Fabiola : or, The church of the catacombs - Digital Repository Services

7A r MY
hond proof, and a firm unhesitating step.
My uncle presented me to our guest, and then the two friends
1 tlic house n rm in arm. M. de Ch.-impaubert was turning
towards the garden, but Dom Gerusac drew him another
way, saying: " It is too hot out of doors; we had better go into
the library."
"
l>y all means," the other gaily replied ;
"
your library, my
dear Thomas, is, I know, your world, your kingdom, your fam-
ily. You will introduce mo to all the ancient and modern authors
assembled here. But, first of all, will you let me have
something to drink ? I am dying of thirst."
My uncle went to the door of the kitchen and called Marian.
" Now for it," I thought, and awaited with a kiiid of comical
terror the effect her appearance would produce upon his Excellency;
but to my great relief she did not appear. It was Babelou
who came in, carrying on a large tray a bottle of old wine,
some sugar, a magnificent basket of fruit, and a plateful of lit-
tle yellow peaches.
" That is perfect," M. de Champaubert exclaimed, as he himself
assisted Babelou to set down the tray on the table, which
was all covered with manuscripts and books. " This clever lit-
tle girl has guessed that 1 am particularly fond of these yellow
peaches, with their little acid flavor. I don't know anywhere a
more refreshing fruit."
' '
"
I daresay not, my uncle said with a
"
smile. It is only on
our ban-en mountains that this wild production of nature is
suffered to grow nowadays."
" "
Do sit down here, dear old schoolfellow ! the Marquis
garden
said :
" Perhaps we had better go and see if dinner is
ready."
The dining-room had a window down to the ground. I opened
the outer blinds and stood aside to let his Excellency go in
first. The curtains were drawn up, and a bright light shining
iii the room; the gildings of the old frames looked to advantage
in the rays of the setting sun. As M. de Champaubert entered
and walked toward the chimney, his eyes caught sight of the
picture over the looking-glass. He turned round to me and
asked eagerly, " Do you know where that portrait came
from ? "
I colored up to the eyes, and stammered out, "Yes monseigneur
; my uncle bought it at D , in an old curiosityshop.
"
" With that looking-glass and those two little cups? "
"I believe so, monseigneur."
' Dom Ge>usac came back at that moment. You must excuse
me, my dear Maximin, " he "
said, if the attendance is not
what I should have wished. But I have lost the best half of
my household. My old maid-servant has been taken suddenly
ill?"
" Never mind," M. de Champaubert replied ;
" we will wait
on ourselves, as I have done iu the days of the emigration. "
UNCLE'S DINING-ROOM.
Fortunately Marian had been able to attend to the cooking
up to the last moment, and to give directions to her aid
cuiiip HMiclou. The table was in consequence perfectly laid,
and the dinner excellent. I had routed out from the corner of
the cellar some bottles of wine really fit to beset before a king.
all tho
M. de Champaubert ate sparingly and quick, talking
time, whereas my uncle went through his dinner with his usual
calm manner and steady appetite, only heightened by the
pleasure of having opposite to him so welcome a guest.
For my part I could not swallow a mouthful. Nothing could
exceed my internal agitation. The Marquis's questions evidently
showed that he recognized the lovely face which I had
been gazing on with such rapture for the last six weeks. He
knew who this woman was whose name I had despaired of ever
discovering. He could tell me there was no doubt of it the
very thing I most ardently desired to know. But how should
I ever venture to put to him a question on the subject ? How
manage to approach it ? These thoughts were running in my
mind, when all at once, in the midst of a conversation in which
political discussion was mixed up with school reminiscences,
my uncle said to his friend, "Public affairs seem to have engrossed
your whole life. You have never, I suppose, thought
of marrying?"
"I beg your pardon," was the reply. And the Marquis,
looking up at the picture over the chimney, added, " I was to
have married the beautiful girl whose portrait that is."
" You don't say so !" my uncle exclaimed " that ; anonymous
said, making room for Dom Gerusac by his "
side. We have
so many things to talk about."
I asked my uncle in a whisper if he had any directions to
give me, and then, out of discretion, withdrew.
A little before dinner-time Babelou came to me in the dining-
'
room, looking aghast.
"Mercy on us, sir !" she exclaimed, " what are we going to
do ? Marian has been working so hard since yesterday, that
now she is taken ill, and has just been obliged to go to bed."
I must confess that I felt an involuntary relief.
"
Well, you must wait at dinner," I said to the little maid ;
"go and put on your best gown and a clean apron. Tell Marian
to remain quietly in bed; I will let my uncle know about it."
The two friends had gone from the library into the garden,
and my Tincle was proudly slewing off his flowers and vegetables
to M. de Champaubert, who seemed delighted with all he
saw, went into good-natured raptures about the fine carnations
and the tall cabbages, and as he walked along the trellise picked
and ate the grapes with the relish of a school-boy. I whispered
to my uncle the news of Marian's illness. The dear good man
went immediately to see his old portrait
servant, and I remained alone
with M. de Champaubert, who, after one more turn in the
? It is a singular coincidence."
M. de Champaubert said, " I certainly did not expect to have
seen here that likeness of the fair object of my first love."
" You must tell us all about it," Dom Gerusac said. "As
we are about recalling all our old recollections, I am glad
you have happened to find here this souvenir of the past. "
The Marquis smiled a little bitterly, and answered, " I can
now speak of it without emotion and since ; you wish it, I will
give yon the history of that time of my life. Not so much for
your edification, my dear old friend, as for the sake of your
nephew, who sits there gazing so intently on my betrothed that
it would almost seem as if her fatally beautiful eyes had in-
"
stilled into his soul some of their poison.
These words, whether said in jest or in earnest, put me quite
out of countenance. I felt as if the speaker had read my inmost
thoughts, and I could only reply to this kind of apostrophe
by a nervous attempt at a cough.
My uncle, after emptying his glass at one gulp, laid both his
hands on the table-cloth, which was with him a token of the
deepest attention, and prepared to listen.
"Let us have coffee brought in here, and send Babelou
away," M. de Champaubert said; "I must tell my story with
that picture before my eyes."
CHAPTER in
MONSIEtTB IiK MABQTJIS AJJD MONSIETJB IiK BABON.
The day was waning. I lighted the candles on both sides of
the mirror. The light thrown on the picture brought out its
faded tints, and lent a vague relief to the enchanting face,
which seemed to smile through the glass that covered it, like
one of Greuze's lovely heads behind the half-opened curtain of
a window. The Marquis fixed his eyes steadily upon it for a
moment, and then, as if he guessed my secret but intense
curiosity, he addressed himself to me, and said. " That is the
portrait of Mademoiselle de Malpeire, the only daughter of the
Baron de Malpeire."
" Of the last lord !" I exclaimed ; "and she lived at the top
of the mountain ?"
"Yes, my young friend," M. de Champaubert replied; "and
it was there that the events took place which I am about to re-
late." After a pause, he turned to Dom Gerusac and said:
" Do you remember, my dear Thomas, my writing to you a