The Abbess Of Vlaye

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER XV.

  FEARS.

  The Abbess was not present that evening when the hostages transferredthemselves to the peasants' side of the camp. Had she witnessed thescene she had found, it is possible, matter for reflection. Hard as hehad struggled against the surrender, the Lieutenant struggled almostas hard, now it was inevitable, to put a good face on it. But his easyword and laugh fell flat in face of a crowd so watchful and soominously silent that it was useless to pretend that the step was nomore than a change from a hut in this part to a hut in that. He whoknew that he must, in the morning, face the men and deny them theirprisoner--knew this too well. But, in truth, the downcast faces of histroopers and the furtive glances of the Vicomte's party were evidencethat the matter meant much, and that these, also, recognised it; nordid the peasants, who fell in beside the two when they started, andaccompanied them in an ever growing mob, seem unaware of the fact. Themovement was their triumph; a sign of victory to the dullest as he ranand stared, and ran again. A section indeed there were who stood aloofand eyed the thing askance: but two of the Vicomte's party, whorecognised among these the men whom the Lieutenant had denounced inthe morning--the tall, light-eyed fanatic and the dwarf--held it theworst sign of all; and had it lain in their power they would even atthat late hour have called back their friends.

  Those two were Roger and his younger sister. With what feelings theysaw des Ageaux and the Countess ride away to share a solitude fullalike of danger and of alarm may be more easily imagined thandescribed. But this is certain; whatever pangs of jealousy gnawed atBonne's heart or reddened her brother's cheek, neither forgot thebargain they had made on the hill-side, or wished their rival aughtbut a safe deliverance.

  As it was, could the one or the other, by the lifting of a finger,have injured the person who stood in the way, they had not lifted itor desired to lift it. But--to be in her place! To be in his place!To share that solitude and that peril! To know that round them layhalf a thousand savages, ready at the first sign of treachery to taketheir lives, and yet to know that to the other it was bliss to bethere--this, to the two who remained in the Vicomte's huts and gavetheir fancy rein, seemed happiness. Yet were they sorely anxious;anxious in view of the abiding risk of such a situation, more anxiousin view of the crisis that must come when the peasants learned thatthe prisoner had escaped. Nevertheless, they did not talk of this,even to one another.

  If Roger kept vigil that night his sister did not know it. And ifBonne, whose secret was her own, started and trembled at everysound--and such a camp as that bred many a sound and some alarmingones--she told no one. But when the first grey light fell thin on thebasin in the hills, disclosing here the shapeless mass of a hut, andthere only the dark background of the encircling ridge, her pale face,as she peered from her lodging, confronted Roger's as he paced theturf outside. The same thought, the same fear was in the mind ofbrother and sister, and had been since earliest cock-crow; and forRoger's part he was not slow to confess it. Presently they found thatthere was another whom care kept waking. A moment and the Bat's lankform loomed through the mist. He found the two standing side by side;and the old soldier's heart warmed to them. He nodded hiscomprehension.

  "The trouble will not be yet awhile," he said. "He will send the ladyback before he tells them. I doubt"--he shrugged his shoulders with aglance at Bonne--"if she has had a bed of roses this night."

  Bonne sighed involuntarily. "At what hour do you think she will beback?" Roger asked.

  "My orders are to send six riders for her half an hour after sunrise."

  "A little earlier were no worse," Roger returned, his face flushingslightly as he made the suggestion.

  "Nor better," the Bat replied drily. "Orders are given to be obeyed,young sir."

  "And the rest of your men?" Bonne asked timidly. "They will go tosupport M. des Ageaux as soon as she arrives, I suppose?"

  The Bat read amiss the motive that underlay her words. "Have no fear,mademoiselle," he said, "we shall see to your safety. You know theLieutenant little if you think he will look to his own before he hasensured that of others. My lady the Countess once back with us, not aman is to stir from here. And, with warning, and the bank behind us,it will be hard if with a score of pikes we cannot push back theattack of such a crew as this!"

  "But you do not mean," Bonne cried, her eyes alight, "that you aregoing to leave M. des Ageaux alone--to face those savages?"

  "Those are my orders," the Bat replied gently; for the girl's face,scarlet with protest, negatived the idea of fear. "And orders wherethe Lieutenant commands, mademoiselle, are made to be obeyed; and areobeyed. Moreover," he continued seriously, "in this case they arecommon sense, since with a score of pikes something may be done, butwith half a score here, and half a score there"--shrugging hisshoulders--"nothing! Which no one knows better than my lord!"

  "But----"

  "The Lieutenant allows no 'buts,'" the old soldier answered, smilingat her eagerness. "Were you with him, mademoiselle--were you under hisorders, I mean--it would not be long before you learned that!"

