Tales from Blackwood Part 16

The sun shone brightly, the birds sang merrily, and ever and anon a pa.s.sing breeze rustled cheerfully the foliage above and all around, as Jaqueline stepped lightly on, scarcely enc.u.mbered by her not very elegant nor ponderous bundle, containing much less than the fair s.e.x usually require when going on a visit. But this lightness of wardrobe caused the not least agreeable of her antic.i.p.ations, as her father had given her a _carte blanche_ to supply its defects from the _magasins_ of Moulins, stipulating only that in her headgear there should be no deviation from the established costume of their ancestresses, who, from generation to generation, had worn, or rather carried, perched forward upon their caps, the small, boat-like, diminutive-crowned hat called _La Fougere_.

Now, whether she had been thinking too much about how her new _fougere_ should be trimmed, or that the plain directions of her friends were too perplexingly minute to be borne clearly in memory, cannot be ascertained; but at a spot where a single footpath became double, she hesitated and looked round, and endeavoured to recollect. There was no one near to bias her choice; so she decided for herself, and took the left path, uttering the self-comforting e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n--"I am sure that this is the right." Therefore she walked briskly on, till visited by unpleasant misgivings that her steps had deviated too far to the left; and then followed doubt upon doubt, fast walking, stopping, hesitation, and looking about, as usual in such cases, till it became too evident that she had contrived to do that which her kind friends p.r.o.nounced to be impossible. She had lost her way.

Now, losing one's way is far from agreeable, even to common, everyday people; but when such a misfortune occurs to heroines, it is a much more serious piece of business, inasmuch as their blundering always exercises an evil influence over the weather. No matter how fine and cloudless the day may have previously been, no sooner is a heroine bewildered, and, amid unknown tracks, compelled to "give it up" as a too-puzzling riddle, than all the elements combine to increase her perplexity. The thunders incontinently commence growling over her head, the vivid lightning flashes all around, the winds blow a hurricane, and down comes the rain like a cataract. The moral intended to be drawn from such often-repeated disasters probably is, that young ladies should be careful of their footsteps; for certainly the elements of society are not less pitiless to an erring female than are those of nature toward a lost heroine.

Jaqueline's predicament was no exception to the general rule, which is not surprising, as the sudden and violent summer storms of the Bourbonnois are proverbial. However, before she was quite "wet through,"

she had the heroine's usual good-luck of finding shelter in the ruins of an old castle, to which she was guided by the welcome sight of a small wreath of smoke, ascending from a corner of the dilapidated building.

After peeping cautiously from behind the open folding-shutter of an unglazed window, and ascertaining the s.e.x of the lonely tenant, she ventured to enter, and was most kindly welcomed by an aged woman, whose bodily infirmities had in no degree affected the organs of speech. So Jaqueline soon had the consolation of learning how and where she had missed her way, and also of hearing many particulars of her hostess's life, which need not be repeated here. The best of the affair, however, was, that the old body had both the means and the inclination to make her guest comfortable. There was plenty of dry wood piled up in the corner of the room, and it was not spared. The fire crackled and blazed cheerfully; and then she placed certain culinary earthen vessels upon and around it, and at the end of a string in the front suspended a fowl, over the roasting of which she sate down to watch and talk.

The rain still continued, and Jaqueline felt grateful; therefore, after some little necessary attention to her dress, she thought she could not do better than, as the phrase is, "make herself generally useful." So she bustled about, and evinced a knowledge of the _menage_ and the _cuisine_ that raised her greatly in the estimation of her entertainer.

The wing of a fowl, and _une pet.i.te goutte_ of wine, in a tumbler of water, is the usual allowance for French heroines. How far Jaqueline surpa.s.sed them need not be told; but, by the time their dinner was ended, she and the ancient dame seemed quite upon the footing of old acquaintance.

"Ah!" continued the old woman (for she had talked continuously)--"Ah!

I like you, my good girl. I've taken a fancy to you; and when I take a fancy to anybody, I can do something--hem!"

