CHAPTER X.
A DISAPPEARANCE
The next morning we resumed our way southward. The weather was clear andfine, yet Mlle. de Varion seemed more heavy at heart than she had been onthe preceding day. This could not be attributed to any apprehension offurther annoyance from De Berquin, for, as her talk showed, she believedthat he would not again trouble her after his having cut so poor a figurewith his attempt at an intended rescue. But though I did not tell her, Ihad good reason to believe that we were not yet done with him. Thefailure of his attempt with regard to mademoiselle, whether or not thatattempt had been dictated by Montignac, would not make him abandon themore important mission concerning the Sieur de la Tournoire. Therefore, Iwas likely to encounter him again, and probably nearer Maury, and, as itwas my intention that mademoiselle should remain under my protectionuntil after my venture in behalf of her father, it was probable that she,too, would see more of her erstwhile pursuer. I would allow events todictate precautions against the discovery of my hiding-place by DeBerquin, against his interference with my intended attempt to deliver M.de Varion, and against his molesting Mlle. de Varion during my absencefrom her on that attempt. I might have killed De Berquin when I disarmedhim on the previous night, but I did not wish to make him, in the least,an object of mademoiselle's pity, and, moreover, I was curious to seewhat means he would adopt towards hunting me down and betraying me.
Not only the dejection of Mlle. de Varion made our ride a melancholy one,despite the radiance of the autumn morning. Blaise, repentant of hisoverindulgence, and still feeling the humiliation of the easy capturemade of him by four scurvy knaves, had taken refuge in one of those moodsof pious reflection which he attributed to maternal influence. Piqued atthis reticence, the maid, Jeannotte, maintained a sulky silence. The twoboys, devoted to their mistress, now faithfully reflected her sad anduneasy demeanor.
"Look, mademoiselle!" said I, glad of having found objects toward whichto draw her attention, "yonder is the Chateau of Clochonne. Beyond that,and to the right, are the mountains for which we are bound. It is therethat I shall introduce to you the Sieur de la Tournoire."
Mademoiselle looked at the distant towers and the mountains beyondwith an expression of dread. She gave a heavy sigh and shuddered inher saddle.
"Nay, mademoiselle," I said; "you have nothing to fear there."
She turned pale, and answered, in a trembling voice:
"Alas, monsieur! Am I not about to put those mountains between myself andmy father?"
I thought of the joy that I should cause and the gratitude that I shouldwin, should I succeed in bringing her father safe to her on thosemountains, but I kept the thought to myself.
We skirted Clochonne by a wide detour, fording the Creuse at a secludedplace, and ascended the wooded hills in single file. After a long andtoilsome progress through pathless and deeply shaded wilds, we reached,in the afternoon, the forest inn kept by Godeau and his wife. It had beenmy intention to stop and rest here, and to send Blaise ahead to Maury,that one of the rooms of our ruined chateau might be made fit formademoiselle's reception. I had expected to find the inn, as usual,without guests, but on approaching it we heard the sound of musicproceeding from a stringed instrument. We stopped at the edge of thesmall, cleared space before the inn and sent Blaise to reconnoitre. Heboldly entered and presently returned, followed by the decrepit Godeauand his strapping wife, Marianne. Both gave us glad welcome, the old manwith obsequious bows which doubtless racked his rheumatic joints, thewoman with bustling cordiality.
"Be at ease, monsieur," said Marianne. "We have no one within except twogypsies, who will make music for you and tell your fortunes. Godeau, lookto the horses."
I dismounted and assisted mademoiselle to descend. Then, on the pretextof giving an order, I took Marianne and Godeau aside, and bade them toaddress me as M. de Launay, not on any account as M. de la Tournoire. Theold man then saw to our horses, and Marianne brought us wine.
"Before sunset," I said to mademoiselle, as I raised my glass, "you shallmeet the Sieur de la Tournoire at his hiding-place."
Mlle. de Varion turned pale, and, as if suddenly too weak to stand, satdown on a wooden bench before the inn door. Jeannotte ran to support her.
"Before sunset!" she repeated, with a shudder.
"Yes, mademoiselle, unless you are too ill to proceed. I fear the fatigueof this ride has been too much for you."
She gave a look of relief, and replied:
"I fear that it has. I shall be better able to go on to-morrow,--unlessthere is danger in remaining here."
