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diff --git a/old/69105-0.txt b/old/69105-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index f71d70d..0000000 --- a/old/69105-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10060 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The path of honor, by Burton Egbert -Stevenson - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The path of honor - A tale of the war in the Bocage - -Author: Burton Egbert Stevenson - -Illustrators: Olive Rush - Ethel Pennewill Brown - -Release Date: November 17, 2022 [eBook #69105] - -Language: English - -Produced by: D A Alexander, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The - Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PATH OF HONOR *** - - - - - -THE PATH _of_ HONOR - - - - -PREVIOUS NOVELS IN “_THE BASTILE SERIES_” OF FASCINATING FRENCH -ROMANCE.... - -BY BURTON E. STEVENSON - - -AT ODDS WITH THE REGENT - -A Story of the Cellamare Conspiracy - -“Full of action from start to finish, and the dialogue is bright all -the way through.”--_Cincinnati Times-Star._ - - _Illustrated._ _12mo._ _Cloth, $1.50_ - - -CADETS _of_ GASCONY - -TWO STORIES _of_ OLD FRANCE - -“‘Romance pure and simple’ ... and the romance is served up in a -delightfully thrilling manner.”--_Los Angeles Herald._ - - _Illustrated by Anna Whelan Betts._ - _12mo._ _Cloth, $1.50_ - - - J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY - PUBLISHERS PHILADELPHIA - - - - -[Illustration: I WAS ASTONISHED TO SEE THAT HER FACE WAS SCARLET, AND -THAT SHE WAS STARING AT ME WITH STARTLED EYES - _Page 42_] - - - - - THE PATH _of_ HONOR - - A Tale _of_ the War in the Bocage - - BY - BURTON E. STEVENSON - - AUTHOR OF - “AT ODDS WITH THE REGENT,” “CADETS OF GASCONY,” - “A SOLDIER OF VIRGINIA,” ETC. - - _WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY_ - - OLIVE RUSH - AND - ETHEL PENNEWILL BROWN - - [Illustration] - - PHILADELPHIA & LONDON - J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY - 1910 - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY BURTON E. STEVENSON - Under the title of “Tavernay” - - COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY - - Published September, 1910 - - _Printed by J. B. Lippincott Company - The Washington Square Press, Philadelphia, U.S.A._ - - - - - “For honour travels in a strait so narrow, - Where one but goes abreast: keep then the path.” - - _Troilus and Cressida_ - - - - -CONTENTS - - CHAP. PAGE - - I. THE TRAP OF SERGEANT DUBOSQ 11 - - II. IN AN ENEMY I FIND A FRIEND 23 - - III. I FALL INTO A PLEASANT BONDAGE 40 - - IV. A SCENT OF DANGER 53 - - V. I MAKE MY CONFESSION 69 - - VI. EVE IN THE GARDEN 80 - - VII. I DARE AND AM FORGIVEN 91 - - VIII. A SERPENT IN THE GARDEN 99 - - IX. PASDELOUP 109 - - X. BREAD UPON THE WATERS 119 - - XI. AT THE BELLE IMAGE 130 - - XII. MADNESS BECOMES FRENZY 141 - - XIII. THE UNFOLDING OF THE DRAMA 151 - - XIV. A BETTER MAN THAN I 163 - - XV. THE END OF GABRIELLE’S TOWER 168 - - XVI. THE TRAGEDY 174 - - XVII. I TAKE A VOW 184 - - XVIII. CIRCE’S TOILET 194 - - XIX. THE FIRST VENTURE 205 - - XX. A DAGGER OF ANOTHER SORT 218 - - XXI. FALSE PRETENSES 230 - - XXII. THE PONIARD AGAIN 242 - - XXIII. FORTUNE FROWNS 254 - - XXIV. THE DRAGON’S DEN 267 - - XXV. IN THE SHADOW 275 - - XXVI. “COURAGE” 287 - - XXVII. THE PATH OF HONOR 296 - - XXVIII. THE GUERDON 307 - - - - -ILLUSTRATIONS - - PAGE - - I was astonished to see that her face was scarlet, - and that she was staring at me with startled eyes _Frontispiece_ - - A sheet of livid flame leaped upward toward us, and - the tower swayed 162 - - As I looked back I saw a mob of men clambering - savagely over the rocks below 180 - - I strode to the door and flung it wide 266 - - - - -THE PATH _of_ HONOR - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -THE TRAP OF SERGEANT DUBOSQ. - - -DAWN was just breaking as I bade my fat little host at the Beau Visage -good-by and, leaving the white streets of Tours behind me, crossed the -shallow river and turned my face southward on the pleasant road to -Poitiers. - -The morning was a perfect one, soft and warm, with the shimmer of -sunshine and the stirring of green things over the earth; for spring -had come again to our fair land of Touraine, and I sat erect in the -saddle, drinking long draughts of the good air, riotously, gloriously -happy. For I was young, heart-whole, care-free, and setting forth upon -a pilgrimage which would have given my father joy had he been alive to -know. Yes, and it was the last morning of my life that I could apply to -myself those three adjectives--though I did not suspect it then. - -The way was thronged with market-women hastening toward the town, -pushing their little carts before them, their sabots clacking merrily -upon the hard, clean road, and their tongues clacking more merrily -still. They looked up, with smiling countenances under their white -caps, to wish me good-morning and God-speed, and more than once I -caught a flash of dark eyes in a fresh and rosy face which sent through -me a pang of regret that I could not linger. - -The broad valley of the river seemed one continued village, so closely -were cottages and farmsteads set; but as I pushed forward into the flat -country beyond, houses became less frequent, the road grew more and -more deserted, and the fields stretched fallow and neglected to left -and right as far as the eye could reach. Here and there, indeed, I -caught a glimpse of a château veiled by a screen of trees, but the land -itself seemed empty of humankind. There were no flocks in the pastures, -no peasants in the fields, not a single plow driving a furrow through -the waiting soil. - -All of which, I told myself, was the bitter fruit of the Revolution. -No one would sow when there was small likelihood of reaping; besides, -the _canaille_ found it more amusing to jostle about the streets of -Paris, to shout for the Nation, and to watch the guillotine at work. -Ever since that dusty battalion from Marseilles, with its red bonnets -and furious faces, had marched up to Paris, singing its terrifying -hymn, others, large and small, had followed, until it seemed that all -France was crowding to the capital. When hunger gnawed there was always -Citizen Santerre, offering refreshment to every one under certain easy -conditions; there was work on the fortifications, or enlistment in -the National Guard; and finally of course, food might be stolen, if -too difficult to earn. Or as a last resort information against one’s -neighbor might be laid before the Committee of Public Safety, and a -reward secured. - -I thanked God that we of Touraine had not yet been caught in the eddies -of that maelstrom. Danton had been too busy at home to cast his eyes -in our direction, and if our peasants ran away it was at least without -leaving behind them blackened walls and outraged bodies. So we had -lived our lives in peace, undisturbed by massacres, by the worship of -Reason, or by that grim machine which toiled so ceaselessly upon the -Place de la Révolution. - -But as I topped a rise in the road, I saw that the instruments of -war at least had at last invaded even this peaceful country. Under a -tree by the roadside a group of soldiers were sitting, and it needed -no second glance to tell me they were Republicans. They were lolling -about, talking idly among themselves; only their officer was on his -feet, but he was watching the road intently and the instant his eyes -met mine he uttered a sharp command. In a breath his men had sprung to -arms and deployed across the road. - -I was a peaceful traveller, intent on my own business; so telling -myself that I had nothing to fear from even the most rabid of -Revolutionists, I continued on without hesitating. It could not be for -such a small and inoffensive fish as I that a net so elaborate had been -spread. - -“Halt, citizen!” called the officer, as I came up. “I must ask you -to dismount,” he added, looking at me with eyes of extraordinary -brilliancy. - -“Willingly,” I replied, “if one of your men will hold my horse;” but -two of them had him by the bridle before the words were fully uttered. - -“Now, citizen,” continued the officer, urbanely, as I sprang from the -saddle and faced him, “there are a few questions which I shall have to -ask you. But the sun is warm, and to stand is fatiguing, so let us sit -down together in the shade of that tree yonder.” - -“Very well,” I assented, and followed him to a spot where we were -defended not only from the rays of sun but also from the curious ears -of the soldiers of the detachment, which still held its position across -the road. - -My companion paused a moment to look at me before he began his -questioning, and gave me in turn the opportunity to examine him. He -was a tall, raw-boned man, evidently of enormous strength. His face -was roughened by wind and rain and burned to a deep red by the sun. -A ferocious mustache shaded mouth and chin, and his eyes gleamed -behind their bushy brows like those of a beast in ambush. His hair was -streaked with gray, but I judged not so much from age,--for his whole -being was instinct with fire and vigor,--as from the appalling scenes -in which he had played a part. He embodied for me at that moment the -very spirit of the Revolution, irate, implacable, but with a certain -rude sense of honor and of justice and a confused belief that its -cause was in some way bound up with human rights and human progress. - -“Come, citizen,” he began at last, “your name?” - -“Jean Tavernay,” I answered, deeming it wise to omit the preposition. - -“Your home?” - -“Near Beaufort.” - -“Your destination?” - -“Poitiers.” - -“Your business?” - -I hesitated. - -“A private matter,” I said finally. - -He frowned fiercely. - -“The Republic has the right to know!” he said, in a formidable voice. - -“This is not a thing which in any way concerns the Republic. It -concerns only myself.” - -“That is for me to judge. Besides, the business of the Republic is that -of each of its citizens. Will you answer?” - -I have,--I may as well confess at once what the reader must soon -discover,--concealed under an exterior the most ordinary, a vein of -obstinacy which has often impelled me to deeds the most foolish. It was -so now. A hesitancy which had its origin in boyish shyness crystallized -suddenly into sullen determination. - -“Come,” repeated my questioner even more fiercely, “will you answer?” - -“No!” I said bluntly, and nerved myself for what might follow. - -Then I began to suspect that this dragon, like that of Rouen, was -ferocious only in appearance, for he contented himself with gnawing at -his mustache and looking at me darkly. - -“How am I to know you are not a _ci-devant_?” he rasped out at last. “A -traitor, a conspirator against the Nation, a scoundrel upon whose head -a price has been set?” - -“Merely by looking at me, my friend,” I retorted, and smiled at the -thought that I, whose whole life had passed peacefully at Beaufort, -could be any of those things. - -I cannot say that he actually smiled in answer, but his face certainly -relaxed. - -“When did you leave Beaufort?” he questioned, in a milder tone. - -“Yesterday morning.” - -“And last night?” - -“I spent at Tours.” - -“What inn?” - -“The Beau Visage.” - -“The landlord’s name?” - -“Triboulet.” - -“His appearance?” - -“Short and fat, a red face, eyes like gimlets, and a head as bald as an -egg.” - -My captor nodded. - -“That’s Triboulet,” he said. “A fine fellow.” - -“Yes,” I agreed; “and his wife----” - -My captor smacked his lips. - -“She made you an omelet?” - -“The best I ever ate.” - -“She is famous for that,” he said, and looked at me again, pulling -pensively at his mustache. - -“Come, citizen,” he added, and this time he really smiled, “it is -evident that you are not the game I am after.” - -“I should hope so,” I agreed. - -“I am looking for a wolf, not for a mouse.” - -“At least I am not a wolf,” I conceded. - -“Old Dubosq has seen too much of the world to be mistaken in a -matter so clear as this,” he continued, throwing out his chest. “A -conspirator? Bah! You don’t know its meaning. You’re too pink and -white--too much of the nursery--its odor clings to you! Why, infant, -you’ve never before been away from your mother!” - -I flushed, and he burst into a roar of laughter as he saw my face. - -“A hit!” he cried. “Ah, citizen, would I could blush like that! But for -Dubosq that day is past and far away. Come, my friend, all you need is -a little knowledge of the world to be a perfect devil with the ladies. -Join my troop and let Dubosq finish you, polish you, give you the true -air. Come; it shall be my revenge.” - -“Your revenge?” - -“Against the women. They have made me suffer and have laughed. A month -ago I won my promotion, but a petticoat intervened, and the reward -which should have been mine passed to another. Some day I will tell -you----” - -A shout from his men interrupted him. - -We sprang to our feet and saw, just topping the rise in the road, -another rider. He drew short up at the shout and at sight of the guard -barring his passage. Then he wheeled sharp around as though to retreat, -but again stopped. - -Dubosq chuckled. - -“Caught!” he cried. - -“But why doesn’t he go back?” I asked. - -“Because, my child, there’s another detachment across the road down -yonder, as you would have seen had you looked around.” He drew a pistol -from his belt and fired it in the air. “That will bring them on,” he -added. “Now, citizen, you will see the trap close--the trap of Sergeant -Dubosq. Advance, men! Bring him down if he attempts to escape.” - -The Blues began to advance slowly, their guns presented. - -“Hold your horse, citizen,” said Dubosq, “and wait here for me. I have -something more to say to you;” and he set off after his men. - -The fugitive looked about him again. He was fairly caught between two -fires. In a moment he must surrender, covered by twenty muskets. But he -did not wait for that moment. Instead he put his horse at the ditch, -leaped it, and made off across the fields. - -“Fire!” yelled Dubosq. “Fire!” - -A volley of shots rang out, echoed by another from up the road, and my -heart rejoiced as I saw the fugitive keep on unharmed. But only for an -instant. His horse bounded twice, then staggered and fell headlong. - -The Blues gave a yell of triumph, leaped the ditch and started after -their quarry, spreading fan-wise so that he could not escape. But he -sprang from the saddle even as his horse fell, and ran with surprising -speed toward a cluster of trees just ahead. In a moment he had -disappeared among them. - -I watched until his pursuers reached the grove and plunged into it; -then I tied my horse to the tree and resumed my seat beneath its -branches, for I was curious to see the end of this encounter. My -sympathies were wholly with the fugitive. Whatever his offense, so -gallant a dash for liberty deserved to be successful. And yet he could -scarcely hope to escape with twenty men at his heels. - -Once a chorus of frantic yells came to me from the grove, and I thought -for a time that the chase was ended. But the moments passed, and I saw -no sign of either the fugitive or his pursuers. Perhaps he had eluded -them after all; or perhaps they were pushing across the country after -him. In either event it was useless for me to tarry longer; it was time -for me to be getting forward if I wished to reach Châtellerault, as -I had planned, by nightfall. Only I should have liked to say good-by -to Sergeant Dubosq. There was about the man a fascination, an air of -deviltry, that pleased me. Perhaps at another time I might even have -found myself listening to his words, but now---- - -“Sit still, monsieur,” said a low voice just behind me; and I started -round to find myself looking down the long barrel of a pistol above -which gleamed two eyes, blue and cold as steel. “I was moved to shoot -you,” he went on evenly, “as the shortest way out; but after all I am -not a murderer. I will give you one chance. I must have your horse. -Give me your word of honor to sit there quietly, and you are safe; -refuse,”--and he made a menacing little motion with his pistol. - -There could be no doubting his earnestness. One glance at that resolute -countenance convinced me that its owner would not hesitate to carry out -his threat. But to lose my horse---- - -“Come,” he said; “decide quickly. Faith, the choice ought not to be -difficult;” and he laughed grimly. - -“Take the horse, monsieur,” I said, in a voice trembling with rage and -chagrin. “But my hour will come!” - -He laughed again, put up his pistol, and came out upon the road. - -As I watched him untie my horse, I realized suddenly all that this -loss would mean to me, and a blind impulse seized me to rush upon him -and run him through. I think I must have yielded to it, in spite of my -passed word, had he not seemed to trust it so implicitly. For he even -turned his back to me as he bent to adjust the stirrups. - -He seemed in no haste--indeed, I was apparently far more excited than -he--and I had time to admire the erect figure, the easy carriage, the -grace of movement. Dubosq had spoken truly when he had pointed out -that no one could mistake me for this finished cavalier. He sprang to -the saddle with superb unconcern and paused for a look about him. He -was even humming a song. - -“Ah, there they come,” he said, and following his eye, I saw Dubosq -and his men burst from the grove and come charging across the field. -“At last they have discovered how I eluded them! Blockheads! Adieu, -monsieur.” - -“Till we meet again,” I corrected. - -He laughed blithely. - -“As you will,” he said, and gathered up the reins. “Whither are you -bound?” he added, turning back to me. - -“To Poitiers,” I answered. - -“Then we may indeed meet again;” and waving his hand to his enemies, -who by this time were very near, he set spur to flank and galloped away -down the road. - -A shower of bullets followed him, but he kept on apparently unhurt, and -in a moment more was out of gunshot. - -Dubosq came panting up, his men at his heels. He was fairly livid. He -stopped for an instant to shake his fist at the cloud of dust far down -the road. Then he turned to me. - -“Traitor!” he cried, hoarsely. “Aristocrat!” And I saw how the great -veins stood out across his forehead. “So you had the effrontery to wait -for me!” - -“Assuredly,” I replied, as calmly as I could, “since you requested it.” - -He glared at me for a moment with bloodshot eyes. Then he turned to his -men. - -“Secure him!” he said. “We will let him espouse Madame Guillotine.” - -And before I could open my lips to protest, my hands were lashed behind -me. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -IN AN ENEMY I FIND A FRIEND. - - -FOR an instant I was too astonished to resist; then the indignity of -it--the indignity of the strong and cruel hands which seized and held -me--swept over me like flame, and I shook off my assailants and faced -Dubosq. - -“Loose me!” I cried, struggling furiously with my bonds. “Loose me! I -demand that you loose me!” - -Dubosq laughed sardonically. - -“At your service,” he sneered. “Any other orders?” - -I realized how impotent I was, and the knowledge struck chill to my -heart. Dubosq could stand me up at the side of the road and order me -shot, and no one would question or protest. He had only to give the -word. I felt as the wild beast feels caught in a sudden trap. - -“But this is an outrage!” I protested thickly, striving to still the -trembling of my lips; for I was young--remember always, my reader, that -I was young and new to the world. - -Dubosq stood regarding me, gnawing his mustache savagely. I dare say -the trembling lip did not escape him. - -“Outrage or not,” he growled, “you are under arrest, citizen.” - -“And for what?” I demanded. - -“As an accomplice of the _ci-devant_ Favras.” - -My astonishment was so overwhelming that even he discerned it. - -“Of course you are innocent,” he sneered. - -“Citizen Dubosq,” I said slowly, “I give you my word of honor that I -have never before even heard of the person you mention. As for being -his accomplice, that is too absurd to discuss.” - -“It is strange, then,” commented Dubosq, grimly, “that you should have -been so complaisant as to permit him to ride away upon your horse. But -no doubt you have an explanation. There is always an explanation.” - -“Oh!” I cried, understanding suddenly and looking down the empty road. -“So that was the _ci-devant_ Favras! I am glad to know his name, for I -have an account to settle with him. So far from permitting him to take -the horse, I had an impulse to murder him.” - -“And why did you not?” Dubosq demanded. “That would at least have saved -your own neck.” - -“I had given him my word,” I explained, and related the dilemma in -which I had found myself. “But even then,” I concluded, “I would have -killed him had he not turned his back.” - -Dubosq listened, looking at me keenly. At the last words he nodded, -almost imperceptibly, as though he understood. Then he glanced moodily -away across the field. - -I followed his eyes and saw approaching us from the grove two men -bearing the body of a third. - -“Is that his work?” I asked. - -“Yes,” said Dubosq; and fell silent until the bearers reached the road -and placed the body on the grass beneath the tree. I saw with a shudder -that the man had been stabbed in the back. - -“Yes,” repeated Dubosq fiercely, “that is his work. He crept upon -him from behind and struck him down. He did not hesitate because his -victim’s back was turned. Oh, these traitors, these aristocrats, with -their talk of honor!” and he shook his clenched fists above his head. - -“But how did he escape?” I queried, for even yet I did not understand. - -“How did he escape?” yelled Dubosq, his face purple. “He escaped -because his wits are better than ours. There is that to be said for the -aristocrats--their wits are better than ours, clods that we are! He -murdered this man----” - -“Not murder, citizen,” I interrupted. “Not that--self-defense.” - -“Self-defense!” roared Dubosq. “In the back? Murder, I say! Then -shielding himself in that ditch yonder, he worked his way back to the -road, mounted your horse and was off, while we were blundering around -in that little grove. I should have thought of the ditch;” and he stood -glowering at it. “I did--too late! I disgust myself!” - -“And I suffer in consequence,” I added. “Come, my friend, confess -that you believe my story. Look at me. I am no conspirator--in your -heart you know it. If I had been the friend of that fellow, I would -have ridden away behind him; certainly I should not have remained here -waiting for your return. To revenge yourself on me because your trap -has failed--that is unworthy of you. Besides I have suffered enough -already--and for no fault.” - -He looked at me for a moment, and his face softened. I saw that the -storm was over. - -“I believe you, citizen,” he said; “you are free,” and he whipped out -his knife and cut my bonds. - -For thanks I held out my hand and he gripped it warmly. - -“Come,” he urged, “join my troop, pin on the tri-color, and I will make -a man of you.” - -But I shook my head. - -“No, my friend,” I said, “an errand of honor calls me to Poitiers.” - -He looked at me with renewed suspicion. - -“Which reminds me,” he added, “that you have not yet told me the nature -of that errand.” - -“I will tell you,” I said, “as a friend;” and I whispered a swift -sentence in his ear. - -He burst out laughing, his good humor restored in an instant. - -“Well, go your way,” he said, slapping me on the shoulder, “and good -luck go with you. At the fête, citizen, drink a health to old Dubosq. -As for me, I have the pleasant duty of burying my dead, and reporting -to my superiors that I am a fool and that the trap is empty;” and he -glowered angrily down the road, his mustache drooping dismally. - -“Your turn will come,” I urged. “Or if not yours, mine--of that I am -certain.” - -“Yes,” he agreed, with a growl, “I will yet get my hands on him, and -when I do, he will have reason to remember it. Adieu, citizen,” he -added. “My compliments to the lady. Come, my children, march!” And he -and his soldiers set off toward Tours, bearing their dead with them. - -I watched them for a few moments with something like regret. After all, -Dubosq had spoken truly. I had seen little of the world, and he had -offered me a chance to see more in gallant company. I could not but -admit that he would have made an admirable guide and companion. If his -cockade were only white! But even then I could not have followed him. -For I was not free--another duty lay before me. Would I ever be free, -I wondered--free to march away whither I listed, to live a man’s life -and grow to man’s stature? Or would I always be tied to some woman’s -petticoat, imprisoned in a trivial round of daily duties, as were so -many men? Was I on this journey simply exchanging one petticoat for -another? - -With such thoughts for companions,--surely less pleasant than -Dubosq!