Balsamo looked on the old servingman with admiration, showing that he had not a high opinion of the honesty of most men.
"'And honest,'" he muttered in the words of Hamlet, as he took out a second gold coin to place it beside the other in the old man's hand.
The latter's delight at this splendid generosity may be imagined, for he had not seen so much gold in twenty years. He was retiring, bowing to the floor, when the donor checked him.
"What are the morning habits of the house?" he asked.
"My lord stays abed late, my lord; but Mademoiselle Andrea is up betimes, about six."
"Who sleeps overhead?"
"I, my lord; but nobody beneath, as the vestibule is under us."
"Oh, by the way, do not be alarmed if you see a light in my coach, as an old impotent servant inhabits it. Ask Master Gilbert to let me see him in the morning."
"Is my lord going away so soon?"
"It depends," replied Balsamo, with a smile. "I ought to be at Bar-le-Duc tomorrow evening."
Labrie sighed with resignation, and was about to set fire to some old papers to warm the room, which was damp and there was no wood, when Balsamo stayed him.
"No, let them be; I might want to read them, for I may not sleep."
Balsamo went to the door to listen to the servant's departing steps making the stairs creak till they sounded overhead; Labrie was in his own room. Then he went to the window. In the other wing was a lighted window, with half-drawn curtains, facing him. Legay was leisurely taking off her neckerchief, often peeping down into the yard.
"Striking resemblance," muttered the baron.
The light went out though the girl had not gone to rest. The watcher stood up against the wall. The harpsichord still sounded, with no other noise. He opened his door, went down stairs with caution, and opened the door of Andrea's sitting-room.
Suddenly she stopped in the melancholy strain, although she had not heard the intruder. As she was trying to recall the thrill which had mastered her, it came anew. She shivered all over. In the mirror she saw movement. The shadow in the doorway could only be her father or a servant. Nothing more natural.
But she saw with spiritual eyes that it was none of these.
"My lord," she faltered, "in heaven's name, what want you?"
It was the stranger, in the black velvet riding coat, for he had discarded his silken suit, in which a mesmerist cannot well work his power.
She tried to rise, but could not; she tried to open her mouth to scream, but with a pass of both hands Balsamo froze the sound on her lips.
With no strength or will, Andrea let her head sink on her shoulder.
At this juncture Balsamo believed he heard a noise at the window. Quickly turning, he caught sight of a man's face beyond. He frowned, and, strangely enough, the same impression flitted across the medium's face.
"Sleep!" he commanded, lowering the hands he had held above her head with a smooth gesture, and persevering in filling her with the mesmeric fluid in crushing columns. "I will you to sleep."
All yielded to this mighty will. Andrea leaned her elbow on the musical-instrument case, her head on her hand, and slept.
The mesmerist retired backward, drew the door to, and went back to his room. As soon as the door closed, the face he had seen reappeared at the window; it was Gilbert's.
Excluded from the parlor by his inferior position in Taverney Castle, he had watched all the persons through the evening whose rank allowed them to figure in it. During the supper he had noticed Baron Balsamo gesticulate and smile, and his peculiar attention bestowed on the lady of the house; the master's unheard-of affability to him, and Labrie's respectful eagerness.
Later on, when they rose from table, he hid in a clump of lilacs and snowballs, for fear that Nicole, closing the blinds or in going to her room, should catch him eavesdropping.
But Gilbert had other designs this evening than spying. He waited, without clearly knowing for what. When he saw the light in the maid's window, he crossed the yard on tiptoe and crouched down in the gloom to peer in at the window at Andrea playing the harpsichord.
This was the moment when the mesmerist entered the room.
At this sight, Gilbert started and his ardent gaze covered the magician and his victim.
But he imagined that Balsamo complimented the lady on her musical talent, to which she replied with her customary coldness; but he had persisted with a smile so that she suspended her practice and answered. He admired the grace with which the visitor retired.
Of all the interview which he fancied he read aright, he had understood nothing, for what really happened was in the mind, in silence.
However keen an observer he was, he could not divine a mystery, where everything had passed quite naturally.
Balsamo gone, Gilbert remained, not watching, but contemplating Andrea, lovely in her thoughtful pose, till he perceived with astonishment that she was slumbering. When convinced of this, he grasped his head between his hands like one who fears his brain will burst from the overflow of emotions.
"Oh, to kiss her hand!" he murmured, in a gush of fury. "Oh, Gilbert, let us approach her – I so long to do it."
Hardly had he entered the room than he felt the importance of his intrusion. The timid if not respectful son of a farmer to dare to raise his eyes on that proud daughter of the peers. If he should touch the hem of her dress she would blast him with a glance.
The floor boards creaked under his wary tread, but she did not move, though he was bathed in cold perspiration.
"She sleeps – oh, happiness, she sleeps!" he panted, drawing with irresistible attraction within a yard of the statue, of which he took the sleeve and kissed it.
Holding his breath, slowly he raised his eyes, seeking hers. They were wide open, but still saw not. Intoxicated by the delusion that she expected his visit and her silence was consent, her quiet a favor, he lifted her hand to his lips and impressed a long and feverish kiss.
She shuddered and repulsed him.
"I am lost!" he gasped, dropping the hand and beating the floor with his forehead.
Andrea rose as though moved by a spring under her feet, passed by Gilbert, crushed by shame and terror and with no power to crave pardon, and proceeded to the door. With high-held head and outstretched neck, as if drawn by a secret power toward an invisible goal, she opened the door and walked out on the landing.
The youth rose partly and watched her take the stairs. He crawled after her, pale, trembling and astonished.
"She is going to tell the baron and have me scourged out of the house – no, she goes up to where the guest is lodged. For she would have rung, or called, if she wanted Labrie."
He clenched his fists at the bare idea that Andrea was going into the strange gentleman's room. All this seemed monstrous. And yet that was her end.
That door was ajar. She pushed it open without knocking; the lamplight streamed on her pure profile and whirled golden reflections into her wildly open eyes.
In the center of the room Gilbert saw the baron standing, with fixed gaze and wrinkled brow, and his hand extended in gesture of command, ere the door swung to.
Gilbert's forces failed him; he wheeled round on the stairs, clinging to the rail, but slid down, with his eyes fastened to the last on the cursed panel, behind which was sealed up all his vanished dream, present happiness and future hope.
CHAPTER VI
THE CLAIRVOYANT
Balsamo had gone up to the young lady, whose appearance in his chamber was not strange to him.
"I bade you sleep. Do you sleep?"
Andrea sighed and nodded with an effort.
"It is well. Sit here,"