"You have been very kind to me," said Jaqueline--"very kind; and you may depend upon it I shall not be ungrateful. You must come and pay me a visit in October, at the vintage, and then----"

"You'll be very glad to see me," continued the old woman. "That's what you mean to say, I know. Well, well, there's time enough for that; but--now, now--tell me! Isn't there anything that I can do for you now?

Haven't you some wish?"

"Only that you would be so good as to show me the way to the c.o.c.k and Bottle, in the high-road," replied Jaqueline, to the apparent great amus.e.m.e.nt of the old crone, who cackled immoderately till a fit of coughing compelled her to take a few more sips of wine, of which Jaqueline began to suspect she had already taken quite enough.

"Excuse my laughing, my child," said she at length--"but really your mistake was so diverting. I meant to talk of more serious things--of your prospects in life--of your wishes particularly. Young people always have wishes. Ay! I see by that smile that you have. There--that's understood--and now tell me what it is."

Here followed a long confabulation, in which Jaqueline revealed all the particulars of her birth, parentage, and education; and eventually the old body wormed out of her the secret that she did really wish the other s.e.x would pay her somewhat more marked attention.

"But can't you name any particular one whom you should prefer?" was the next question; "if you can, don't be afraid to tell me. No one else shall know it, and I'm sure I could manage it. What's his name?"

Jaqueline replied that she felt no decided preference for any one, and added merrily, "Let them come and offer themselves--that's all I wish.

No matter how many of them. It will be time enough then for me to make _my_ choice."

"Perhaps you might find that difficult if they were very numerous,"

observed her hostess. "I remember, when I was about your age, there was--heigho! never mind! That's all gone by, and so it's of no use talking about it. Come, let us go out and look at the weather. Something tells me that you will not be able to go farther to-night. There's another storm brewing, or I am much mistaken." Jaqueline's arm on the left, and a crutch-headed stick on the right, supported the old lady as they walked round and about the ruins of the castle, every part of which she explained the former uses of, with an accuracy that might have satisfied the most curious inquirer, but which quite bewildered our heroine. What people could have wanted with so many different _salons_, galleries, and apartments, was to her quite a mystery, and she gazed upon the ma.s.sive thickness of the walls with feelings approaching to reverence. Consequently, when they were driven in by the promised storm, she was precisely in the right state of mind to be strongly impressed by the awful long stories that her hostess had to relate of and concerning the former owners of the place. She told how the castle had been ransacked and set on fire at the Revolution, and how Monsieur le Comte de Montjeu and his family made their escape into foreign parts, and were not heard of till after the Restoration, when the young Comte Henri, whom she had nursed when an infant, suddenly made his appearance. Of him she spake in raptures. He had purchased the site of the ruins, and some land adjacent, and would doubtless some day restore all to its former splendour, as he held some very lucrative appointment at Paris.

Moreover, she described him as a very handsome young man, though she feared that he was somewhat too much addicted to gallantry and gaiety.

But then, she added, that was a family failing, and put her in mind of some pa.s.sage in the life of his grandfather, which she immediately proceeded to relate; and so on, and on, and on continuously, as though reading from a book, went the old lady with her long tales; and Jaqueline listened, first with curiosity, then from complaisance (as it was evident that the narrator took pleasure in her own performance), and at length with a rather dim apprehension of what she heard. This may be accounted for, either by her not being able to sleep on the previous night, for thinking of her intended journey, or from the fatigue and exposure to suns.h.i.+ne and storm during the day, or by her hostess's hospitable entertainment at dinner and supper (the latter meal forming an interlude between two of the long stories), or by the whole combined.

But be the cause what it may, she nodded, as most folks would under similar circ.u.mstances, and then was suddenly aroused by missing the monotonous tones of her entertainer, to whom she apologised, and shook herself into an attentive att.i.tude. The apology was graciously received, and Jaqueline's drowsiness dispelled for a while by a legend about a spring, just at the bottom of the hill, the water of which was reported to have the power of causing young maidens, who drank thereof, to become wonderfully fascinating, and to attract lovers of every degree.

