He took Minoret's hand, which the doctor let him take, and held it for a moment seeming to collect himself; then with his other hand he took that of the woman sitting in the arm-chair and placed the hand of the doctor in it, making a sign to the old sceptic to seat himself beside this oracle without a tripod. Minoret observed a slight tremor on the absolutely calm features of the woman when their hands were thus united by the Swedenborgian, but the action, though marvelous in its effects, was very simply done.
"Obey him," said the unknown personage, extending his hand above the head of the sleeping woman, who seemed to imbibe both light and life from him, "and remember that what you do for him will please me.--You can now speak to her," he added, addressing Minoret.
"Go to Nemours, to my house, Rue des Bourgeois," said the doctor.
"Give her time; put your hand in hers until she proves to you by what she tells you that she is where you wish her to be," said Bouvard to his old friend.
"I see a river," said the woman in a feeble voice, seeming to look within herself with deep attention, notwithstanding her closed eyelids. "I see a pretty garden--"
"Why do you enter by the river and the garden?" said Minoret.
"Because they are there."
"Who?"
"The young girl and her nurse, whom you are thinking of."
"What is the garden like?" said Minoret.
"Entering by the steps which go down to the river, there is the right, a long brick gallery, in which I see books; it ends in a singular building,--there are wooden bells, and a pattern of red eggs. To the left, the wall is covered with climbing plants, wild grapes, Virginia jessamine. In the middle is a sun-dial. There are many plants in pots.
Your child is looking at the flowers. She shows them to her nurse--she is making holes in the earth with her trowel, and planting seeds. The nurse is raking the path. The young girl is pure as an angel, but the beginning of love is there, faint as the dawn--"
"Love for whom?" asked the doctor, who, until now, would have listened to no word said to him by somnambulists. He considered it all jugglery.
"You know nothing--though you have lately been uneasy about her health," answered the woman. "Her heart has followed the dictates of nature."
"A woman of the people to talk like this!" cried the doctor.
"In the state she is in all persons speak with extraordinary perception," said Bouvard.
"But who is it that Ursula loves?"
"Ursula does not know that she loves," said the woman with a shake of the head; "she is too angelic to know what love is; but her mind is occupied by him; she thinks of him; she tries to escape the thought; but she returns to it in spite of her will to abstain.--She is at the piano--"
"But who is he?"
"The son of a lady who lives opposite."
"Madame de Portenduere?"
"Portenduere, did you say?" replied the sleeper. "Perhaps so. But there's no danger; he is not in the neighbourhood."
"Have they spoken to each other?" asked the doctor.
"Never. They have looked at one another. She thinks him charming. He is, in fact, a fine man; he has a good heart. She sees him from her window; they see each other in church. But the young man no longer thinks of her."
"His name?"
"Ah! to tell you that I must read it, or hear it. He is named Savinien; she has just spoken his name; she thinks it sweet to say; she has looked in the almanac for his fete-day and marked a red dot against it,--child's play, that. Ah! she will love well, with as much strength as purity; she is not a girl to love twice; love will so dye her soul and fill it that she will reject all other sentiments."
"Where do you see that?"
"In her. She will know how to suffer; she inherits that; her father and her mother suffered much."
The last words overcame the doctor, who felt less shaken than surprised. It is proper to state that between her sentences the woman paused for several minutes, during which time her attention became more and more concentrated. She was seen to see; her forehead had a singular aspect; an inward effort appeared there; it seemed to clear or cloud by some mysterious power, the effects of which Minoret had seen in dying persons at moments when they appeared to have the gift of prophecy. Several times she made gestures which resembled those of Ursula.
"Question her," said the mysterious stranger, to Minoret, "she will tell you secrets you alone can know."
"Does Ursula love me?" asked Minoret.
"Almost as much as she loves God," was the answer. "But she is very unhappy at your unbelief. You do not believe in God; as if you could prevent his existence! His word fills the universe. You are the cause of her only sorrow.--Hear! she is playing scales; she longs to be a better musician than she is; she is provoked with herself. She is thinking, 'If I could sing, if my voice were fine, it would reach his ear when he is with his mother.'"
Doctor Minoret took out his pocket-book and noted the hour.
"Tell me what seeds she planted?"
"Mignonette, sweet-peas, balsams--"
"And what else?"
"Larkspur."
"Where is my money?"
"With your notary; but you invest it so as not to lose the interest of a single day."
"Yes, but where is the money that I keep for my monthly expenses?"
"You put it in a large book bound in red, entitled 'Pandects of Justinian, Vol. II.' between the last two leaves; the book is on the shelf of folios above the glass buffet. You have a whole row of them.
Your money is in the last volume next to the salon-- See! Vol. III. is before Vol. II.--but you have no money, it is all in--"
"--thousand-franc notes," said the doctor.
"I cannot see, they are folded. No, there are two notes of five hundred francs."
"You see them?"
"Yes."
"How do they look?"
"One is old and yellow, the other white and new."