"There is very little danger. People crossing the mountains by way ofClochonne now use the new road, which is shorter. If, by any chance,soldiers from the Clochonne garrison should come this way and detain usas fleeing Huguenots, we could summon help,--for we are so near thehiding-place of the Sieur de la Tournoire."
Again that shudder! Decidedly, in the accounts that she had receivedof me, I must have been represented as a very terrible personage. Ismiled at thinking of the surprise that awaited her in the disclosureof the truth.
It was thereupon arranged that we should stay at Godeau's inn until thenext morning. Mademoiselle's portmanteaus were carried to the upperchamber, which was a mere loft, but preferable to the kitchen. Thither,after eating, she went to rest. Blaise then departed to direct thedesired preparations at Maury, with orders to return to the inn beforenightfall. Jeannotte and the two boys remained in the kitchen to hear themusic of the two gypsies, a man and a girl. Having nothing better to do,I took my seat on the bench outside the inn and sat musing.
Late in the afternoon, I heard the light step of mademoiselle on thethreshold. On seeing me, she stopped, as if it were I whom she had comeout to seek I rose and offered her the bench. She sat down in silence,and for a moment her eyes rested on the ground, while on her face was alook of trouble. Suddenly she lifted her glance to mine and spokeabruptly, as if forcing herself to broach a subject on which she wouldrather have been silent.
"Monsieur," she said, "I suppose that the Sieur de la Tournoire, whom weare so soon to meet, is a very dear friend of yours!"
"A very close friend," I replied, with an inward smile. "And yet he hasgot me into so much trouble that I might fairly consider him my enemy."
"I must confess," said she, "that I have heard little of him but evil."
"It is natural that the Catholics in Berry should find nothing good tosay of him," I replied. "Yet it is true that he is far from perfect,--asubtle rascal, who dons disguises, and masquerades as other than he is, aleader of night-birds, and sometimes a turbulent roysterer."
"I have been told," she said, "that he treacherously killed a man inParis, and deserted from the French Guards."
"As for the killing," I replied, "there was no treachery or unfairness onhis part; and if he deserted from the King's French Guards, it was whenthe King had consented to give him up to the Duke of Guise, whom the weakKing, then as now, hated as much as feared."
She gave a heavy sigh, and went on, "La Tournoire is a brave man,of course?"
"He is a man," I said, "who expects to meet death as he meets life,cheerfully, not hoping too much, not fearing anything."
"And this hiding-place of his," she said, in a very low voice, againdropping her glance to the ground. "Tell me of it."
I gave her a description of the ruined Chateau of Maury.
"But," she said, "is not the place easily accessible to the troops of theGovernor?"
"The troops of the garrison at Clochonne have not yet found the way toit," I replied. "The chateau was abandoned twenty years ago. Its masteris an adventurer in the new world, if he is not dead. Its very existencehas been forgotten, for the land pertaining to it is of no value. Thesoldiers from Clochonne could find it only by scouring this almostimpenetrable wilderness."
"Is there, then, no road leading to it?" she asked.
"This road leads hither from Clochonne, and on southward across themountain. There are the remains of a by-road leading
from here westwardto the chateau, and ending there. But this by-road, almost entirelyrecovered by the forest, is known only to La Tournoire and his friends. Abetter way for the Governor's soldiers to find La Tournoire's stronghold,if they but knew, would be to take the road along the river fromClochonne to Narjec, and to turn up the hill at the throne-shaped rockhalf-way between those towns. At the top of that hill is Maury, hidden bydense woods and thickets."
Mlle. de Varion, who had heard my last words with a look of keenattention and also of bitter pain of mind, now rose and walked to and froas if meditating. Inwardly I lamented my inability to drive from her facethe clouds which I attributed to her increasing distress, as she foundherself further and further from her father and her home, bound for stillgloomier shades and wilder surroundings.
I asked if she would go in and hear the music of the gypsy, or have himcome out and play for her, but she thanked me with a sorrowful attempt ata smile, and returned to her own chamber.
When the sun declined, I ordered Marianne to prepare the best supper thather resources would allow, and then, as it was time that Blaise shouldhave been back from Maury, I went to a little knoll, which gave a view ofa part of the abandoned byroad, to look and listen for him. Presently, Iheard the sound of a horse's footfalls near the inn, and made haste backto see who rode there. Just as I reached the cleared space, I saw therider disappearing around a bend of the road which led to Clochonne.Though I saw only his back, I recognized him as mademoiselle's boy,Pierre, mounted on one of her horses.