--I turned my face again to the south, and strode along with -such speed as my legs could compass. I am not fond of foot-exercise, -and it was not at all in this ridiculous fashion that I had thought to -make the journey to Poitiers. Besides there was need that my entry -into that city should be made with a certain dignity, and I knew well -that the whole contents of my purse would not purchase a new horse, to -say nothing of a new equipment. - -For the horse was not all that I had lost. In the holsters of the -saddle was a pair of handsome pistols which had belonged to my father, -and in the portmanteau strapped behind it an array of gallant clothing -such as I had never possessed before, and would in all likelihood -never again possess. As to replenishing my purse, I remembered only -too acutely how my mother had pinched herself for months to provide me -with this outfit. No, decidedly, to repair this misfortune I had only -my own prowess to depend upon, and I am free to say that it was not of -a quality greatly to enhearten me. Certainly my first adventure in the -world had ended most disastrously. - -So I trudged on, looking neither to the right nor to the left, turning -my misfortune over in my mind, and recalling the good points of my -horse,--a friend and companion almost since my boyhood,--the comfort -of my saddle, and the beauties of my wardrobe, as a starving man will -picture to himself the savory details of some banquet he has enjoyed in -happier days. And I almost found it in my heart to regret that I had -not struck the robber down in that moment when he had dared to turn his -back upon me. - -There were few people on the road, but such as I met stared at me -curiously, evidently unable to understand how it was that a young -fellow so gallantly arrayed should be footing it through the dust with -sour countenance. This of course served only to increase my spleen, -and ended in my pulling my hat over my eyes and trudging on without -glancing up, even at the rustle of a petticoat. I know not how great a -distance I covered in this fashion, but at last the sun, rising high in -the heavens, beat down upon me with such ardor that my head began to -swim dizzily. I looked about for shelter, and seeing just ahead of me a -little cluster of mean houses, hastened my steps in the hope that there -might be an inn among them. - -So indeed there proved to be. But when I came to the threshold of the -low, ill-smelling room, dark almost as a dungeon even in full day, -I hesitated, for I was armed only with sword and dagger and it was -impossible to see what lay within. Decidedly I had no wish to risk my -purse, and perhaps my life as well, for the sake of a bottle of bad -wine. - -But a gay voice encouraged me. - -“Enter, monsieur,” it called. “I was awaiting you.” - -And as my eyes grew somewhat accustomed to the darkness, I descried, -seated at a table in one corner, my enemy, my despoiler, smiling at me -as though he were my dearest friend. - -“Come,” he added, “join me;” and such was the wizardry of his voice and -the gesture which accompanied it, that whatever my reluctance, I could -not but obey. - -“What is your name, monsieur?” he asked, as I took the seat opposite -his; and he smiled again as he caught my glance. - -“Jean de Tavernay,” I answered; “and, monsieur, I have to say to -you----” - -“One moment,” he broke in, holding up his hand. “My name perhaps you -have already heard?” - -“Yes, if you are who the Republicans said you were.” - -“And that was?” - -“One M. de Favras.” - -“They are not at your heels?” - -“No, they returned to Tours.” - -“Disappointed?” - -“Extremely so.” - -He laughed, then grew suddenly sober and knitted his brows in thought, -which I somehow dared not interrupt. After all, there was no cause for -haste. He could not escape me. - -“It looked like a trap,” he said, at last. - -“It was a trap,” I assured him. - -“And set for me?” - -“I believe so.” - -He pondered this a moment longer, then put it from him. - -“No matter,” he said. “Why waste thought on a trap from which one has -escaped? And now, M. de Tavernay, to your affair. I see the words which -are trembling on your lips; I read the thought which is passing in -your mind. You would say that I have not used you as one gentleman -uses another. I admit it. You are thinking that now you will revenge -yourself. I do not blame you. I owe you an apology for treating you in -the fashion that I did. But it was with me a question of life or death. -I had no alternative. And I assure you,” he added, smiling grimly, “I -should not have hesitated to kill you had you chosen to resist. I gave -you a chance for your life merely because I saw that you were not a -Republican, but a traveller like myself. Had you worn the tri-color, -nothing would have saved you.” - -“All of which I saw in your eyes, monsieur,” I said. “It was for that -reason I did not resist.” - -“Well,” he asked, looking at me, “which is it, monsieur--an apology and -this bottle of wine, or our swords back of the cabaret? For myself, I -hope it is the former. But it is for you to choose.” - -There was a kindness in his tone not to be resisted, an authority in -his glance and in the expression of his face which bore in upon me anew -my own youth and inexperience. - -“The wine, monsieur,” I said. “The other would be folly.” - -He nodded and filled our glasses, then raised his to his lips. - -“To our better acquaintance,” he said, and we drank the toast. I was -beginning to wonder how I had ever been so blind as to think this man -an enemy. - -“There was one moment,” I confessed, “when you were in some danger.” - -“I saw it,” he said quietly. “It was for that reason I turned my back -to you.” - -I stared at him in amazement. - -“To help you overcome temptation,” he explained. “One gentleman does -not break his word by stabbing another in the back.” - -A warm flush of pleasure sprang to my cheeks. Then a sudden vision rose -before me of a limp body in Republican uniform---- - -“But you----” I stopped, confused, conscious that I was uttering my -thought aloud, and that the thought was not a pleasant one. - -“Ah,” he went on, smiling sadly, “you would say that I stabbed that -poor fellow in the back. Believe me, monsieur, I should have preferred -a thousand times to meet him face to face. But I had no choice. A -moment’s delay, and I should have been taken. So I hardened my heart -and struck.” - -“Pardon me, monsieur,” I murmured. - -He nodded, the shadow still on his face. - -“Fortune of war,” he said, with affected lightness. “We must make -the best of it. And now, M. de Tavernay,” he added, rising, “you -will find your horse awaiting you outside yonder door, as fresh as -when you started with him from Tours. I have secured another in a -less peremptory way than I found necessary to adopt with you. It is -foolhardy for me to linger here. I must push on at once. But you may be -weary, you may wish to avoid the heat of the day; you may, in a word, -prefer to continue your journey alone and at your leisure. If so, -farewell; but if you are ready to go on, I assure you that I shall be -very glad of your company.” - -“Thank you, monsieur,” I said, my decision taken on the instant. “I am -quite ready to go.” - -“Good! come then,” and throwing a gold-piece on the table he started -toward the door. - -Not until that instant did I remember that the inn must have a keeper, -and that the keeper would have ears, which he had no doubt kept wide -open during all this talk. I looked around for him, and as though -guessing my thought, he shambled slowly forward from a dark corner--as -ill-favored a villain as I ever saw. - -“Is there anything else monsieur wishes?” he asked, looking at me with -a glance so venomous that I recoiled as though a snake had struck at me. - -“No,” I stammered, “except to tell you that there is your money.” - -He picked up the coin without a word and spun it in his hand, while I -hastened after my companion, anxious to escape from that sinister place -into the clear day. I found him awaiting me just outside the door. - -“Our horses will be here in a moment,” he said. “I have sent for them.” - -“I shall breathe more freely when I am in the saddle and well away from -here,” I answered. “There is a fellow back yonder who is longing to -assassinate both of us.” - -“Our host?” and he laughed lightly. “I noticed him. He is like all the -others--they would all jump to assassinate us, if they dared.” - -“This one looked particularly wolfish.” - -“They are all wolfish, and like the wolf arrant cowards, save when they -hunt in pack.” - -“But if he overheard?” - -“Perhaps we were a little indiscreet,” he agreed, sober for an instant. -“But one peril more or less--what does it matter?” he added, with -a shrug. “Here are the horses. Permit me to return you yours, with -apologies and thanks.” - -“I am rejoiced to get him back,” I said, patting his nose. - -“The pleasure seems to be mutual,” observed my companion; and indeed -there was no mistaking the joy in the eyes of my old friend. “You would -better look over your belongings,” he added. “There are thieves about.” - -But I found that nothing had been disturbed. My pistols were in their -holsters, and my portmanteau was still strapped behind the saddle. - -“Then let us be off,” said M. de Favras. - -Not until we were well out of the village and cantering briskly toward -the south with a clear road behind us, did I feel at ease. Then I -took my chin from my shoulder and directed an admiring gaze at my -companion--would I ever acquire such an air? He caught my glance and -smiled. - -“Where had you intended spending the night, M. de Tavernay?” he -inquired. - -“At Châtellerault,” I said. - -“But you cannot hope to reach Châtellerault to-day,” he protested, -“after the delay which I have caused you. You must be my guest -to-night. My château is just beyond Dange. I will see you on your -way at daybreak to-morrow, and you can reach Poitiers with ease by -sunset. I hope you will accept, my friend,” he went on, seeing that -I hesitated, “if only that I may feel you have wholly forgiven me. -Besides,” he added, with an air of finality, “it is folly to travel -unattended in this country after nightfall. It is overrun with brigands -who shout for liberty, equality, fraternity, only to conceal their -crimes.” - -Truth to tell, I needed no urging. I tried to stammer something of the -pleasure the invitation gave me, but he stopped me with a kind little -wave of the hand. - -“For the past month I have been in the Bocage,” he went on, when that -was settled. “Ah, if you would see true heroism, my friend, you must go -there. A devoted people, fighting for their homes and for their faith, -under leaders the most heroic that army ever had. It is against those -peasants of La Vendée that this cursed carnival of slaughter will wreck -itself.” - -His face was alight with enthusiasm, his eyes shining with deep emotion. - -“They are carrying all before them,” he went on, more calmly. “To-day, -they are mere scattered peasants, working in their fields. To-morrow, -they are an army of fifty thousand, springing from the very ground to -smite the enemy. They shoot him down from behind their hedges, they put -him to the sword, they send him staggering back to his barracks, all -but annihilated. Then the next day, if there is no more fighting, they -are back again with their flocks and herds. It recalls that golden age -of Greece when every man was eager to give his life for his country.” - -“But surely,” I objected, “trained troops should be able easily to -stand against them.” - -“They have not yet done so,” he retorted. “We have taken Les Herbiers, -Montaigu, Chantonnay, Cholet and Vihiers, one after the other, like -shaking ripe plums from a tree. After all, victory depends not so -much upon organization or generalship, or even numbers, as upon the -spirit of the men themselves. The army which goes into a battle with -each individual unit of it bent on victory wins the victory. The -army which fights half-heartedly loses. That is the history of every -battle. The people of the Bocage are fighting for their homes and their -religion--their souls are in the conflict, and they will never admit -themselves defeated until the last man has been slain. Within a month -the Blues will have been driven completely from Vendée, and the King -will reign there;” and at the words he crossed himself. “‘God and the -King’ is our watchword.” - -He saw the question in the glance I turned upon him. - -“You are wondering,” he said, “why at such a time I should have left -the army. Two nights since I received a message that my wife was -dangerously ill--dying even. The army will be victorious without -me--but my wife----” - -He stopped. I understood and nodded gently. - -“Only that could have brought me away,” he added--“the certainty that -she needed me. I started at once but found the Blues in force at -Coulonges. I attempted to turn aside and at once lost my way amid the -innumerable and abominable roads with which that country is cursed. I -was forced finally to ride on to Chinon and then along the Loire, for -it seemed as though every road was blocked by the enemy. I should have -reached the château last night, and behold me only this far;” and he -pricked his horse savagely and galloped forward. - -I followed, and for a time we held the pace without exchanging a word, -he busy with his own thoughts, and I wrapped in contemplation of the -marvellous turn of fortune which had not only restored me all that I -had lost, but which had also given me the friendship of a man like -this. I looked at him from time to time, admiring more than ever the -fine face and graceful figure. He was, I judged, not over thirty; but -there was something in the glance of his eye, in the set of his lips, -which told me that he had played his part in the world for many years. -Perhaps the time was at hand when I should play my part, too. - -At last we drew rein to give our horses breath, and my companion -pointed out to me some of the features of the country. To our right was -the gentle valley of the Vienne, and finally we dipped into it and -crossed the river at a ford. - -“Now I am at home,” he said, looking about with a smile of pleasure. -“But in this case home is not without its dangers, for I may be -recognized at any turn, and the adventure of this morning warns me -to be careful. At the village, there may even be another detachment -of Republicans. So I think it would be wise to turn aside and take -that path yonder, by which we shall not only avoid the town but come -directly to my estate.” - -“Very well, monsieur,” I agreed; and in another moment we had plunged -among the trees. - -The soft earth of the wood, with its carpet of leaves, deadened the -sound of our horses’ hoofs and we went on silently among the shadows -for some time. Then we turned abruptly to the left, the wood opened, -and again I saw the river gleaming before us. - -“There is the château,” he said suddenly, and following his gesture -I saw a lofty tower rising above the trees. “That tower,” he added, -smiling, “is my heritage from an amorous ancestor, who built it some -hundreds of years ago to shelter a fair lady, whom a rival coveted. -The tower was designed to withstand attack--and did withstand it--so -the lady remained in our family and helped perpetuate it. That brave -Marquis de Favras, who died so gallantly on the Place de Grève two -years ago, belonged to that branch; so you see we have no reason to -be ashamed of it, however irregular its origin. There is the modern -wing,” he added, as we came out suddenly upon the road, “built by my -father.” - -It was a handsome building of white stone, and as we approached it I -saw two ladies strolling upon the terrace which ran across its front. -At the gate, a man, swart and heavy-set, stood for a moment eyeing us. - -“Ah, Pasdeloup!” cried my companion; and at the word the man sprang -to the gate and threw it back with a clang, his face beaming. “Alert -as ever!” added his master, waved his hand to him and galloped past, -while the other gazed after him with something very like adoration -transfiguring his rough countenance. - -At the sound of our horses’ hoofs upon the gravelled road, the ladies -turned and looked toward us. Then one of them flew down the steps, her -hands outstretched, her face alight. - -“Madame!” cried my companion. “Madame!” and he threw himself from his -horse and caught her to his heart. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -I FALL INTO A PLEASANT BONDAGE. - - -“THEN you are not ill?” my friend was saying, as I dismounted and drew -near. “You are not dying? Thank God for that!” - -“Ill?” echoed the lady. “Dying? Nonsense! Look at me!” - -“You are adorable!” he cried, and kissed the hands he held in his. - -“Sad I have been,” she went on, blushing but still gazing fondly up at -him. “That was because you were away from me, in danger yonder. Yet I -tried to be brave, for I knew that you were serving your country and -that you would not forget me.” - -“Forget you!” he repeated; and my own heart warmed in sympathy as he -gazed down at her, his eyes alight. Ah, here was no match prearranged -no marriage of convenience, but a true mating. So true that there -could be about it no false pride, no dissimulation or pretense of -indifference; so true that it was still the lover talking to his -mistress, as well as the husband talking to his wife. - -I know it is the custom in certain circles in the great cities to sneer -at all this--to seek love anywhere but in the family circle; but we of -the provinces are not like that. Do not think it. We live closer to -the heart of things--closer to nature, closer to each other, closer to -the good God--and I think we are sounder at core. - -“But I had a message saying you were ill,” he continued. “You did not -send it, then?” - -“No; but I bless the sender since it has brought you back to me.” - -“And not alone,” he added, remembering my presence. “Permit me to -present to you, madame, M. de Tavernay. I began by stealing his horse -and ended by gaining his friendship. Be kind to him. Monsieur, this is -my wife, Madame la Comtesse de Favras.” - -She held out her hand to me with a charming smile, but her eyes and -thoughts were only for her husband, nor could I find it in my heart to -blame her, for, beside him, I was so crude, so ordinary, worth scarcely -a passing glance. Indeed, I was myself somewhat confused at the -revelation of my friend’s distinguished title and bowed over her hand -awkwardly enough. - -“You are welcome, monsieur,” she said. “At dinner we must hear the -story of these adventures. You have no doubt been all day in the -saddle--you need rest, refreshment. Come--but first you must meet my -guest;” and she led the way toward the terrace where her companion -awaited us. - -“What fortune!” cried M. le Comte, as he sprang up the steps, and in -another moment he was kissing the cheek of a lady, young, divinely -fair, as I saw in the single glance I dared take at her, who blushed -most becomingly as she received his salute. - -“My dear,” he added, “this is M. de Tavernay. I have already asked -Madame la Comtesse to be kind to him. With you, I can only beg that -you will not be cruel. M. de Tavernay, this is Mlle. de Chambray, who -permits you to kiss her hand.” - -As I bowed before her and touched her fingers with lips not wholly -steady, I was suddenly conscious of the dust and travel-stains which -covered me, head to foot. She would think me ridiculous, no doubt; but -when I summoned courage to glance up at her, I was astonished to see -that her face was scarlet, and that she was staring at me with startled -eyes. Then she withdrew her hand and turned hastily away, her shoulders -shaking convulsively, and I felt my own cheeks grow red. - -Luckily our friends were too engrossed in each other to perceive this -bit of comedy--or perhaps tragedy would, from my standpoint, be the -better word. A moment later, my ears still burning, I stalked stiffly -away after the man to whom I had been entrusted, through a vestibule, -up a wide flight of stairs, and into a spacious room overlooking the -gardens at the back of the house. - -“Dinner is at eight,” said the man. “If there is anything monsieur -requires he will ring the bell yonder;” and after unstrapping my -portmanteau and glancing around to assure himself that everything was -right, he left the room and closed the door behind him. - -The instant I was alone, dignity and self-control fell from me like a -mantle, and flinging myself into a chair, I stared blindly out through -the open window. The garden was a formal one in the Italian style, not -large, but elegantly planned, and sloping gently to the margin of the -river, which seemed here both broad and deep. Beyond it was a tangle of -trees and shrubbery, and farther away, upon the side of a little hill, -were the white houses of a village, their windows bright with the rays -of the setting sun. - -But it was at none of these things I looked--though I see them now as -plainly as if they were here before me--for my eyes were turned inward -at the tumult in my own bosom, and my brain was wondering numbly why it -was that my life, heretofore so bright, had turned suddenly so gray; -that the green valleys of the future had changed to sandy, barren -wastes; that the very savor of living was as dust in my throat. I had -glanced for an instant into a pair of startled eyes, and that instant -had struck the boyish carelessness from my heart as with a blow. - -But at last I shook the feeling off--or perhaps it was only the warm -blood of youth asserting itself--and when the man came with the candles -I could proceed with my toilet with almost, if not quite, my old -calmness. When it was finished I turned to the glass and contemplated -the reflection there. Fresh the face undoubtedly was, and if not -handsome, at least not grotesque; but with the memory of my host before -me I thought it absurdly boyish. The figure, while erect enough, had -not that easy poise I had marked in him, nor did the garments in which -I had arrayed myself fall into those natural and graceful lines which -somehow stamp the finished gentleman. As I stared gloomily at myself I -recalled the careless words of Sergeant Dubosq. Yes, he was right; he -had hit the mark--I was too young, too pink and white, too much of the -country. - -Comforting myself as well as I could with the thought that time would -remedy these defects, I turned away, opened the door and went down -the stair. Beyond the vestibule was the saloon, a circular marble -room, extremely elegant and well-furnished, and still beyond this the -drawing-room, with four large paintings of the French victories of 1744 -upon the walls. There was no one in either room, and I was examining -the paintings, which no doubt pictured events in which the father of my -host had taken part, and which appeared to me of splendid execution, -when I heard the rustling of skirts behind me. I turned to perceive -Mlle. de Chambray upon the threshold, and the fear of her ridicule was -swept away in the burst of happiness at seeing her again. - -“Oh, is it you, M. de Tavernay?” she said, hesitating and coloring -divinely. - -“Yes, it is I, mademoiselle,” I answered, trembling at this first time -that she had ever addressed me. - -“And alone?” she added, with a quick glance about the room. “It is -strange that madame is not down.” - -“She and M. le Comte doubtless have much to say to