Chicot the Jester | Page 9

cold on his brow,
and the ringing in his ears and the cloud over his eyes warned him that
his strength was giving way. He sought for the wall with his left hand;
to his astonishment, it yielded. It was a door not quite closed. Then he
regained hope and strength for a last effort. For a second his blows
were rapid and violent. Then he let himself glide inside the door, and
pushed it to with a violent blow. It shut, and Bussy was saved. He
heard the furious blows of his enemies on the door, their cries of rage,
and wrathful imprecations. Then, the ground seemed to fail under his
feet, and the walls to move. He made a few steps forward, and fell on
the steps of a staircase. He knew no more, but seemed to descend into
the silence and obscurity of the tomb.


CHAPTER III.
HOW IT IS SOMETIMES DIFFICULT TO DISTINGUISH A
DREAM FROM THE REALITY.
Bussy had had time, before falling, to pass his handkerchief under his
shirt, and to buckle the belt of his sword over it, so as to make a kind of
bandage to the open wound whence the blood flowed, but he had
already lost blood enough to make him faint. However, during his
fainting fit, this is what Bussy saw, or thought he saw. He found
himself in a room with furniture of carved wood, with a tapestry of
figures, and a painted ceiling. These figures, in all possible attitudes,
holding flowers, carrying arms, seemed to him to be stepping from the
walls. Between the two windows a portrait of a lady was hung. He,
fixed to his bed, lay regarding all this. All at once the lady of the

portrait seemed to move, and an adorable creature, clothed in a long
white robe, with fair hair falling over her shoulders, and with eyes
black as jet, with long lashes, and with a skin under which he seemed to
see the blood circulate, advanced toward the bed. This woman was so
beautiful, that Bussy made a violent effort to rise and throw himself at
her feet. But he seemed to be confined in there by bonds like those
which keep the dead body in the tomb, while the soul mounts to the
skies. This forced him to look at the bed on which he was lying, and it
seemed to him one of those magnificent beds sculptured in the reign of
Francis I., to which were suspended hangings of white damask,
embroidered in gold.
At the sight of this woman, the people of the wall and ceiling ceased to
occupy his attention; she was all to him, and he looked to see if she had
left a vacancy in the frame. But suddenly she disappeared; and an
opaque body interposed itself between her and Bussy, moving slowly,
and stretching its arms out as though it were playing blindman's buff.
Bussy felt in such a passion at this, that, had he been able, he would
certainly have attacked this importunate vision; but as he made a vain
effort, the newcomer spoke:
"Well," said he, "have I arrived at last?"
"Yes, monsieur," said a voice so sweet that it thrilled through Bussy,
"and now you may take off your bandage." Bussy made an effort to see
if the sweet voice belonged to the lady of the portrait, but it was useless.
He only saw the pleasant face of a young man, who had just, as he was
told, taken off his bandage, and was looking curiously about him.
"To the devil with this man," thought Bussy, and he tried to speak, but
fruitlessly.
"Ah, I understand now," said the young man, approaching the bed;
"you are wounded, are you not, my dear sir? Well, we will try to cure
you."
"Is the wound mortal?" asked the sweet voice again, with a sad accent,
which brought tears into the eyes of Bussy.

"I do not know yet, I am going to see; meanwhile, he has fainted."
This was all Bussy heard, he seemed to feel a red-hot iron in his side,
and then lost all consciousness. Afterwards, it was impossible for
Bussy to fix the duration of this insensibility.
When he woke, a cold wind blew over his face, and harsh voices
sounded in his ears; he opened his eyes to see if it were the people of
the tapestry speaking, and hoping to see the lady again, looked round
him. But there was neither tapestry nor ceiling visible, and the portrait
had also disappeared. He saw at his right only a man with a white apron
spotted with blood; at his left, a monk, who was raising his head; and
before him, an old woman mumbling her prayers. His wondering