On the bench before the inn sat mademoiselle herself, alone. She gave astart of surprise when I came up to her.
"Mademoiselle," I said, "I have just seen your boy, Pierre, ridingtowards Clochonne."
"Yes," she replied, looking off towards the darkest part of the forest."I--I was alarmed at your absence. I did not know where you had gone; Isent him to look for you."
"Then I would better run after and call him back," I said, taking a steptowards the road.
"No, no!" she answered, quickly. "Do not leave me now. He will come backsoon of his own accord. I told him to do so if he did not find you. Imust ask you to bear with me, monsieur. The solitude, the strangeness ofthe place, almost appal me. I feel a kind of terror when I do not knowthat you are near."
"Mademoiselle," I said, sitting beside her on the bench, "I cannotdescribe that which I shall feel, if I am doomed ever to know that youare not near me. It will be as if the sun had ceased to shine, and theearth had turned barren."
A blush mounted to her cheeks; she dropped her humid eyes; her breastheaved. For an instant she seemed to have forgotten her distresses. Thensorrow resumed its place on her countenance, and she answered, sadly:
"Ah, monsieur, when you shall have truly known me!"
"Have I not known you a whole day?" I asked. "I wonder that life had anyrelish for me before yesterday. It seems as if I had known you always,though the joy that your presence gives me will always be fresh andnovel. Ah, mademoiselle, if you knew what sweetness suddenly filled theworld at my first sight of you!"
I took her hand in mine. She made a weak effort to withdraw it; Itightened my hold; she let it remain. Then she turned her blue eyes up tomine with a look of infinite trust and yielding, so that I felt that,rapid as had been my own yielding to the charm of her beauty and hergentleness, she had as speedily acknowledged in me the man by whom herheart might be commanded.
As we sat thus, the gypsy within, who had been for some time aimlesslystrumming his instrument, began to sing. The words of his song came to ussubdued, but distinct:
"The sparkle of my lady's eyes-- Ah, sight that is the fairest! The look of love that in them lies-- Ah, thrill that is the rarest! Oh, comrades mine, go roam the earth, You'll find in all your roving That all its other joys are worth Not half the joys of loving!"
"Ah, mademoiselle," I whispered, "before yesterday those words would havemeant nothing to me!"
She made no answer, but closed her eyes, as if to shut out every thoughtbut consciousness of that moment.
And now the gypsy, in an air and voice expressive of sadness, as he hadbefore been expressive of rapture, sang a second stanza:
"But, ah, the price we have to pay For joys that have their season! And, oh, the sadness of the day When woman shows her treason! Her look of love is but a mask For plots that she is weaving. Alas, for those who fondly bask In smiles that are deceiving!"
I thought of Mlle. d'Arency, but not for long; for suddenly Mlle. deVarion started up, as if awakened from a dream, and looked at me with anexpression of unspeakable distress of mind.
"Oh, monsieur!" she cried. "You must leave me! I must never see youagain. Go, go,--or let me go at once!"
"Mademoiselle!" I cried, astonished.
"I beg you, make no objections, ask no questions! Only go! It is acrime, an infamy, for me to have listened while you spoke as you spoke awhile ago! I ought not to have accepted your protection! Go, monsieur,and have no more to do with the most miserable woman in France!"
She started to go into the inn, but I caught her by the hand anddetained her.
"Mademoiselle," I said, gently, "the difference in our religions need notforbid such words between us as I have spoken. I can understand how youregard it as an insuperable barrier, but it is really a slight one,easily removed, as it has been in many notable cases."
"Monsieur," she replied, resolutely, shaking her head, "I say again, wemust part. I am not to be urged or persuaded. The greatest kindness youcan do me is to go, or let me go, without more words."
"But, mademoiselle," I interposed, "it will be very difficult for you tocontinue your flight across this border without a guide. Not to speak ofthe danger from men, there is the chance of losing your way."
"The Sieur de la Tournoire will not refuse me his guidance," she said, ina voice that seemed forced to an unwonted hardness.
"Then you will discard my protection, and accept his, a stranger's?"
"Yes, because he is a stranger,--thank God!"