"You shall take a draught of it in the morning, _ma bonne_," she said.

"Don't be afraid; you will have your wish before you come back from Moulins, I'm pretty sure. If not, however, call upon me on your way back. However, take the water in the morning. Perhaps it mayn't operate immediately, but perhaps it may; for I remember hearing of two young ladies who"--and off went the old lady into another long story about romantic lovers of high degree; and the result of all was, that Jaqueline went late to bed, with her head full of strange and mult.i.tudinous fancies.

CHAPTER II.

"What a lovely morning it is!" thought Jaqueline. "How pure and delicious the water of this spring looks! As to what the old lady says about its wonderful qualities, I can't believe that; but, however, I will taste it. There! oh, how cool and refres.h.i.+ng!"

Suddenly there was heard the sound of a horn at a short distance, and a moment after a hunting party came galloping toward the fountain.

Jaqueline would have hid herself, but it was too late; and ere she had decided in what direction to make her escape, a young, handsome, elegantly dressed cavalier, who led the party, threw himself from his horse, and, respectfully approaching her, begged that she would not be alarmed.

"Thank ye!" said Jaqueline; "no, I an't frightened; only I stopped just to see which way you was a-galloping, because I don't want to be run over."

"Charming creature!" exclaimed the cavalier, "do you suppose it possible that any human being would hurt a hair of your head?"

"I don't know about that," replied Jaqueline. "All as I can say is, that I don't know any reason why they should; for I never did no harm to n.o.body as I know of."

"Never, I am sure," said the young man. "No; innocence and benevolence are too plainly expressed in every feature of that lovely countenance.

May I crave to know by what happy chance you have been led to this sequestered spot?"

"I can't see exactly as that's any business of yours," replied Jaqueline; "howsomever, if you must know, I'm going to the c.o.c.k and Bottle in the high-road, where I hope to find a _patache_ to take me to Moulins; so, as the good old dame is asleep, and I don't like to wake her, if you or some of your people will direct me, I shall feel obliged to you: but I'll thank you not to give me no more of your fine speeches, that's all."

"A miracle! She despises flattery!" exclaimed the enraptured youth, clasping his hands together; and then, without farther ceremony, he threw himself upon his knees, made a regular fervent offer of himself and fortune, declared himself to be the Comte Henri de Montjeu, and, seizing the hard hand of his inamorata, pressed it to his lips.

"Drat the man! He's mad!" cried Jaqueline, attempting to extricate her hand; but, the moment after, finding that he did not bite it, she allowed it to remain where it was, and, heaving a sigh of compa.s.sion, said to herself, "What a pity! He is so very handsome!"

"Ha!" exclaimed the Comte, "you sigh! You pity me, and pity is--Well, well. What more can I expect at present? I have been rash. I have alarmed you, I fear; but henceforth I will be calm," and he got up and gave himself a violent slap on the forehead to prove his intention.

"Ah!" thought Jaqueline, "you may knock, but there's n.o.body at home, I guess. Bless my heart! what a pity, so handsome as you are!"

"I will believe that by time and opportunity, and the most devoted attentions, I may at length hope to excite an interest in your heart?"

said the Comte inquiringly, and again taking her hand.

"The best way is to humour him, I suppose," thought Jaqueline, as she replied, "Very likely you may, for I can't say but I'm sorry for you.

Howsomever, you must mind and behave yourself."