each other,” I -hastened to explain, for I too thought it strange--though the rack -itself could not have wrung the admission from me. - -“Yes--no doubt,” she agreed, but she was plainly not convinced, and -still hesitated on the threshold. - -“It would be cruel to interrupt them,” I added. “Besides, I assure you -that I am quite harmless.” - -This time she permitted her glance to dwell upon me for an instant, and -I caught the perfect contour of her face. - -“I am not so sure of that,” she retorted, “unless your appearance is -most deceptive. I think I would better join madame;” and she made a -motion toward the door. - -“If there is any oath I can swear, mademoiselle,” I protested, -“prescribe it--I will take it gladly. I will agree to sit here in this -corner, if you wish it.” - -“Oh, you will?” she said; and looked at me doubtfully, but with a -glimmer of mischief in her eye. - -“Yes, mademoiselle; I am capable even of that heroism.” - -“I hear that you surrendered rather easily this morning,” she taunted. - -“There was a pistol at my ear,” I explained, “and the face of M. le -Comte behind it. I saw no reason to throw away my life for nothing more -important than a horse. I am doubly glad now that I was so sensible.” - -She looked at me, her brows uplifted. - -“Life means more to me now than it did this morning,” I hastened to -explain. “Oh, vastly more! So I rejoice that I am not lying back there -on the road with a bullet through me. Even had M. le Comte missed me, I -should not be here.” - -“He would not have missed. A pistol in the hands of M. le Comte is a -dangerous thing.” - -“I have never encountered but one thing more dangerous, mademoiselle.” - -“And that?” - -“A pair of brown eyes, levelled at me by a person who knows their -power,” I answered, and trembled at my temerity. - -But instead of being offended she burst into a peal of laughter and -advanced into the room. - -“Really, M. de Tavernay,” she said, her eyes dancing, “I fear that you -are not so harmless as you pretend.” - -“But nevertheless you will remain, mademoiselle; you owe me that -reparation.” - -“Reparation?” she repeated, with raised brows. - -“For laughing at me. True you turned away your face, but you could not -conceal the quivering of your shoulders.” - -She colored deeply and this time retreated in earnest toward the door. - -“Oh, do not go,” I pleaded. “I pardon you--it was nothing. Laugh at me -again if you wish, only do not go.” - -She hesitated, stopped, came back. - -“I _do_ beg your pardon, monsieur,” she said. “Believe me, it was not -in the least at you I was laughing, but at a sudden thought--at the -strange chance----” - -She stopped, evidently confused. - -“Very well,” I hastened to assure her. “I forgive and forget. Or -rather, I shall not forget, because you laugh adorably.” - -“In truth,” she said, with just a touch of malice, “one would imagine -you were straight from Versailles instead of----” - -“Beaufort,” I said, flushing a little. - -“And how does it happen you are so far from home?” she queried, bending -upon me a look of raillery. - -Then I remembered; my heart turned to lead in my bosom, and despite -myself a groan burst from me in the first sharp agony of recollection. - -“What is it, monsieur?” she questioned, instantly serious, and coming -toward me quickly. “You are not ill?” - -“Yes,” I said hoarsely, dropping upon a seat. “I am very ill, -mademoiselle--so ill that I fear I shall never make a recovery.” - -“Oh, horrible!” she cried; and sat down beside me, and passed her -handkerchief across my forehead--her handkerchief, fragrant with I know -not what intoxicating scent. “But a moment ago you were quite well, or -seemed so. Is it the heart?” - -“Yes, mademoiselle,” I answered, rallying sufficiently to perceive -that the situation was not without its advantages, and determining to -maintain it as long as possible. “It is the heart.” - -“And you are subject to such seizures?” she continued, still gazing -at me anxiously, so near that I could see the dew upon her lips, -could catch the child-like fragrance of her breath. Here was a woman -different from any that I had ever known or dreamed of--genuine, -unaffected, of a sincerity almost boyish. - -“This is the first, mademoiselle,” I said, gripping my hands tight in -the effort to maintain my self-control, to resist the temptation to -seize her and crush her to me. - -“Oh, how you suffer!” she cried, seeing the gesture and misinterpreting -it. Yet now that I have written the word, I am wondering if she did -misinterpret it. Looking back upon the scene, I am inclined to think -that she saw much more than I suspected, and that I was really merely -a mouse she played with. Mouse--that was Sergeant Dubosq’s word. But -certainly no eyes could have been more guileless than those she turned -upon me. “Here,” she added, “perhaps this will help you;” and she held -a little inlaid bottle beneath my nostrils. - -I was not expecting it and just at that instant drew a full breath, -with the consequence that for some moments after I could draw no other. -Tears poured from my eyes and I must have been altogether an absurd -object; but strange to say my companion did not laugh--or if she did I -was too disordered to perceive it. - -“Heavens!” cried a voice from the door. “What are you doing to M. de -Tavernay, Charlotte?” - -“Charlotte!” echoed my heart. “Charlotte! Charlotte!” Then I caught my -breath again for fear that I had cried the name aloud. - -“M. de Tavernay has just had a very severe seizure of the heart, -madame,” answered my companion. “I was letting him smell of my salts -and he took a full breath.” - -“I am better,” I said, struggling to my feet and bowing to madame. “A -thousand thanks, mademoiselle. But for your thoughtfulness I might not -have rallied. I needed heroic treatment.” - -Madame glanced from one to the other of us, her face alight with -amusement and her eyes with a meaning I did not wholly understand. - -“I shall have to command Charlotte to remain near you then this -evening, monsieur,” she said. “In seizures of that kind it is always -well to have prompt aid at hand.” - -I bowed my thanks. I was not yet quite sure of my voice. - -“And when one is subject to them,” went on madame, “one cannot be too -careful.” - -“I have already assured mademoiselle,” I said, “that this is absolutely -the first.” - -“Then she is very fortunate,” murmured madame, pensively. - -“She?” I repeated, staring at her. “I do not understand.” - -“Pardon me--then you are very fortunate, monsieur;” and she smiled -broadly. - -I confess I did not yet quite catch her meaning. I was therefore the -more surprised to see my companion redden deeply, then rise abruptly -and walk to the other side of the room, where she paused with her back -to us to contemplate the fall of Fribourg. - -Madame smiled again and cast me a glance full of meaning. - -“Yes, you have offended her,” she said. - -“Offended her?” I repeated in dismay. “I?” - -“It is always an error,” she explained, “to compel a lady to correct -herself.” - -“I beg your pardon, madame,” I said humbly. - -“No; beg hers,” she corrected. - -“I do,” I said; “though I am utterly in the dark as to the nature of my -offense.” - -“Come, Charlotte,” called madame. “Forgive him.” - -“What!” cried M. le Comte, appearing upon the threshold. “Do you -already stand in need of forgiveness, Tavernay?” - -“It seems so,” I answered, somewhat miserably. “Certainly for my thick -head and dull wits.” - -At the words, Mlle. de Chambray ventured a glance at me, and I saw a -smile scatter the clouds. She struggled to hold it back, to suppress -it, but quite in vain. - -“Come, you are forgiven,” cried our host; and it seemed to me that in -his glance also there was a hidden meaning. “I knew she was not hard of -heart. And now for dinner.” - -“M. de Tavernay,” said madame, “to you I shall confide Charlotte--or -should I put it the other way?” - -“Either way pleases me immensely, madame,” I said, bowing. - -“You must know,” madame continued, “M. de Tavernay is subject to sudden -seizures of the heart, and that Charlotte is the only one present who -can work a cure.” - -“Our friend is not the first to be so afflicted,” laughed M. le Comte, -crossing to his wife’s side. “Luckily I also found the one person who -could work a cure.” - -“Nonsense!” protested Mlle. de Chambray, very red. “M. de Tavernay was -really suffering acutely.” - -“Well, so have I suffered acutely,” retorted her tormentor. “Did I not, -madame?” - -“Or pretended to,” rejoined madame. “With that disease it is often -impossible to tell where reality leaves off and pretense begins; you -men have made so close a study of the symptoms. But come, monsieur; the -dinner waits.” - -I confess that the arm I gave my partner was not so steady as I -could have wished it; for my heart was torn between delight and -despair--delight that she should be there beside me, despair at my own -stupidity in understanding so little of all this; but I managed by some -miracle to enter the dining-room without accident, to get her safely -seated and to seat myself beside her. - -I drew a deep breath of relief when I found myself in port. - -“You have never been to Paris, M. de Tavernay?” asked a low voice at -my elbow, and I looked up to find her eyes on mine. - -“No, mademoiselle,” I stammered. - -“Perhaps not even to Orléans?” and I saw again in their depths that -glimmer of mischief. - -“No,” I answered, not heeding it as a wise man would. “I have passed -all my life upon our estate at Beaufort.” - -“Something told me so!” she murmured, and turned to her plate as -innocently as though she were quite unconscious of having planted a -poniard in my bosom. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -A SCENT OF DANGER. - - -I BORE the blow with such stoicism as I possessed, and even made some -show of listening and laughing at M. le Comte’s account of our meeting -and subsequent reconciliation. Both women were unaffectedly delighted -with the story, which, indeed, was told with a wit and spirit quite -beyond my reproduction. As I write these lines I am again impressed -with the wide difference between the awkward country boy who sat -scowling in that pleasant company and the accomplished and finished -gentleman who did so much to entertain it. For I know now that my -assumption of ease and interest could have deceived no one. All of -us, I think, looking back over the mistakes and gaucheries of our -youth must feel our cheeks crimson more than once; certainly mine grow -red when I think upon the sorry figure I made that evening. But when -I started to set this history upon paper I determined not to spare -myself, nor will I. - -“But who could have sent the message?” asked madame when M. le Comte -had finished the story. - -“I cannot even guess,” he answered. - -“How was it delivered to you? How came you to believe it?” - -“I believed it,” he explained, “because it was brought to me by one of -our old servants--Laroche--whom I left in charge of the stables.” - -“Ah, true,” murmured madame. “Laroche disappeared a week ago. I fancied -he had run away to join the Revolutionists.” - -“Perhaps he did,” said her husband quietly. - -Madame looked at him with a start of alarm. - -“The Revolutionists?” she repeated. “It was they who sent the message? -But why? What was their object? Ah, I know,” she added with sudden -conviction. “It was to deprive the Vendéans of your sword, in order -that they might be defeated.” - -M. le Comte smiled as he looked down into her fond, admiring eyes. - -“Ah, my dear,” he said, “my sword is not so powerful as that. The -Vendéans will win their battles just the same without me. I think the -message was merely the bait for a trap----” - -“From which you have escaped!” she cried triumphantly, and clapped her -hands. - -“Yes,” he agreed; but there was still in his face a certain anxiety -which she perceived. - -“What is it, Henri?” she demanded. “You are not now in danger?” - -He threw off his preoccupation with a laugh of genuine amusement. - -“In danger?” he repeated. “No--or at least the only danger to which I -am exposed at this moment, madame, is that of falling in love with you -more violently than ever.” - -“For shame, sir!” she cried, blushing like a girl. “You forget that we -are not alone.” - -“On the contrary,” he retorted, “I think our example a most excellent -one for our young friends yonder;” and he looked across at us with -beaming face, and with a meaning in his eyes which I tried in vain to -fathom. “I hope they will profit by it.” - -“Monsieur! Monsieur!” protested madame, restraining him, yet unable to -preserve a stern countenance. - -“Besides,” he added, laughing more and more, “it delights me to confuse -that pert young lady sitting opposite us yonder--to make her blush, as -she is doing at this moment,--and I swear, so is Tavernay! What a pair -of children! If their parents had only had the good judgment to betroth -them----” - -“Monsieur!” interrupted madame, more sharply. “You will not break your -promise. There was to be no word----” - -“And I will say none; pardon me,” broke in M. le Comte. “The temptation -was very great; and I hate to see a fellow-man barred out from -Paradise;” and he looked at me, still laughing. - -But I bent above my plate, all pleasure in the meal struck from me, for -suddenly I found myself groaning beneath my burden. Barred out from -Paradise--how apt the words were!--and with bars that could never be -removed. Ah, yes, if our parents---- - -“What is it, monsieur?” asked a low voice at my side, and I raised -my eyes to find myself gazing into the depths of those I loved. “You -sighed,” she added, seeing that I did not understand. - -“Did I?” I said, wondering somewhat that she remained so unruffled by -the fire of raillery which had been turned upon her. “One is apt to -sigh when there is something one desires very much and yet may not -possess.” - -“Perhaps I can help you,” she suggested, and I saw again in her -eyes that light which should have set me on my guard. “If it is my -smelling-bottle----” - -“No, thank you,” I answered, with dignity. “I do not need it.” - -“So you refuse to confide in me, even when I offer you my aid?” - -“I fear you cannot aid me, mademoiselle; and if any one in the world -could, it would be you.” - -“I am not fond of riddles, M. de Tavernay; and it seems to me that you -have just propounded one.” - -“I spoke very seriously,” I said, “and as plainly as I could.” - -“Oh, you mean it is my wits which are deficient! I must say, -monsieur----” - -“I meant nothing of the sort,” I protested. “I meant----” - -“No matter,” she broke in. “Nothing is so wearisome as to have to -explain one’s meaning--unless it be to listen to the explanation. I am -sure it argues dulness somewhere.” - -“I am sorry that I bore you,” I retorted, stung to a sort of -desperation. “I had hoped that I might at least continue to furnish you -amusement.” - -“Really,” she cried, casting me a brilliant glance, “not a bad -_riposte_. Come, we are quits, then?” - -“With all my heart,” I agreed; “especially since you have removed your -button.” - -“Well, finish it,” she cried, her eyes dancing. “Finish it.” - -“While I am too gallant to follow your example,” I added, relentlessly. - -“Good!” she applauded. “_Touché!_ I assure you, monsieur, you are not -boring me in the least. All you need is a little practise, a little -more assurance--you hesitate, as all beginners do, to drive the point -home----” - -“I am not bloodthirsty,” I interrupted. “On the contrary, I am of a -disposition the most amiable.” - -“And there is still about you a slight clumsiness,” she went on, not -heeding me, “a lack of style and finish.” - -“Remember, I have never been to Paris,” I reminded her, “nor even to -Orléans.” - -“I shall not remember it long, for there will soon be nothing about you -to suggest it.” - -I bowed my thanks. - -“Especially if I may remain near you,” I said. - -“Oh that--of course!” she agreed. “Well, you have my permission, and -you will find M. le Comte most hospitable; so remain, unless this -mysterious business of yours is imperative.” - -“It is,” I said, my face clouding again. “I must set out at daybreak.” - -“Ungallant man!” she retorted, looking at me with sparkling eyes. “Do -you ask a favor only to refuse it? Do you understand what you are -saying?” - -“Only too well, mademoiselle,” I murmured desolately; “and I would -rather have cut off my right hand than utter those words.” - -“Still the riddle!” she cried, with a gesture of despair. “Really, -monsieur, you weary me. Whatever it is you desire, I advise you to ask -for it. One gets nothing in this world without asking--and if it is -refused, taking it just the same.” - -“But when one may neither ask nor take, mademoiselle?” - -“Oh, then,” she retorted, with a shrug of the shoulders, “one is -certainly in a bad way. One would better stop desiring;” and she turned -her shoulder to me in the most impudent manner possible and gave her -attention to M. le Comte. - -“It is La Vendée which will re-establish monarchy in France,” he was -saying, his face alight. “Those peasants are unconquerable. There are -two hundred thousand of them, peaceful men, tilling the soil, tending -their herds, as they had always done, with no thought of resisting the -Republic until the Republic attempted to take from them their priests -and to draft them forth to fight on the frontiers. Then they rose as -one man, fell upon their oppressors, routed them, cut them to pieces -among the hedges. Now they are back in their homes again to make their -Easter; that over, they will march against Thouars and Saumur.” - -“But, M. le Comte,” I protested, forgetting for a moment my own -troubles in the interest of the narrative, “fighting of that sort can -be successful only near home and in a most favorable country. For a -campaign troops must have organization.” - -“That is true, my friend,” he agreed. “Well, these troops are being -organized. Once the Bocage is free of the Blues, which will be within -the month, our army will be ready to cross the Loire, take Nantes, -advance through Brittany, Normandy, and Maine, where we shall be well -received, and at last march at the head of a united north-west against -Paris itself! I tell you, Tavernay, the Republic is doomed!” - -His eyes were sparkling, his face flushed with excitement. An electric -shock seemed to run around the board, and madame sprang to her feet, -glass in hand. - -“The King!” she cried, and as we rose to drink the toast I had a vision -of a boy of twelve issuing triumphantly from the gate of the Temple to -avenge his murdered father. - -“And may God protect him!” added M. le Comte, as we set our glasses -down. - -There was gloom for a moment in our hearts, and I at least felt the -stark horror of the Revolution as I had never done. I saw more clearly -its blood-guiltiness, its red madness. For in our quiet home at -Beaufort the delirium of Paris had seemed far away, almost of another -age and country. - -We had shuddered at the stories of the September massacres, but only as -one shudders at any tale of horror; even yet we scarcely believed that -the King was really dead. It seemed impossible that such things could -happen. Just as the body pushed beyond a certain limit of pain grows -numb and suffers no more, so the mind after a certain time refuses -to be impressed. It was thus with the reports which came from Paris, -as one followed another, each more terrible than the last. Not even -the actors in that hideous drama comprehended what was passing there; -they were but chips in a maelstrom, hurled hither and thither, utterly -powerless to stay or to direct the flood which hurried them on and -finally sucked them down. - -We of Beaufort were far off the beaten track, and of too little -consequence to cause the tide of revolution to sweep in our direction; -so it had passed us by at such a distance that we had caught only the -faint, confused murmur of it. True, our peasants had for the most part -deserted us; our fields were untilled, our flocks untended. There was -no money in the till and little meat in the larder. But personally we -had experienced no danger, and expected none. We had been content to -sit quietly by while France wrought out her destiny, pitying those less -fortunate than ourselves, and happy in the safety which our obscurity -won for us. - -Now I was suddenly brought face to face with the question, What was -my duty? Was it to stay at home and permit these scoundrels to have -their way unquestioned? Was it not rather to join the army of La Vendée -and add my atom to its strength, to do what in me lay to render that -campaign against the cannibals at Paris not a dream but a reality? For -at last I understood. Those hideous tales were true. The fair land of -France lay at the mercy of the vilest of her people---- - -“Still pondering the riddle?” asked my companion; and I turned to find -her again regarding me with a provoking scrutiny. - -“No, mademoiselle,” I said. “I was thinking that when M. le Comte rides -back to the Bocage I will accompany him.” - -Her eyes flashed a swift approval. - -“That is a man’s place!” she said. “That is where I would be, were I a -man!” - -“You will wish me God-speed, then?” I questioned. - -“Yes--provided, of course,” she added, looking at me searchingly, “that -you are free to go.” - -“Free to go!” I repeated, and my chin fell on my breast. What instinct -was it gave her this power to stab home whenever she chose? - -“Then you are not free to go?” she queried, eyeing me still more -closely. - -“I confess,” I stammered, “that it was not to don a white cockade I -left Beaufort.” - -“But surely any mere personal matter of business may be put aside when -one’s country calls!” - -“Alas!” I murmured, “this is not an affair of that nature.” - -“Well,” she said coolly, “you must of course decide for yourself, -monsieur; more especially since you seem to wish to shroud yourself in -a veil of mystery.” - -“Mademoiselle,” I said desperately, “I should like your advice.” - -“But I understand nothing of the matter.” - -“You shall understand, if you will do me the honor to hear me.” - -“Would not M. le Comte’s advice be of more service?” she asked with a -sudden trepidation which surprised me. - -“No,” I said, decidedly, “not in this instance. I hope you will not -refuse me.” - -She glanced at my anxious face and smiled curiously. - -“Very well,” she assented. “Proceed, then.” - -“O, not here!” I protested, with a glance at the others. “Perhaps after -dinner, mademoiselle, you will walk with me in the garden.” - -“In the garden?” she repeated, in an astonished tone, and looked at me -with lifted brows. - -“I know that it is a great favor I am asking,” I continued hastily. - -“Yes, it is more than that,” she broke in sharply. “It is not -convenable. What strange customs you must have at Beaufort, monsieur! -Are the young ladies there accustomed to grant such requests?” - -“I do not know,” I answered miserably. “I have never before preferred -such a one. I am not familiar with etiquette--with the nice rules of -conduct. If I have done wrong, forgive me.” - -I saw her glance at me quickly from the corner of her eye, and my heart -grew bolder. - -“It is a beautiful garden,” I went on. “I saw it this evening from my -window. There are paths, seats----” - -“I am familiar with the garden, monsieur,” she interposed dryly. - -“And the moon will be full to-night,” I concluded. - -“The more reason I should refuse you,” she retorted. “It will be a -dangerous place. Though I am amply able to take care of myself,” she -added. - -“I do not doubt it, mademoiselle,” I agreed humbly, “especially with -me. That has already been proved, has it not?” - -“Yes,” she said, with a queer little smile; “yes, I think it has.” - -“Believe me, it is not a ruse,” I added earnestly, “even were I capable -of a ruse, which I am not. God knows I should like to walk with you -there, but not to tell you what I shall to-night have to tell you.” - -She looked at me again with a strange mixture of timidity and daring. - -“Very well, M. de Tavernay,” she said at last. “In the garden -then--provided, of course, that madame consents.” - -“Thank you,” I said, my heart warm with gratitude. “Shall I ask