What, I asked myself, was to be the end of this? Would she not, onlearning that La Tournoire was myself, all the more decidedly insist ongoing her own way? Therefore, before disclosing myself to her, I mustaccustom her to the view that a difference in religion ought not toseparate two who love each other. In order to do this, I must have time;so I said:
"At least, mademoiselle, you will let me show you the way to Maury, andpresent to you the Sieur de la Tournoire. That is little to ask."
"I have already accepted too much from you," she replied, hesitating.
"Then cancel the obligation by granting me this one favor."
"Very well, monsieur. But you will then go immediately?"
"From the moment when you first meet La Tournoire, he shall be your onlyguide, unless you yourself choose another. In the meantime," I added, forshe had taken another step towards the inn, "grant me at least as much ofyour society as you would bestow on an indifferent acquaintance, whohappened to be your fellow-traveler in this lonely place."
She gave a sigh which I took as meaning that the more we should see eachother, the harder the parting would be at last, but she said,tremulously:
"We shall meet at supper, monsieur, and to-morrow, when you conduct meon to Maury." Then she entered the inn, but stopped on the threshold,and, casting on me a strangely wistful look, she added, "Great must bethe friendship between you and La Tournoire, that you can so confidentlyassure his protection to those for whom you ask it."
"Oh, I have done much for him, and he cannot refuse me any request thatit is in his power to grant," I said, truly enough.
"Then," she went on, "the tie is one of obligation, rather than of greatfriendship?"
"Yes. I have often been in a position to do him great services when noone else was, and when he most needed them. As for my feeling offriendship for him, I shall not even weep when he is dead."
"Suppose you should love a woman," she continued, with a strangeeagerness, "
and there should come a time when you would have to choosebetween your love for her, and your friendship for this man, whichwould prevail?"
"I would sacrifice La Tournoire for the woman I loved," I answered,with truth.
She looked at me steadily, and a hope seemed to dawn in her eyes, but ina moment they darkened again; she sighed deeply, and she turned to ascendto her chamber, while I stood there trying to deduce a meaning from herstrange speeches and conduct, which I finally put down to thecapaciousness of woman. I could understand the feeling that she ought topart from a man who loved her and whom her religion forbade her to lovein return; but why she should seem pleased at the apparent lukewarmnessof my friendship for La Tournoire, whom she was willing to accept as herguide, I could not guess. Since she intended to part from me, never tosee me again, what mattered it to her whether or not I was the intimateof a proscribed ruffian? Yet she seemed glad to hear that I was not, butthis might be only seeming. I might not have read her face and tonearight. Her inquiries might have been due to curiosity alone. So Ithought no more of them, and gave my mind instead to planning how shemight be made to ignore the difference between our religions, and torevoke the edict banishing me from her side. It would be necessary thatshe should be willing to remain at Maury, with a guard composed of someof my men, while I, giving a pretext for delaying the flight and for theabsence of myself and the most of my company, should attempt the deliveryof her father from the chateau of Fleurier. It was my hope, though Idared not yet breathe it, that I might bring her father and my companyback to Maury, and that all of us might then proceed to Guienne.
My meditations were interrupted by the return of Blaise from Maury, wherehe had found all well and the men there joyous at the prospect of soonrejoining the army in Guienne. A part of the company was absent on aforaging raid. Two of the roofed chambers were rapidly being madehabitable for Mlle. de Varion, whom Blaise had announced to the men as adistinguished refugee.
When supper was ready in the kitchen, I sent Jeannotte to summon hermistress. Mademoiselle came down from her chamber, her sweet facebetokening a brave attempt to bear up under the many woes that crushedher,--the condition of her father, her own exile, the peril in which shestood of the governor's reconsidering his order and sending to make herprisoner, the seeming necessity of exchanging my guidance for that of astranger who had been painted to her in repulsive colors, and the otherunhappy elements of her situation.
"It is strange that the boy, Pierre, has not returned," I said, while wesat at table.
Mademoiselle reddened. It then occurred to me that, in her abstraction,she had not even noticed his absence, and that now it came on her as anew trouble.
"Pardon me for speaking of it in such a way as to frighten you," I said."There is no cause for alarm. Not finding me on the road, he may haveturned into the woods to look for me, and so have lost his way. He wouldsurely be able to find the road again."
"I trust he will not come to any harm," replied mademoiselle, in a lowvoice that seemed forced, as if she were concealing the fears that shereally felt.
Jeannotte cast a sympathetic look at her mistress.
