Part 35

“Gericault,” she told him, “came from Rouen; his family were under certain obligations to my father, who was president of the court, and he showed his gratitude by painting that portrait of me when I was a girl of sixteen.”

“It is a beautiful picture,” said Godefroid; “and quite unknown to those who are in search of the rare works of that master.”

“To me it is merely an object of affection,” replied Vanda; “I live in my heart only,--and it is a beautiful life,” she added, casting a look at her father in which she seemed to put her very soul. “Ah! monsieur, if you only knew what my father really is! Who would believe that the stern and lofty magistrate to whom the Emperor was under such obligations that he gave him that snuff-box, and on whom Charles X. bestowed as a reward that Sevres tea-set which you see behind you, who would suppose that that rigid supporter of power and law, that learned jurist, should have within his heart of rock the heart of a mother, too? Oh! papa, papa! kiss me, kiss me! come!”

The old man rose, leaned over the bed and kissed the broad poetic forehead of his daughter, whose passionate excitements did not always take the turn of this tempest of affection. Then he walked about the room; his slippers, embroidered by his daughter, making no noise.

“What are your occupations?” said Vanda to Godefroid, after a pause.

“Madame, I am employed by pious persons to help the unfortunate.”

“Ah! what a noble mission, monsieur!” she said. “Do you know the thought of devoting myself to that very work has often come to me? but ah! what ideas do not come to me?” she added, with a motion of her head. “Suffering is like a torch which lights up life. If I were ever to recover health--”

“You should amuse yourself, my child,” said her father.

“Oh yes!” she said; “I have the desire, but should I then have the faculty? My son will be, I hope a magistrate, worthy of his two grandfathers, and he will leave me. What should I do then? If God restores me to life I will dedicate that life to Him--oh! after giving you all you need of it,” she cried, looking tenderly at her father and son. “There are moments, my dear father, when the ideas of Monsieur de Maistre work within me powerfully, and I fancy that I am expiating something.”

“See what it is to read too much!” said the old man, evidently troubled.

“That brave Polish general, my great grandfather, took part, though very innocently, in the partition of Poland.”

“Well, well! now it is Poland!” said Monsieur Bernard.

“How can I help it, papa? my sufferings are infernal; they give me a horror of life, they disgust me with myself. Well, I ask you, have I done anything to deserve them? Such diseases are not a mere derangement of health, they are caused by a perverted organization and--”

“Sing that national air your poor mother used to sing; Monsieur Godefroid wants to hear it; I have told him about your voice,” said the old man, endeavoring to distract her mind from the current of such thoughts.

Vanda began, in a low and tender voice, to sing a Polish song which held Godefroid dumb with admiration and also with sadness. This melody, which greatly resembles the long drawn out melancholy airs of Brittany, is one of those poems which vibrate in the heart long after the ear has heard them. As he listened, Godefroid looked at Vanda, but he could not endure the ecstatic glance of that fragment of a woman, partially insane, and his eyes wandered to two cords which hung one on each side of the canopy of the bed.

“Ah ha!” laughed Vanda, noticing his look, “do you want to know what those cords are for?”

“Vanda!” said her father, hastily, “calm yourself, my daughter. See! here comes tea. That, monsieur,” he continued, turning to Godefroid, “is rather a costly affair. My daughter cannot rise, and therefore it is difficult to change her sheets. Those cords are fastened to pulleys; by slipping a square of leather beneath her and drawing it up by the four corners with these pulleys, we are able to make her bed without fatigue to her or to ourselves.”

“They swing me!” cried Vanda, gaily.

Happily, Auguste now came in with a teapot, which he placed on a table, together with the Sevres tea-set; then he brought cakes and sandwiches and cream. This sight diverted his mother’s mind from the nervous crisis which seemed to threaten her.

“See, Vanda, here is Nathan’s new novel. If you wake in the night you will have something to read.”

“Oh! delightful! ‘La Perle de Dol;’ it must be a love-story,--Auguste, I have something to tell you! I’m to have an accordion!”

Auguste looked up suddenly with a strange glance at his grandfather.

“See how he loves his mother!” cried Vanda. “Come and kiss me, my kitten. No, it is not your grandfather you are to thank, but monsieur, who is good enough to lend me one. I am to have it to-morrow. How are they made, monsieur?”

Godefroid, at a sign from the old man, explained an accordion at length, while sipping the tea which Auguste brought him and which was in truth, exquisite.

About half-past ten o’clock he retired, weary of beholding the desperate struggle of the son and father, admiring their heroism, and the daily, hourly patience with which they played their double parts, each equally exhausting.

“Well,” said Monsieur Bernard, who followed him home, “you now see, monsieur, the life I live. I am like a thief, on the watch all the time. A word, a gesture might kill my daughter; a mere gewgaw less than she is accustomed to seeing about her would reveal all to that mind that can penetrate everything.”

“Monsieur,” replied Godefroid, “on Monday next Halpersohn shall pronounce upon your daughter. He has returned. I myself doubt the possibility of any science being able to revive that body.”

“Oh! I don’t expect that,” cried the father; “all I ask is that her life be made supportable. I felt sure, monsieur, of your sympathy, and I see that you have indeed comprehended everything--Ah! there’s the attack coming on!” he exclaimed, as the sound of a cry came through the partition; “she went beyond her strength.”