The Midnight Queen [27]
sweet young mistress, instead of
running screaming away as you did, it might not have happened,"
said La Masque, in a tone between derision and contempt.
"Madame," sobbed the old woman, who was crying, "she was dying of
the plague, and how could I help it? They would have buried her
in spite of me."
"She was not dead; there was your mistake. She was as much alive
as you or I at this moment."
"Madame, I left her dead!" said the old woman positively.
"Prudence, you did no such thing; you left her fainting, and in
that state she was found and carried to the plague-pit."
The old woman stood silent for a moment, with a face of intense
horror, and then she clasped both hands with a wild cry.
"O my God! And they buried her alive - buried her alive in that
dreadful plague-pit!"
La Masque, leaning against a pillar, stood unmoved; and her
voice, when she spoke, was as coldly sweet as modern ice-cream.
"Not exactly. She was not buried at all, as I happen to know.
But when did you discover that she had the plague, and how could
she possibly have caught it?"
"That I do not know, madam. She seemed well enough all day,
though not in such high spirits as a bride should be. Toward
evening die complained of a headache and a feeling of faintness;
but I thought nothing of it, and helped her to dress for the
bridal. Before it was over, the headache and faintness grew
worse, and I gave her wine, and still suspected nothing. The
last time I came in, she had grown so much worse, that
notwithstanding her wedding dress, she had lain down on her bed,
looking for all the world like a ghost, and told me she had the
most dreadful burning pain in her chest. Then, madame, the
horrid truth struck me - I tore down her dress, and there, sure
enough, was the awful mark of the distemper. `You have the
plague!' I shrieked; and then I fled down stairs and out of the
house, like one crazy. O madame, madame! I shall never forget
it - it was terrible! I shall never forget it! Poor, poor child;
and the count does not know a word of it!"
La Masque laughed - a sweet, clear, deriding laugh, "So the count
does not know it, Prudence? Poor man! he will be in despair when
he finds it out, won't he? Such an ardent and devoted lover as
he was you know!"
Prudence looked up a little puzzled.
"Yes, madame, I think so. He seemed very fond of her; a great
deal fonder than she ever was of him. The fact is, madame," said
Prudence, lowering her voice to a confidential stage whisper,
"she never seemed fond of him at all, and wouldn't have been
married, I think, if she could have helped it."
"Could have helped it? What do you mean, Prudence? Nobody made
her, did they?"
Prudence fidgeted, and looked rather uneasy.
"Why, madame, she was not exactly forced, perhaps; but you know -
you know you told me - "
"Well?" said La Masque, coldly.
"To do what I could," cried Prudence, in a sort of desperation;
"and I did it, madame, and harassed her about it night and day.
And then the count was there, too, coaxing and entreating; and he
was handsome and had such ways with him that no woman could
resist, much less one so little used to gentlemen as Leoline.
And so, Madame Masque, we kept at her till we got her to consent
to it at last; but in her secret heart, I know she did not want
to be married - at least to the count," said Prudence, on serious
afterthought.
"Well, well; that has nothing to do with it. The question is,
where it she to be found?"
"Found!" echoed Prudence; "has she then been lost?"
"Of coarse she has, you old simpleton! How could she help it,
and she dead, with no one to look after her?" said La Masque,
with something like a half laugh. "She was carried to the
plague-pit in her bridal-robes, jewels and lace; and, when about
to be thrown in, was discovered, like Moses is the bulrushes,
running screaming away as you did, it might not have happened,"
said La Masque, in a tone between derision and contempt.
"Madame," sobbed the old woman, who was crying, "she was dying of
the plague, and how could I help it? They would have buried her
in spite of me."
"She was not dead; there was your mistake. She was as much alive
as you or I at this moment."
"Madame, I left her dead!" said the old woman positively.
"Prudence, you did no such thing; you left her fainting, and in
that state she was found and carried to the plague-pit."
The old woman stood silent for a moment, with a face of intense
horror, and then she clasped both hands with a wild cry.
"O my God! And they buried her alive - buried her alive in that
dreadful plague-pit!"
La Masque, leaning against a pillar, stood unmoved; and her
voice, when she spoke, was as coldly sweet as modern ice-cream.
"Not exactly. She was not buried at all, as I happen to know.
But when did you discover that she had the plague, and how could
she possibly have caught it?"
"That I do not know, madam. She seemed well enough all day,
though not in such high spirits as a bride should be. Toward
evening die complained of a headache and a feeling of faintness;
but I thought nothing of it, and helped her to dress for the
bridal. Before it was over, the headache and faintness grew
worse, and I gave her wine, and still suspected nothing. The
last time I came in, she had grown so much worse, that
notwithstanding her wedding dress, she had lain down on her bed,
looking for all the world like a ghost, and told me she had the
most dreadful burning pain in her chest. Then, madame, the
horrid truth struck me - I tore down her dress, and there, sure
enough, was the awful mark of the distemper. `You have the
plague!' I shrieked; and then I fled down stairs and out of the
house, like one crazy. O madame, madame! I shall never forget
it - it was terrible! I shall never forget it! Poor, poor child;
and the count does not know a word of it!"
La Masque laughed - a sweet, clear, deriding laugh, "So the count
does not know it, Prudence? Poor man! he will be in despair when
he finds it out, won't he? Such an ardent and devoted lover as
he was you know!"
Prudence looked up a little puzzled.
"Yes, madame, I think so. He seemed very fond of her; a great
deal fonder than she ever was of him. The fact is, madame," said
Prudence, lowering her voice to a confidential stage whisper,
"she never seemed fond of him at all, and wouldn't have been
married, I think, if she could have helped it."
"Could have helped it? What do you mean, Prudence? Nobody made
her, did they?"
Prudence fidgeted, and looked rather uneasy.
"Why, madame, she was not exactly forced, perhaps; but you know -
you know you told me - "
"Well?" said La Masque, coldly.
"To do what I could," cried Prudence, in a sort of desperation;
"and I did it, madame, and harassed her about it night and day.
And then the count was there, too, coaxing and entreating; and he
was handsome and had such ways with him that no woman could
resist, much less one so little used to gentlemen as Leoline.
And so, Madame Masque, we kept at her till we got her to consent
to it at last; but in her secret heart, I know she did not want
to be married - at least to the count," said Prudence, on serious
afterthought.
"Well, well; that has nothing to do with it. The question is,
where it she to be found?"
"Found!" echoed Prudence; "has she then been lost?"
"Of coarse she has, you old simpleton! How could she help it,
and she dead, with no one to look after her?" said La Masque,
with something like a half laugh. "She was carried to the
plague-pit in her bridal-robes, jewels and lace; and, when about
to be thrown in, was discovered, like Moses is the bulrushes,