her?” - -“No; I will attend to that;” and she smiled a little as she glanced -across the board. “But I know that it is not discreet; I am falling a -victim to my curiosity. You have piqued it most successfully. Although -I can never solve a riddle for myself, I cannot rest until I know the -solution. I hope your riddle will be worth the risk.” - -“It will,” I assured her; and fell silent, nerving myself for the task -which lay before me. - -“But will you hear what this tyrant is saying?” cried madame--“that I -must leave the château to dwell amid the fogs of England----” - -“Or beneath the blue skies of Italy,” said M. le Comte. “Really, -madame, I fear the château is no longer safe for you. The Revolution is -looking this way--and not with friendly eyes.” - -“Does the Revolution, then, make war on women?” - -“Have you forgotten Mlle. de Lamballe?” - -Madame went white at the retort, almost brutal in its brevity. - -“But that was the _canaille_ of Paris,” she protested. “There are no -such monsters here in Poitou.” - -“Ah, my dear,” said her husband, sadly, “I fear there are monsters of -the same sort wherever there are suffering and degraded men and women. -And since it is us they blame for their suffering and degradation, -it is upon us they try to avenge themselves. Besides, since the -Republicans are trying to entrap me, they will doubtless end by coming -here; and not finding me, they may throw you into prison as the surest -way of causing me to suffer.” - -“We have the tower!” cried madame. “We will defend ourselves!” - -“The tower was not built to withstand artillery,” her husband pointed -out; “and even if the Republicans have no cannon they need only camp -about it and bide their time to starve you into surrender, since you -could expect no aid from any quarter.” - -“But to leave the château--to abandon it to pillage--oh, I could never -endure it!” - -“Better that than to lose it and our lives together. Yes, decidedly, -you must set out to-morrow----” - -“To-morrow!” echoed madame, in despairing tones. - -“M. de Tavernay will accompany you as far as Poitiers. At Poitiers, -Mlle. de Chambray----” - -“Charlotte goes with me to Italy, do you not, my dear? It was arranged, -you know, that you should remain with me.” - -“I do not know, madame,” Charlotte stammered, turning very red. “I--I -think perhaps I would better stop at Chambray.” - -For some reason which I could not fathom both monsieur and madame burst -into a peal of laughter, while my companion turned an even deeper -crimson. - -“As you will,” said her hostess when she had taken breath. “I myself -think that you might do worse, happy as I would be to have you with me.” - -“Why cannot you stop at Chambray also, madame?” questioned Charlotte, -her face slowly regaining its normal hue. “At least until you find some -friend also bound for Italy? You will be quite safe at Chambray.” - -M. le Comte nodded. - -“She is right, my dear,” he said. “Accept, and thank her. No one will -look for you there--besides, it is not for you they are searching, but -for me.” - -“And where will you be, monsieur?” - -“I shall be in the Bocage,” he answered simply, “fighting the enemies -of France.” - -Madame bit her lips to restrain their trembling, as she cast upon him a -glance full of love and pride. - -“That is where I would be also,” she said, “if the choice were mine. -Madame de la Rochejaquelein accompanies her husband.” - -“That is true,” he assented, “and she is sometimes frightfully in the -way. If you knew that country, my love, you would see how impossible -it is for women. Besides, I am not Rochejaquelein--I am not a leader, -but a follower. I must go where I am ordered, and at once, without -question. I shall fight better--I shall be worth more--knowing that you -are in safety.” - -“Very well, monsieur,” she said, her eyes shining. “As you will. You -know best.” - -He seized her hand and kissed it. - -“We shall have many happy days together,” he said, “when the fight is -won.” - -And as I looked at them I fancied that happy future already realized. - -“You perceive, M. de Tavernay,” he smiled, catching my eyes, “that -though I have the honor to be this lady’s husband, I have never ceased -to be her lover.” - -“Indeed, that is not wonderful, M. le Comte,” I said, with a glance at -the adoring face beside him. “Anything else is inconceivable.” - -“Thank you, monsieur!” cried madame. “You have the tongue of a -courtier.” - -“I assure you, madame,” I protested, “that came from the heart.” - -She laughed as she rose to her feet, and held out her hand to me with a -quick little pressure of the fingers. - -“Do not be long,” she said. “We women will be lonely.” - -I held back the drapery at the door for her and watched her as she -passed--the beautiful, fair head, set imperiously upon the slender -neck; the little ear, pink-tinted; the rounded, perfect arm---- - -Then another vision passed and eclipsed the first one, though all I -caught of it was a glance from a pair of eyes dancing with mischief. - -“M. de Tavernay,” said my host, coming up behind me and placing his -hand affectionately upon my shoulder, “I confess to you that I do not -wish to sit nodding here over the wine. I had not seen my wife for near -a month, until a few hours ago; after to-morrow it may be that I shall -never see her again. I know you will pardon me when I say that I cannot -bear the thought of spending one moment of this night away from her.” - -“I beg of you to say no more,” I protested. “I too wish to join the -ladies.” - -“I knew it!” he laughed; then his face sobered as he looked at me. -“Come, my friend, I am going to speak to you frankly. It is a wonderful -chance which brought you here to meet Charlotte; I cannot tell you how -wonderful--you will learn for yourself some day. Make the most of it. -She is a woman worth winning--but you have seen that. What perhaps you -have not seen--since there are no eyes so blind as a lover’s--is that -she may be won.” - -I caught a deep breath--a breath as much of agony as of joy. - -“You think so?” I murmured. “You think so?” - -“I am sure of it!” he said, and wrung my hand. “Good luck to you! -Remember,” he added laughing, “a fortress of that sort is never to be -taken by siege--it must be carried by assault!” and he led the way into -the drawing-room. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -I MAKE MY CONFESSION. - - -I LOOKED blindly about the room, with M. le Comte’s words ringing in -my brain, and for a moment I did not see her. Then my eyes found her -where she stood in the embrasure of a window, half concealed by the -draperies. She was gazing out across the garden at the rising moon and -she did not hear my approach until I had come quite near; then she -looked up at me with a glance so soft, so caressing, that my heart -leaped with a sudden suffocating rapture. - -“Oh, it is you,” she said, and passed her hand hastily before her eyes. -“I was not expecting you so soon.” - -“The wine had no attractions for either M. le Comte or myself,” I -answered, a little hoarsely. “I have come to claim your promise.” - -Without replying, she drew aside the curtain and stepped through the -window upon a gravelled walk. I followed her with pulse throbbing -strangely. Madame had consented then--I had scarcely dared hope it. -But the whole adventure had about it something so strange, so unusual, -that I had long since ceased to wonder at it, or to try to understand -it. That madame should consent, almost as if we were betrothed, as if -all this were a family arrangement--and then my heart grew chill at -thought of the task that lay before me. For I knew that this was the -last time that I should ever walk in this garden, or in any garden, -with this sweet woman at my side. - -The yellow moon was just peeping over the tree-tops to the east, and -a soft breeze stirred the leaves upon the branches. Somewhere in the -distance a thrush was calling to its mate. The night seemed made for -love. - -Still without speaking she led the way along the path, past the old -tower, to a seat of marble gleaming white amid a setting of evergreens. - -“Now I am ready to hear you, monsieur,” she said, and sank into one -corner of the seat. - -I took a turn up and down the path to compose myself somewhat, to quiet -the painful throbbing of my heart. How I longed to sit there beside -her--to whisper in her ear, to tell her---- - -“Mademoiselle,” I began finally, pausing before her, “believe me, it is -not an easy task which I have set myself, nor one which I would choose -to face could it be shirked with honor. But since I must face it--since -there is no other way--I shall try to do so with such courage as I -possess.” - -“A most disconcerting preamble,” she commented. “I tremble at what will -follow. If it is so formidable perhaps, after all, you would better -take M. le Comte for your confidant.” - -“M. le Comte has no concern in it.” - -“And I have?” she asked, looking at me quickly with a little shrinking -of alarm. - -“Indirectly--yes.” - -“Oh,” she said with a breath of relief. “Extremely indirectly, I should -say!” - -“Besides,” I added, “I wish you to advise me--and your advice will be -worth much more to me than M. le Comte’s, or any other’s.” - -“Thank you; although that sounds somewhat as if it were a continuation -of the riddle. Pray continue.” - -“It is necessary that I should go back a little,” I explained. “Thirty -years ago my father made a pilgrimage to Mont Saint-Michel to discharge -a vow. As he approached the rock across the sands he was suddenly -conscious that his horse was having difficulty in proceeding. In a -moment more the horse had sunk to his belly and my father perceived -that he had blundered into a quicksand. He flung himself from the -saddle, and abandoning the beast to its fate,--which indeed nothing -could have averted,--endeavored to make his way back to solid ground. -He sank to his ankles, to his knees, to his waist. His struggles to -escape served only to entangle him more deeply, until at last, seeing -them in vain, he set himself to await the end courageously. He glanced -around over the sands to make sure that there was no help in sight, -then he turned his face toward the cross above the rock and commended -his soul to God. - -“But the moment he ceased to struggle he robbed the quicksand of its -violence. He still sank indeed, but so slowly that at the end of an -hour the sand had scarcely reached his breast. He reckoned that it -would be three hours at least before the sand covered nose and mouth, -but he knew that the tide would end it before that. Nevertheless, hope -began to revive a little and again he looked around for aid, but he had -evidently wandered some distance from the road, and the only persons -passing were so far away that they did not perceive him nor hear his -shouts. So again he resigned himself, and the thought even came to him -to renew his struggles in order to bring the end more quickly. But -he decided that this would be cowardly, if not sinful, and so waited -quietly. He was relieved to see that his horse, struggling to the last, -had sunk from sight, so that its sufferings were ended. - -“He closed his eyes and even dozed a little, for he had been exhausted -by his previous efforts, but he was startled wide awake by a voice -shouting. The sand had reached his armpits. His arms, extended in front -of him, were covered. He turned his head with difficulty and saw a man -standing at the edge of the quicksand. He was tearing off his doublet -in desperate haste. - -“‘Do not venture into it!’ my father cried, comprehending his purpose. -‘I am past saving. Do not endanger yourself. Take a message for -me--that is all I ask.’ - -“The other did not answer, but spread out his cloak before him and -advanced across it. He sank somewhat, it is true, but his feet were not -entangled in the sand. At the edge of his cloak he spread his doublet, -stepped upon it and drew his cloak after him. But that moment almost -proved his ruin, for he had sunk nearly to his knees before he got his -cloak spread out again. My father watched him with bated breath as he -freed himself and crept forward to the edge of it. - -“‘Your hand,’ said the stranger; and he stretched out his own. - -“My father disentangled one of his arms and grasped the hand extended -to him. - -“‘Now,’ continued the other rapidly, ‘you must free yourself by one -supreme effort. If we fail the first time it will be useless to try -again. So we must not fail. Are you ready?’ - -“‘Yes,’ said my father, and with a mighty effort heaved himself up out -of the sand. Yet he must have failed, must have sunk deeper than ever, -but for that strong arm which helped him, drawing him up and forward -to the edge of the cloak, which formed for a moment a little isle of -safety. - -“But only for a moment. Already the sand was pouring over its edges and -it was being rapidly engulfed. - -“‘We must get back without it,’ said the unknown. ‘Come.’ - -“Of the desperate struggle which followed my father never told me -much--indeed I doubt if he remembered its details very clearly. They -aided each other, encouraged each other, drew each other forward--each -determined that the other should be saved--and at the end dropped -exhausted, side by side, on the firm sand beyond. - -“My father’s rescuer was a young man of Poitiers--the younger son of a -good family--and his name was Louis Marie de Benseval.” - -I paused. I was indeed somewhat overcome by my own story, and more -especially by the memories which it evoked. As for Mlle. de Chambray, -she sat with her face so in the shadow that I could scarcely discern -her features. She made no comment, only stirred slightly, and I saw her -eyes shining up at me. - -“I fear I have been prolix,” I said. “I have wearied you. I will try to -hasten----” - -“Please do not,” she broke in. “You have not wearied me. I wish to hear -the whole story. But will you not sit down?” and she made a little -inviting gesture. - -“No,” I said, resisting it. “I have not yet come to the difficult part. -If I should sit there beside you I fear that my courage would fail me.” - -“As you will,” she murmured, and leaned still farther into the shadow. - -“The two became fast friends,” I continued. “Indeed, friend is scarcely -the word with which to describe their affection--it is not strong -enough. They were more than friends. Their attachment had a rare, -abiding quality--whether they were apart or together, it was just the -same. They determined to perpetuate it by knitting their two families -into one. They agreed that should one of them have a son and the other -a daughter, these two should be considered betrothed from the cradle. -And it would seem that Nature, Providence, God, approved of this -design, for it so fell out. - -“When I was ten years old my father was seized with a fever from which -it was soon evident he could not recover. M. de Benseval hastened -to him, bringing with him his daughter, a child of eight. We were -betrothed beside my father’s bed. It was agreed that on the day that -I was twenty-one I should set out from Beaufort to claim my bride. My -father died blessing us, and very happy.” - -Again I paused, for my voice was no longer wholly steady. Nor did I -relish the story I had yet to tell. But I nerved myself to do it. - -“After that I lived with my mother upon our estate at Beaufort--a small -estate, but one which under my father’s management had sufficed for our -support. At first everything went well; but a woman, however capable, -is not a man, and my mother was more engrossed in her son than in her -fields. So our fortunes dwindled from year to year, and the Revolution, -which robbed us of our peasants, struck them the final blow. We were -at the end of our resources, and a month ago my mother wrote to M. de -Benseval, at Poitiers, stating our circumstances frankly and releasing -him from his engagement. In reply came a terse note saying that his -engagement was with the dead, not with the living, and so was doubly -sacred; that on the day that I was twenty-one he would expect me to set -out for Poitiers, where his daughter would be awaiting me.” - -“And then?” asked my companion in a voice which seemed a little -tremulous. - -“Well, mademoiselle, yesterday I was twenty-one.” - -“And you set out as M. de Benseval commanded?” - -“Yes, at daybreak.” - -“Joyfully, no doubt?” - -“Yes, joyfully--why attempt to conceal it? I told myself that I was -going to execute my father’s last command, that he was looking down -upon me with approving eyes. So I was very happy.” - -“You have forgotten another reason for that happiness, have you not, -monsieur?” - -“Another reason?” - -“You have said nothing of the lady.” - -“Really, mademoiselle,” I said in some confusion, “I fear I scarcely -thought of her. I was only a boy. I had never been out into the world. -All women were the same to me.” - -“You mean they are no longer so?” she asked, and again I saw her eyes -gleaming up at me from the shadow. - -“So little so, mademoiselle,” I answered hoarsely, “that I am longing -to throw myself into the war in La Vendée in the hope that a kindly -bullet will deliver me from the fate prepared for me. Death, it seems -to me, is preferable to that a thousand times.” - -“Come, monsieur,” she protested lightly, “you exaggerate. Indeed, I -can assure you that a month from now you will again find life very -tolerable.” - -“Why a month from now?” - -“Because in that time you will be married, you will have become -accustomed to your wife, your heart will have opened to her, and you -will have forgotten the mood of this evening--or if you recall it, it -will be with a smile of amusement, as at a boyish folly.” - -“You may think so perhaps,” I said, bitter that I should be so -misunderstood. - -“You ask for my advice,” she retorted, “and yet you grow angry when I -give it. Shall I not say what I believe?” - -“Pardon me,” I begged, “but you do not yet understand. I have told you -that I have passed my whole life with my mother--for me she was the -only woman in the world.” - -“And now?” she asked. I could have sworn that she was luring me on but -for the gross absurdity of such a thought. - -“Now there is still only one woman, mademoiselle, but it is not the -same one,” I answered simply. - -To this for a moment she found no reply, but sat gazing out at the -river with pensive eyes. The moon had risen above the tree-tops, -seeking her; and finding her at last, caressed and threw a halo round -her. I turned a little giddy at her pure, transcendent beauty, and my -heart hungered for her. - -At last she roused herself. - -“Well, monsieur,” she said, “now that perhaps I understand a little -better, do you still desire my advice?” - -“Yes, mademoiselle; more than I can say.” - -“Not, I hope, as to whether you should prove false to this betrothal?” - -“Oh, no!--there can be no question of that. That is a matter which -concerns not my honor alone, but that of my father also.” - -“Yes,” she assented; “M. de Benseval was right--the engagement is with -the dead, and so is doubly sacred. So far we are agreed. What is it, -then, that you propose?” - -“I propose to turn aside from my journey to Poitiers, and follow M. le -Comte back to the Bocage. Can I do this with honor, mademoiselle?” - -“What will you do in the Bocage?” - -“I will seek death,” I answered; and I know that I spoke sincerely. -“And it may be that my death will be of some service to France.” - -She sat a moment looking up at me, a strange light in her eyes. - -“I do not like to advise,” she began at last, and I fancied that her -lips were trembling. “It is so serious a matter.” - -“I beg you to,” I urged. “It is the greatest favor you can do me.” - -“A man is the best judge of his own duty.” - -“He should be,” I admitted; “but in this case I fear that I cannot see -clearly.” - -“But neither may I,” she objected. - -“Ah, I am sure you will; in fact, mademoiselle, I suspect that you see -so clearly that you fear to wound me. But to refuse to help me would be -to wound me far more deeply.” - -“Well, then,” she said, a little hoarsely, “since you will have it so, -I must tell you that to my mind your betrothed has the first claim -upon you. Not until you have fulfilled your engagement with her,--the -engagement for which your father has your word,--is your life your own -to cherish or throw away; not even then, for surely she will have some -claim upon it.” - -“Not so great a claim as my country,” I protested. - -“Perhaps not,” she assented; “but at present her claim is greater than -your country’s. To desert her would be to dishonor her; a betrothal is -a sacred thing, almost as sacred as marriage itself. To break it, to -cast it aside, to disregard it even for a time, would be cowardly and -ignoble. You must go on to Poitiers. That way lies the path of honor.” - -She spoke with a simple, fearless, deep sincerity which moved me -strangely. Ah, here was a woman! Here was a woman! - -“You are right, mademoiselle,” I said, and bent and kissed her hand. “A -thousand times right. I thank you.” - -Then with such agony at my heart that I knew not whither I went, I -turned and left her. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -EVE IN THE GARDEN. - - -BUT that clear voice recalled me ere I had taken a dozen steps. - -“What is it? Whither do you go?” she asked. “Not forward to Poitiers at -this hour!” - -“Oh, no!” I answered. “I was merely going to--to think--to fight it -out. But I was rude. Pardon me. I--I did not realize what I was doing.” - -“You are pardoned,” she said; and her voice was siren-sweet. “Perhaps I -can help you to fight it out, my friend--at least I should like to help -you. Besides I have not yet done talking to you. I have some further -advice at your disposal, if you care for it.” - -“I _do_ care for it,” I said; and turned instantly back to her. “You -are very kind.” - -“I wish to be kind,” she murmured; and looked up at me with a smile -that set my head to whirling. “But before I proceed,” she added, “you -must sit here beside me. I can’t talk to you when you are prowling up -and down like that. I feel as though I were _tête-à-tête_ with a wild -animal, and it disconcerts me.” - -She patted the seat with an inviting hand, and smiled again that -alluring smile. I sat down obediently and looked at her, noting how the -moonlight touched her hair with silver and gave a strange glory to her -face. - -“Since you are betrothed to another, M. de Tavernay,” she began, -turning in the seat so that she faced me, “doubly betrothed, with a tie -there is no breaking, and since I have satisfied myself that you are a -man of honor, I feel that I can be quite frank with you--almost as I -should be with my own brother, did I have one. What is it?” she asked, -noticing the cloud which swept across my countenance. - -“Nothing, nothing,” I hastened to say. “Only there was a sting in the -words, as well as kindness.” - -“A sting?” she repeated. “I fear you are very thin-skinned, M. de -Tavernay.” - -“Perhaps I am,” I admitted humbly. “I shall try to remedy the fault.” - -“Do,” she urged. “But I was about to say that you have not yet wholly -explained yourself.” - -“I think I have told the whole story,” I said, casting my mind back -over its details. “I can think of nothing that I have omitted.” - -She sat for a moment looking at me, her lips parted, the color coming -and going in her cheeks. - -“You said some time ago,” she went on at last, “that I was concerned -with this story--that it was for that reason you desired my advice.” - -“Yes, that is true, mademoiselle.” - -“Well, you have not yet explained to me what you meant by that, my -friend.” - -A sudden trembling seized me as I met her eyes. - -“I thought you knew,” I began hoarsely. “I thought you guessed.” - -“I am not good at guessing,” she said, looking up at me, her eyes -radiant, her hands against her heart. - -“I meant,” I stammered, “I meant----” - -But my lips refused to form the words; my heart turned faint---- - -“Oh,” she said, in a low voice. “I understand;” and she played for a -moment with the rose at her bosom. “You mean, then, that it is I who -have wrought this change in you?” - -“Yes,” I assented; and caught my breath to choke back the sob which -rose in my throat. - -She looked at me with a little frown, which changed in an instant to an -arch smile. - -“Come,” she said, “confess that you are easily impressed, and that you -will forget as easily.” - -“I shall never forget!” - -“Remember the proverb--‘That which flames at a touch dies at a breath.’” - -“I care nothing for proverbs. I know my own heart.” - -“But consider, my friend;” and she leaned forward in her earnestness -until she almost touched me, until the sweet glow of her body -penetrated to me. “You have known me only a few hours. I am the first -woman you have met on riding forth into the world. You mistake a goose -for a swan. I assure you that there are many women beside whom you -would not give me a second glance. Indeed, it is very possible that -your betrothed may be one of them. So you will soon recover from this -madness; in a day or two it will have quite passed away. The path of -honor leads you to Poitiers and there you will find happiness as well. -In time you will come to wonder at this night’s emotion, and to laugh -at it. You will look back and you will say to yourself, ‘What a fool I -was!’” - -“It is true,” I said slowly, “that I may be a fool in desiring what -I can never hope to possess; but at least, mademoiselle, do me the -justice to believe that I shall never cease to desire it. I do not know -how to tell you, for I have no skill in the phrases of love. I only -know that you have touched in me a chord which will never cease to beat -until the heart itself is still. It is not your beauty, though you are -very beautiful; it is not the tone of your voice, though that is very -sweet; it is not your smile, though that drives me to madness. It is -something beyond and behind all that; it is something which for want of -a better name I call your soul--that which looks out of your eyes so -clear and pure that I tremble before it, knowing my own unworthiness. -It is your soul that I love, mademoiselle, and no lapse of time, no -chance of fortune--nothing in earth or heaven--can alter that love one -atom.” - -I have heard that love gives eyes to the blind, ears to the deaf, a -tongue to the dumb. I know that at that moment, as my heart burned -within me and the words rushed unbidden to my lips, the world appeared -a small and trivial thing, with nothing worthy in it save me and this -woman and the love I had for her. I have no words to describe the -emotion which shook me, the passion which flowed in my veins and took -possession of my being. It was as if a sudden miracle had been wrought -in me, a sublimation of everything unworthy; it was as though I had -climbed a mountain peak and come out under the clear stars, in the -thin pure air, with nothing between myself and God. I have never again -reached a height quite so sublime, or experienced a bliss quite so -poignant. - -I was too blinded for the moment by my own emotion to see my companion -clearly; only her starry eyes I saw, and her parted lips, and her -clasped hands. Then she drew away from me and seemed to shake herself -as though awaking from a dream; and a cold breath blew upon me, and I, -too, awoke. The spell was broken, the vision ended, the glorious moment -gone. - -“Indeed,” she said, her voice not wholly steady, but her eyes instinct -with mischief, “it seems to me that you are fairly eloquent, M. de -Tavernay, despite your lack of practise. I tremble to think what you -will be in a year’s time.” - -“I shall be just what I am now,” I said doggedly, wounded at her tone. -“You have sounded the height and depth of my eloquence.” - -“And am I to believe all this?” - -“If you do not, mademoiselle, it is not because it is not true.” - -“But your betrothed,” she persisted, “has she no attractions?” - -“I have not seen her since she was a child of eight,” I answered -coldly. “I remember only that she had white hair and a red nose.” - -She burst into a peal of laughter which shook her from head to foot, -and which I thought exceedingly ill-timed. - -“Many children have,” she said, when she could speak articulately. “I -should not allow such little things as those to prejudice me against -her. No doubt her hair is darker now, and that redness of the nose -may have been only temporary. Perhaps her memory of you is no more -complimentary.” - -“That is very likely,” I admitted. - -“Think, then,” she cried, “how agreeably she will be surprised when she -sees you! Unless indeed she has already lost her heart to some handsome -fellow of Poitiers.” - -“I trust not,” I said. “I trust not.” - -“And why?” she queried sharply. - -“I would not wish her to be unhappy also.” - -She sat a moment silent at that. - -“You mean that even if she has,” she asked at last, “you will hold her -to the betrothal?” - -“Oh, no!” I answered, instantly; “she would be free--that is, if she -chose to be free.” - -“If she chose to be?” - -“Her father would hold her to her oath,” said I. - -“And you believe he would have a right to do that?” she demanded, -wheeling upon me fiercely. “You believe that he would have a right to -compel her obedience, to force her into this marriage, to make her -miserable?” - -“Yes,” I answered, after a moment’s thought, “I am sure he would. The -law is very clear.” - -“Oh, the law!” she cried, impatiently. “I was not thinking of the -law--I care nothing for the law--a poor, stumbling device of stupid -men, whose meaning even they do not understand! Would he have the -_right_?” - -“Yes,” I repeated, “I believe he would. He had passed his word.” - -“And his word is of more importance than his daughter’s happiness?” she -demanded, her eyes blazing. - -“Undoubtedly,” I answered, feeling myself on firm ground at last. “His -honor is of more importance to him than anything else on earth.” - -“Honor!” she echoed, contemptuously. “An empty word men frighten women -with!” - -“No!” I cried. “A rock to cling to in time of storm, even as I am -clinging to it now.” - -She sat for a moment looking at me darkly. - -“You men are all alike,” she said at last. “Lords of creation, before -whom we women must bow in all humility.” - -“Even as you are doing at this moment,” I retorted. - -She laughed at that, and the cloud vanished from her face. - -“Thank you,” she said. “After all, I was tilting at windmills. There -is small danger that your betrothed has given her heart into another’s -keeping. More probably she is guarding it sacredly for you. A girl -has not a man’s opportunities for falling in love--nor a man’s -temptations. Besides--oh, I can be frank with you, for I feel almost -like your sister!--permit me to tell you, monsieur, that I think you a -very handsome fellow, quite capable of consoling her for the loss of -any girlish flame!” - -I did not like the words, nor the tone in which they were uttered. They -lacked that sympathy, that consideration, which I felt I had the right -to expect from her. Perhaps, too, my vanity was wounded by my very -evident failure to touch her heart. - -“You are not treating me fairly, mademoiselle,” I said, “nor kindly.” - -“You will pardon me,” she retorted, her face fairly beaming, “if I fail -to see the situation in such tragic light as you. It has for me an -element of humor.” - -“It is fortunate that I at least continue to amuse you,” I said grimly. - -“Yes; there are not many people who amuse me. Besides, I am quite -certain that a year hence, when you look back at this night, you also -will be amused. I am flattered by your passion, since it proves that -under certain favorable circumstances I am not devoid of attraction. -But I should be extremely foolish to take it seriously--more especially -since you are already betrothed.” - -“You are right,” I assented bitterly. “I am a coward to try to entangle -you.” - -“Oh, you will not entangle me,” she answered easily. “I shall take -good care to keep a tight grip on my heart. But all that does not -prevent me liking you immensely, M. de Tavernay. I have often wished,” -she went on, gazing at me from under half-closed lashes in a most -provoking fashion, “that it were possible for me to have as a friend a -man in whom I could wholly trust--a man young enough to understand the -illusions of youth--young enough not to adopt toward me that paternal -attitude which I detest--one whose kindness and sympathy I could -always count upon and in whom I could confide. But I told myself that -such a wish could never be fulfilled; that such friendships were too -dangerous, that such a man did not exist. And yet, behold, here I have -found him and he is bound in such a manner that there is no danger for -either of us.” - -“I would not be too sure of that, mademoiselle,” I interrupted. “The -bonds have not yet been forged which could not somehow be broken.” - -“But bonds of honor!” she protested. “It is your word!” - -“Yes, even those! There is a limit to endurance;” and I gripped my -hands together to keep them away from her. - -“Well, that limit shall not be passed, M. de Tavernay,” she assured me, -her lips breaking into a smile, and, quite regardless of her danger, -she leaned nearer to me. “Besides I have a deep confidence in you. The -sentiments you have to-night expressed completely reassure me--I see -now how foolish I was to think there could be any risk in coming here -with you.” - -It was a two-edged compliment and I did not relish it, but she was -gazing up at me with eyes so guileless and trusting that I choked back -the words which rose in my throat. Perhaps, had I been older and more -experienced with women, I might have seen the flicker of mischief which -I suspect dwelt in their depths. Guilelessness is a favorite snare of -Circe’s. - -“Let me whisper you a secret,” she added, leaning toward me, a little -quirk at the corner of her lips, “your betrothed is a charming girl!” - -“Oh, you know her!” I said, and stared at her gloomily, for she seemed -to delight in torturing me. - -“No--I have never met her--have never even seen her,” and she laughed -to herself as she uttered the words; “but I have heard her spoken of. -With her, you will soon forget this poor Charlotte de Chambray--you -will fall in love with her even more desperately than you have with me, -and she will make you happy.” - -“And will you regret that, mademoiselle?” I asked, realizing the folly -of the question, but unable to suppress it. - -“Not in the least!” she retorted, and burst into a peal of laughter at -sight of my crestfallen countenance--though it seemed to me that her -face showed traces of crimson, too. - -But there is, as I had said, a limit to endurance. Her mockery raised -in me suddenly a fierce madness--a carelessness of what might follow. -I groped for her blindly, my arms were about her, crushing her to me -with a sort of savage fury. The mockery was gone from her eyes now; -she tried to beat me off, then, with a little sob, hid her face upon -my shoulder. But pity was not in me, only a fierce exulting, and I -raised her face, I lifted her lips to mine and kissed them desperately, -passionately, again and again. - -Then I released her and stood erect, my blood on fire, a great joy at -my heart. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -I DARE AND AM FORGIVEN. - - -FOR a moment she did not stir, only sat there crushed and dazed, -staring straight before her, as though not understanding what had -happened. And looking down at her my mood of exultation in my triumph -changed suddenly to one of pity for her weakness. I had felt precisely -the same emotion many times before, when, having brought down a bird or -a rabbit by some daring or difficult shot, I came to the spot where my -victim lay bleeding its life out. Pity for my victim always outweighed -the satisfaction which the successful shot had given me, and I would -tramp sadly home, resolved to hunt no more. - -So, gazing down at that bowed head, I felt pity for her rise warm -within my heart. She was right. Men were brutes--crushing women by -their strength, pulling them down, taking their will of them, then -faring gaily on without a thought for the shame and suffering they left -behind. So it had always been. - -At last she looked up at me, and her eyes were very cold. - -“Was that the act of a gentleman?” she asked. - -“It was not,” I said, and at my tone I saw her start and look up at me -more keenly. No doubt she had expected to hear in my voice a note of -triumph. - -“You are ready, then, to apologize?” she continued, after a moment. - -“I sincerely beg your pardon, mademoiselle.” - -“You see I was wrong to trust you--to come here into the garden with -you. But I thought you a man of honor!” - -“I thought myself so,” I said. - -“And your excuse?” - -“I was tempted and I fell.” - -“That has been man’s retort since the days of Adam!” she said with -scorn. “A retort which I consider ungenerous and ungentlemanly.” - -“Well, it has not been without some justification,” I said, my -spirits rising, as I saw that here, at least, was a victim capable of -self-defense. “But I apologize.” - -“You promise that the act shall never be repeated?” she asked with -great severity. - -“I promise that freely.” - -“But will you keep the promise? You see I have a reason to distrust -you, M. de Tavernay.” - -“Yes, I will keep it,” I said. “I have the memory of this night to -live on;” and my heart warmed at the thought. “Always I shall have the -memory of this night to live on!” - -She flushed slightly and her eyes softened and wavered, but only for an -instant. - -“And what of your loyalty to your betrothed?” she queried with biting -irony. - -But even that failed to wound me, to pierce the garment of joy in -which I was once again enveloped. - -“It shall never again be broken,” I said. “But nothing she can do will -change the past.” - -“You mean you would not have it changed?” - -“No!” I cried. “No! It is the dearest thing I have. I am proud of it! I -glory in it! I shall keep it always warm against my heart.” - -“Do you know, I suspect you are something of a poet, M. de Tavernay?” -she said, after a moment’s inspection of my face from under half-closed -lids. - -“Oh, no!” I protested. “It is love makes me appear so.” - -Again she contemplated me for a moment, a puzzling smile playing about -her lips. - -“Come, monsieur,” she said suddenly, “I am going to be generous. Sit -down again. You see, I have faith in you. Besides, I wish to keep my -friend, if I can. After all, perhaps you _may_ care for me--although, I -repeat, it is only for the moment.” - -“You do not really think so,” I interrupted; “but let it pass.” - -“Besides, you are very young.” - -“Not so young as you, mademoiselle.” - -“Oh, I am immensely older. I am an elder sister who must take you in -hand and form you.” - -“Oh, everybody wishes to form me,” I cried, impatiently. “I have no -desire to be formed--I will form myself.” - -“Who wished to form you?” she demanded quickly with a peremptoriness -that astonished me. - -“Why, old Dubosq,” I answered. “The fellow who halted me just out of -Tours.” - -She breathed a sigh of relief which astonished me even more than had -her question. - -“He was a man, that fellow,” I added. “I should like to meet him -again--a dashing rascal.” - -“Of course--he flattered you,” she said, looking at me coolly. “I know -what he said to you as well as though I had heard him say it.” - -“What did he say?” - -“He said, ‘All you need, my friend, is a little more polish, and you -will be a perfect devil with the ladies.’” - -I stared at her, my mouth open, for she had caught Dubosq’s intonation -to a shade. - -“And then he leered,” she added, “and twisted his mustaches. But the -most disgusting thing is that you believed him, and you smirked and -would have twisted your mustaches too, but that you are too young to -have any. Oh, men are all alike--foul, despicable creatures! And then -you come here, riding very erect, those words repeating themselves over -and over in your bosom--and you pretend----” She broke off suddenly, -and turned upon me furiously. “Are you in the habit of attacking young -women in that fashion?” she demanded. - -“No, mademoiselle,” I stammered, shrinking from this terrific assault -which touched every joint in my armor. “I have never before kissed a -young woman.” - -She looked at me again, caught her breath, her hand against her heart; -and then she blushed and smiled and her eyes grew very tender. By some -miracle I had found the answer that turned away wrath. - -“There, M. de Tavernay,” she said, holding out her hand impulsively, -“I forgive you from my heart. We shall be friends. And forget that -nonsense I was talking.” - -I bent and kissed the fingers, so warm, so soft, so fragrant. - -“If I might have a pledge of it,” I said, with sudden boldness. “That -flower at your breast----” - -“Nonsense!” she cried. “You need no pledge of it. And now,” she added, -“I must be going in. Madame will be terribly scandalized.” - -“Oh, do not go,” I protested, and retained her hand in mine. “Think--we -may never again be alone together--certainly never like this, in an -enchanted garden, with the moon looking down upon us, full of counsel -and encouragement.” - -“The moon has never been noted for the wisdom of its counsel,” she -retorted; “and as for encouragement, you certainly need none.” - -“But give me a little longer,” I pleaded, trembling at the thought of -parting from her. “Sit here beside me and let me look at you. Ah, I -already know every feature, every curl of the hair. It is not at that I -wish to look, but at the soul in your eyes. I know you do not love me, -and yet it seems to me that your soul and mine were destined for each -other. I cannot really believe that we are to be kept apart. I hear -within myself a voice which says that there can be no happiness for me -apart from you. I ask for nothing more than to sit on here forever with -you beside me, your hand in mine.” - -She leaned away from me into the corner of the seat, and I fancied she -shivered slightly. - -“You are cold,” I said remorsefully. “I have been thoughtless. The air -is chilly and a mist is rising from the river. May I get my cloak for -you?” - -“No, M. de Tavernay,” she answered, rising to her feet somewhat -unsteadily. “I must really leave you. Remember, we are to start for -Poitiers in the morning, and I have many things to do.” - -It would have been selfish to protest, heartless to expose her longer -to the dampness of the night. - -“At least,” I said, “I shall ride by the window of the coach to-morrow, -where I can still see you.” - -“Yes,” she laughed, “and I think I can promise that madame will even -permit you to speak to me, if you are very good. Come.” - -I walked beside her along the gravelled path, drinking in her beauty, -exulting in my passion, pressing to my heart the cross which tore me. -Past the tower we went, past the hedge which framed the garden. I -paused for a last look back at it--ah, I had spent a happy hour there! - -“There will never be another night like this!” I said. “Never, never -can there be another night like this!” - -“Dear garden!” my companion murmured, and threw a kiss to it. - -“Then you will remember it, too?” I asked, scarce breathing. - -“Oh, yes,” she answered, very softly. “It is the place where I have -gained a--friend!” - -It was not the word I had hoped for, but the most, no doubt, I could -expect. I went on beside her, my head bowed. A friend! A friend! Ah, it -was something more than that my heart desired. - -At last we came to the broad flight of steps which led upward to the -terrace. - -“I must leave you here, monsieur,” she said, and mounted a step or two, -then turned and looked down at me with eyes that glowed and glowed with -a strange inward light. - -A mad impulse seized me to fling honor to the winds, to throw myself -upon my knees, to implore her to flee with me somewhere--anywhere--to a -wilderness, a desert island, where there would be only we and our love. - -Perhaps she guessed my thought, for she smiled tremulously and held out -her hand to me very tenderly. - -“Take courage, my friend,” she said. “There is a voice speaking to -me also. It tells me that fate will not be so cruel as you think; it -promises that your future shall, after all, be happy.” - -I bent and kissed her hand with lips that trembled so I could scarce -control them. For an instant she laid her other hand lightly upon my -head, as though in benediction, then turned and went on up the steps. -But at the top she paused, looked down at me, leaned toward me. - -“My love! My love!” I murmured, a mist before my eyes. - -She gazed down at me a moment longer--into my eyes, into my soul. Then, -with a sudden movement, she took the rose from her bosom, kissed it and -flung it down to me with a gesture divine, adorable. When I raised my -head from the flower she was gone. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -A SERPENT IN THE GARDEN. - - -THE thought of entering the house revolted me. I needed the high -heavens to give room for my happiness, the moon and the stars for -confidants, the breeze of the night to cool the fever in my veins. To -enter the house would be to break the spell, to bring me back again to -that earth which my feet seemed scarcely to touch. So I retraced my -steps to the white seat at the end of the garden, sat down where she -had sat, and abandoned myself to a delicious reverie. I put all thought -of the morrow from me--of the morrow when we must separate; all thought -of that gray future which would never be brightened by sight of her, by -the light of her eyes and the smile of her lips--all this I put away. - -I had only to close my eyes to bring her again to my side. What a -miracle she was--what a wonder of God’s handiwork! The clear and -delicate skin, the hair with its glint of gold, the eyes with their -arched brows and upturned lashes, the lips trembling with sympathy -or curving with scorn, the oval chin showing just a suspicion of a -dimple, the rounded figure promising I know not what allurements -and perfections--all these I contemplated one by one, and seemed to -catch again that exquisite _odeur de femme_ which had ravished and -intoxicated me as I held her in my arms. - -And behind and above all this, the soul--a woman’s soul in its delicacy -and sweetness, yet with a certain manliness about it, too, in its high -ideals, its conception of honor and duty, its courage and devotion, -its reverence for the pledged word--something of the oak as well as -of the ivy, almost as if she had been raised among men rather than -among women, and had come to look at the world somewhat with a man’s -eye. Yes, and there was something manlike, too, in her independence, -her impatience of convention, her self-reliance. Not that all this -destroyed or even clouded the woman in her--that quality of siren and -coquette which is in every woman’s blood. Rather it enhanced it, gave -it a sauce and piquancy not to be withstood. - -For a moment she had been mine--I had dared and been forgiven. She had -been kind to me; she had been moved by my love; she had thrown me a -flower at parting. And at thought of it, I took it from my bosom and -pressed it to my lips. I inhaled its fragrance, which somehow seemed a -part of her; I contemplated its beauty, in which I saw hers reflected. -She had been kind to me. I even dared to think she had been kinder yet, -did fate permit, and the thought gave me a throbbing joy--a selfish -joy, I told myself, since I had no right to make her suffer, too. - -Yet human nature is but an imperfect thing, and love is selfish in -its unselfishness. In my heart of hearts I was glad--glad that she -would remember me, that she would think tenderly of our evening in -the garden, and of my kisses on her lips. The memory thrilled through -me. I thanked God that I had been brave enough to snatch that moment’s -joy, that there was that between us! That there would always be; no -stretch of time nor stress of circumstance could alter it--it was woven -indelibly into the texture of our lives. Whenever she thought of me, -whenever she visited this garden, yea, whenever any other dared speak -to her of love, she must recall that moment when I had held her close -against my heart and raised her lips to mine! - -And I--could I kiss another woman? - -I sat erect with a quick intaking of the breath, for I saw in my path a -new pitfall, and one of my own digging. - -Must I confess to my betrothed that my heart was in another’s keeping, -or did honor bid me to keep silent, to simulate affection, to lead her -to the altar in the belief that it was she I loved? Oh, I should not -shrink from confession; and she had the right to know--yet--yet would I -not confess in the hope that she would set me free? - -But if she should feel as I did about this marriage, that honor -demanded its consummation, that duty compelled her to sacrifice -herself, whatever my offenses, would not such confession merely -embitter her cup to no purpose? Yet even if I did not confess, would I -be strong enough, self-controlled enough to cheat her woman’s eyes? - -Here was a question not easily answered; a dilemma the most awkward; a -problem which I felt I could not solve alone. I could only hope that -during our ride next day to Poitiers I might have opportunity to lay it -before Mlle. de Chambray. She, I felt sure, would with her clear vision -see instantly where my duty lay. - -So I put the problem from me and lay back in the seat and closed my -eyes and lived over again, minute by minute, that brief, delicious -evening. I recalled every look, every word, every gesture from the -instant I had first perceived her on the threshold of the drawing-room -until that other instant when at parting she had tossed the flower down -to me. I held it to my lips and murmured low to it the words I had not -dared to utter in her hearing. - -Ah, _mesdames et messieurs_, you smile, perhaps, and shrug your -shoulders! But in your own lives has there not been some such moment? -At least I trust so! Recall it!