The Knight of Malta

Then, Reine was doubly culpable in his eyes. Why did she not frankly reject his hand, instead of keeping him in doubtful hope? Accepting this false theory, Honorât de Berrol found only too many reasons to induce him to ponder the caprices which he had observed in the conduct of Reine for some time. He even went so far as to imagine that the Bohemian was an emissary of M. de Signerol.

The recent agitation of his betrothed at the time he entered her drawing-room confirmed him in this absurd opinion. Not being able to hide this impression, he said to her, suddenly:

“Confess, mademoiselle, that it is at least rather strange that you should receive a vagabond Bohemian in your apartment; it seems to me that if he had only come to sing, you would not have been so embarrassed, so excited when I entered here.”

Honorât, in his anger, made this remark at random, and as soon as the words were uttered, felt ashamed of them. But what was his astonishment, his vexation, his distress, to see Reine blush and cast down her eyes without saying a word.

She was thinking of the portrait of the unknown hero, and the adventure connected with him; she was ignorant of Honorât’s allusion.

The embarrassment of the young girl confirmed the chevalier in his suspicions, and he exclaimed, with bitterness:

“Ah, Reine, never could I have believed you capable of forgetting yourself so far as to compromise your dearest interests by trusting them to such a contemptible creature!”

“What do you mean, Honorât? I do not understand you. This is the first time I have ever heard you utter such words.”

“It is the first time that I have had the assurance that I was your plaything!” cried he, unable to restrain his anger.

“Really, you do not mean what you say!”

“I mean, yes, I mean that now I can explain your hesitation, your constraint, your embarrassment; but what I cannot explain, is that you could have the cruelty to play this disgraceful rôle toward a man who has devoted his entire life to you.”

“Why, Honorât, you are losing your senses! I do not deserve your reproaches.”

“One of two things: either a month ago you thought of our marriage, or you think no longer of it. If you think no longer of it, you have played with the love of an honest man; if you still intend to fulfil it, in spite of the love which you have now in your heart, why, it is detestable!”

Although Honorat’s suspicions were absurd, Reine, struck by these words, which offered some solution to the situation, kept silent.

Honorât interpreted this silence as a confession of her duplicity.

“You answer nothing, – you cannot answer! I was not mistaken then! This Bohemian is the secret emissary of M. de Signerol.”

“Of M. de Signerol!” exclaimed Reine. “But you cannot think it I have never addressed a word to that man except in the presence of my father. Besides, you know very well the opinion that I have expressed of him.” “The better to dissimulate this beautiful preference, no doubt.”

“M. de Signerol! M. de Signerol! indeed, you are silly!”

“Let us discontinue this comedy, mademoiselle. My eyes have not left you for a moment I observed your embarrassment, your blushes even, when I spoke of the Bohemian to you. Let us discontinue this comedy, I tell you!”

Either pride, distress, or vexation that she could not explain the cause of her embarrassment, or the pain that she felt at the bitter words of Honorât, incited Reine to hold up her head with dignity and say to her betrothed: “You are right, Honorât, let us discontinue such a discussion; it is little worthy of you or of me. Since you judge me so unjustly, since upon the most foolish suspicions you base the most dishonouring accusation, I give your promise back to you, and take back mine.” “Ah! that was your intention, no doubt, mademoiselle. All this has been necessary to force me to give you back your freedom. Ah, well, let it be so! Let all the plans of happiness upon which I have staked my whole life be forgotten; let the dearest wishes of your father and your family be trampled under foot! You have enough influence over the baron to make him yield to your designs. I assure you I will not in any way oppose them.”

At this moment, they heard the spurred heels of Raimond V., who precipitately entered, holding a paper in his hand.

CHAPTER XV. THE SUMMONS

Raimond V. was far too angry to notice the expression of sadness and grief that was depicted on the countenances of the two betrothed. Addressing Honorât, he said, in a loud voice:

“Manjour! do you know, forsooth, what Trinquetaille has just informed me? Would you believe, my son, that the citizens of La Ciotat, those vile swine that have fattened on my bounty and that I have saved from the teeth of Barbary dogs, wish to summon me, to-morrow morning, before the overseers of the port, on the matter of our fishery contest! And the abbé pretends that – ” Then, returning to the door, the baron called out:

“But come on, abbé, where in the devil have you hid yourself?”

The good chaplain showed his tall form among the folds of the portière, for he had been discreetly waiting in the antechamber.

“The abbé,” continued Raimond V., “pretends that this fine tribunal is sovereign, if you please, – a tribunal composed of old man Cadaou, a fish vender, and some other triton garlic eaters, who hardly own, among them all, one boat or net. Manjour! my children, think of my being placed under a ban by those old scoundrels!” “Monseigneur,” said Abbé Mascarolus, “the decision of the overseers of the port on all matters pertaining to the fisheries is supreme, and without appeal. It has been confirmed by the patent letters of Henry II. in 1537, by Charles IX. in 1564, and by the king, our count, in 1622. It is one of the oldest customs of the Provençal community. There is no instance of a nobleman, priest, or citizen who has set it aside, and, monseigneur – ”

“Enough, abbé, enough!” rudely interrupted the baron. “If they have the impudence to summon me, I shall not have the weakness to obey their summons, even when it is made in virtue of all the kings the abbé has just declared to us. As to the patents of the kings, I will oppose titles and privileges conceded by other kings to my house for services rendered to them, as an offset, and my seines and nets will stay where they are, and, by the devil, I will take care that they do stay!”

