Now Florian was reflecting, “With what a lovely air of innocence she lied to me about that staff!” And Aurélie was saying, ineffectively, “Yes, but—”
“—Not as a steady thing, of course, but when she was about some particularly important enchantment, and wanted to make an impression. Melusine was accomplished, and all that, and nobody denies it, but, if you ask me about being vain, then I can only say that, sister or not, I believe in being truthful. And as for leaving her things about helter-skelter, even the crown jewels—for Melusine was the oldest of us girls, and Father always spoiled her quite terribly, and Mother never cared especially for dressing up,—why, we all know what clever people are in that way: and I need only say that I found this very staff stuck away in a cupboard, like an old worn-out broom—”
Said Marianne, “Yes, but—”
“—When I was getting my things together to leave Brunbelois. And, much as I hate to contradict anybody, it has a distinctly red tinge, so that it could not possibly be ebony. So, what with all the talk, and Hoprig’s suspicions about Florian, it simply occurred to me that this staff was not the sort of thing my dear father would care to be stirring up unpleasant old memories with, by seeing it, after all his trouble with Melusine. For, even if Hoprig had been quite wrong, still, marriage, as I so often think, is really just a lottery—”
“Yes, but,” said Hortense, “but, but, but! one needs to know the charm that controls the staff—”
“My dear creature! But you are Hortense, are you not? Yes, I remember Florian told me all about you: and after the manner in which he has behaved to me, I am perfectly willing to believe that he misrepresented you in every way. Even if you used to make it a regular habit of flying at people’s throats like that, I know how many perfectly well meaning women simply do not realize what an annoyance it is for any one person to want to do all the talking—”
“I think so too, but—”
“Oh, I am not in the least offended, my dear. It is merely that, as I was telling you, Hortense, my sister Melusine was one of the most potent sorceresses in the known world, and so utterly devoted to her art that hardly a day passed without at any rate a little parlor conjuring. And I used often to be playing in the corner with my building blocks and my dolls when she was at her practising. If I were to tell you half the things I have witnessed with my own eyes, you simply would not believe a word of it. Yes, Melusine was quite accomplished, there is no denying that. And as I was saying, you know how children are, and how often they surprise you when you had no notion they were paying the least attention. Yes, as I often think, it is the littlest pitchers that have the largest ears—”
“If you know how the cantraps run, then, to be sure—”
“Why, but,” said Melior, now with her air of one who is dealing patiently with an irrational person, “but everybody knows if it is not the Eman hetan charm, it has to be either the Thout tout à tout or the Horse and hattock one. And so, I do hope, you see my feeling in the matter. Because, of course, appreciating as I do the perfectly well-meant suggestions of every one of you, still nobody in my delicate condition exactly likes to go about sliding down ropes and poisoning the servants, not to speak of the dogs, who, after all, are not responsible for their master’s doings, and walking nobody knows how many miles in the dark. So I shall go to Hoprig more carefully, and quickly too, upon the demon’s staff, vexatious as it is not to be remembering his name. I distinctly remember there was a Z in it, because there always seemed to me something romantic about a Z, and that he had talons like an eagle; but it was not Bembo, or Celerri, or El-Gabal— No, it has quite gone out of my mind, but, in any event, I am much obliged to all of you. And no doubt it will come back to me the moment I stop trying to remember—”
Thus speaking, Melior arose from the tomb, and left the Chapel reflectively. A brief silence followed, a silence that was broken by Marianne. She said, “Poor Florian!”
“He had his faults of course,” assented Hortense, “but really, to a person of any sensibility— Do peep, my love, and tell me if my skirts are down properly—”
Now Florian came forward, as statelily as anybody can walk in bedroom slippers, just as his wives were settling back upon their various tombs.
“Dear ladies,” said he, “I perceive with real regret that not even death is potent enough to allay your propensities for mischief making.”
“Oh, oh!” they cried, each sitting very erect, “here is the foul murderer!”
“Parbleu, my pets, what grievance, after all, have you against me? Are you not happier in your present existence than when you lived with me?”
“I should think so, indeed!” replied Carola, indignantly. “Why, wherever do you suppose we went to?”
“I do not inquire. It is a question raised by no widower of real discretion: he merely inclines in this, as in most matters, to be optimistic. Yet come now, let us be logical! Is it quite right for you four to complain against me, and to harbor actual animosity, on account of what was in the beginning just the natural result of my rather hasty disposition, and in the end my quadruple misfortune ? Do you, Carola, for example, honestly believe that, after having been blessed with your affection, I could ever be actually satisfied with Melior?”
“For one, I certainly see nothing in her. And I really do think, Florian—”
“Nor I, either,” said Aurélie, “nor could any rational person. And for your own good, I must tell you quite frankly, Florian—”
“Though, heaven knows,” said Marianne, “it is not as if any of us could envy the poor idiot for being your wife—”
“It is merely that one cannot help wondering,” said Hortense, “that even you should have had no more sense or good taste—”
So for an instant the sweet voices were like a choir of birds in fourfold descant: and they thrilled him with remembered melodies, vituperative and plaintive and now strangely dear. Then came the changing. All, Florian saw in that queer bluish light, were pitiably eager to talk about Melior, and to explain to him exhaustively just what a fool he had been, and how exactly like him was such behavior. But the magic of Hoprig’s revivifying ring was spent: and color and flexibility were going away from the pretty bodies, so that their lips could but move stiffly and feebly now, without making the least noise. It was really heart-breaking, Florian thought, to see these lovely women congeal into stone, and be thus petrified upon the verge of candors which would have completely freed their minds.
Then that strange throbbing bluish light was gone: and Florian was alone in the dark Chapel where only three dim lamps were glowing like red stars. An ordinary person would have estimated that this gloom did but very inadequately prefigure Florian’s future. But a Puysange knew perfectly where next to apply for help against any and all saints.
23. The Collyn in the Pot
FLORIAN went from the Chapel to the secret chamber which nobody else cared to enter. At this last pinch he was resolved to enlist in his defence that power which was at least as strong as Hoprig’s power. So Florian carried with him wine and wafers.
He opened a wicker basket, wherein was an earthen pot. Inside this pot lay, upon strips of white and black wool, a small, very smooth dun-colored creature that had the appearance of a cat. Florian with a green-handled little knife pricked the end of his ring-finger until he got the necessary blood; and presently the Collyn of Puysange had opened her yellow eyes and was licking daintily her lips so as to lose no drop of the offering. Florian fed her also with the wine and wafers.