--and remember that I was young and -ardent; remember that love had come to me not timidly by slow steps, -but with one glorious burst of happiness, flinging wide the gates of -my heart at a single touch, as, to my mind, love always should. But if -you have had no such moment, if you have stopped your ears and hurried -on when love called you to tarry--if life is for you so poor, and gray, -and savorless--then, I pray you, put this tale aside, for of that which -follows you will understand not a word. Nor indeed would I care to tell -it to such an audience. - -How long I sat there, wrapped in this garment of purest joy, I know -not--an hour perhaps, or even two. I was aroused by the rattle of oar -in rowlock coming from the river at my feet. I glanced out absently -across the water just as a boat shot from the shadow of the farther -shore, crossed the strip of moonlight in mid-stream, and disappeared -again into the shadow cast by the trees which edged the garden. - -I saw it clearly but an instant; yet that instant had sufficed to wake -me from my abstraction, for it showed me that the boat was weighted -deep in the water with a crowd of men who wore about their necks the -tri-colored scarf of the Republic. - -As I stared down at the river, trying to comprehend the meaning of this -vision, a second boat similarly loaded followed the first. - -I sat intent, listening to the rattle of the oars. Then I heard the -boats grate upon the gravel of the bank and the sound of men leaving -them, talking together in voices so subdued that only a faint murmur -reached me. - -What could it mean? What was the object of this midnight expedition? - -Then my heart stood still. The soldiers had entered the garden and were -advancing cautiously in the shadow of the hedge. The grass muffled -their footsteps, but now and then gun clanked against bayonet, or -scabbard against boot. I sat where I was, quite secure in my clump of -evergreens, straining my ears, my eyes, trying to understand. I could -just discern the squad as it approached, halted, moved on again; and -each time it left behind it a dim figure, stationary in the shadow. As -I stared, the leader came suddenly into a patch of moonlight. His face -was turned toward the château, and instantly I recognized the rough -countenance, the fierce mustachios of Dubosq. - -In a flash I understood. They were after M. le Comte. They were posting -sentries about the house. Dubosq was making sure that this time his -quarry would not break through the trap. - -I started to my feet, then instantly sank back again, for the squad -was almost upon me. I must get to the house; I must warn M. le Comte; -yet to attempt it at this moment was to invite disaster, not only for -myself, but for him. I must wait; I must watch my chance; I must get -to the house unseen. Dubosq must not suspect our knowledge of his -movements. I could picture the fierce joy which filled him at the -thought that his hour of vengeance was at hand. - -Still the squad came forward. At last it halted so close behind me that -I might almost have stretched out my hand and touched the nearest man. -I crouched low in the seat and sat with bated breath. - -“You understand,” Dubosq’s voice said, “you are to remain here until -you hear the cry of an owl thrice repeated. You will then advance -toward the château as quietly as possible and keeping in touch with the -other sentries. If any man attempts to leave the house or to enter it, -and refuses to halt at your challenge, do not hesitate, but shoot him -instantly.” - -“And the women?” - -“The women are not to be harmed--that is imperative. They must not -escape, but the man who injures them shall answer for it.” - -“They are aristocrats, like the others,” growled the sentry. - -“That is true,” agreed Dubosq; “but Citizen Goujon hopes to convert -them.” - -“Pah!” said the fellow contemptuously. “Has one of them ever been -converted? Answer me that, citizen!” - -“Come,” said Dubosq, sharply, “I have given you the orders. See that -you obey them. Forward!” - -The squad moved on past me toward the château, and I cautiously raised -my head above the back of the seat and peered around. The sentry had -been posted so close to me that I could hear him still growling to -himself. - -“A Septembrist!” I told myself. “A monster! An assassin!” - -But as I looked at him I could scarcely believe that this was the -bloodthirsty ruffian whose voice I had listened to. He stood leaning -on his musket, staring toward the château, and a beam of light falling -full upon his face revealed a mere youth, with features finely -chiselled and the dreamy eyes of a poet. His hair clustered about -his face in little curls, his lips were curved and sensitive as any -woman’s. I stared at him amazed; then suddenly I understood. This -was one of those who fought for an ideal, who fancied that the era of -universal brotherhood was at hand, and that the Revolution was to make -it possible--one to whom “Liberty, equality, fraternity” was not a mere -phrase, but a vision to be realized. I had heard of such, but never -until that moment had I believed in their existence. Could it be that -after all the Revolution had in it a germ of good, a possibility of -light? - -I shook the thought away--it was absurd to suppose that good could -spring from murder and outrage, that light could come from a darkness -so revolting. This was not a moment for theories, but for deeds. I -must go; I must make a dash for it. I should fall, of course. He could -scarcely miss me in that clear light. But the shot would alarm the -house, would give its occupants at least a moment to prepare for their -defense. That, at any rate, I could accomplish. - -I gathered myself for the spring. Just ahead of me lay a strip of -moonlit lawn--it was there that the peril lay--it was there he would -bring me down. And the shot would precipitate the attack. - -I paused. If there was no alarm at least twenty minutes would be -required to post the sentries and to make sure there was no break in -the chain. Perhaps there was another and a better way. Perhaps I could -leap upon the sentry and bear him down before he could give the alarm. - -I raised my head cautiously and looked at him again, measuring the -distance. He was humming the “Marseillaise,” his thoughts evidently -far away, for his eyes were lifted and he was staring absently up at -the clear heavens. Had I a dagger I could have struck him down. But I -had no weapon; and even had there been a dagger in my hand I doubt if -I could have nerved my arm to the blow, so pure, so youthful did he -appear at that moment--younger than I. And somehow I understood that -there in the sky he saw a face smiling down at him. - -I shook myself savagely and called myself a fool. Since he had espoused -the cause of murderers he must suffer like any other--this was no time -to hesitate. Again I measured the distance and noted his abstraction. -I would be upon him at a single bound, and, my fingers once at his -throat, I knew that he would not cry out. - -Suddenly, in the shadow back of him I fancied I saw a deeper shadow -move. I strained my eyes. Yes!--there it was--another sentinel perhaps, -and my heart fell. And yet, why did he advance so slowly, why did he -crouch so near the earth? Was it man or beast? - -Breathlessly I watched it, vague, inchoate, scarce discernible; but -the menace of its attitude, the meaning of that slow advance, was -unmistakable. A man, undoubtedly, since in Poitou no such bloodthirsty -beast of prey existed. But who--who? I glanced again at the sentry’s -unconscious face, so pure, so innocent. Should I warn him? Should I---- - -The shadow stood suddenly erect, a knife flashed in the air, and the -sentry fell forward upon the grass, coughing softly. The shadow bent -over the prostrate figure, the knife flashed again and the coughing -ceased. - -Chilled with horror as I was, I nevertheless realized that the moment -for escape had arrived. I slid from the seat and crept forward toward -the house, across that staring disk of moonlit lawn where it seemed -that the light of all the suns in heaven was beating down upon me; -then, with a deep breath of thankfulness, into the shadow of the -shrubbery again. There I stood erect, and softly but rapidly pressed -forward. I gained the walk. Before me was the open window--a moment -more---- - -Then I heard swift, soft steps behind me, and a chill of terror ran up -my spine and seemed to stiffen the hair upon my head; for I knew that -the slayer of the sentry was pursuing me, knife in hand--red, dripping -knife in hand! Numb with fear, I nerved myself for the struggle; but -even as I turned a powerful and cruel hand was laid roughly on my -shoulder. - -“Proceed, monsieur,” whispered a hoarse voice in my ear. “Proceed. I -will go with you.” - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -PASDELOUP. - - -I STRUCK the hand from my shoulder and wheeled sharp around, ready for -any violence. - -“Go! monsieur,” he repeated. “Go! Do not tarry here.” - -“Who are you?” I demanded, trying in vain to see his face, which was -only a dim blur in the darkness. - -“No matter. You do not know me. Hasten!” - -“Then you shall not enter!” I said, and braced myself for the attack I -thought must follow. - -“You are wasting time,” he growled, and stamped with impatience. “On -your head be it!” - -“Why do you seek to enter?” - -“I tell you I am a friend. I tell you I come to warn M. le Comte----” - -“You told me nothing of the sort,” I broke in. “Again, who are you?” - -“My name is Pasdeloup, and I swear that if you do not stand aside I -will give you a taste of this knife.” - -I breathed a sigh of relief. - -“The gatekeeper?” I asked; and I remembered the glow of adoration which -had lighted his countenance as he gazed after his master. - -“The same,” he said impatiently. “Will you stand aside?” - -“No; I will precede you,” I retorted; and in a moment more we were both -inside the house. - -As I turned to look at my companion I saw it was indeed the stocky -gatekeeper. Then my eyes were drawn to his right hand, which clasped a -knife--a knife red with blood. - -“So it was you struck down the sentry?” I murmured, and shivered a -little at the recollection. - -“With this knife,” he answered, and returned it to his belt. “If only -the blow had killed them all!” - -I pulled myself together with an effort and glanced about the room. It -was empty. The candles were guttering in their holders. - -“Blow out the lights,” I said, “and bar the windows. They may think we -are retiring and will wait till we have had time to get to bed. I will -warn M. le Comte.” - -He nodded without replying, and as I sprang across the vestibule and -mounted the stair I saw him going from candle to candle with incredible -rapidity. I had intended sending a servant to assist him, but there was -no sign of any in either vestibule or corridor. - -I sprang up the stair and found that the hall above was also strangely -empty. There was no time for hesitation. Beneath the third door to the -left I perceived a ray of light. I strode to it and knocked sharply. - -“Who is there?” called a voice which thrilled me. - -“It is I, Tavernay, mademoiselle,” I answered, trying to speak calmly. -“Dress yourself at once----” - -“I have not yet undressed,” she said, and threw open the door. “What is -wrong, monsieur?” - -“The house is being surrounded by the Blues,” I said rapidly. “But -mademoiselle you must put on a heavier gown than that and stouter -shoes. We may have to flee--to hide in the woods--and the night is -cold.” - -“Very well, monsieur,” she answered; and my heart thrilled again at the -calmness of her tone. “I shall be ready in a moment.” - -“When you have finished,” I said, “blow out your light as though you -were retiring. Then wait for me here at your door with your maid----” - -“My maid has disappeared,” she interrupted. - -“Disappeared?” - -“At least I cannot find her. No one answers the bell.” - -“So much the better,” I assured her, though my heart was heavy with -foreboding. “The smaller the party the greater our chance of escape. -Which is M. le Comte’s apartment?” - -“At the end of the corridor.” - -“I shall return at once,” I said, seized her hand, kissed it and passed -on. - -M. le Comte opened his door instantly in answer to my knock, and at the -first glimpse of my face stepped out into the corridor and closed the -door behind him. - -“What is it, Tavernay?” he asked. “What has happened?” - -“The Blues have arrived,” I answered rapidly; “they are posting -sentries about the house. I recognized Dubosq, their leader--the same -fellow who tried to trap you this morning. This time he is making -certain that you shall not escape.” - -“Nor is that all,” said a low voice behind me. - -I turned quickly. It was Pasdeloup. - -“Pasdeloup!” cried his master. “What do you here?” - -“I come to warn M. le Comte.” - -“Of what?” - -“The _canaille_ of Dange are on their way to sack the château.” - -“Nonsense!” - -“It is to be turned over to them as soon as M. le Comte and the -women are taken prisoner,” continued Pasdeloup without noticing the -interruption. “Nor is that all. They are to be permitted to seize M. le -Comte and to use him as the mob of Paris has already used so many.” - -“Nonsense, Pasdeloup!” repeated his master; but his face had paled a -little. “Where did you hear such absurdities?” - -For answer, Pasdeloup pointed along the empty corridor. - -“Where are your people, M. le Comte?” he asked. “None here--none -below--search the whole house and you will find not one. An hour ago -they stole away along the road to Dange. I alone could not be bribed or -frightened into joining them.” - -His master stared at him for a moment, then down the empty corridor, -his face of a sudden gray and haggard, as the truth was borne in upon -him. - -“All?” he repeated hoarsely. “All? Even Joseph? Even Marcelle?” - -“Yes, monsieur,” said Pasdeloup, laughing grimly. “Even Joseph. Even -Marcelle. I do not say that they wished to go. I only know that they -were afraid to stay. Where it is a question of one’s life or another’s, -one saves oneself. That is human nature.” - -M. le Comte stood yet a moment with bent head, as though struck by a -heavy blow. - -“And you?” he asked at last, looking at Pasdeloup. - -Again Pasdeloup laughed grimly. - -“It is my nature, too,” he said. “Only I am not so easily frightened. -Permit me to remind you, M. le Comte,” he added, “that there is no time -to lose.” - -His master controlled his emotion by a mighty effort. - -“You are right,” he said. “We must get away.” - -“There is a break in the line of sentries,” I suggested. “Perhaps we -can get through;” but my heart fell as I thought how nearly impossible -it was. - -“At least we can try. Do you get Charlotte, monsieur. I will bring -madame.” - -I sped along the corridor, pausing only an instant at my room to snatch -up sword and pistols and ammunition-pouch. Mlle. de Chambray was -awaiting me, wrapped to the chin in a dark cloak, more beautiful than -ever. - -“I am ready, monsieur,” she murmured, her eyes shining like twin stars. - -“There is yet a chance,” I said. “Come;” and I took her hand. “I love -you!” I whispered as we sped down the corridor together. “Whatever -happens to me to-night, remember--I love you!” - -She replied with a pressure of the fingers and a little tremulous smile. - -“I shall remember,” she said softly. “Is our case, then, so very -desperate?” - -“It could not well be more so.” - -“My friend,” she whispered, still more softly, “tell me that you -forgive me----” - -From the garden came the shrill cry of an owl, thrice repeated. - -“Too late!” I groaned. “Too late!” - -We were at M. le Comte’s door. Pasdeloup was leaning against the wall, -his arms folded, his face very grim. My companion shrank back with a -little gasp of dismay at sight of him. - -“He is a friend,” I said. “Where is M. le Comte?” - -As though in answer to the question, the door opened and M. le Comte -appeared on the threshold, his wife at his side. - -“We are too late!” I cried. “The signal has been given--the sentries -are closing in. A moment more----” - -A great crash echoed through the house, a sound of breaking glass, a -clamor of muskets beating against door and shutter. - -“To the tower!” cried M. le Comte. “This way!” - -We followed him around a turn in the corridor, down a short flight -of steps and along another corridor so dark that, trembling at my -temerity, I passed my arm about my companion and pressed her to me in -order that she might not fall. - -“We shall escape!” I whispered. “We shall escape! God will not permit -us to be killed like this!” - -I fancied that she drew closer to me, but I could not see her face. - -“Here we are,” said M. le Comte. Then there came the click of a latch, -the creaking of rusty hinges, and a gust of cold air rushed out upon -us. We pressed forward into the black pit beyond. The door clanged shut -behind us, and at the same instant a shot rang out and I heard the pang -of a bullet as it struck the iron. - -“Just a breath too late!” said M. le Comte with a grim laugh and -dropped the great bars into place. “They will not soon get past this -door,” he added, as we stopped to take breath. “It is as solid as the -wall itself. We are safe for a time at least.” - -“You are there, Charlotte?” asked madame’s voice. “You are safe?” - -“Yes, madame,” answered my companion. “M. de Tavernay has taken good -care of me.” - -She gently drew away from me, but left her hand in mine. - -“I hope you will leave her in my care, madame,” I said. “It is a -welcome trust.” - -“So your spirits survive even this misfortune, monsieur?” - -“Oh, madame,” I answered, “they would survive much greater ones if--if -only----” - -“Well?” she prompted, “if?--continue, monsieur.” - -“If only I might choose the persons with whom to endure them,” I said -boldly. - -“You are right, Tavernay!” cried M. le Comte. “So long as a man has -beside him the woman he loves he can face the world with a cheerful -heart. But come, let us ascend to the platform.” - -We mounted after him, stumbling up the stairs, one flight, two flights, -three. To guide her steps in the darkness I ventured again to slip my -arm about my companion’s waist. - -“You heard?” I whispered. “You are not angry that I permitted them to -guess?” - -“No,” she answered softly, and with a strange little laugh. “Perhaps -they had already guessed. Besides, I do not think I shall ever be angry -with you again, M. de Tavernay.” - -“Ah, you love me!--you love me, then!” I whispered, rapturously, and -drew her still closer to me. - -“Not now, my friend!” she protested, tremulously. “I beg of you, not -now! Do not forget your promise.” - -“I shall not,” I assured her; and we mounted in silence. - -Only when we came out into the moonlight at the top did she draw away -from me and fling herself into the arms of madame, who embraced her -tenderly and kissed her again and again. - -The tower was battlemented, so that we could look down upon the château -and the grounds surrounding it without danger of being seen by any -one below. As M. le Comte and I peered down together I was suddenly -conscious of some one else beside me, and turned to see that it was -Pasdeloup. In the stress of flight I had quite forgotten him. With a -little feeling of remorse I held out my hand and gripped his great -rough one silently, then turned again to a contemplation of the scene -below. - -But down there all was dark and silent. Not a candle gleamed from the -windows; not a sound disturbed the silence of the night. It seemed -almost that there had been no attack--that it was all a dream--a -fancy--that we had fled from shadows. - -“Can they have gone?” I asked. “Is it possible that not finding us they -have returned to Dange?” - -“You forget,” said M. le Comte, grimly, “that single musket shot which -almost reached one of us. Depend upon it, they know that we are here.” - -“For what are they waiting, then?” - -“They are preparing a plan of attack no doubt. They are trying to -devise a way to get past that iron door down yonder. They know they -have no cause to hurry.” - -Pasdeloup suddenly held up his hand. - -“Listen!” he said. - -For a moment I heard nothing--only the insect noises of the night; then -from afar off came a sound as of bees swarming--a faint hum, vague, -threatening, incomprehensible. Louder it grew and louder, swelling -into a kind of roar, as though a great flood were sweeping toward us -down the valley of the river. Then suddenly the roar burst forth in -overpowering volume; it grew strident, articulate. Lights danced among -the trees, and in a moment more a shrieking, cursing mob poured out -upon the road, through the gates and over the lawn. - -“They have come,” said Pasdeloup, “the _canaille_ of Dange.” - -And he folded his arms calmly as he stared moodily down at them. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -BREAD UPON THE WATERS. - - -ACROSS the lawn the mob poured like a foul and hideous flood, reeling -in a kind of drunken frenzy, their voices mounting to demoniac screams -now that their goal was in sight--waving their blazing brands above -their heads, or shaking furiously such rude weapons as they possessed. -And as I looked down at them I realized how thin and fragile is the -veneer of civilization, product though it be of long and painful -centuries. Here it had vanished at a breath. These creatures had -reverted to the state of savages, and burned with the lust of blood and -plunder. They were wolves indeed--and they were hunting in pack! - -“Why, there are women among them!” I cried; and indeed there were -certain petticoated figures shrieking as madly as the rest, though -there was nothing feminine in the frenzied countenances revealed by the -red light of the torches. - -“The women are the worst of all,” said M. le Comte. “They devise -tortures of a fiendishness beyond man’s ingenuity. They sit day after -day watching the guillotine. They are never sated with blood.” - -But the mob had reached the terrace, had swept up over it like a tidal -wave, and on into the house. Instantly pandemonium broke loose--the -crash of breaking glass, of furniture riven asunder, of doors burst -from their hinges. It seemed that in a breath the house itself must -be destroyed, torn stone from stone, under that fierce assault. I saw -madame shudder at thought of the havoc which was being wrought among -the objects that she loved. - -“But where are the Blues?” I asked. “Will they stand by and permit this -outrage?” - -“How could they stay it?” asked M. le Comte sadly. “They are powerless. -They can do nothing. As well hope to stay the tide of the ocean.” - -“They wish to do nothing, monsieur,” said Pasdeloup. “They abandon the -château and all it contains to the mob. See!