Chapter XXX: The Forbidden Fruit

A sense of the risk I encountered by absence from my quarters, in a strange country, and while having with me the order-book of my company, a volume which contained so many details relating to our embarkation for Martinique and our mode of landing there, recurred to me so vividly, that after hastily taking a glass or two of wine, on a lull in the booming of the thunder, I arose, and lifting the Venetian blinds gazed upon the night, which was dark--fearfully so, even for the tropics.

"Madame," said I, with hesitation, lest I might appear ungracious to one so charming in person, and so winning in manner, "I beseech you to excuse me; but--but you spoke a moment since, of the gratitude you owed me for the trifling service--"

"Mon Dieu! he calls my life a trifle--and saving it, a trivial service!" she exclaimed.

"Pardon me, but if missed from the garrison, you know not the penalty I incur, in times of war," I urged with great earnestness.

"Nay but I do, for I know more of soldiering than I ever care to see again."

"Then, madame, if one of your servants, or a trusty negro, would be my guide to Needham's Point----"

She patted my cheek with her large fan, and bending her bright dark eyes into mine, with a glance at once merry and tender, said,--

"Compose yourself; a storm is coming on, and you cannot go."

"I must, lady," I continued, impelled by the force and habit of discipline; "without leave, what else can I do?"

"Foolish boy; you would lose your way and be destroyed. There are steep rocks, covered by creeping plants, so thick and luxuriant, that they would take you up to the neck, and these jungles are full of snakes and fortylegs as large as one's hand, and their bite is dreadful. I think we have had enough of reptiles to-night! Then there are deep gullies rent by earthquakes, full of slime, dwarf mangroves, wild cucumbers, and other weeds, as tall as a man; and there lurk in the thickets runaway negroes and others who are worse; but all bad enough for a solitary stranger to encounter; and then there will be the rain and the wind and the lightning; and for all these you would leave my pleasant little drawing-room, and--and----"

"And your society, you would say reproachfully."

"Precisely so. Ah, you know not a midnight storm in the Antilles."

"The night certainly is very dark," said I, beginning to yield to her arguments and beauty.

"Yes; as a French writer says, 'it is one of those nights which are too dark for murder--too dark even for love!'"

"Is it ungallant to say, I am thinking of neither?" said I, laughing, while my cheek flushed as this singular woman placed her white hand gently on mine, as if more fully to persuade me; "but why that thought?"

"'Tis very natural: darkness makes one think of love, does it not?"

"To me, it would rather be suggestive of danger. For love, I would rather have moonlight."

"But not in the tropics where the moon is like a second sun. But you must not leave me, monsieur, on such a night, and in this place which is so solitary. I have not been used to dwell alone."

"No one lives here with you?"

"None," said she, shaking her head almost sorrowfully, adding, "I am older than you by some years; thus I command you to stay."

My head swam, and my heart seemed to take fire. I felt the pressure of her little hand tightening upon mine.

"I must go," I faltered--yet stayed.

At that moment there was a terrific glare of lightning, and a peal of thunder overhead. I let fall the Venetian blind. We staggered, dazzled by the gleam, and, somehow my arm went round her. She did not altogether resist, for she was terrified, and I led her to a seat in our confusion.

On the sofa we sat in silence for some time, listening to the howl of the rising wind, which was tossing the vast palm branches of the cabbage-trees, causing them to shriek and groan; while some active negroes,--strong herculean fellows, in red osnaburg jackets and drawers,--were hurriedly closing the outer shutters of the house, but leaving the sash-window open; for the heat, even at that season of the year, was somewhat oppressive. Heavy, globular drops of rain, now plashed in fierce and rapid succession, till they descended like a sheet of water on the orange and lemon groves, and with a roaring sound on the broad fields of sugar-cane around the villa; and when I looked forth again, through a species of wicket or sliding panel in one of the shutters, the aspect of the night filled me with an emotion of awe.

"You see, monsieur, it _can_ rain, when it pleases, here in the West Indies," said the lady playfully; "and in proportion as the rain falls, the wind rises."

