Uncle Silas - J. Sheridan Le Fanu (best novels to read for students .TXT) 📗

need? You are proud, little demoiselle; you must become, on the contrary, quaite humble. Je ferai baiser le babouin à vous⁠—ha, ha, ha! I weel make a you to kees the monkey. You are too proud, my dear cheaile.”

“I am not such a fool as I was at Knowl,” I said; “you shall not terrify me here. I will tell my uncle the whole truth,” I said.

“Well, it may be that is the best,” she replied, with provoking coolness.

“You think I don’t mean it?”

“Of course you do,” she replied.

“And we shall see what my uncle thinks of it.”

“We shall see, my dear,” she replied, with an air of mock contrition.

“Adieu, Madame!”

“You are going to Monsieur Ruthyn?⁠—very good!”

I made her no answer, but more agitated than I cared to show her, I left the room. I hurried along the twilight passage, and turned into the long gallery that opened from it at right angles. I had not gone half-a-dozen steps on my return when I heard a heavy tread and a rustling behind me.

“I am ready, my dear; I weel accompany you,” said the smirking phantom, hurrying after me.

“Very well,” was my reply; and threading our way, with a few hesitations and mistakes, we reached and descended the stairs, and in a minute more stood at my uncle’s door.

My uncle looked hard and strangely at us as we entered. He looked, indeed, as if his temper was violently excited, and glared and muttered to himself for a few seconds; and treating Madame to a stare of disgust, he asked peevishly⁠—

“Why am I disturbed, pray?”

“Miss Maud a Ruthyn, she weel explain,” replied Madame, with a great courtesy, like a boat going down in a ground swell.

“Will you explain, my dear?” he asked, in his coldest and most sarcastic tone.

I was agitated, and I am sure my statement was confused. I succeeded, however, in saying what I wanted.

“Why, Madame, this is a grave charge! Do you admit it, pray?”

Madame, with the coolest possible effrontery, denied it all; with the most solemn asseverations, and with streaming eyes and clasped hands, conjured me melodramatically to withdraw that intolerable story, and to do her justice. I stared at her for a while astounded, and turning suddenly to my uncle, as vehemently asserted the truth of every syllable I had related.

“You hear, my dear child, you hear her deny everything; what am I to think? You must excuse the bewilderment of my old head. Madame de la⁠—that lady has arrived excellently recommended by the superioress of the place where dear Milly awaits you, and such persons are particular. It strikes me, my dear niece, that you must have made a mistake.”

I protested here. But he went on without seeming to hear the parenthesis⁠—

“I know, my dear Maud, that you are quite incapable of wilfully deceiving anyone; but you are liable to be deceived like other young people. You were, no doubt, very nervous, and but half awake when you fancied you saw the occurrence you describe; and Madame de⁠—de⁠—”

“De la Rougierre,” I supplied.

“Yes, thank you⁠—Madame de la Rougierre, who has arrived with excellent testimonials, strenuously denies the whole thing. Here is a conflict, my dear⁠—in my mind a presumption of mistake. I confess I should prefer that theory to a peremptory assumption of guilt.”

I felt incredulous and amazed; it seemed as if a dream were being enacted before me. A transaction of the most serious import, which I had witnessed with my own eyes, and described with unexceptionable minuteness and consistency, is discredited by that strange and suspicious old man with an imbecile coolness. It was quite in vain my reiterating my statement, backing it with the most earnest asseverations. I was beating the air. It did not seem to reach his mind. It was all received with a simper of feeble incredulity.

He patted and smoothed my head⁠—he laughed gently, and shook his while I insisted; and Madame protested her purity in now tranquil floods of innocent tears, and murmured mild and melancholy prayers for my enlightenment and reformation. I felt as if I should lose my reason.

“There now, dear Maud, we have heard enough; it is, I do believe, a delusion. Madame de la Rougierre will be your companion, at the utmost, for three or four weeks. Do exercise a little of your self-command and good sense⁠—you know how I am tortured. Do not, I entreat, add to my perplexities. You may make yourself very happy with Madame if you will, I have no doubt.”

“I propose to Mademoiselle,” said Madame, drying her eyes with a gentle alacrity, “to profit of my visit for her education. But she does not seem to weesh wat I think is so useful.”

“She threatened me with some horrid French vulgarism⁠—de faire baiser le babouin à moi, whatever that means; and I know she hates me,” I replied, impetuously.

“Doucement⁠—doucement!” said my uncle, with a smile at once amused and compassionate. “Doucement! ma chère.”

With great hands and cunning eyes uplifted, Madame tearfully⁠—for her tears came on short notice⁠—again protested her absolute innocence. She had never in all her life so much as heard one so villain phrase.

“You see, my dear, you have misheard; young people never attend. You will do well to take advantage of Madame’s short residence to get up your French a little, and the more you are with her the better.”

“I understand then, Mr. Ruthyn, you weesh I should resume my instructions?” asked Madame.

“Certainly; and converse all you can in French with Mademoiselle Maud. You will be glad, my dear, that I’ve insisted on it,” he said, turning to me, “when you have reached France, where you will find they speak nothing else. And now, dear Maud⁠—no, not a word more⁠—you must leave me. Farewell, Madame!”

And he waved us out a little impatiently; and I, without one look toward Madame de la Rougierre, stunned and incensed, walked into my room and shut the door.

XX The Foot of Hercules

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