CAPTAIN SATAN.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 11797, 28 July 1900, Page 5

CAPTAIN SATAN.

THE ADVENTUKES OF CYRAJN'O

DE BERGERAC.

(Translated from the French o£ Louis Gallet.)

CHAPTER VI.—THE GIPSY-LOVER

Paquette unclosed the gate opening on to the quay, and the three musicians entered, and took up their places before their noble

audience

One of the two men, as soon as he saw Cyrano, started, but checked himself quickly, and pulled his matted black locks over his ej'es.

If the poet had noticed the movement and had looked foi the cause of it, he would not have been slow in recognising in this strolling musician the beggar who had but lately stopped him on the Fougerolles road. But besides, having probably already forgotten about the adventure, Cyrano was, for the nonee1, fully occupied in scanning the features of the other gipsy. He was younger, had fair hair, and was slimly and elegantly built, while on his face, which was somewhat tanned by the suns of many countries, an expression of gloomy hauteur was-to be seen. What was Cyrano thinking about, as he gazed at him? No doubt he would himself have found it difficult to say, for presently he shook his head to throw off this purposeless absorption, and, walking np to the one who seemed to be the leader of the troupe, he said: " Gome; begin playing again, if you know no better way of amusing these noble people." The loot-pad stepped forward, and, disguising his voice as much as possible, for he remembered Cyrano's threat, as well as the lesson that he had received, said:

"It is not everyone that likes music, monseigneur. We have other things to offer you.

"What?"

" For my part, I can do thicks with glasses ; mv sister, Zilla, tells fortunes wonderfully ; and my companion, Manuel, improvises with some ability, and is a mostpleasant performer on the lute." " Our only difficulty is in choosing," laughed Cyrano; and looking at the one who had been called Manuel:

"You are poet, my good fellow?" he said.

" At times, monseigneur." " Then we are colleagues. By Apollo, I greet- you." The young man bowed. "Thank yon, Monsieur de Cyrano," he answered courteously. "You know .me'/" "As all Paris does."

"It is strange," ■ mused Cyrano at that moment. " 1 recall those features to mind, and I seem to have heard that voice before."

And, full of thought, he began to carefully scrutinise the speaker's whole person. "Whatever is it. my dear friend? " asked Roland, astonished at the expression on Cyrano's face.

The poet pulled himself together. "Nothing," said Cyrano ; "I was taking stock of my fellow man of letters. A poet is always a curious animal to look at."

There was a moment's interval, during which, in this meeting or people so widely apart, a singular interchange of glances took place. Cyrano continued —is examination of Manuel; Manuel gazed ardently at Gilberte, affected in her presence with an indefinable emotion; while Zilta bent on Manuel a flashing glance, and Roland's gaze passed from one to the other, seeking for the key to this extraordinary scene. As for the man with black hair, he did not look at anyone. Cyrano's presence troubled him too much. The last-named suddenly turned to Gilberte. " Come, pretty, anxious one, Zilla will forecast your horoscope," he suggested. " Would you like her to ? " " Why 'not? " And Gilberte joined the group. '■■■-. The fortune-teller took her hand. " Read it, and don't be afraid,", said Gilberte. "I have no fear as to my destiny. What- do you see? " " Love amid shadow; surprise and deception ; a terrible, terrible struggle ; after the. struggle, possibly happiness, possibly ■ death."

The young girl drew back her hand. " Thank you," said she simply. "It is. as obscure as an ancient oracle," retorted Cyrano, laughing.. "Mine, pretty sibyl."

" For you, monseigneur'," said Zilla, " a short and' fruitful existence, persecution and fighting." " That is just' what- I like. You say well, my girl! And the end?" "I cannot say how you will die."

"By a sword-thrust, doubtless? Indeed, Ely end ought to be such."

"No," said Zilla in a distinct tone, after having consulted the lines of the gentleman's hand.

" I accept the forecast. Yours, Roland !" " It's no use," objected the Count. " I have no faith in these predictions."

"No more have I, by Jove'; but these poor beggars must earn money by some means."

"Maybe."

And in his turn Roland submitted himself to the fortune-teller's inspection.

" You had reason to hesitate," said she in a grave and solemn tone ; " your hand reads strangely." < "Really!" '

" Everything in its lines is obscure and mysterious. Let' me think for a little,"

monseigneur." . j " Are there terrible things in it, then? " '

"Perhaps."

"With bowed head and fixed gaze Zilla seemed to isolate herself in solemn thought.

While all those present were engrossed in this scene, a young man, modestly dressed, with .sprightly bearing and roguish countenance, came up quietly and mingled with the company. It was Sulpice Ca«tillan. Cyrano's secretary, who, not finding his master at the Hotel de Bourgogne, had come to look for him at the Hotel de Faventines. % This gentleman made a sign to him, as much as to say :

"Do not speak to me, but wait; I need you for something."

Roland de Lembrat began to grow im patient at the tardiness of his oracle.

"Do speak," he said to Zilla; "you can see well enough that they are waiting for your decision."

But Zilla shook her head, and putting the Count's hand away from her.

"No," murmured she ; you that."

" I dare not tell

"Mystery? That is clever." The fortune-teller shot a keen glance into the mocking eyes of the sceptic.

" It is advisable," she corrected with an impressive tone, "for your own "peace of mind."

T3ie Count shrugged his shoulders and turned away. " Enough of jugglery. Sing us some love song or other; 1 should like that better." The leader of the three interposed. "That is Manuel's work."

