XXIV
There was a dignity in the manners of M. de Lambert to meformidable and oppressive. It showed in his tall, erect figure,his deep tone, his silvered hair and mustache. There was a merryword between the kisses of one daughter; between those of the otheronly tears and a broken murmur.
"Oh, papa," said Louison, as she greeted him, "I do love you--but Idread that--tickly old mustache. Mon Dieu! what a lover--you musthave been!"
Then she presented me, and put her hand upon my arm, lookingproudly at her father.
"My captain!" said she. "Did you ever see a handsomer Frenchman?"
"There are many, and here is one," said he, turning to the youngcount, who stood behind him--a fine youth, tall, strong-built,well-spoken, with blond hair and dark, keen eyes. I admit franklyI had not seen a better figure of a man. I assure you, he had theform of Hercules, the eye of Mars. It was an eye tocommand--women; for I had small reason to admire his courage when Iknew him better. He took a hand of each young lady, and kissed itwith admirable gallantry.
"Dieu! it is not so easy always to agree with one's father," saidLouison.
We went riding that afternoon--Therese and her marquis and Louisonand I. The first two went on ahead of us; we rode slowly, and fora time no word was spoken. Winds had stripped the timber, andswept its harvest to the walls and hollows, where it lay bleachingin the sun. Birch and oak and maple were holding bared arms to thewind, as if to toughen them for storm and stress. I felt a mightysadness, wondering if my own arms were quite seasoned for all thatwas to come. The merry-hearted girl beside me was ever like a dayof June--the color of the rose in her cheek, its odor always in herhair and lace. There was never an hour of autumn in her life.
"Alas, you are a very silent man!" said she, presently, with alittle sigh.
"Only thinking," I said.
"Of what?"
"Dieu! of the dead summer," I continued.
"Believe me, it does not pay to think," she interrupted. "I triedit once, and made a sad discovery."
"Of what?"
"A fool!" said she, laughing.
"I should think it--it might have been a coquette," said I, lightly.
"Why, upon my word," said she, "I believe you misjudge me. Do youthink me heartless?"
For the first time I saw a shadow in her face.
"No; but you are young and--and beautiful, and--"
"What?" she broke in impatiently, as I hesitated. "I long to know."
"Men will love you in spite of all you can do," I added.
"Captain!" said she, turning her face away.
"Many will love you, and--and you can choose only one--a very hardthing to do--possibly."
"Not hard," said she, "if I see the right one--and--and--he lovesme also."
I had kept myself well in hand, for I was full of doubts that day;but the clever girl came near taking me, horse, foot, and guns,that moment. She spoke so charmingly, she looked so winning, andthen, was it not easy to ask if I were the lucky one? She knew Iloved her, I knew that she had loved me, and I might as wellconfess. But no; I was not ready.
"You must be stern with the others; you must not let them tellyou," I went on.
"Ciel!" said she, laughing, "one might as well go to a nunnery.May not a girl enjoy her beauty? It is sweet to her."
"But do not make it bitter for the poor men. Dieu! I am one ofthem, and know their sorrows."
"And you--you have been in love?"
"Desperately," I answered, clinging by the finger-tips. Somehow wekept drifting into fateful moments when a word even might havechanged all that has been--our life way, the skies above us, thefriends we have known, our loves, our very souls.
She turned, smiling, her beauty flashing up at me with a powerquite irresistible. I shut my eyes a moment, summoning all myforces. There was only a step between me and--God knows what!
"Captain, you are a foolish fellow," said she, with a littleshudder. "And I--well, I am cold. Parbleu! feel my hand."
She had drawn her glove quickly, and held out her hand, white andbeautiful, a dainty finger in a gorget of gems. That little cold,trembling hand seemed to lay hold of my heart and pull me to her.As my lips touched the palm I felt its mighty magic. Dear girl! Iwonder if she planned that trial for me.
"We must--ride--faster. You--you--are cold," I stammered.
She held her hand so that the sunlight flashed in the jewels, andlooked down upon it proudly.
"Do you think it beautiful?" she asked.
"Yes, and wonderful," I said. "But, mark me, it is all a sacredtrust--the beauty you have."
"Sacred?"
"More sacred than the power of kings," I said.
"Preacher!" said she, with a smile. "You should give yourself tothe church."
"I can do better with the sword of steel," I said.
"But do not be sad. Cheer up, dear fellow!" she went on, pattingmy elbow with a pretty mockery. "We women are not--not so bad.When I find the man I love--"
Her voice faltered as she began fussing with her stirrup.
I turned with a look of inquiry, changing quickly to one ofadmiration.
"I shall make him love me, if I can," she went on soberly.
"And if he does?" I queried, my blood quickening as our eyes met.
"Dieu! I would do anything for him," said she.
I turned away, looking off at the brown fields. Ah, then, for abreath, my heart begged my will for utterance. The first wordpassed my lips when there came a sound of galloping hoofs andTheresa and the marquis.
"Come, dreamers," said the former, as they pulled up beside us. "Acold dinner is the worst enemy of happiness."
"And he is the worst robber that shortens the hour of love," saidthe marquis, smiling.
We turned, following them at a swift gallop. They had helped meout of that mire of ecstasy, and now I was glad, for, on my soul, Ibelieved the fair girl had found one more to her liking, and wasonly playing for my scalp. And at last I had begun to know my ownheart, or thought I had.
D'ri came over that evening with a letter from General Brown. Hedesired me to report for duty next day at two.
"War--it is forever war," said Therese, when I told her at dinner."There is to be a coaching-party to-morrow, and we shall miss you,captain."
"Can you not soon return?" said the baroness.