The tempest seemed to come from every point of the compass at once. Enormous trees were swaying in every direction. Green forky lightning shot through the sky's gloomy vault tearing asunder the black masses of surcharged cloud, which the wind was also rending, sweeping, and twisting, with frightful rapidity, into an endless variety of forms; the ghastly glare revealing momentarily, and with wondrous distinctness, the tossing trees, the green leaves, broad branches, and gnarled trunks of the avenue, close by; and the fields of sugar-cane, afar off, waving forward and backward, like the billows of an inland sea. All this would be visible for an instant; and then, as the gleam passed away, was shrouded and lost in blinding rain and utter darkness.

"Now, Monsieur le Soldat, said I not true?" whispered the lady, as she shut the panel and we returned to the sofa; "where would you have been by this time, and what your fate, had I wickedly permitted you to leave me, and on such a night as this?"

"The debt of gratitude is now transferred from you to me," said I, smiling; "and now I am your willing captive."

"Then let us to supper; we shall talk after."

The supper consisted of cold fowls, ham, and tongue, served up with anchovies, caviare, and several kinds of sauces. There were fruits, sweetmeats, limes preserved in sugar, and wines of various kinds, but chiefly malmsey and vidonia--the former flavoured like canary, and the latter brisk and dry like sherry, but coloured with tent. While pressing all these good things upon me, I observed that my fair hostess drank only a little cooled citron water--a famous cordial in the Antilles; but the entire novelty of my situation and perplexity as to who this lady was--whether maid, wife, or widow--deprived me of all appetite; while the charming frankness the gaiety, and unconcealed coquetry of her manner, made me, at the few years I had then attained, peculiarly liable to any snare she might set for me. These ideas ran swiftly through my mind while seated by her side; and in truth, such is the force of evil example, and such were the recklessness and easy disposition of those among whom my lot had latterly been cast by sea and land, that I can scarcely be surprised at the flexibility or laxity of principle, which rendered me tolerably careless as to _how_ my new and beautiful friend was related in life. My chief curiosity was to learn her name--my desire to please her.

"May I ask how far I am from the garrison?"

"The garrison--always that tiresome garrison!" said she, selecting some grapes from a basket; "you are, I know not how far; but what does it matter, child, especially in such a storm as this?"

"And this place--how is it named?"

"Boscobelle."

"The beautiful wood?"

"Oui, monsieur, and a charming place you will find it, though that odious serpent was your introducteur."

"And--pardon me--_your_ name, madame?"

She changed colour and paused.

"What matters my name?" she asked, with a lovely smile; "are you tired of me?"

"Ah, why that question, madame?" I asked, taking her hand tenderly in mine.

"Because it would seem as if one was weary when one asks questions."

"Pray tell me?" I urged, in a low voice.

"Well, when I was baptized by the old curé of St. Germain de Prez, at Paris, my godmother named me Eulalie----"

"And you are now----"

"Now," she reiterated.

"Still Eulalie only?"

"Have I not told you enough?" she asked, smiling.

"No."

"_Mon Dieu_, how inquisitive it is! Is not Eulalie all you need when addressing me? and you--I must have revenge--how are you named."

"Oliver--Oliver Ellis."

"_Très bon_--Oliver--good; I shall treasure that in my heart of hearts!"

"And _your_ surname?"

"Oh, you pertinacious and provoking one! Know then, that, to my misfortune, I am named Eulalie de Rouvigny."

"Surely I have heard this name before?" said I, starting, and endeavouring to remember.

"Very probably; it is the name of a well-known French officer, who commands in Martinique."

"The Colonel de Rouvigny, chef de bataillon of a revolted regiment?"

"The same."

"True--I now remember--a pretty name," said I, taking her hand again and kissing it; "and yours is Eulalie--that is charming! Is the colonel any relation? I should hope not, as we may be fighting with him in the course of next week."

"Ah, no," she replied with a shudder, "no relation."

"You know him then?"

A smile, singularly sardonic on such a beautiful little face, was perceptible as she answered briefly,--

"Yes."

"How?"

"He is only my husband."

"_Husband!_" I reiterated, as my romance vanished like a soap-bubble.