Then to his companion

" Summon your inspiration, my friend, and give these fine ladies one of your improvisations."

In spite of these words the singer's embarrassment was evident. At first he

gazed at Gilberte with an almost wild look, and lowered his brow as though crushed beneath the weight of some despairing thought. Then a glow of energy passed into his eyes; he lifted up his head, seized, by a daring inspiration, and, throwing back his tawny locks, advanced towards Mademoiselle de Faventines. Gilberte rested her head on Paquette's shoulder. "This man's glance troubles me in spite of myself," she murmured to her pretty attendant. " He' has a proud and daring look," answered the latter in a low voice. Cyrano had assumed a thoughtful attitude in the presence of the improvisatore, who had by then absorbed the general attention. Manuel sounded a light prelude, and then, in a sweetly vibrating voice, a little unsteady at first, but gaining strength as his poetic emotion carried him away, he murmured these verses : —

Because I am only a gipsy poor, s Chance-born in the gutter and schooled in the street, — . Because I live far beneath her I adore,

And seem but the meanest of worms at her feet,—

" Because she has not with her queenly smile, Illumined the dark where my passion has

grown. Should I stifle ray heart? Would she deem me vile, If my wound I would fain unto her make known ?

" Proudly calm she will pass me upon my

way; But those eyes so dear will seek never my eyes: Nor will chaste trouble surge, I alone could allay, ' In that spirit more pure than the" light of the skies. :

" To the poor, a mere nought may be heavenly bl'is; • .

So, I could find happiness even in death, If, trusting the roso with my passionate kiss. Her lip drew lny soul with the flower's fragrant breath."

Accidentally or by intention, the inrprovi.satore had taken his place close to a large stone vase, around which there twined the supple tendrils of a white rose tree. As these lines ended in a wail, of melody, he stretched out his hand, gathered a rose, and pressed it furtively to his. lips, as, bending"°on one knee in front of Gilberte, he offered it to her, and closed his eyes as though he would have swooned with emotion.

With blazing eyes and contracted lip, Roland sprang towards him. " You insolent vagabond!" he cried.

And brutally wrenching the 'flower out of the adventurer's hand, he crushed it under his heel. Manuel leapt up under the insult, but beneath the Count's scorning glance, his face, which was glowing with anger, suddenly clouded over. His body relaxed. He perceived his impotence, and acknowledged it.

All this was quick as a thought.

"What are you doing?" interposed Cyrano in a calm voice.- ' What'trifle has raised your ire? This man is playing his part; he has recited bis verses, and now offers a. flower ; it is perfectly innocent."

"What! Were you 'not amazed at his expression? Did you not comprehend his impudent allusion?"

" Child that you are " —Savinien took the Count's 'hand—" are you jealous of a gipsy?" .

" Let- me alone."

And indicating the garden gate to Manuel, he .said:. • - ■ ■

"Begone, fellow, if you don't want me to thrash you off."

"Pardon," answered Manuel in a frigid tone,' without retreating a step, "if you were to thrash me, I should, be man enough to repay. you with sword^thrusts." A burst of scornful laughter escaped Roland's ljps. "A beggar!" said be. "Get away with you." " Monsieur the Count!" cried'■' Gilberts, and threw herself between the two adversaries. Roland seised her by the arm. "Do not be afraid ; even if I am jealous of everything that concerns you. I can also pay for the entertainment that is afforded you. Here, knave." He flung, his purse to Manuel. "Thank you," answered the young man, spurning it with his foot. " I have been paid."

Zilla's brother, less disdainful, picked up the purse quickly, and, making a ceremonious bow, said: "I don't work for love, not I. Monseigneur, I accept." . :

Manuel had withdrawn slowly, not at all like a man that is driven away, but like a combatant who proudly quits the arena. His two companions followed him.

As Roland, with a. gloomy look, was watching their departure, Paquette heard her mistress say to her sadly: "Oh! dear Paquette, he- was a gipsy. Everything now forbids my loving him; my dream is at an end." "Go and follow those people.that have just been sent off," Cyrano bade Sulpice Castillan at the same time; " I must know where to" find them."

CHAPTER VIL—FAGOTIN'S MIS

CHANCE.

Leaving" the Hotel de Faventines,.. the three wandering musicians betook themselves in the direction of the Pont Nouf, where at that time was the general quarter for mountebanks, lackeys, rufflers, and sharpers. Zilla walked on in front with bent head, her brow overcast with thought. Manuel, on the contrary, gazed' up towards the sky, and his breast heaved, swelled by a breath of triumphant txride. He was in love! And he, humble and obscure, had had the supreme good fortune, in a moment of daring inspiration, of being able to raise himself to the level of his adored one. For a moment she. had felt bis eyes glowing with love into hers ; for a moment she had been absolutely his. He had hnsn insulted, threatened, expelled. What did it matter 'to him? This gipsy, this outcast, who had no ties, who had no origin, had made the heart of a gentlewoman throb, if not with love, at least with pity.

This was enough for him, as he had said in his fevered improvisation. He was happy ; not being able to pretend to more, his artistic, visionary soul put its every future joy in a remembrance ; he realised that from this tinie he would occupy a place in Gilberte's mind.

This thought was his treasure, the reward of his daring, the consolation of his misery. And like one in aetlveam, seeking in space the phantom of his vision; he went along, seeing nothing around him, jostling against passers-by, stumbling against stones, running into mile posts, dazed, intoxicated, entranced.