GILBERT, whose menial position in the chateau of Taverney caused him to be excluded from the salon, watched all the evening those whose rank permitted them that privilege. During supper he saw Balsamo's looks and gestures. He remarked Andree's attention to him, the baron's unusual affability, and the respectful eagerness of La Brie-.
“When the party rose from table, he hid in a clump of shrubs, lest Nicole, in closing the shutters, or in going to her own room, might see him and put an end to his espionage. Nicole had, indeed, made her round to secure all for the night, but one of the shutters of the salon she was forced to leave open, the half unfixed hinge of which would not permit it to close. Gilbert knew that such was the case, so he remained out, certain that he could continue his watchings when Legay was gone.
His watchings, have we said? What reason had Gilbert to watch? Having been brought up at Taverney, did he not know it perfectly, as well as the habits of the family? The reason was, that on that evening he had other motives than those which usually actuated him; he not only watched, but waited.
“When Nicole quitted the salon, leaving Andree there, after having slowly closed the doors and shutters, she walked for a few minutes up and down in front of the house, as if she expected some one. Then she looked furtively on all sides, peeped into the salon, waited a little longer, and at length made up her mind to go to bed.
Gilbert, motionless, bending down close to the trunk of a tree, and scarcely venturing to breathe, saw every movement and gesture of Nicole; and when she had disappeared, and when he saw a light in the windows of her apartment, he stole again on tip-toe to the window, leaned forward, and continued, although scarcely knowing why, with eager eyes to devour Andree, who was sitting at her harpsichord in a listless attitude.
Just then Joseph Balsamo entered the salon. Gilbert started, and every faculty was strained to enable him to comprehend the scene which we have just described. He thought that Balsamo complimented Andree on her musical talent, that she replied with her usual coldness; that, with a smile, he repeated his praise, and that then she stopped to reply, and to dismiss him for the night. He admired the grace with which the stranger retired backward; but he had in reality understood nothing of the scene, as it had all passed in silence. He had heard no words, he had seen the lips and hands of the pair before him move, and close observer as he was, he discovered no mystery in what appeared to pass so naturally.
Balsamo gone, Gilbert remained no longer in an attitude of observation, but apparently lost in observation of Andree, so beautiful in her careless attitude; but soon, to his amazement, he discovered that she was asleep. He remained for some moments longer in the same position, to be certain that such was the case; then, when he was quite convinced, he clasped his forehead with both hands, like one who feared for his senses in the flood of thoughts and sensations which poured on his brain. “Oh!” said he, wildly, “her hand! —that my lips might only touch her hand! Gilbert, Gilbert, rouse thee! I will do it!”
As he spoke, he rushed into the anteroom and reached the door of the salon, which, as when Balsamo entered, opened without noise. But scarcely was it open, scarcely did he find the young girl before him without anything separating them, than he felt all the importance of the step he had taken. He, the son of a fanner and a peasant woman—he, the timid young man, who in his lowness dared hardly raise his eyes to his haughty mistress—he was going to press to his lips the hem of the robe or the tip of the finger of this sleeping majesty, who, if she awoke, would with a look crush him to the dust. At this idea, all that had intoxicated him and made him bold vanished; he stopped and clung to the door-post, for he trembled and felt as if he should fall.
But Andrew's meditation or sleep (for Gilbert could not yet decide whether she slept or was only buried in thought) was so deep that he in no way disturbed her; yet one might have heard the beating of his heart, which he tried in vain to still. He remained a minute gazing on her. She stirred not; she was so beautiful, with her head gently bent forward on her hand, her long unpowdered hair falling on her shoulders, that the flame, which fear for a moment had extinguished, rekindled. His madness returned—he must at least touch something touched by her. He made a step toward her; the floor creaked under his unsteady footstep, a cold moisture stood on his forehead. But she seemed to have heard nothing.
“She sleeps!” he murmured; “oh joy! she sleeps!”