  Poor Bonne was silenced. With a quivering lip she averted her face:and for a few moments no one spoke. Then, "I wish M. de Joyeuse wereon his feet," the Bat said thoughtfully. "He is worth a dozen men insuch a pinch as this!"

  "The sun is up!" This from Roger.

  "Ah!"

  "How will you know when half an hour is past?"

  The Bat raised his eyebrows. "I can guess it within two or threeminutes," he said. "There is no hurry for a minute or two!"

  "No hurry?" Roger retorted. "But the Countess--won't she be in peril?"

  The Bat looked curiously at him. "For the matter of that," hesaid, "we are all in peril. And may-be we shall be in greater beforethe day is out. We must take the rough with the smooth, young sir.However--perhaps you would like to make one to fetch her?"

  Roger blushed. "I will go," he said.

  "Very good," the old soldier answered. "I don't know that it isagainst orders. For you, mademoiselle, I fear that I cannot satisfyyou so easily. Were I to send you," he continued with a sly smile, "toescort my lord back----"

  "Could you not go yourself?" Bonne interrupted, her face reflectingthe brightest colours of Roger's blush.

  "I, indeed? No, mademoiselle. Orders! Orders!"

  They did not reply. By this time the dense grey mist, forerunner ofheat, had risen and discovered the camp, which here and there stirredand awoke. The open ground about the rivulet, which formed a neutralspace between the peasants' hovels and the quarters assigned to theVicomte, still showed untenanted, though marred and poached by thetrampling of a thousand feet. But about the fringe of the huts that,low and mean as the shops of some Oriental bazaar, clustered along thefoot of the bank, figures yawned and stretched, gazed up at themorning, or passed bending under infants, to fetch water. Everywhere arising hum told of renewed life. And behind the Vicomte's quarters thebrisk jingle of bits and stirrups announced that the troopers weresaddling.

  In those days of filthy streets, and founderous sloughy roads, thegreat went ever on horseback, if it were but to a house two doorsdistant. To ride was a sign of rank, no matter how short the journey.Across the street, across the camp it was the same; and Bonne, as shewatched Roger and the five troopers proceeding with three led horsesacross the open, saw nothing strange in the arrangement.

  But when some minutes had passed, and the little troop did not emergeagain from the ruck of hovels which had swallowed them, Bonne began toquake. Before her fears had time to take shape, however, the ridersappeared; and the anxiety she still felt--for she knew that des Ageauxwas not with them--gave way for a moment to a natural if jealouscuriosity. How would she look, how would she carry herself, who hadbut this moment parted from him, who had shared through the night hissolitude and his risk, his thoughts, perhaps, and his ambitions? Wouldhappiness or anxiety or triumph be uppermost in her face?

  She looked; she saw. Her gaze le
ft no shade of colour, no tremor ofeye or lip unnoticed. And certainly for happiness or triumph shefailed to find a trace of either in the Countess's face. The younggirl, pale and depressed, drooped in her saddle, drooped still morewhen she stood on her feet. No blush, no smile betrayed rememberedwords or looks, caresses or promises; and if it was anxiety thatclouded her, she showed it strangely. For when she had alighted fromher horse she did not wait. Although, as her feet touched the ground,a murmur rose from the distant huts, she did not heed it; but lookingneither to right nor left, she hastened to hide herself in herquarters.

  She seemed to be in trouble, and Bonne, melted, would have gone toher. But a sound stayed the elder girl at the door. The murmur in thepeasants' quarter had risen to a louder note; and borne on this--astreble on base--came to the ear the shrill screech that tells offanaticism. Such a sound has terrors for the boldest; for, irrationalitself, it deprives others of reason. It gathers up all that is weak,all that is nighty, all that is cruel, even all that is cowardly, andhurls the whole, imbued with its own qualities, against whateverexcites its rage. Bonne, who had never heard that note before, butknew by intuition its danger, stood transfixed, staring with terrifiedeyes at the distant huts. She was picturing what one instant of time,one savage blow, one shot at hazard, might work under that brightmorning sky! She saw des Ageaux alone, hemmed in, surrounded by theignorant crowd which the enthusiast was stirring to madness! She sawtheir lowering brows, their cruel countenances, their small, fierceeyes under matted locks; and she looked trembling to the Bat, who,stationed a few paces from her, was also listening to the shrillvoice.

  Had he sworn she had borne it better. But his compressed lips told ofa more tense emotion; of fidelity strained to the utmost. Even thisiron man shook, then! Even he to whom his master's orders wereheaven's first law felt anxiety! She could bear no more in silence.

  "Go!" she murmured. "Oh, go! Surely twenty men might ride throughthem!"

  He did not look at her. "Orders!" he muttered hoarsely. "Orders!" Butthe perspiration stood on his brow.