“Monsieur, permit me,” said Honorât.

“Monsieur? Eh! Why in the devil do you call me monsieur? Am I not your father?” cried the baron, looking at Honorât.

Honorât cast a distressed look at Reine, as if to make her understand that it was due to her that he could no longer call the baron by the tender name of father.

Honorât replied, in a voice trembling with emotion, “Ah, well, since you wish it, my father – ”

“Ah, come now, what is the matter, pray?” asked the astonished baron of his daughter. “Eh! Of course I wish you to call me father, since you are, or will be, my son in a few days.”

Reine blushed, looked down, and remained silent. “Ah, well, come, speak now, I pray you,” said the old gentleman to Honorât. “What have you to tell me?”

“From what I have learned,” answered Honorât, “the consuls, excited by the recorder Isnard, have manifested some hostility to you, father; do you not fear that the citizens and fishers may join these wicked people, when they see that you refuse to appear, and – ”

“I, afraid of those scoundrels! Why, I laugh at them as I would at a broken spur,” cried the old gentleman, impetuously. “I have, from father to son, the right to lay my seines and nets in the cove of Castrembaou. I will maintain my right, even if all the fishers on the coast, from here to Sixfours, oppose it.”

“The fact is, monseigneur,” said the abbé, “that however much they may contest it, you have the right. Your titles and privileges of fishery date back to the year 1221, the 14th day of February, under the reign of Philippe, King of France, and your claims have been registered by Bertrand de Cornillon.”

“Eh! what do I want with the authority of Bertrand de Cornillon!” cried the baron. “Power makes the right, and I have the force to sustain the right. Man-jour! did ever one see such trickery? What rascals! I, who have always helped them, and defended them! Ah, just let them come and talk to me!”

“Ah, my dear father, they would find you still, as they have always found you, generous and kind and – ” “I believe it, certainly; how could I revenge myself on such boobies, if it was not by showing them that a gentleman is of better stock than they?”

“Ah! I recognise all that very well, monseigneur,” said the abbé. “If the overseers could only examine your titles – ”

“What, examine my titles! I have driven away with my whip a recorder sent by a duke and a peer, a marshal of France, and I must go and submit to the arbitration of those old tar-jackets, who will descend from their wretched boats to mount their tribunal? I must go and take off my hat before those old scoundrels, who the very morning of their audience have cried in the port, ‘Buy – buy – soup – fish – buy – buy,’ – a people that my family has loaded with benefits. In his last voyage to Algiers to redeem captives, did not my brave and good brother, Elzear, bring back from Barbary five inhabitants of La Ciotat? Did not my brother, the commander, three years ago, chase away with his black galley five or six chebecs from the coast, because they were interfering with these fishermen, and make them fly before him like a cloud of sparrows before a falcon? And these are the people who accuse me! Let them go to the devil! Let them send me their recorder, and they will see how I shall receive him. I have just had a new lash put on my whip! But enough of these miseries. Give me your arm, my daughter. The weather is fine; we will promenade. Come with us, Honorât.”

“You will excuse me, father; I am needed at home, and I shall not be able to accompany you.”

“So much the worse. Go, then, quick, so as to come back quicker still. I fear nothing from these idiot sheep penned up in La Ciotat, but if they make any attempts upon my fishing-nets, I shall need you to keep me from making Laramée hang several of them over my nets as scarecrows!”

Then the baron, yielding to his changing and impetuous moods, altered his tone, and said, gaily, to the abbé, “Now, abbé, if I had some of these insolent rascals hanged, it would be serious, because I do not think you have in all your pharmacy a remedy for hanging.”

“I beg your pardon, monseigneur, but I have been told that if you make the patient, before his execution, drink a great quantity of iron water, which, so to speak, envelopes and saturates the vital principle, and if, on the other hand, the patient will apply to his naked skin some large magnetic stones, or a loadstone, the power of the said stone is such that, in spite of the hanging, he will retain the vital principle in his body, for reason of the irresistible power of attraction possessed by this metal. I would not dare affirm it, but I have been recently told of this remedy.”

“By Our Lady, that is a wonderful remedy, eh! Who informed you of it, abbé?”

“A poor man, who gives very little thought to the welfare of his soul, but who knows many beautiful recipes, – it is the Bohemian who healed your greyhound, monseigneur.”

“The Singer, Manjour! I imagine he occupies himself with the hanged and with hanging; he thinks of his future, you see. Each one preaches his own saint, does he not, abbé? – which does not prevent this vagabond being a skilful man. Never a better farrier lifted the foot of a hunting-horse than this same Bohemian,” added Raimond V.

When she heard the vagabond mentioned, Reine blushed again, and Honorât could scarcely repress a gesture of indignation.

Raimond V. continued: