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For my part, the impression I had got the afternoon in the gardens of the Hôtel Kirkpatrick, that Gaston Cheverny in some way was afraid of Jacques Haret, became a conviction. Francezka sat motionless. What thoughts must have passed through that quick, clear brain of hers! Monsieur Voltaire finished his reading, and the ladies, to show their appreciation, rose and bowed again to him.
We went on to Brussels; but though my body was in Brussels, my soul was still at the château of Capello. I had not the slightest doubt in my own mind that Gaston Cheverny was dead, and the spectacle of this poor Francezka, with her passionate faithfulness, unable to part with that lingering ghost of hope, was enough to touch any heart. It deeply touched Count Saxe's.
This sudden glimpse of Gaston Cheverny lying ill in a miserable garret in Prague, when I supposed him on the personal staff of Marshal Maillebois, did not prevent me from taking all possible measures to save that quarter of the town from burning, and striving to allay the panic. Both I found almost impossible. The old house blazed like tinder, the flames reddening the moonlit sky.
It seemed to make us once more members of the great human family which lives peaceably and tranquilly, and whose breath is not war and conquest and defeat and war again. One of Gaston's favorite songs was that old, old one, O Richard, O mon roi, l'univers t'abandonne. There was some mutual understanding about this song between Francezka and Gaston Cheverny.
To Gaston Cheverny, a younger brother, and by no means so great in estate and consideration as Regnard Cheverny, she was next in kindness. While to Regnard, who declared his passion for her in every look, she was smilingly distant, cool and radiant, like a full moon on a December night. On the fifth day after our arrival in Königsberg we set out on our long journey toward Brabant.
She continued to live in gaiety and splendor at the château of Capello, and I imagine rather enjoyed the torments of her lovers. Regnard Cheverny kept up his pursuit of her, so Gaston told me. Regnard had then joined the Austrian service, being a captain in the Grenadiers. He contrived, however, to get leave to visit Brabant at the same time that Gaston did, once a year.
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.
The night was sultry and starless; it looked as if there would be rain on the morrow. All was still and sleeping in the little town. In our own quarters, a low stone house, there was no light. Count Saxe was weary with his long day's ride, and had gone to bed immediately after supper. The other officers had followed his example. It seemed as if the whole world slept, except Gaston Cheverny and me.
A subaltern commanded, but I was present as the ranking officer of Count Saxe's household. At least forty ladies and gentlemen had arrived before the coach drove up from which Francezka and Gaston Cheverny alighted. Count Saxe awaited them at the foot of the grand staircase, but I was on the ground to welcome Francezka.
It was a brilliant August day, but all was dark in that melancholy region of chasms, rocks and hardy trees of the North. Francezka walked between Gaston Cheverny and me. We helped her as we could, over the rough places, but she was singularly active, and made her way lightly along. Happiness shone in her face.
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