"I fear not," was my answer. "It is to be a long campaign."
"Oh, the war! When will it ever end?" said Louise, sighing.
"When we are all dead," said Louison.
"Of loneliness?" said the old count, with a smile.
"No; of old age," said Louison, quickly.
"When the army goes into Canada it will go into trouble," said theComte de Chaumont, speaking in French. "We shall have to get youout of captivity, captain."
"Louise would rescue him," said her sister. "She has influencethere."
"Would you pay my ransom?" I inquired, turning to her.
"With my life," said she, solemnly.
"Greater love hath no man than this," said the good Pere Joulin,smiling as the others laughed.
"And none has greater obligation," said Louise, blushing withembarrassment. "Has he not brought us three out of captivity?"
"Well, if I am taken," I said, "nothing can bring me back unless itbe--"
"A miracle?" the baroness prompted as I paused.
"Yes; even a resurrection," was my answer. "I know what it meansfor a man to be captured there these days."
Louise sat beside me, and I saw what others failed to notice--hernapkin stop quickly on its way to her lips, her hand tighten as itheld the white linen. It made me regretful of my thoughtlessanswer, but oddly happy for a moment. Then they all besought mefor some adventure of those old days in the army. I told them thestory of the wasps, and, when I had finished, our baroness told ofthe trouble it led to--their capture and imprisonment.
"It was very strange," said she, in conclusion. "That Englishmangrew kinde
r every day we were there, until we began to feel athome."
They were all mystified, but I thought I could understand it. Wehad a long evening of music, and I bade them all good-by beforegoing to bed, for they were to be off early.
Well, the morning came clear, and before I was out of bed I heardthe coach-horn, the merry laughter of ladies under my window, theprancing hoofs, and the crack of the whip as they all went away.It surprised me greatly to find Louise at the breakfast table whenI came below-stairs; I shall not try to say how much it pleased me.She was gowned in pink, a red rose at her bosom. I remember, as ifit were yesterday, the brightness of her big eyes, the glow in hercheeks, the sweet dignity of her tall, fine figure when she roseand gave me her hand.
"I did feel sorry, ma'm'selle, that I could not go; but now--now Iam happy," was my remark.
"Oh, captain, you are very gallant," said she, as we took seats."I was not in the mood for merrymaking, and then, I am reading abook."
"A book! May its covers be the gates of happiness," I answered.
"Eh bien! it is a tale of love," said she.
"Of a man for a woman?" I inquired.
"Of a lady that loved two knights, and knew not which the better."
"Is it possible and--and reasonable?" I inquired. "In a talethings should go as--well, as God plans them."
"Quite possible," said she, "for in such a thing as love who knowswhat--what may happen?"
"Except he have a wide experience," I answered.
"And have God's eyes," said she. "Let me tell you. They were bothhandsome, brave, splendid, of course, but there was a difference:the one had a more perfect beauty of form and face, the other anobler soul."
"And which will she favor?"
"Alas! I have not read, and do not know her enough to judge," washer answer; "but I shall hate her if she does not take him with thebetter soul."
"And why?" I could hear my heart beating.
"Love is not love unless it be--" She paused, thinking. "Dieu!from soul to soul," she added feelingly.
She was looking down, a white, tapered finger stirring the redpetals of the rose. Then she spoke in a low, sweet tone thattrembled with holy feeling and cut me like a sword of the spiritgoing to its very hilt in my soul.
"Love looks to what is noble," said she, "or it is vain--it iswicked; it fails; it dies in a day, like the rose. True love, thatis forever."
"What if it be hopeless?" I whispered.
"Ah! then it is very bitter," said she, her voice diminishing. "Itmay kill the body, but--but love does not die. When it comes--"There was a breath of silence that had in it a strange harmony notof this world.
"'When it comes'?" I whispered.
"You see the coming of a great king," said she, looking downthoughtfully, her chin, upon her hand.
"And all people bow their heads," I said.
"Yes," she added, with a sigh, "and give their bodies to be burned,if he ask it. The king is cruel--sometimes."
"Dieu!" said I. "He has many captives."
She broke a sprig of fern, twirling it in her fingers; her big eyeslooked up at me, and saw, I know, to the bottom of my soul.
"But long live the king!" said she, her lips trembling, her cheeksas red as the rose upon her bosom.
"Long live the king!" I murmured.
We dared go no farther. Sweet philosopher, inspired of Heaven, Icould not bear the look of her, and rose quickly with dim eyes andwent out of the open door. A revelation had come to me. Mere deDieu! how I loved that woman so fashioned in thy image! Shefollowed me, and laid her hand upon my arm tenderly, while I shookwith emotion.
"Captain," said she, in that sweet voice, "captain, what have Idone?"
It was the first day of the Indian summer, a memorable season thatyear, when, according to an old legend, the Great Father sits idlyon the mountain-tops and blows the smoke of his long pipe into thevalleys. In a moment I was quite calm, and stood looking off tothe hazy hollows of the far field. I gave her my arm withoutspeaking, and we walked slowly down a garden path. For a timeneither broke the silence.
"I did not know--I did not know," she whispered presently.
"And I--must--tell you," I said brokenly, "that I--that I--"
"Hush-sh-sh!" she whispered, her hand over my lips. "Say no more!say no more! If it is true, go--go quickly, I beg of you!"
There was such a note of pleading in her voice, I hear it, afterall this long time, in the hushed moments of my life, night or day."Go--go quickly, I beg of you!" We were both near breaking down.
"We were both near breaking down."]
"Vive le roi!" I whispered, taking her hand.
"Vive le roi!" she whispered, turning away.
D'Ri and I Page 26