"_Mon Dieu!_ does that surprise you so much, that you must drop my poor little hand as if it were a hot poker, or Surinam beetle?"

"You will pardon me."

"People, to their misfortune, have husbands sometimes, monsieur," said she with a demure pout.

"And you are here----"

"An emigrant, or prisoner of war--which you will."

"Separated from him----"

"For nearly a year."

"How sad!"

"I do not find it very sad; nor would you think so, Monsieur Oliver, if you knew all," said she with an air of annoyance.

"How came this about; for you seem a very willing prisoner of war?"

"I was returning to France in a ship from St. Pierre, but was captured by one of your cruisers, and landed here. M. le Gouverneur of the Barbadoes assigned to me this pretty villa of Boscobelle, to which you, my preserver, are most welcome! What more would you wish to learn?"

I was silent; for I had heard that the wife of a French commander in the Windward Isles was the prisoner of war who had supplied us with many details, as to the number of men, guns, and fortresses in Martinique and Guadaloupe--details which Sir Charles Grey found of the greatest value, when maturing those plans of conquest for which the great armament wherein I formed a unit, was fitted out by Britain.

The rank, name, and solitary condition of my beautiful young hostess, though they would have encouraged an older or more reckless gallant, all conduced to silence and bewilder me. She quickly perceived this; but was too polite, or too politic to remark it, and pressed me to take more wine. I did so; but after a time my perplexity and constraint seemed to annoy her, and she asked,--

"Of what are you thinking, monsieur?"

"What the world might say of all this."

"All what--I do not comprehend, monsieur," said she, while her cheek reddened, and her bosom heaved. "What has the odious world to do with our little supper? But talk not to me of the world," she added bitterly, while her fine eyes flashed with sudden fire; "'tis not the world I dreamed it to be when I viewed it only through the iron grilles, and gay flower garden of the old convent in which I was reared at Paris. I have lived to see its folly, its hollowness, its bitterness and falsehood. I am without friends, country, prospects--hope! Love may lighten--but death alone could release me from it. Do you understand this?" she asked almost fiercely.

"No, madame."

"What a child it is!" she exclaimed, pouting again, and then added in a subdued voice; "you have not yet seen your nearest and dearest perish in the shambles of the Place de la Grève, or amid the horrors of the Vendean war--or the greater atrocities of these Indian isles, but let me not think of such things. Fill me a glass of vidonia--thank you. Some time I shall tell you my story; meantime, allow me to assist you to more wine; there is a song which says--

Valour the stronger grows,
The stronger liquor we are drinking;
And how can we feel our woes,
When we've lost the trouble of thinking?

She sang this with charming naïveté and added, "Monsieur will perceive that I have not lived in barracks without learning something. Do allow me to assist you to more fruit."

"These are wonderful oranges."

"They are _not_ oranges," said she, while her naturally coquettish smile returned to her dark eye, and ruddy lip; "do you not perceive that they are longer and larger than the largest orange, and have the flavor of the shaddock?"

"True."

"I gathered them from a tree in the garden."

"With those charming little hands."

"Oh! monsieur is recovering from his surprise I perceive."

"And they are named--"

"The forbidden fruit," said she, laughing merrily; "so I have tempted you as our common ancestor was tempted. 'Tis like a drama at the Porte St. Martin, a serpent in the first act--the fruit in the second--thunder and lightning throughout;" and sinking back on the down sofa, she burst into a merry fit of laughter. As she did so, I perceived that she had beautiful teeth; but in all the charms of her person, she was perfect. Again I took her hands in mine.

"Ah, madame, your story--I am full of curiosity: What time so fitting as the present, when we are quite alone and undisturbed? All is silent, too; for even the storm has lulled, and is passing away. Yet--yet, I still hear something."

"What is it?"

"The beating of my heart."

"Hush. We must not speak thus. Well, _attendez, mon soldat_, and you shall learn how I came to be seated by your side to-night in this lonely villa, in the island of Barbadoes."

Still permitting me to retain her hands in mine--for she was full of little coquetries--she cast down her fine eyelids, and after a few moments' reflection, began, as nearly as I can remember, in the following words, a narrative sufficiently full of incident to have made a three-volume novel.