For the convenience of his transportation, the serf had left it half open, only taking the precaution to close and double-lock the door of the grand staircase.Gilbert waited until Ivan had reached the second story, and immediately remounting upon tiptoe, he darted into the corridor, followed its entire length, turned to the right, passed before the Count's study, turned a second time to the right, found himself in the gallery which led to the square tower, sprang through the wicket, and arrived without obstacle at the foot of the tower staircase.He found the steps littered with the debris of broken pots and flowers.As he began to descend, loud voices came to his ears; he thought for a moment that M.Leminof was with his son.This did not turn him from his project.He had nothing to conceal."I will beg the Count himself," thought he, "to read my farewell letter to his son." Having reached the top of the staircase, he crossed a vestibule and found himself in a long, dark alcove, lighted by a solitary glass door, opening into the great room ordinarily occupied by Stephane.This door was ajar, and the strange scene which presented itself to Gilbert, as he approached, held him motionless a few steps from the threshold.Stephane, with his back towards him, stood with his arms crossed upon his breast.
He was not speaking to his father, but to two pictures of saints hanging from the wall above a lighted taper.These two paintings on wood, in the style of Father Alexis, represented St.George and St.Sergius.The child, looking at them with burning eyes, apostrophized them in a voice trembling with anger, at intervals stamping his foot and running his hands furiously through his long hair and tossing it in wild disorder.Illustrious Saints of the Eastern Church, heard you ever such language before?
Then he sprang on a chair, tore the two pictures from the wall, threw them to the ground, and seizing his riding whip, switched them furiously.In this affair, St.George lost half of his head and one of his legs, and St.Sergius was disfigured for the rest of his days.When he had satisfied his fury, Stephane hung them up again on their nails, turning their faces to the wall, and blew out the lamp; then he rolled upon the floor, twisting his arms and tearing his hair--but suddenly sitting up, he drew from his bosom a small, heart-shaped medallion which he gazed on fixedly, and as he looked the tears began to roll down his cheeks, and in the midst of his sobs, he cried out:
"Oh, my mother! I desire nothing from you! you could do nothing for me; but why did I have time to know you? To remember! to remember--what torment! Yes, I can see you now-- Every morning you gave me a kiss, high on my forehead at the roots of my hair.The mark is there yet--sometimes it burns me.I have often looked in the glass to see if I had not a scar there-- Oh, my mother! come and heal my wound by renewing it! To be kissed by one's mother, Great God!
what happiness! Oh! for a kiss, for a single kiss from you, Iwould brave a thousand dangers, I would give my blood, my life, my soul.Ah! how sad you look! there are tears in your eyes.You recognize me, do you not? I am much changed, much changed; but Ihave always your look, your forehead, your mouth, your hair."Then starting up suddenly, Stephane walked around the room with an unsteady step.He held the medallion closely grasped in his right hand and kept his eyes upon it.Again he held it out at arm's length and looked at it steadily with half-closed eyes, or drawing it nearer to him, he said to it sweet and tender things, pressing it to his lips, kissing it a thousand times and passing it over his hair and his cheeks wet with tears; it seemed as though he were trying to make some particle of this sacred image penetrate his life and being.At last, placing it on the bed, he knelt before it, and burying his face in his hands, cried out sobbing, "Mother, mother, it is long since your daughter died.When will you call your son to you?"Gilbert retired in silence.A voice from this room said to him:
"Thou art out of place here.Take care not to meddle in the secret communion of a son and his mother.Great sorrows have something sacred about them.Even pity profanes them by its presence." He descended the staircase with precaution.When he had reached the last step,--extending his arm in the direction of the Count's room, he muttered in a low tone: "You have lied! Under that tunic of black velvet there is a beating heart!" Then advancing with a rapid step through the corridor, he hoped to pass out unseen; but on reaching the wicket, he found himself face to face with Ivan, who was coming out of his room, and who in his surprise dropped the basket he held in his hand.
"You here!" exclaimed he in a severe tone."Another would have paid dearly for this--"Then in a soft voice, expressing profound melancholy:
"Brother," said he, "do you want both of us to be killed? I see you do not know the man whose orders you dare to brave." And he added, bowing humbly: "You will pardon me for calling you brother?
In my mouth, that does not mean 'comrade.'"
Gilbert gave a sign of assent, and started to leave, but the serf, holding him by the arm, said:
"Fortunately the barine has gone out; but take care; two days since he had one of his turns, he has one every year, and while they last, his mind wanders at night, and his anger is terrible during the day.I tell you there is a storm in the air, do not draw the thunderbolt upon your head."Then placing himself between Gilbert and the door, he added with a grave air:
"Upon your conscience, what have you been doing here? Have you seen my young father? Has he been talking to himself? You could understand what he said, for he always talks in French.He only knows enough Russian to scold me.Tell me, what have you heard? Imust know."