This encouragement exhilarated the Comte so powerfully, that, after uttering sundry brief rhapsodies, his lips approached so near her sunburnt cheeks, that he seemed on the point of forgetting her injunctions concerning his behaviour, when she called him to order by the e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n of "Paws off!" on hearing which he bowed low, and retired to give certain instructions to his followers. These were executed with wonderful rapidity; for Jaqueline had barely time to tuck up and adjust her clothes for running, or, as she called it, "make a bolt," when she found herself surrounded by the hors.e.m.e.n, one of whom, the ugliest of the lot, was mounted before a pillion, upon which the Comte begged he might have the honour of placing her. To this, after some demur, she submitted, because escape on foot now seemed impossible; but no sooner had she taken her seat, than she whispered in the ear of the man before her, "Your master's mad, that's clear. So contrive, if you can, to let us get away from him; and if you take me safe to the c.o.c.k and Bottle, I'll not stand upon trifles, but make it worth your while. What d'ye say?"

"What do I say?" replied the man, in the same low tone, and looking round with a most hideous leer. "I say that I wouldn't mind going all over the world for you, without fee or reward, except, perhaps"--(and he smacked his thick wide lips too significantly)--"for I'm blessed if you ain't just about the nicest girl I ever clapped my eyes on." And again he leered so frightfully, that Jaqueline would have jumped down had she not been strapped to the pillion.

"The holy Virgin protect me," she murmured; "what sort of folks have I got among?" and she looked round timidly, but could discern no cause for alarm, unless it were that the eyes of all the party seemed fixed upon her, and every countenance was expressive of deep admiration. This was certainly a sort of homage to which she had been unused, and probably, on that account, acted more strongly on her feelings; for she immediately decided that such handsome, agreeable faces could belong only to men utterly devoid of evil intentions. Having thus made up her mind, she rather enjoyed the first part of her ride, as they bounded along merrily across the country, and the Comte rode by her side, ever and anon making observations and complimentary speeches, to which she usually replied by hoping that they were in the right road to the c.o.c.k and Bottle.

"_Soyez tranquille!_" was his invariable answer to that question; and so they held on their way, till they arrived at a large house, into the courtyard of which he led the cavalcade, and then, dismounting from his horse, he informed her that she was at her journey's end, and a.s.sisted her to alight at the princ.i.p.al entrance, which seemed to her more fit for a palace than an inn.

"You will please to take every care of this young lady, for my sake, my good Madame Rigaud," said the Comte to an elderly female, who stood, with several livery servants, in the hall.

"This way, Mademoiselle," said the said housekeeper, with a curtsy, and she led Jaqueline through divers pa.s.sages and elegant apartments, at which she marvelled exceedingly, although she had heard strange stories of the magnificence of certain large hotels in Paris and elsewhere. But the splendour of the chamber into which she was at last ushered was quite overpowering, and she stood gazing at the profusion of rich velvet and silk surrounding her, till roused by Madame Rigaud's request to be favoured with her commands.

"Bless your heart, my good madame!" exclaimed Jaqueline, "this is no place for me! I'm only a small farmer's daughter. So just have the goodness to show me the way into the kitchen, and let me have a basin of soup and boulli, if there happens to be any, till the next _patache_ comes by for me to make a bargain to go to Moulins."

Madame Rigaud replied, that no vehicles of that description ever pa.s.sed the place; and an explanation followed, from which it appeared that Jaqueline was in the new chateau of the Comte, and some leagues farther from the c.o.c.k and Bottle than when she commenced her ride.

"How could he think of serving me such a trick?" she gasped, sinking into one of the velvet chairs, and all but sobbing. "He's mad, isn't he?"

"I should almost think he is," said Madame Rigaud. "To be sure, there is no accounting for the tricks of young men, I know that pretty well; nor their fancies neither; but _this_ is so _very_ extraordinary!" and, looking down upon her charge, she elevated her hands and then her eyes, and shrugged her shoulders expressively.

"I'll not stay here; I'm determined upon that!" exclaimed Jaqueline.

"That's right, my dear," said Madame Rigaud; and forthwith they concocted a plan of escape, which was to be carried into effect by the aid of Madame Rigaud's son Philippe, who was in the Comte's service; and in the meanwhile they retired to her private room to avoid observation; and there the said Philippe, a smart, active young man, presently made his appearance.