as I walked through the park, I remarked upon the beauty and order of the estate and congratulated him on having so capable a mistress to serve.

"Truly," he said, "mademoiselle has a good understanding of affairs, but, in confidence, Captain Babache, she makes her mistakes. I tell her a certain man is lazy, is not doing his work; that I have given him a fair trial, have warned him, and yet he will not work, so I have discharged him. The rascal waylays mademoiselle in the park; tells her a pitiful tale about a wife and seven children all starving. My lady offers to take him back into her service. Oh, no; my rogue does not want that; he wants money enough to get to the next town, where he has a brother who will get him work. Mademoiselle hands him out a gold piece, returns to the chateau, sends for me, storms at me, and at last permits me, as a favor, to explain to her that the fellow has no wife, no child, no brother that I know of, but her gold piece will enable him to get drunk and to live without work for a month. Oh, young ladies of fortune are difficult to manage--very. Mine is no worse than others, I dare say. Rather better than some, for at least she knows her own mind."

I had said no word concerning Lisa or Jacques Haret, but before the old man left me he spoke of his misfortune to me, looking as if he were the guilty one instead of Jacques Haret.

"It was I who was blind--I who should have watched my niece. But I did not--I was much to blame." The scanty tears of age dropped from his eyes as he spoke. I asked if anything had been heard of Lisa.

"Not a word," he said, "but I believe, and mademoiselle believes, that as soon as Monsieur Jacques deserts her, Lisa will return."

So, even poor Peter knew that Jacques Haret would desert Lisa.

Madame Riano was ever talking during that fortnight of her projected journey to Scotland. I saw that the mention of it made Mademoiselle Capello very uneasy. Fearless as Francezka was, she knew better than to attempt to remain alone and unmarried in Brabant, for there was no strain of deep-seated folly in her. She might find some _dame de compagnie_ to take Madame Riano's place, but that was not an agreeable thought to her, and she was very far from being ready to give up her liberty to any man--just then. She confided to me with secret laughter that her one hope of keeping her aunt in Brabant was, that the war was still on with unabated fury between Madame Riano and the Bishop of Louvain, and Madame Riano had not yet scored a conclusive victory over her enemy. At present the bishop was trying to get the consent of the government to add to the episcopal palace, and Madame Riano, who loved to enact the role of a she-Jupiter, had determined that the palace was already large enough for the bishop, and was preaching a crusade through the country against the proposed improvement.

CHAPTER XVIII

A VINDICTIVE ROGUE

One afternoon, during our stay at the Manoir Cheverny, Gaston Cheverny entertained the ladies in very good style at an outdoor fete. Regnard Cheverny, of course, was present, and also the handsome, foolish Count Bellegarde, whom Francezka treated with airy indifference. For amus.e.m.e.nt there was peasant dancing and singing to rustic pipes, and afterward a collation under the trees, at which the servants were dressed in the national costume of Brabant; the national dishes were served, and musicians, concealed in the shrubbery, played and sang the songs and airs of Brabant. It was extremely pretty, the afternoon being bright and soft. When the collation was over, Gaston escorted Madame Riano and Francezka about the house and grounds. There was a handsome drawing-room in one wing, which was seldom used, but was open on this occasion. Gaston led the way to this room, where there was a harpsichord, which he opened that Francezka might play on it. As she fingered the keys with one hand, the other hanging down, she started with a little shriek of dismay. A dog, crouching unseen under the harpsichord, stood with his forepaws on the edge of Francezka's chair, while he licked affectionately the little white hand so temptingly within his reach.

"Good dog--wise dog," said Gaston Cheverny, patting the creature. He was a Spanish pointer, of a reddish liver color, remarkably handsome, with satiny, pendulous ears, and the most intelligent eye I have ever seen in an animal. There are other dogs reckoned more affectionate and intelligent than these Spanish pointers, but I never knew any dumb creature superior to this one, as time strangely proved; for this dog afterward played a great part in the drama of Francezka Capello's life.

The dog seemed enraptured with Francezka, and she with him. She pa.s.sed his long ears through her white fingers, the dog giving a little whine of delight, and rubbing his head against her satin gown of the color of spring violets.

"What is his name?" she asked--the first question every woman asks concerning a dog or a horse.

"Bold," replied Gaston. "And his taste and discernment on this occasion has fixed his fate. I have been debating whether I should take him or his brother, Rattler, with me to Paris, and was until now inclined to Rattler--come out, my dog."

Gaston hauled Rattler forth from under the harpsichord. He was a handsome dog also, but nothing like so pleasant mannered as Bold. I had noticed the two dogs about the place since my arrival, and had all along recommended Bold as the worthier dog. Regnard Cheverny, on the contrary, believed in Rattler.

"I think Rattler the better dog," said Regnard, coming forward and patting Rattler, who took no manner of notice of Francezka, while Bold overwhelmed her with evidences of affection. "But Bold is better adapted to be a Paris dog. He has a taste for luxury, and instead of being satisfied with a good woolen blanket to sleep on, he will persist in taking his ease on the satin sofa in this saloon. He is a _pet.i.t maitre_ of a dog. Take him to Paris, brother, by all means--and give me Rattler."

At this Bold seemed to realize that Regnard was not his friend, and gave him a look of dislike altogether human, turning his back meanwhile with an air of unmistakable contempt. All present laughed at this dialogue between the man and the dog.

"Bold is bound for Paris, then," said Gaston, "and you will see how he will give up his _pet.i.t-maitre_ ways and become a seasoned soldier after one campaign."

Francezka then took her attention long enough from the dog to play some beautiful airs upon the harpsichord. That, if anything, increased Bold's infatuation for her and recommended him still more highly to his master.