"Don't be alarmed," answered Gilbert."If he has secrets he has not betrayed them.He was engaged in complaining to himself, in scolding the saints and weeping.Neither must you think that Icame hither to spy upon him, or to question him.As he had met with sorrow, I wanted to console him by imparting the agreeable news of my near departure; but I had not the courage to show myself to him, and besides, I am not quite certain now what I shall do.""Yes, you will do well to go," eagerly answered the serf; "but go secretly, without warning anyone.I will help you, if you wish it.
You are too inquisitive to remain here.Certain suspicions have already been excited on your account, which I have combated.Then, too, you are imprudent!" Thus saying, he drew from his pocket the candle which Gilbert had dropped in the corridor, the preceding night.
"Fortunately," said he, returning it to him, "it was I who found it, and picked it up, and I wish you well, you know why.But before going from here," added he in a solemn tone, "swear to me, that during the time you may yet remain in this house, you will not try to come into this gallery again, and that you will not ramble in the other any more in the night.I tell you your life is in danger if you do."Gilbert answered him by a gesture of assent, and passing the wicket, regained his room, where alternately standing at the window, or stretched upon an easy-chair, he passed two full hours communing with his thoughts.The dinner-bell put an end to his long meditations.There was but little conversation during the repast.M.Leminof was grave and gloomy, and seemed to be laboring under a great nervous excitement which he strove to conceal.
Stephane was calmer than would have been expected, after the violent emotions he had experienced, but there was something singular in his look.Father Alexis alone wore his everyday face;he found it very good, and did not judge it expedient to change it.
Towards the end of the repast, Gilbert was surprised to see Stephane, who was in the habit of drinking only wine and water, fill his glass with Marsala three times, and swallow it almost at a single draught.The young man was not long in feeling the effect of it; his face flushed, and his gaze became vacant.Towards the close of the meal, he looked a great deal at the Apocalyptic frescoes of the vaulted ceiling: then turning suddenly to his father, he ventured to address him a question.It was the first time for nearly two years,--an event which made even Father Alexis open his eyes.
"Is it true," asked Stephane, "that living persons, supposed to be dead, have sometimes been buried?""Yes, it has sometimes happened," replied the Count.
"But is there no way of establishing the certainty of death?""Some say yes, others no.I have been told of a frozen man who was dissected in a hospital.The operator, in opening him, saw his heart beating in his breast; he took flight and is running yet.""But when one dies a violent death--poisoned, for example?""My opinion is, that they can still be mistaken.Physiology is a great mystery.""Oh! that would be horrible," said Stephane in a penetrating voice;"to awaken by bruising one's forehead against the cover of a coffin.""It would certainly be a very disagreeable experience, answered the Count.And the conversation dropped.Stephane appeared very much affected by his father's answers.He gazed no more at the ceiling, but fixed his eyes on his plate.His face changed color several times, and as if feeling the need of stupefying himself, he filled his glass with wine for the fourth time, but he could not empty it, and had hardly touched it with his lips before he set it on the table with an air of disgust.
Tea was brought in.M.Leminof served it; and leaving his cup to cool, rose and walked the floor.After making two or three turns, he called Gilbert, and leaning upon his arm continued his walk, talking with him about the political news of the day.Stephane saw them come and go; he was evidently deeply agitated.Suddenly, at the moment when they turned their backs, he drew from his sleeve a small packet, which contained a pinch of yellow powder, and unfolding it quickly, held it over his still full cup; but as he was about emptying it, his hand trembled, and at this moment, his father and Gilbert returning to his side, he had only time to conceal the paper in his hand.In an instant he raised it again, but at the decisive moment his courage again failed him.It was not until the third trial that the yellow powder glided into the cup, where Stephane stirred it with his spoon.This little scene had escaped Gilbert.The Count alone had lost nothing of it; he had eyes at the back of his head.He reseated himself in his place and drank his tea slowly, continuing to talk with Gilbert, and apparently quite unconscious of his son; but not a movement escaped him.Stephane looked at his cup steadily, his agitation increased, he breathed heavily, he shuddered, and his hand trembled with feverish excitement.After waiting several minutes, the Count turned to him and, looking him full in the eyes, said:
"Well! you do not drink? Cold tea is a bad drug."The child trembled still more; his eyes had a glassy brightness.
Turning his head slowly, they wandered over everything about him, the table, the chairs, the plate, and the black oak wainscoting.