  She saw that, and that his sinewy hands gripped nail to palm; and asthe distant roar gathered volume, and the note of peril in it grewmore acute, "Oh, go!" she cried, holding out her hands to him. "Go,Roger! Some one!" wildly. "Will you let them tear him limb from limb!"

  Still "Orders! Orders!" the Bat muttered. And though his eyesflickered an instant in the direction of the waiting troopers, he sethis teeth. And then in a flash, in a second, the roar died down andwas followed by silence.

  Silence; no one moved, no one spoke. As if fascinated every eyeremained glued to the low, irregular line of huts that hid from sightthe inner part of the peasants' camp. What had happened, what waspassing there? On the earthen ramparts high overhead were men, Charlesamong them, who could see, and must know; but so taken up were thegroup below, from Bonne to the troopers, in looking for what was tocome, that no one diverted eye or thought to these men who knew. Andthough either the abrupt cessation of sound, or the subtle excitementin the air, drew the Abbess at this moment from the Duke's hut, no onenoted her appearance, or the Duke's pale eager face peering over hershoulder. What had happened? What had happened behind the line ofhovels, under the morning sunshine that filled the camp and renderedonly more grim the fear, the suspense, the tragedy that darkened all?

  Something more than a minute they spent in that absorbed gazing. Thena deep blush dyed Bonne's cheeks. The Bat, who had not sworn, swore.The Duke laughed softly. The troopers, if their officer had not raisedhis hand to check them, would have cheered. Des Ageaux had shownhimself in one of the openings that pierced the peasants' town. He wason horseback, giving directions, with gestures on this side and that.A score of naked urchins ran before him, gazing up at him; and acouple of men at his bridle were taking orders from him.

  He was safe, he had conquered. And Bonne, uncertain what she had saidin her anxiety, but certain that she had said too much, cast a shamedlook at the Bat. Fortunately his eye was on the troopers; and it wasnot his look but her sister's smile which drove the girl from thescene. She remembered the Countess: she bethought her that, in thesolitude of her hut, the child might be suffering. Bonne hastened toher, with the less scruple as the two shared a hut.

  The impulse that moved her was wholly generous. Yet when her hastyentrance surprised the young girl in the act of rising from her knees,there entered into the embarrassment which checked her one gleam oftriumph. While the other had prayed for her lover, she had acted. Shehad acted!

  The next moment she quelled the mean thought. The girl before herlooked so wan, so miserable, so forlorn, that it was impossible tothink of her hardly, or judge her strictly. "I am afraid that I scaredyou," Bonne said, and stooped and kissed her. "But all is well, Ibring you good news. He is safe! You can see him if you look from thedoor of the hut."

  She thought that the child would spring to the door and feast her eyeson the happy assurance of his safety. But the young Countess did notmove. She stared at Bonne as if she had a difficulty in taking in themeaning of her words. "Safe?" she stammered. "Who is safe?"

  "Who?" Bonne ejaculated.

  The young girl passed her hand over her brow. "I am very sorry," shereplied humbly. "I did not understand. You said that some one wassafe?"

  "M. des Ageaux, of course!"

  "Of course! I am very glad."

  "Glad?" Bonne repeated, with indignation she could not control. "Glad?Only that?"

  The girl, her lip trembling, her face working, cast a frightened lookat her, and then with a piteous gesture, as if she could no longercontrol herself, she turned from her and burst into tears.

  Bonne stared. What did this mean? Relief? Joy? The relaxation ofnerves too tightly strained? No. She should have thought of it before.It was not likely, it was not possible that this child had alreadyconceived for des Ageaux such an affection as casts out fear. It wasnot she, but he, who had to gain by the marriage; and prepared as theCountess might be to look favourably on his suit, ready as she mightbe to give her heart, she had not yet given it.

  "You are overwrought!" Bonne said, to soothe her. "You have beenfrightened."

  "Frightened!" the girl replied through her sobs. "I shall die--if Ihave to go through it again! And I have to go through it, I must gothrough it. And I shall die! Oh, the night I have spent listening andwaiting and"--she cowered away, with a stifled scream. "What wasthat?" She stared at the door, her eyes wild with terror. "What wasthat?" she repeated, seizing Bonne, and clinging to her.

  "Nothing! Nothing!" Bonne answered gently, seeing that the girl wasthoroughly shaken and unnerved. "It was only a horse neighing."

  The Countess controlled her sobs, but her scared eyes and white facerevealed the impression which the suspense of the night had made onone not bold by nature, and only supported by the pride of rank. "Ahorse neighing?" she repeated. "Was it only that? I thought--oh!if you knew what it was to hear them creeping and crawling, andrustling and whispering every hour of the night! To fancy themcoming, and to sit up gasping! And then to lie down again and waitand wait, expecting to feel their hands on your throat! Ah, I tellyou"--she hid her face on Bonne's shoulder and clasped her to herpassionately--"every minute was an hour, and every hour a day!"