But before he advanced three steps farther he stopped again. It was the unusual brightness of the candle which alarmed him now, for it had burned down in the socket, and gave, as is usual, a larger flame just before it expired. But not a sound, not a breath in the house. La Brie had retired to bed, and no doubt to sleep, and the light in Nicole's chamber was extinguished.
“Courage!” said he, and he advanced anew. Strange, the floor creaked again; but Andree stirred not, and Gilbert himself could scarcely avoid being frightened by this mysterious repose.
“She sleeps!” repeated he again, with that varying resolution peculiar to the lover and the coward—and he who is not master of his heart is always a coward; “she sleeps! Oh, heaven! oh, heaven!”
In the midst of all these feverish altercations of fear and hope, he still advanced, and at last found himself within two paces of Andree. Then he felt as if fascinated. He would have fled, were flight possible; but once within the circle of attraction, of which she was the center, he felt himself rooted to the spot, and, conquered, subdued, he fell on both his knees.
Andree remained motionless as a statue. Gilbert took the hem of her dress in both hands, and kissed it; then he looked up slowly, breathlessly—his eyes met hers, which were wide open, yet she saw him not.
Gilbert no longer knew what to think; he was overwhelmed with astonishment. For a moment the horrible idea that she was dead flashed across his mind; he seized her hand—it was warm, and the pulse beat softly; but this hand remained unresistingly in his. Then, bewildered by having touched it, he imagined that she saw, that she felt, that she had discovered his maddening passion—poor blinded heart!—that she expected his visit, that her silence indicated consent, her immovability favor. He raised her hand to his lips, and imprinted on it a long and burning kiss. Immediately a shudder ran through her frame, and Gilbert felt that she repelled him.
“lam lost!” he murmured, relinquishing her hand, and throwing himself upon the floor.
Andree rose as if moved by a spring, and not once casting her eyes to the floor, on which Gilbert lay overcome lay shame and fear, without even strength to ask a pardon which he knew would not be granted, her head erect, her neck rigid, and with a painful and constrained step, she moved toward the door. She passed on like one drawn by a secret spell to an unseen goal, and in passing she touched Gilbert's shoulder. He raised himself on one hand, turned slowly, and followed her with eyes full of amazement. She opened the door, passed into the anteroom, and reached the foot of the stairs. Pale and trembling, Gilbert dragged himself after her en his knees.
“Oh,” thought he, “she is so indignant that she would not herself deign to show her anger. She is going to the baron to relate my shameful infatuation, and I shall be turned 'out like a disgraced lackey!”
The thought that he should be dismissed —that he should no longer see her who was his light, his life, his soul—gave him courage; he arose and hurried after her. “Oh, pardon, mademoiselle! in the name of Heaven, pardon!” murmured he.
Andree appeared not to have heard him, passed on, but did not enter her father's apartment. Gilbert breathed more freely. She advanced toward the staircase, and began to ascend.
“Great heaven!” murmured he, “where can she be going? That is the way to the red room, which the stranger occupies, and to La Erie's loft. It may be to call him—yet, she would ring; she must be going—oh, impossible, impossible!” and he wrung his hands with rage at the thought that she was going into Balsamo's apartment.
She stopped before the door. A cold perspiration trickled down Gilbert's forehead; he grasped the iron of the balustrade that he might not fall—for he had continued to follow her—and all that he saw and all that he fancied filled him with horror.
Balsamo's door was half open. Andree did not knock, but pushed it wider, and entered the room. The light within fell on her noble features, and was reflected with a golden luster from her large open eyes. Gilbert could see the stranger standing in the middle of the chamber, with his eyes fixed, his brow contracted, and one hand extended with a commanding gesture.
This was all; the door was shut again.
Gilbert felt his strength abandon him. He put his hand to his head and fell heavily on the cold stone of the upper step of the stairs, but with his eyes turned on the accursed door, which entombed his past dreams, his present happiness, his future hopes.