"Shall I go and look for him?" asked Hugo, showing in his face hisanxiety for his comrade.
"You would lose yourself, also," I said. "Mademoiselle, I shall go, for Iknow all the hillocks and points of vantage from which he may be seen."
"Nay, monsieur, do not give yourself the trouble, I pray you."
But I rose from the table, to show that I was determined, and said:
"Blaise, I leave you as guard. Remember last night."
"I am not likely to forget," he growled, dropping his eyes before thesharp glance of Jeannotte. "Mademoiselle need have no fears."
"But, monsieur," said mademoiselle. She was about to continue, but hereye met Jeannotte's, and in the face of the maid was an expression as ifcounselling silence. So mademoiselle said no more, but she followed me tothe door, and stood on the threshold.
"Monsieur," she said, "if you do not find him within a few minutes, Ientreat that you will not put yourself to further discomfort. See, it isalready nearly dark. If he be lost in the woods for the night, he candoubtless find his way hither tomorrow."
"I shall not seek long, mademoiselle, for the reason that I would not belong away from you."
At that moment, feeling under my foot something different from leaves orearth, I stooped and found one of mademoiselle's gloves, which she haddropped, probably, on first entering the inn. Remaining in my kneelingposture and looking up at her sweet, sad face, I said:
"Whatever may come in the future, mademoiselle, circumstance has made meyour faithful chevalier for a day. Will you not give me some badge ofservice that I may wear forever in memory of that sweet, thoughsorrowful day?"
"Keep what you have in your hand," she replied, in a low voice, andpointed to her glove.
I rose, and fastened the glove on my hat, and said: "They shall findit on me when I am dead, mademoiselle." Then I turned to go in searchof Pierre.
"I shall go to my room now," she said, "and so, good-night, monsieur!"
I turned, and made to take her hand that I might kiss it, but she drew itaway, and then, standing on the threshold, she raised it as one does inbestowing a _benedicite_, and said:
"God watch you through the night, monsieur!"
"And you forever, mademoiselle!" said I, but she had gone. For a momentI stood looking up at her chamber window, thinking how it had come overme again, as in the days of my youth, the longing to be near one woman.
Night was now coming on. In the deeper shades of the forest it wasalready dark, but the sky was clear, and soon the moon would rise. Musingas I went, I walked along the road that Pierre had first taken. The onlysounds that I heard were the ceaseless chirps and whirrs of the insectsof the bushes and trees.
When I had gone some distance, I bethought me of my heedlessness incoming away from the inn without my sword. I had taken this off beforesitting down to eat, and at my departure my mind had been so taken upwith other matters that I had omitted to put it on. My dagger was with itat the inn. At first I thought of returning for these weapons, but Iconsidered that I would not be away long, and that there was nolikelihood of my requiring weapon in these solitudes. So I continued onmy way towards a knoll whence I expected to get a good view of the road,and thus, should Pierre be returning on that road, spare myself the laborof plunging into the wood's depths and listening for the footsteps of hishorse or of himself.
I had walked several minutes in the increasing darkness, when there cameto my ears, from the shades at the right, the sound of a human snore.Had the boy fatigued himself in trying to find the way, and fallen asleepwithout knowledge of his nearness to the inn?
"Pierre!" I called. There was no answer.
I called again. Again there was no reply, but the snoring ceased. A thirdtime I called. My call was unheeded.
I turned into the wilds, and forced my way through dense undergrowth. Ata short distance from the road, I came on traces of the passage of someone else. Following these, I arrived at last at a small open space,where the absence of vegetation seemed due to some natural cause.Sufficient of the day's failing light reached the clearing to show methe figures of four men on the ground before me, three of them stretchedin slumber, the fourth sitting up. The last held a huge old two-handedsword over his shoulder, ready to strike. The threatening attitude ofthis giant made me take mechanically a step backward, and feel for mysword. Alas, I was unarmed!
"So, my venturesome lackey, we meet again!" came a sarcastic voice fromthe left, and some one darted between me and the four men, facing me withdrawn sword.
It was the Vicomte de Berquin, and a triumphant smile was on his face.
Moved by the thought that mademoiselle's safety depended on me, I wasnot ashamed, being unarmed, to turn about for immediate flight. But I hadno sooner shown my back to M. de Berquin, than I found myself face toface with the scowling Barbemouche, who stood motionless, the point ofhis swor
d not many inches from my breast.
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