  Bonne held her to her full of pity. And presently, "But he was nearyou?" she ventured. "Did not his--his neighbourhood----"

  "The Lieutenant's?"

  "Yes. Did not that"--Bonne spoke with averted eyes: she would know forcertain now if the child loved him!--"did not that make you feelsafer?"

  "One man!" the Countess's voice rang querulous. "What could one mando? What could he have done if they had come? Besides they would havekilled him first. I did not think of him. I thought of myself. Of mythroat!" She clasped it with a sudden movement of her two hands--itwas white and very slender. "I thought of that, and the knife, and howit would feel--all night! All night, do you understand? And I couldhave screamed! I could have screamed every minute. I wonder I didnot."

  Bonne saw
that the child had gone to the ordeal, and passed throughit, in the face of a terror that would have turned brave men. And shefelt no contempt for her. She saw indeed that the child did not love;for love, as Bonne's maiden fancy painted it, was an all-powerfulimpervious armour. She was sure that in the other's place she wouldhave known fear, but it would have been fear on _his_ account, not onher own. She might have shuddered as she thought of the steel, but itwould have been of the steel at his breast. Whereas the Countess--no,the Countess did not love.

  "And I must go again! I must go again!" the child wailed, in the sameabandonment of terror. "Oh, how shall I do it? How shall I do it?"

  The cry went to Bonne's heart. "You shall not do it," she said. "Ifyou feel about it like this, you shall not do it. It is not right norfit."

  "But I cannot refuse!" the Countess shook violently as she said it. "Idare not refuse. Afraid and a Rochechouart! A Rochechouart and acoward! No, I must go. I must die of fear there; or of shame here."

  "Perhaps it may not be necessary," Bonne murmured.

  "No? Why, even if my men come I must go! If they come to-day I muststill go to-night. And lie trembling, and starting, and dying a deathat every sound!"

  "But perhaps----"

  "Don't--don't!" the Countess cried, moving feverishly in her arms."And, ah, God, I was cold a moment ago, and now I am hot! Oh, I am sohot! So hot! Let me go." Her parched lips and bright eyes told of thefever of fear that ran through her veins.

  But Bonne still held her.

  "It may not be necessary," she murmured. "Tell me, did you see M. desAgeaux--after you went from here last night?"

  "See him?" querulously. "No! He has his hut and I mine. I see no one!No one!"

  "And he does not come and talk to you?"

  "Talk? No. Talk? You do not know what it is like. I am alone, I tellyou, alone!"

  "Then if I were to take your place he would not find it out?"

  The Countess started violently--and then was still. "Take my place?"she echoed in a different tone. "In their camp, do you mean?"

  "Yes."

  "But you would not," the other retorted. "You would not." Then beforeBonne could answer, "What do you mean? Do you mean anything?" shecried. "Do you mean you would go?"

  "Yes."

  "In my place?"

  "If you will let me," Bonne replied. She flushed a little, consciencetelling her that it was not entirely, not quite entirely for theother's sake that she was willing to do this. "If you will let me Iwill go," she continued. "I am bigger than you, but I can stoop, andin a riding-cloak and hood I think I can pass for you. And it will bedusk too. I am sure I can pass for you."

  The Countess shivered. The boon was so great, the gift so tremendous,if she could accept it! But she was Rochechouart. What would men sayif they discovered that she had not gone, that she had let anothertake her place and run her risk? She pondered with parted lips. If itmight be!

  "You are not fit to go," Bonne continued. "You will faint or fall. Youare ill now."

  "But they will find out!" the Countess wailed, hiding her face onBonne's shoulder. "They will find out!"

  "They will not find out," Bonne replied firmly. "And I--why should Inot go? You have done one night. I will do one."

  "Oh, if you would! But will you--not be afraid?" The Countess's eyeswere full of longing. If only she could accept with honour!

  "I shall not be afraid," Bonne answered confidently. "And no one needknow, no one shall know. M. des Ageaux does not talk to you?"

  "No. But if it be found out, everybody--ah, I shall die of shame! Yourbrother, Roger, too--and everybody!"

  "No one shall know," Bonne answered stoutly. "No one. Besides, youhave been once. It is not as if you had not been!"

  And the child, with the memory of the night pressing upon her, jumpedat that. "Then I shall go to-morrow night," she said. "I shall goto-morrow night."

  Bonne was clear that she was not fit to go again. But she let that befor the moment. "That shall be as you wish," she answered comfortably."We will talk about that to-morrow. For to-night it is settled. Andnow you must try if you cannot go to sleep. If you do not sleep youwill be ill."