CHAPTER XXXVIII. CLOUD.

adbroughtmeoncemorewithinviewofafamiliaranddomesticgroup.RightbeforemesattheBrettonsanddeBassompierres.Withinreachofmyhand—hadIchosentoextendit—satafigurelikeafairy-queen,whosearray,liliesandtheirleavesseemedtohavesuggestedwhateverwasnotspotlesswhite,beingforest-green.Mygodmother,too,satsonear,that,hadIleanedforward,mybreathmighthavestirredtheribbonofherbonnet.Theyweretoonearhavingbeenjustrecognisedbyacomparativestranger,Ifeltuneasyatthisclosevicinageofintimateacquaintance. ItmademequitestartwhenMrs.Bretton,turningtoMr.Home,andspeakingoutofakindimpulseofmemory,said,—“IwonderwhatmysteadylittleLucywouldsaytoallthisifshewerehere?Iwishwehadbroughther,shewouldhaveenjoyeditmuch.” “Soshewould,soshewould,inhergravesensiblefashionitisapitybutwehadaskedher,”rejoinedthekindgentlemanandadded,“Iliketoseehersoquietlypleasedsolittlemoved,yetsocontent.” Dearweretheybothtome,deararetheytothisdayintheirrememberedbenevolence.LittleknewtheytherackofpainwhichhaddrivenLucyalmostintofever,andbroughtherout,guidelessandreckless,urgedanddruggedtothebrinkoffrenzy.Ihadhalfamindtobendovertheelders’shoulders,andanswertheirgoodnesswiththethanksofmyeyes.M.deBassompierredidnotwellknowme,butIknewhim,andhonouredandadmiredhisnature,withallitsplainsincerity,itswarmaffection,andunconsciousenthusiasm.PossiblyImighthavespoken,butjustthenGrahamturnedheturnedwithoneofhisstatelyfirmmovements,sodifferentfromthose,ofasharp-temperedunder-sizedman:therewasbehindhimathrong,ahundredranksdeeptherewerethousandstomeethiseyeanddivideitsscrutiny—whythendidheconcentrateallonme—oppressingmewiththewholeforceofthatfull,blue,steadfastorb?Why,ifhewouldlook,didnotoneglancesatisfyhim?whydidheturnonhischair,resthiselbowonitsback,andstudymeleisurely?Hecouldnotseemyface,Ihelditdownsurely,hecouldnotrecogniseme:Istooped,Iturned,Iwouldnotbeknown.Herose,bysomemeanshecontrivedtoapproach,intwominuteshewouldhavehadmysecret:myidentitywouldhavebeengraspedbetweenhis,nevertyrannous,butalwayspowerfulhands.Therewasbutonewaytoevadeortocheckhim.Iimplied,byasortofsupplicatorygesture,thatitwasmyprayertobeletaloneafterthat,hadhepersisted,hewouldperhapshaveseenthespectacleofLucyincensed:notallthatwasgrand,orgood,orkindinhim(andLucyfeltthefullamount)shouldhavekeptherquitetame,orabsolutelyinoffensiveandshadowlike.Helooked,buthedesisted.Heshookhishandsomehead,buthewasmute.Heresumedhisseat,nordidheagainturnordisturbmebyaglance,exceptindeedforonesingleinstant,whenalook,rathersolicitousthancurious,stolemyway—speakingwhatsomehowstilledmyheartlike“thesouth-windquietingtheearth.”Graham’sthoughtsofmewerenotentirelythoseofafrozenindifference,afterall.Ibelieveinthatgoodlymansion,hisheart,hekeptonelittleplaceunderthesky-lightswhereLucymighthaveentertainment,ifshechosetocall.Itwasnotsohandsomeasthechamberswherehelodgedhismalefriendsitwasnotlikethehallwhereheaccommodatedhisphilanthropy,orthelibrarywherehetreasuredhisscience,stilllessdiditresemblethepavilionwherehismarriagefeastwassplendidlyspreadyet,gradually,bylongandequalkindness,heprovedtomethathekeptonelittlecloset,overthedoorofwhichwaswritten“Lucy’sRoom.”Ikeptaplaceforhim,too—aplaceofwhichInevertookthemeasure,eitherbyruleorcompass:IthinkitwaslikethetentofPeri-Banou.AllmylifelongIcarrieditfoldedinthehollowofmyhandyet,releasedfromthatholdandconstriction,Iknownotbutitsinnatecapacityforexpansemighthavemagnifieditintoatabernacleforahost. Forbearingashewasto-night,Icouldnotstayinthisproximitythisdangerousplaceandseatmustbegivenup:Iwatchedmyopportunity,rose,andstoleaway.Hemightthink,hemightevenbelievethatLucywascontainedwithinthatshawl,andshelteredunderthathathenevercouldbecertain,forhedidnotseemyface. Surelythespiritofrestlessnesswasbythistimeappeased?HadInothadenoughofadventure?DidInotbegintoflag,quail,andwishforsafetyunderaroof?Notso.Istillloathedmybedintheschooldormitorymorethanwordscanexpress:Iclungtowhatevercoulddistractthought.SomehowIfelt,too,thatthenight’sdramawasbutbegun,thattheprologuewasscarcespoken:throughoutthiswoodyandturfytheatrereignedashadowofmysteryactorsandincidentsunlooked-for,waitedbehindthescenes:Ithoughtsoforebodingtoldmeasmuch. Strayingatrandom,obeyingthepushofeverychanceelbow,Iwasbroughttoaquarterwheretreesplantedinclusters,ortoweringsingly,brokeupsomewhatthedensepackingofthecrowd,andgaveitamorescatteredcharacter.Theseconfineswerefarfromthemusic,andsomewhataloofevenfromthelamps,buttherewassoundenoughtosoothe,andwiththatfull,highmoon,lampswerescarceneeded.Herehadchieflysettledfamily-groups,burgher-parentssomeofthem,lateaswasthehour,actuallysurroundedbytheirchildren,withwhomithadnotbeenthoughtadvisabletoventureintothecloserthrong. Threefinetalltreesgrowingclose,almosttwinedstemwithinstem,liftedathickcanopyofshadeaboveagreenknoll,crownedwithaseat—aseatwhichmighthaveheldseveral,yetitseemedabandonedtoone,theremainingmembersofthefortunatepartyinpossessionofthissitestandingdutifullyroundyet,amongstthisreverendcirclewasalady,holdingbythehandalittlegirl. WhenIcaughtsightofthislittlegirl,shewastwistingherselfroundonherheel,swingingfromherconductress’shand,flingingherselffromsidetosidewithwantonandfantasticgyrations.Theseperversemovementsarrestedmyattention,theystruckmeasofacharacterfearfullyfamiliar.Oncloseinspection,nolesssoappearedthechild’sequipmentthelilacsilkpelisse,thesmallswansdownboa,thewhitebonnet—thewholeholidaytoilette,inshort,wasthegalagarbofacherubbuttoowellknown,ofthattadpole,DésiréeBeck—andDésiréeBeckitwas—she,oranimpinherlikeness. Imighthavetakenthisdiscoveryasathunder-clap,butsuchhyperbolewouldhavebeenprematurediscoverywasdestinedtorisemorethanonedegree,ereitreacheditsclimax. OnwhosehandcouldtheamiableDésiréeswingthusselfishly,whoseglovecouldshetearthusrecklessly,whosearmthusstrainwithimpunity,oronthebordersofwhosedressthusturnandtrampleinsolently,ifnotthehand,glove,arm,androbeofherlady-mother?Andthere,inanIndianshawlandapale-greencrapebonnet—there,fresh,portly,blithe,andpleasant—therestoodMadameBeck. Curious!IhadcertainlydeemedMadameinherbed,andDésiréeinhercrib,atthisblessedminute,sleeping,bothofthem,thesleepofthejust,withinthesacredwalls,amidsttheprofoundseclusionoftheRueFossette.Mostcertainlyalsotheydidnotpicture“MeessLucie”otherwiseengagedandhereweallthreeweretakingour“ébats”inthefête-blazingparkatmidnight! Thefactwas,Madamewasonlyactingaccordingtoherquitejustifiablewont.IrememberednowIhadhearditsaidamongtheteachers—thoughwithoutatthetimeparticularlynoticingthegossip—thatoften,whenwethoughtMadameinherchamber,sleeping,shewasgone,full-dressed,totakeherpleasureatoperas,orplays,orballs.Madamehadnosortoftasteforamonasticlife,andtookcare—largely,thoughdiscreetly—toseasonherexistencewitharelishoftheworld. Halfadozengentlemenofherfriendsstoodabouther.Amongstthese,Iwasnotslowtorecognisetwoorthree.Therewasherbrother,M.VictorKinttherewasanotherperson,moustachedandwithlonghair—acalm,taciturnman,butwhosetraitsboreastampandasemblanceIcouldnotmarkunmoved.Amidstreserveandphlegm,amidstcontrastsofcharacterandofcountenance,somethingtherestillwaswhichrecalledaface—mobile,fervent,feeling—afacechangeable,nowclouded,andnowalight—afacefrommyworldtakenaway,formyeyeslost,butwheremybestspring-hoursoflifehadalternatedinshadowandinglowthatface,whereIhadoftenseenmovementssonearthesignsofgenius—thatwhytheredidnotshinefullyouttheundoubtedfire,thething,thespirit,andthesecretitself—Icouldnevertell.Yes—thisJosefEmanuel—thismanofpeace—remindedmeofhisardentbrother. BesidesMessieursVictorandJosef,Iknewanotherofthisparty.Thisthirdpersonstoodbehindandintheshade,hisattitudetoowasstooping,yethisdressandbaldwhiteheadmadehimthemostconspicuousfigureofthegroup.Hewasanecclesiastic:hewasPèreSilas.Donotfancy,reader,thattherewasanyinconsistencyinthepriest’spresenceatthisfête.ThiswasnotconsideredashowofVanityFair,butacommemorationofpatrioticsacrifice.TheChurchpatronisedit,evenwithostentation.Thereweretroopsofpriestsintheparkthatnight. PèreSilasstoopedovertheseatwithitssingleoccupant,therusticbenchandthatwhichsatuponit:astrangemassitwas—bearingnoshape,yetmagnificent.Yousaw,indeed,theoutlineofaface,andfeatures,buttheseweresocadaverousandsostrangelyplaced,youcouldalmosthavefanciedaheadseveredfromitstrunk,andflungatrandomonapileofrichmerchandise.Thedistantlamp-raysglancedonclearpendants,onbroadringsneitherthechastenessofmoonlight,northedistanceofthetorches,couldquitesubduethegorgeousdyesofthedrapery.Hail,MadameWalravens!Ithinkyoulookedmorewitch-likethanever.Andpresentlythegoodladyprovedthatshewasindeednocorpseorghost,butaharshandhardyoldwomanfor,uponsomeaggravationintheclamorouspetitionofDésiréeBecktohermother,togotothekioskandtakesweetmeats,thehunchbacksuddenlyfetchedheraresoundingrapwithhergold-knobbedcane. There,then,wereMadameWalravens,MadameBeck,PèreSilas—thewholeconjuration,thesecretjunta.Thesightofthemthusassembleddidmegood.IcannotsaythatIfeltweakbeforethem,orabashed,ordismayed.Theyoutnumberedme,andIwasworstedandundertheirfeetbut,asyet,Iwasnotdead.