The Chaplet of Pearls by Charlotte M. Yonge (i am reading a book .txt) 📕

was very slow; for, as the surgeon had suspected, the want of skill in those who had had the charge of Berenger at the first had been the cause of much of his protracted suffering. Pare, the inventor of trephining, was, perhaps, the only man in Europe who could have dealt with the fracture in the back of the head, and he likewise extracted the remaining splinters of the jaw, though at the cost of much severe handling and almost intolerable pain: but by Easter, Berenger found the good surgeon’s encouragement verified, and himself on the way to a far more effectual cure than he had hitherto thought possible. Sleep had come back to him, he experienced the luxury of being free from all pain, he could eat without difficulty; and Pare, always an enemy to wine, assured him that half the severe headaches for which he had been almost bled to death, were the consequence of his living on bread soaked in sack instead of solid food; and he was forbidden henceforth to inflame his brain with anything stronger than sherbet. His speech, too, was much improved; he still could not utter all the consonants perfectly, and could not speak distinctly without articulating very slowly, but all the discomfort and pain were gone; and though still very weak, he told Philip that now all his course seemed clear towards his child, instead of being like a dull, distraught dream. His plan was to write to have a vessel sent from Weymouth, to lie off the coast till his signal should be seen from la Motte-Achard, and then to take in the whole party and the little yearling daughter, whom he declared he should trust to no one but himself. Lady Walsingham remonstrated a little at the wonderful plans hatched by the two lads together, and yet she was too glad to see a beginning of brightening on his face to make many objections. It was only too sand to think how likely he was again to be disappointed.

He was dressed, but had not left his room, and was lying on cushions in the ample window overlooking the garden, while Frances and Elizabeth Walsingham in charge of their mother tried to amuse him by their childish airs and sports, when a message was brought that M. le Chevalier de Ribaumont prayed to be admitted to see him privily.

‘What bodes that?’ he languidly said.

‘Mischief, no doubt,’ said Philip Walsingham. ‘Send him word that you are seriously employed.’

‘Nay, that could scarce be, when he must have heard the children’s voices,’ said Lady Walsingham. ‘Come away, little ones.’

The ladies took the hint and vanished, but Philip remained till the Chevalier had entered, more resplendent than ever, in a brown velvet suit slashed with green satin, and sparkling with gold lace-a contrast to the deep mourning habit in which Berenger was dressed. After inquiries for his health, the Chevalier looked at Philip, and expressed his desire of speaking with his cousin alone.

‘If it be of business,’ said Berenger, much on his guard, ‘my head is still weak, and I would wish to have the presence of the Ambassador or one of his secretaries.’

‘This is not so much a matte of business as of family,’ said the Chevalier, still looking so uneasily at Philip that Berenger felt constrained to advise him to join the young ladies in the garden; but instead of doing this, the boy paced the corridors like a restless dog waiting for his master, and no sooner heard the old gentleman bow himself out than he hurried back again, to find Berenger heated, panting, agitated as by a sharp encounter.

‘Brother, what is it—what has the old rogue done to you?’

‘Nothing,’ said Berenger, tardily and wearily; and for some minutes he did not attempt to speak, while Philip devoured his curiosity as best he might. At last he said, ‘He was always beyond me. What think you? Now he wants me to turn French courtier and marry his daughter.’

‘His daughter!’ exclaimed Philip, ‘that beautiful lady I saw in the coach?’

A nod of assent.

‘I only wish it were I.’

‘Philip,’ half angrily, ‘how can you be such a fool?’

‘Of course, I know it can’t be,’ said Philip sheepishly, but a little offended. ‘But she’s the fairest woman my eyes ever beheld.’

‘And the falsest.’

‘My father says all women are false; only they can’t help it, and don’t mean it.’

‘Only some do mean it,’ said Berenger, dryly.

‘Brother!’ cried Philip, fiercely, as if ready to break a lance, ‘what right have you to accuse that kindly, lovely dame of falsehood?’

‘It skills not going through all,’ said Berenger, wearily. ‘I know her of old. She began by passing herself off on me as my wife.’

‘And you were not transported?’

‘I am not such a gull as you.’

‘How very beautiful your wife must have been!’ said Philip, with gruff amazement overpowering his consideration.

‘Much you know about it,’ returned Berenger, turning his face away.

There was a long silence, first broken by Philip, asking more cautiously, ‘And what did you say to him?’

‘I said whatever could show it was most impossible. Even I said the brother’s handwriting was too plain on my face for me to offer myself to the sister. But it seems all that is to be passed over as an unlucky mistake. I wish I could guess what the old fellow is aiming at.’

‘I am sure the lady looked at you as if she loved you.’

‘Simpleton! She looked to see how she could beguile me. Love! They do nothing for love here, you foolish boy, save par amour. If she loved me, her father was the last person she would have sent me. No, no; ‘tis a new stratagem, if I could only seen my way into it. Perhaps Sir Francis will when he can spend an hour on me.’

Though full of occupation, Sir Francis never failed daily to look in upon his convalescent guest, and when he heard of the Chevalier’s interview, he took care that Berenger should have full time to consult him; and, of course, he inquired a good deal more into the particulars of the proposal than Philip had done. When he learnt that the Chevalier had offered all the very considerable riches and lands that Diane enjoyed in right of her late husband as an equivalent for Berenger’s resignation of all claims upon the Nid-de-Merle property, he noted it on his tables, and desired to know what these claims might be. ‘I cannot tell,’ said Berenger. ‘You may remember, sir, the parchments with our contract of marriage had been taken away from Chateau Leurre, and I have never seen them.’

‘Then,’ said the Ambassador, ‘you may hold it as certain that those parchments give you some advantage which he hears, since he is willing to purchase it at so heavy a price. Otherwise he himself would be the natural heir of those lands.’

‘After my child,’ said Berenger, hastily.

‘Were you on your guard against mentioning your trust in your child’s life?’ said