--there they go yonder.” - -And following his gesture we saw two boats loaded with armed men just -slipping into the shadows of the farther shore. - -M. le Comte stared at them for a moment, then down at the frenzied -crowd on the terrace, and grew white to the lips. At last he turned to -his wife. - -“Come, madame,” he said, in a voice strangely calm, “do you and -Charlotte descend to the floor below, where you can at least sit down. -If I had only thought to bring a candle!” - -“I have one,” said Pasdeloup; and produced from his pocket a piece of -candle some six inches in length, together with flint and steel. In a -moment the candle was alight. - -“Good!” cried his master. “Now you can feel almost at home, madame. -Perhaps you may even succeed in getting an hour’s sleep. Certainly you -will be far more comfortable than on this exposed platform. Let me -light the way.” - -He took the candle from Pasdeloup’s hand and started down the stair. -Madame followed him without a word, but her companion paused and -glanced at me. I was at her side in an instant. - -“What is it?” she questioned, in a whisper. “Why are we banished. There -is no danger?” - -“Oh, no, mademoiselle,” I assured her. “There is not the slightest -danger at present. I hope that you will really get some sleep.” - -“Sleep!” she echoed scornfully. “For what do you take me?” - -“For the loveliest woman in the world!” I said. “In that, at least, I -am not mistaken.” - -“Wait until you have seen more of them!” she retorted, with a flash of -her old spirit, and started down the stair. But at the second step she -stopped and turned back to me. “M. de Tavernay,” she said, looking up -at me with shining eyes, “you must promise me one thing.” - -“What is that, mademoiselle?” - -“If there is any danger you will call me.” - -“Very well,” I said quietly, after a moment, “I promise.” - -“Thank you,” she said; and waving her hand to me, disappeared down the -stair. - -M. le Comte was back a moment later, the shadow still dark across his -face. He came directly to the spot where Pasdeloup and I stood leaning -against the wall. - -“Now, Pasdeloup,” he said, “tell me what you know of this affair. -I confess that I do not in the least understand it. And I want the -worst--mind you, the worst! I want to know the very uttermost we shall -have to face. Who was it set these peasants on? Who set that trap for -me this morning? Whose hand is it aiming these blows at me?” - -For a moment Pasdeloup hesitated, staring from his master down at the -château and back again. - -“You remember Goujon, monsieur?” he asked at last; and it seemed to me -that I had heard the name, though I could not remember where. - -“Goujon?” repeated M. le Comte. “No; who is he?” - -“One night three years ago, monsieur, as you were about to retire, you -fancied you heard a noise in the room above your apartment--an empty -attic. You called a servant, and taking your pistols, mounted to that -attic. In one corner you found a man crouching. You dragged him forth -and discovered him to be a creature who should have been employed about -the kennels. He excused himself by saying that one of the maids was his -mistress; that, on leaving her, he had lost his way and stumbled into -that attic. The maids did indeed sleep on that floor, and you found -that he was the lover of one of them. But when she shrieked that it was -not with her he spent his nights, you did not heed her; you thought it -merely some excuse--some lie. So you contented yourself with kicking -the fellow down the steps of the terrace and warning him never again to -set foot on your estate.” - -“Well?” said M. le Comte, somewhat impatiently. - -“Well, that fellow was Goujon, monsieur. Had you passed your sword -through him, all this would never have occurred. Six months later you -were walking in your woods down yonder by the river when you came -suddenly upon a man setting a snare. I chanced to pass at the moment, -and we brought him with us back to the château, though he resisted -desperately. Three hares were found upon him----” - -“I remember,” broke in his master. “Did I punish him?” - -“Yes, monsieur,” answered Pasdeloup quietly. “You caused him to -be stripped and beaten, then branded on both shoulders with the -fleur-de-lis.” - -“Ah,” said the other with a sigh of relief, “I am glad I was so -lenient. I might have decreed the gallows or the wheel for the -miserable poacher.” - -“_Oui, dà_, monsieur,” agreed Pasdeloup, with a grim smile; “but after -all your leniency was a mistake, for there are some men who prefer -the gallows to the white-hot iron. That miserable poacher was one of -them--although he has since become Citizen Goujon, a deputy of the -Republic.” - -“A deputy?” - -“He arrived at Dange a week ago.” - -“You mean it is he who aroused these peasants?” - -“Undoubtedly. It was also he who sent Laroche to you with the message -that madame was ill.” - -Then in a flash I remembered where I had heard the name. - -“Pasdeloup is right!” I cried. “When Dubosq was placing the sentries -in the garden I heard him say that it was from Citizen Goujon he had -his orders. But this Goujon cannot be such a bad fellow, since he gave -peremptory orders that the women were not to be harmed.” - -“Did he so?” asked M. le Comte with a quick breath of relief. “Then -it is only me he hates--it is only me he seeks. Well, I can face -death. But when I saw that we were abandoned to this mob I fancied--I -fancied----” - -“Do not fear, monsieur,” said Pasdeloup in a strange voice. “This mob -has leaders who will also take care to deliver the women unharmed into -the hands of Citizen Goujon.” - -“Well, and what then?” demanded his master. “Why do you speak in that -tone?” - -“Because, monsieur,” answered Pasdeloup grimly, “you do not know -Goujon. Hatred of monsieur was not the only reason which led to this -attack.” - -“What other reason was there?” - -Pasdeloup looked down at the mob, then away to the east toward Dange, -his lips compressed. - -“Come, tell me!” commanded his master. “This is not the time for -hesitancies.” - -Pasdeloup cleared his throat gruffly. - -“Citizen Goujon has the audacity to love Madame la Comtesse,” he said -finally. - -M. le Comte burst into a laugh. - -“Any fool may worship a star,” he said. “He cannot drag it down to him.” - -“Goujon is trying to drag this one down, monsieur,” added Pasdeloup -quietly, “as he tried once before. This time he believes that success -is certain.” - -M. le Comte grew suddenly sober. - -“‘As he tried once before?’” he repeated. “Your meaning, Pasdeloup?” - -“Ah, monsieur,” answered Pasdeloup, with a gesture indicating that the -matter had been taken out of his hands, “it was not by mistake that -Goujon entered that attic three years ago. That girl to whom you would -not listen--terror had frightened her into the truth. For that attic -extended also above the apartment of madame. He had fashioned a hole in -the ceiling; he had even planned to descend some night when you were -absent....” - -“Ah, if I had known!” cried his master hoarsely. “If I had known! But -how do you know all this, Pasdeloup?” he demanded, turning upon the -other fiercely, a sudden red suspicion in his eyes. - -“Goujon himself told me,” replied Pasdeloup calmly, “two nights ago at -Dange, when he had drunk too much wine. Shall I continue the story, -monsieur, or have you heard enough?” - -“Continue! Let us have it all;” and M. le Comte bowed his head upon his -breast. - -“Expelled from the house and from your service,” went on Pasdeloup, -“Goujon spent his days and nights watching the château in the hope that -chance might yet give madame into his hands. He lived by poaching, as -you happened to discover. After you had punished him he still lingered -for a time in your woods, defying death. He was half-mad, I think: he -was willing to suffer any torment, face any torture, if he could die -with the consciousness of having possessed madame. Not only his passion -for her, but his hatred of you urged him on. At last he thought of a -better way; he joined the assassins at Paris, and now he has returned -armed with a power which will give him his revenge. All of this,” he -added, with a gesture toward the hall below, “is for the purpose of -enabling him to taste that revenge. You can guess now why he ordered -that madame should be delivered into his hands unharmed.” - -M. le Comte’s face was livid. - -“Is he in this mob?” he asked hoarsely. “Point him out to me, -Pasdeloup!” - -“I do not think he is here,” answered Pasdeloup. “Not yet--but he will -come--and perhaps, who knows, fate may give you a chance at him.” - -M. le Comte grew suddenly silent, searching the other’s face with eyes -intent. - -“How came you to be with Goujon two nights ago?” he questioned. “Have -you been consorting with these scoundrels?” - -“If I have, M. le Comte,” answered Pasdeloup simply, “it was that I -might better serve my master--that I might pay my debt.” - -“Your debt?” - -“Ah, that is another thing he does not remember,” said Pasdeloup, -turning to me with a sad little smile. “But he was only a boy at the -time and it was to him a little thing not worth remembering. We lived -in a hut on the edge of the wood yonder, my mother and I. Every morning -my mother cleaned the sties here at the château and gave the pigs their -food. For this she received every day a loaf of black bread, and she -managed now and then to snatch a few morsels from the trough when no -one was near. For the rest, we lived on the roots and nuts we gathered -in the forest, and we were permitted also to use such wood as the -storms swept from the trees. In this manner we somehow managed to keep -alive. - -“But one day my mother fell ill. She could not go to her work; instead, -she grew worse and worse, and I had no food to give her. In the course -of three days I myself grew so hungry that I could think of nothing -better to do than to sit in the sun at the door of our hut and weep. -It was while I was doing this that I heard a noise, and looking up, -saw approaching me a horse ridden by a being who seemed to me a god. -He stopped his horse and asked me what the matter was. So overwhelmed -was I by this vision that I could only point to the door of the hut -and to my belly. He dismounted, he entered the hut, he looked at my -mother; then he came out, patted me on the head and rode away. I was so -dazzled by the sight of him that for a time I forgot my hunger; but at -last it pinched me again more sharply than before, and I reflected that -after all the visit of the god had profited me nothing. And I was just -about to renew my wailing when again I heard a noise, and again saw my -visitor approaching through the trees. This time he bore in one hand an -iron kettle which he thrust upon me and bade me carry in to my mother. -The kettle contained two fowls, steaming hot in their own juices,--the -first I had ever tasted.” - -“Ah, now I remember,” said M. le Comte smiling. “I snatched that kettle -from the cook just as he had taken it from the fire. I can even yet see -his astonished countenance. Well, did it save your mother?” - -“No, M. le Comte, she was too far gone for that; but at least she -entered heaven with a full belly. She filled herself, slept and never -awakened. But it saved me, monsieur, and it is that debt which I hope -to repay.” - -“And yet,” said his master, looking at him, “if I remember rightly, -that boy must have been at least three years younger than myself; while -you are at least ten years older.” - -“I do not know how old I am, monsieur; I have lost count of it; but I -am that boy.” - -“Then you cannot be more than twenty-seven. Twenty-seven!” and he -gazed at the squat figure, the gnarled hands, the seamed and rugged -countenance. - -“No,” said Pasdeloup, “I do not think I am more than twenty-seven; but -for many of those years, M. le Comte, I struggled day by day to keep -the soul in the body. That ages one, you see.” - -“Yes,” agreed his master, sadly, “I see.” - -“At first I was only in the way,” said Pasdeloup. “No one wanted me, -and I received everybody’s kicks and blows. Then I grew big enough to -help with the pigs. Since I have been keeper of the gate for M. le -Comte,” he added eagerly, “I have had an easy life.” - -“Yet I have found you there whenever I passed, day or night.” - -“Ah, monsieur has remarked that?” cried Pasdeloup, his face glowing -with pleasure. “There is a corner between the gate and the wall,” he -explained, “where one is sheltered from the weather. And I have learned -to sleep with one eye open, watching for monsieur. It is a thing soon -learned. And I sleep none the less soundly.” - -“I am glad of that,” said his master, gently, and stared for a moment -gloomily down at the crowd upon the lawn. “This Revolution is not so -surprising after all,” he added, half to himself. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -AT THE BELLE IMAGE. - - -BUT the scene below soon drew M. le Comte from his abstraction; for -even in the few minutes we had spent in listening to Pasdeloup’s story, -told with a rude and simple eloquence which I have tried in vain to -reproduce, it had assumed a new and more threatening aspect. The flood -which had swept into the château was pouring out of it again, bearing -upon its crest furniture, draperies, railings, doors--everything, in a -word, which could be wrenched from the building. All of this was thrown -into a great pile in the middle of the lawn and a torch applied to it. -Then as the flames leaped upward the marauders joined hands around it -and started a wild dance. - -They had appropriated all the clothing they had found in the château, -and it was not without a certain pang that I recognized one of my -own coats in which I had taken especial pride making the circuit -of the fire upon the back of a sturdy rascal, utterly incapable of -appreciating its beauties, and wholly careless of preserving them. The -effect under other circumstances would have been ludicrous enough; and -indeed I found myself smiling after a moment, so trivial did the loss -of my wardrobe appear in comparison with the dangers which threatened -us. A few hours before it had seemed a great disaster; now it scarcely -merited a second thought. For it was no longer a question of whether -I should enter Poitiers in becoming state, but whether I should live -to enter it at all. Besides, for some hours I had ceased to care as to -the effect my appearance would have on either M. de Benseval or his -daughter. - -“Those roisterers seem harmless enough,” said M. le Comte after a -moment. “It was foolish to run away. If I had stayed to broach a -cask of wine for them they would have drunk my health and marched -away shouting ‘God and the King!’ with the best of us. They are -Revolutionists merely for the excitement of it, not because they bear -me ill-will.” - -“Those around the fire perhaps,” assented Pasdeloup, “but not those -others;” and he indicated with his finger a small group which stood -motionless in the shadow of the tower almost directly beneath us. We -leaned over the parapet and looked down at them. The rays of the fire -glinted on knives, muskets, pistols. They were fully armed, though they -wore no uniform. - -“Who are they?” asked M. le Comte. - -“Goujon brought them from Paris with him, monsieur. Look again and you -will see their red caps. They are heroes of the September massacres.” - -I shivered at the words. - -“Goujon wished to have at hand some one upon whom he could rely,” -Pasdeloup added quietly. “He promised them that he would have -agreeable work for them, and that they should be well repaid, or they -would never have consented to leave Paris.” - -“What are they doing down yonder?” - -“They are watching the door to the tower.” - -“Well, let them watch it. We shall not open it, and they can never -break it down.” - -“I would not be too certain of that, monsieur,” said Pasdeloup, -gloomily. “They have learned many things at Paris. Goujon boasted -that even unarmed the people had taken a great prison called the -Bastille--but most probably he was lying.” - -“No,” said his master in a low tone, “in that particular, at least, he -spoke the truth. But miracles do not repeat themselves.” - -“They no doubt have other means at command,” responded Pasdeloup -grimly, “without calling in the aid of the good God.” - -“No doubt they have,” agreed his master; “but at least we can reduce -the number of these assassins;” and he drew his pistols. - -But Pasdeloup laid a warning hand upon his arm. - -“Not yet, monsieur,” he said. “I may be mistaken. Perhaps there is yet -a chance. Perhaps those others will refuse to join them. Perhaps they -will grow weary after a time and depart for home, content with such -plunder as they can carry away. But if we begin the attack they will be -on fire in a moment.” - -“You are right,” agreed M. le Comte, and slowly returned his pistols to -his belt. “Let us wait, then. Meanwhile Pasdeloup, do you tell us how -you came to know so well what Goujon was planning--and more especially -why, since you did know it, you did not give me warning.” - -Pasdeloup hesitated a moment. - -“I will tell you, monsieur,” he said at last, “and you will see that I -am not to blame--that I did what I could. You perhaps know the inn of -the Belle Image at Dange?” - -“I have heard of it.” - -“I was there one evening a week ago drinking a glass of wine during -an hour Laroche had taken my place at the gate. It was the first time -he had ever proposed such a thing, but that night he came to me and -told me of the wonderful new wine at the Belle Image, so good and so -cheap, since it no longer had to pay tithes, to the church and to the -aristocrats. He ended by saying that as he was idle for an hour he -would take my place at the gate while I went to the Belle Image and -tasted the wine. I confess I was surprised; he saw it and explained -that he wanted me to test for myself one of the benefits the Republic -had conferred upon the people. So I went. I saw afterward that that was -not his purpose at all.” - -“I can guess what his purpose was,” said M. le Comte; “but continue -your story.” - -“I was, as I have said, drinking my wine,” continued Pasdeloup, “which -was truly of a surprising excellence, when a man came and sat down -beside me. For a moment I did not know him; then I saw it was Goujon. -He greeted me with a kindness which surprised me when I remembered -that it was I who had helped to capture him; but he seemed to have -forgotten that. I saw that he was well dressed and that his hands were -white. He ordered a bottle of wine even superior to that which I was -drinking, invited me to join him, and began to tell me of the wonderful -events which were happening in Paris--events which would end by making -us all free, and rich, and happy. He said that the aristocrats and the -priests had been starving and robbing and killing us for five hundred -years, and that now it was our turn. - -“‘You remember that your own mother was starved to death, Pasdeloup,’ -he said. - -“‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I remember that.’ - -“‘Although enough to feed a hundred people was wasted every day at the -château.’ - -“‘Yes,’ I agreed, ‘perhaps that is true.’ - -“‘You know how she would have been beaten had it been known that she -stole even a morsel of food from the pigs.’ - -“‘Yes,’ I said again; ‘I know that.’ - -“‘You may perhaps remember,’ he went on, with a frightful contortion of -the countenance, ‘the punishment I suffered for trapping a hare.’ - -“‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I remember.’ - -“‘And do you think it just, good God!’ he cried, ‘that a man should -suffer like that for a fault so trivial? Yet that is what was happening -day by day all over this broad land of France! What could we do? -They took our grain for their bread, our flocks for their meat, our -daughters for their pleasure. Did we so much as protest we were hanged -on the nearest gallows as a warning to others not to lift their heads. -We might live or die, starve or rot--what did it matter! We were less -to them, as you have seen, than the swine in their pens!’ I do not -know,” added Pasdeloup, in another tone, “whether all of this was true, -but it had a certain air of truth about it.” - -“Most of it was true, I fear,” said M. le Comte in a low voice, “though -I had never looked at it in quite that way.” - -“There is a great difference, is there not, monsieur,” asked Pasdeloup, -“in whether one looks at a thing from above or from below?” - -“Yes,” agreed his master still more quietly, “there is.” - -“At any rate,” continued Pasdeloup, “Goujon grew more and more excited -with each word he uttered. ‘Why is it,’ he demanded, ‘that some people -wear lace and jewels and others only rags? Why should a noble’s pigs -be treated better than his peasants? Why should the peasants toil from -year to year in order that the priests and the aristocrats may live -in idleness with their women, and have fine wines to drink, and fine -clothes to wear, and great houses to shelter them, while we who make -the wine, and spin the cloth, and build the houses, have only swill -and rags and hovels? Why should they be warm in winter and we cold? -Why should we permit their game to destroy our crops without being -permitted to raise a hand to prevent it?’ - -“‘I do not know,’ I answered, ‘except that it was always so.’ - -“‘Well, it will be so no longer!’ he cried. ‘We are going to change all -that. We are going to reverse things. Monsieur Veto has already sneezed -in the sack; the Austrian woman and her whelp will follow him.’ - -“‘And what then?’ I asked. - -“‘Then we shall be free. Then we shall set about the work of -establishing liberty, equality, fraternity. But first we will stuff the -nobles’ mouths with dust, just as those good fellows at Paris stuffed -old Foulon’s with hay. Come, you must join us, Pasdeloup. You also have -wrongs to avenge.’ - -“‘I will think of it,’ I said, and returned to my post at the gate. - -“All that night I lay and thought of what Goujon had said, and I -confess, M. le Comte, that it appeared to me reasonable. So long as -I had imagined that things were as they were because the good God so -willed it, I had not questioned them. But now I began to suspect that -perhaps the good God had no hand in them at all, and that the only -thing left for us was to do what we could to help ourselves. The next -night I inquired for Laroche, but no one had seen him; so leaving the -gate open--the first time that I had ever done so--I hastened to the -Belle Image. Goujon was awaiting me; again he bought wine, and again -he laid before me the wrongs of the peasantry. At last I told him that -I would join the society which he was organizing at Dange. It was not -until I had taken the oath that I discovered what it was he intended -to do. He thought me wholly his, and indeed, from night to night, he -convinced me more and more that justice was on our side. - -“Two nights ago he was for some reason very jubilant and drank more -than usual. It was at that time that he confided to me his passion for -madame; that he told me what it was he had been doing in that attic at -the moment you discovered him. Then he passed on to the plan he had in -mind. - -“‘We have all the servants now, Pasdeloup,’ he said; ‘even the women. -Those we could not persuade we bribed; those we could not bribe we -frightened into joining us. The plans are made, everything is ready. -Your part will be to open the gates for us.’ - -“‘Which gates?’ I asked. - -“‘The gates of the château, of course.’ - -“‘Of the château?’ - -“‘Certainly, it is of the château I am speaking. We are going to attack -it.’ - -“‘But M. le Comte is not there,’ I protested. - -“‘No,’ said Goujon with a triumphant smile, ‘nor will he ever again be -there. I have attended to that. Laroche has lured him into our hands. -First I will bring him here in order that he may witness my revenge--my -triumph; then I will send him on to Paris to celebrate his nuptials -with Madame Guillotine.’ - -“Then I saw the trap into which I had thrust my foot. As he sat there -leering at me I was tempted to bury my knife in his belly; but I -managed to control myself. It might be that there were other things -which I should know. - -“‘Well, then,’ I said, ‘since you already have him why attack the -château?’ - -“The leer on his face grew broader. - -“‘You forget, Pasdeloup,’ he said, ‘that the women are there.’ - -“‘What then?’ - -“‘What then? head of a pig! You are stupid to-night! Do you suppose -I have forgotten? You do not know the sleepless nights I have spent -tossing on my bed, biting my pillow at thought of what should one -day be mine! Well, my day has come--that woman is going to be mine -now--that is the triumph which Favras is to witness. Will it not be a -pretty revenge? Could you think of anything prettier?’ and he leered at -me again and licked his lips with a tongue which seemed strangely red -and swollen. ‘You shall have the other; she shall be your reward--and -_pardieu!_ it is not to be laughed at. You do not know, Pasdeloup, what -soft, white skins these _ci-devant_ women have!’” - -I felt my blood grow suddenly hot with rage and a glance at M. le -Comte’s white face told me the agony he was suffering at the thought -that his wife had been profaned by even the glances of this scoundrel. - -“Go on,” he said hoarsely. “And then?” - -“Perhaps something in my face betrayed me,” Pasdeloup continued. “At -any rate, Goujon suddenly looked at me, then straightened back in his -chair. - -“‘I have been talking nonsense, Pasdeloup,’ he said. ‘I have taken too -much wine. I am always saying absurd things when I am drunk. You must -forget that foolishness.’ - -“He said it so naturally that I believed him, more especially since at -the moment his head was wobbling so that he could scarcely keep it off -the table. But when I reached the château again I found that my zeal -for the Revolution had vanished, since, even drunk, one of its leaders -could propose such horrible things. Last night I remained at my post -at the gate; but to-night an uneasiness seized me. I fancied that I -detected some sort of understanding among the other servants. At the -first moment I slipped away to Dange to learn the truth. There I found -that a detachment of the Blues had just come in by post and had been -ordered forward at once to surround the château. All of that rabble -yonder had gathered in the square and Goujon was addressing them. The -terrible things he was saying made me tremble. But I listened only for -a moment. Then I hastened back to give you warning and found that I was -already too late. That is all, M. le Comte.” - -His master laid a friendly hand upon his shoulder. - -“I thank thee, Pasdeloup,” he said. “Whatever the event, thou hast -done thy best. Thou hast paid thy debt a hundred fold.” - -A sudden frenzied outburst of yells interrupted him. We looked down -again and saw a procession emerging from the house upon the terrace. -Before them they were rolling five or six casks of wine and spirits. - -“We shall see now,” said Pasdeloup grimly, “how many of them will -shout, ‘God and the King!’” - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -MADNESS BECOMES FRENZY. - - -IN a moment the casks were broached, and the liquor, in whatever -receptacles were at hand, was passed around from mouth to eager mouth. -No one made the slightest attempt to husband it, and it was soon -pouring down over the steps in little purple rivulets. The faces of -the crowd, as the flaring torches and dancing flames revealed them, -became more and more inhuman, their shouts hoarser and more menacing, -their actions more and more bestial, until I felt my cheeks grow hot -at the thought that these creatures belonged to humankind. Truly long -centuries in the darkness had rendered them unfit for the light! If -vermin such as this was to govern France, then France would better far -be sunk in the ocean! - -Drunken couples reeled hither and thither shouting incoherently; women -forgetting their sex pursued such men as made a pretense of escaping -and dragged them down into the shadows; a half-naked girl mounted -astride a cask shouted obscenities at six or eight scoundrels who were -going through the pretense of a mass. - -“The Goddess of Reason!” said M. le Comte, his eyes dwelling upon this -group; and indeed at that moment, as the wretch who played the priest -made as though he were elevating the host, those behind him burst forth -in a hoarse shout: - -“Long live Reason! Long live Reason!” - -Sick with disgust I glanced at the heavens, wondering that God did not -blast them with his thunderbolts. - -“I never thought such vileness could exist,” I murmured; and Pasdeloup, -who heard the words, smiled grimly. - -“Do not blame them too bitterly, monsieur,” he said. “How does it -happen that they are what they are? What have they to thank God for? -Why should they be grateful to the church? All their lives they have -known only cruelty and injustice. Now it is their turn.” - -“That is true,” I agreed; and suddenly I realized that this rude and -ignorant peasant had a broader and truer outlook upon life than I. And -I think that that moment saw the birth in me of a new tolerance and -sympathy. At least I hope it did! - -No thunderbolt came. Perhaps God, too, was looking down more in pity -than in anger. - -Attracted by the shout others of the crowd joined the group before the -steps, drank of the wine which the girl passed down to them, and began -a crazed Bacchanal dance before her. Then a red-faced rogue dashed up -the steps to her and screaming with laughter tore her few remaining -clothes from her back. - -“Long live Reason!” he shouted. “I baptise thee!” and he dashed a cup -of wine over her glistening skin. - -Another snatched a twig from a flowering shrub and bending it into the -semblance of a wreath placed it upon her head. - -“Long live Reason!” he shouted in his turn. But a woman in the crowd, -jealous perhaps of the attentions shown the naked hussy, suddenly -caught up a clod of earth and dashed it into her face; whereupon the -goddess dismounted from her throne, vomiting forth I know not what -vileness, was caught up by the crowd and passed from sight. - -Then one of their number mounted the steps and began to harangue them. -I could catch only a word here and there, yet it was easy enough to -guess, from the frantic shouts which interrupted him, what his subject -was. The mob was in a mood for any atrocity. It needed only the -application of the spark. - -M. le Comte’s face grew grave as he gazed down at them. - -“That is serious!” he said. “When they begin to speechify it is time to -think of escape. Have you anything to suggest, Tavernay?” - -“If we could reach the ground on the side of the tower away from the -mob,” I said, “we might escape into the wood, since there seems to be -no watch of any kind, nor any one to intercept us.” - -“Yes, but to reach the ground--we need a rope.” - -“Is there none in the tower? Surely we can find something----” - -“At least, we can look,” he said, and led the way to the stair. - -I followed him, but Pasdeloup, his arms folded, his head sunk in -reverie, kept his place at the battlement, staring moodily down at the -drunken revel. - -We descended to the floor below where Pasdeloup’s candle was still -burning. A glance at it showed me that it had been half consumed. An -hour more and we should be in darkness--if indeed we had not entered -the eternal darkness long ere that! - -In the first moment I thought the room was empty; then I saw madame -half-sitting, half-lying on a couch in one corner, holding the younger -woman in her arms. As we approached she raised a warning finger to her -lips, and I saw with a sudden burst of tenderness that Charlotte had -fallen asleep. - -“Do not disturb her,” warned madame in a low voice; but at that instant -the sleeper opened her eyes. - -For a moment she stared up at us blankly; then her eyes met mine and a -wave of crimson swept from brow to chin. - -“I have been asleep,” she said, sitting hastily erect. “In spite of all -my boasting,” she added, smiling up at me. - -“Yes,” said M. le Comte; “and you should be proud of your steady nerves -and clear conscience, my dear. Not many of us are able to sleep so -peacefully in the face of danger.” - -“Danger?” she repeated, and looked about her. “Has it come, then?” - -“Oh, not a pressing danger,” he assured her. “Still, we must devise -some means of escape before it becomes so. We shall have to take the -light, I fear.” - -“Do so,” said madame promptly. “Charlotte and I will ascend to the -platform.” - -“It is not a pleasant sight that you will see,” said M. le Comte, “nor -pleasant words that you will hear----” - -“We are not children,” broke in madame. “Come, Charlotte.” - -M. le Comte lighted them up the stair and then turned back to me. - -“It is evident there is no rope here,” he said, holding the candle -above his head and looking about the apartment. “The old furnishings -hang together better than one would think,” he added. - -It was not until then--so occupied had my mind been with other -matters--that I perceived with what sumptuousness the place was -fitted up. The tapestries were faded and dusty, the coverings of the -furniture moth-eaten and decayed, and the room itself cobwebbed and -moldy--but it was impressive, nevertheless. It was of good size, -octagonal, conforming in shape to the tower, and in four of the sides -small, shuttered windows were set. Tapestries and furniture alike had -evidently been of the most costly and elegant description. - -“This was the boudoir of the fair Gabrielle,” observed M. le Comte, -looking about him with a smile. “It has been years since I set foot -here and I had forgotten how it looked. You will see that with my -ancestor it was a real passion; he did not spare himself. In fact I -should hate to confess how much, first and last, she cost his family. -Below is her bedchamber.” - -We went down the stair into another room even more luxuriously -furnished. The great bed stood at one side with curtains drawn. One -almost expected to see a small hand pluck them aside and to hear a -shrill voice demand the meaning of our intrusion, or to be suddenly -confronted by that old gallant Favras, oath on lip and sword in hand. -Here there were no windows, only narrow slits sufficient to admit air -and light but not wide enough to permit of assault from without. We -made a careful circuit of the apartment, but found nothing which could -by any possibility serve as a rope. - -“There is one more chance,” said M. le Comte, and led the way to the -bottom story. - -This had been divided into two rooms, one a sort of vestibule into -which the outer door opened and from which the stair ascended, and the -other a store-room. The vestibule was quite empty, and the store-room -contained nothing but a pile of rotting casks and broken bottles. - -My companion looked at them with a whimsical countenance. - -“The fair lady evidently did not lack refreshment,” he said. “I would -she had had the forethought to leave us a few bottles. I am afraid,” he -added, turning back to the vestibule, “that the only possible exit for -us is through that door. There are no windows in this story, nor in the -one above. To jump from the third story is to tempt death--or at least -a multitude of broken bones. For myself, I prefer to face the enemy.” - -“We might make a rope from the tapestries,” I suggested. - -“They are rotten with mildew,” he objected; and indeed when we tested -them we found them ready to fall to pieces at a touch. “Our situation -is not so desperate,” he continued, as we climbed slowly up the stair -again. “They will have to starve us out, since they have no cannon with -which to batter down the wall, and that will take two or three days at -the least. Many things may happen in that time.” - -But though he spoke hopefully, I fancied his voice did not ring quite -true. When we reached the platform he blew out the candle, placed it -carefully in a crevice of the wall, then went to his wife where she -stood leaning against the parapet, put an arm about her and drew her to -him. - -“Well?” she asked, smiling up at him. - -“We are not yet out of the woods,” he said; “but, as I have just told -Tavernay, there is no pressing danger. They will have to besiege us in -form. Perhaps we may yet catch them napping.” - -I had approached Mlle. de Chambray, drawn by an irresistible -attraction--which indeed I made no effort to resist. - -“What is your opinion, M. de Tavernay?” she asked, as I leaned against -the wall beside her. - -“I confess,” I answered gloomily, “that I see little hope of escape, -unless we can sprout wings and fly away. For you, mademoiselle, that -would not be so great a miracle; but I fear I am too far below the -angels to hope for such deliverance.” - -“It is not the angels alone who have wings,” she retorted, her face -lighting with a smile. “I have heard of other spirits similarly -equipped.” - -“It may be that I do not resemble them either, mademoiselle,” I -ventured mildly. - -“Who can tell!” she retorted; and turned away from me to gaze at the -scene below. - -The wine had done its work--had converted harmless peasants and -cowering wretches into bloodthirsty brutes animated by a kind of -frenzy which we for a moment did not understand. Men and women were -running about screaming madly, no longer heeding the fire which they -had kindled on the lawn, and which was now dying away for lack of -fuel. They were pouring in and out of the house with some other end in -view--and suddenly we saw what it was. - -For from one wing of the château came a puff of smoke followed almost -instantly by a quick burst of flame. - -“They have fired the house,” said M. le Comte grimly; and we stood -there numbly watching the progress of the flames, as powerless to check -them as though we had been a hundred leagues away. - -They ate their way through the building with a rapidity which showed -how artfully they were being fed. Indeed it seemed to me that this -whole drama was moving forward to its climax with a regularity which -proved its prearrangement. It was not a spontaneous outburst of the -people; it was a thing theatric, carefully thought out, in which the -actors were really only puppets controlled by wires centring in one -powerful hand. And as I recalled Pasdeloup’s story there could be no -question in my mind as to whom that hand belonged. I shivered a little -as I asked myself what the crisis was toward which the drama was -mounting. And I felt strangely impotent, as though it were the very -hand of Fate raised against us, and not merely that of a vengeful and -lecherous scoundrel! - -The flames burst out at last at roof and windows, casting a red glow -over lawn and garden, where the mob stood staring in half-awed triumph -at its handiwork. Madame watched the destruction with white face, but -with an admirable control. - -“Can they fire the tower?” she asked. - -“No, I think not,” answered her husband. “Fire from without would have -no effect upon these solid walls, and they cannot get fire to the -inside. The breeze, you see, is carrying those sparks away from us.” - -“That was my home,” she murmured, “and I loved it.” - -“We will build another,” said M. le Comte, pressing her to him. “When -this cloud that covers France has rolled away we will build another -home, which you will love even more, for we shall be very happy there.” - -“Not happier than we have been here,” she said, with a smile full at -the same time of tears and joy. “We have been very happy here, my love. -Whatever they do, they cannot take the past away from us. The future -belongs to God, but the past is ours.” - -I looked away from them with tear-dimmed eyes down at that mob of -savages. She had spoken truly--after all, their power for evil was -limited to that: they could destroy the future, but they could not -touch the past. And I remembered that I also had a past which was very -sweet--a past not long as men count time, spanning indeed but a few -short hours--and yet to memory an eternity! - -“What are those men about?” asked a voice at my elbow, and Mlle. de -Chambray pointed down at a group which had drawn a little apart from -the rest. - -They stood near the foot of the tower and seemed to be staring up at -us, though in the darkness I could not be certain. Suddenly one of them -whirled about his head some object which burst into a ring of flame. -Then he hurled it up toward us. - -“The fools!” said M. le Comte, with a laugh, “what can they hope to -accomplish?” - -As though in answer to the words there came from beneath our feet a -rending crash, a sharp report, and a stream of acrid smoke poured up -the stairway from the room below. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -THE UNFOLDING OF THE DRAMA. - - -INSTINCTIVELY I had caught my companion to me to shield her from the -shock, and we stood an instant so with bated breath. Then a fierce -chorus of exulting yells startled us back to action. - -“A grenade!” cried M. le Comte, and started for the stair. - -But Pasdeloup hurled himself before him down the stair, through that -choking cloud of smoke. We were at his heels, and when we reached the -floor below I saw him tearing down the tinder-dry tapestry, which was -blazing fiercely. In a moment we had stamped out the flames upon the -torn and splintered floor. - -“They must not do that a second time,” said M. le Comte when the danger -was past. “I thought the windows were shuttered.” - -Pasdeloup went quickly to the window through which the bomb had come. - -“This shutter is swinging loose,” he said, and leaned coolly out to -secure it. - -A chorus of hoarse yells greeted him and a spatter of musket shots. I -heard the bullets clipping the stones about him; but he heeded them -not at all and pulled the heavy shutter into place and secured it with -careful deliberation. - -“We must look to the others,” he said calmly when that was done, and -himself made the circuit of the other windows to assure himself that -the shutters were in place. - -“Bring down the candle, Tavernay,” said M. le Comte. “We must see what -damage has been done here.” - -Not until it blazed up from the spark which Pasdeloup struck into it -did I suspect that he was injured. Then, as the flame burned clearly, I -perceived a smear of blood across his face. - -“Not wounded, Pasdeloup?” cried M. le Comte, whose eyes had been caught -by the same red stain. - -“Only a scratch, monsieur,” Pasdeloup replied; but his master was not -satisfied until he had wiped away the blood and assured himself that -the wound was indeed a slight one. A bullet had grazed Pasdeloup’s -forehead, cutting in the skin a clean furrow which was bleeding -copiously. Pasdeloup submitted to this inspection with evident -impatience. - -“It is nothing,” he repeated. “It is nothing. You are wasting time, -monsieur.” - -“All right, my friend,” said his master, releasing him at last, “but I -wanted to be quite sure;” and he turned to an inspection of the room. - -It was sadly wrecked, the furniture blown asunder, the tapestries -smoking on the splintered floor; but the walls were intact, -impregnable. M. le Comte smiled as he looked at them. - -“As well assault a lion with pebbles as this tower with hand-grenades,” -he said. “We are safe as ever.” - -“Except in one particular, monsieur,” broke in Pasdeloup in a low -voice. “They are now quite certain that we have taken refuge here. -Before, perhaps, they only suspected it.” - -“That is true,” agreed his master thoughtfully. “Well, let us see what -the next move will be;” and he blew out the candle and mounted to the -platform. “Everything is safe,” he added, in answer to madame’s look, -and joined her at the parapet. - -As for me, I boldly took the place I coveted beside the younger woman. - -“It reminds one of Rome burning,” I said, gazing down at the flames and -the frenzied multitude. “I might almost fancy myself a second Nero--you -perceive that the populace is cursing us.” - -“Yes,” she retorted without raising her eyes, “and no doubt, like Nero, -you would fiddle in the face of those curses.” - -“There are moments,” I said, “when joy of heart enables one to smile at -any misfortune.” - -“You are experiencing such a moment now? You are fortunate!” - -“I am, indeed. Perhaps Nero also had the woman he loved beside him.” - -“That would be an explanation, truly!” - -“But one thing I am quite certain he did not have,” I added in a lower -tone, bending above her. “He did not have, warm against his heart, a -flower which his love had kissed and thrown to him.” - -“We all of us have our foolish impulses,” she responded tartly; but I -saw the glow which deepened in her cheek. - -“If that was a foolish impulse, mademoiselle,” I said, “I trust it will -not be the last one. But it was not mere impulse--it came from your -heart. One day you are going to love me.” - -“Well, and what then?” she questioned quietly. - -I confess I had no answer ready; what answer was it possible to give? - -“I may add, M. de Tavernay,” she continued more severely, “that I -consider your jests exceedingly ill-timed. Why talk of a future which -will never exist?” - -“But it will exist!” I protested. - -“Then no doubt you have already devised a way of escape from this -tower. It is only necessary for us to depart whenever we are ready.” - -“No, mademoiselle,” I said; “I see no way of escape at present; but I -trust my star.” - -“Your star?” - -“Yes; it has never yet failed me. To-day--or rather yesterday--after -apparently plunging me into the depths of an abyss it drew me forth and -led me straight to you.” - -“And to this trap.” - -“Ah, mademoiselle; beside the other, that does not matter!” - -She turned from me with a gesture of impatience. - -“Your mind travels always in a circle.” - -“Of which you are the centre, mademoiselle. What other figure could my -mind describe, revolving as it does about you?” - -“You have an answer always ready,” she retorted; “nevertheless I -think your star would have done better by you had it permitted you to -continue your journey to Poitiers unmolested. You would have arrived -there with a free heart, ready to fulfil your oath to your father; you -would have had no temptation to forget your honor; your life would have -been calm and happy.” - -“The life of an ox would answer that description,” I answered. “Yet I -am very far from envying the ox.” - -“And there you are wrong. Besides, I have still to add that as it -stands you have no future before you. You have come to the end of the -path.” - -“So much the better,” I said, drawing nearer to her. “Since there is no -future, let us love each other. Let us approach the end heart against -heart.” - -She did not answer, only stared moodily down over the parapet. The -château was wholly given over to the flames. They burst from every -window; they roared above the roof, and their scorching breath caused -us to shrink back a little. - -“It is heart-breaking!” she cried, shielding her face with her hand; -and I saw that there were tears in her eyes. “That beautiful home! Ah, -those wretches will be punished!” - -“What would you do with them, mademoiselle?” I asked. - -“I would hang them every one. Men and women alike. Men and -women--beasts!” - -And as I noted the sudden clenching of her hands and flashing of her -eyes, I could not but wonder at the complexities of woman’s nature. - -“Let us not look at them,” I said. “Let us forget that they exist. Let -us remember only that we are here together and that there is no future. -Let us sit down here in the shadow of the wall and imagine that we are -again in the garden.” - -“My imagination cannot touch such heroic heights, M. de Tavernay. In -the garden, I was happy, or nearly so----” - -“You confess it, then?” I broke in eagerly; but she stopped me with a -gesture. - -“I have always been happy--at least until the past few days. And in the -garden I fancied that even the little cloud which seemed to shadow me -would disappear. Now, on the contrary, I am far from happy.” - -“You are at least no coward,” I said. “You are not afraid.” - -“No, I am not afraid. It is the sense of helplessness which weighs upon -me and angers me. I have always ordered my life to suit myself; I have -always had control of the circumstances which concerned me. Yet here I -am now, caught like a rat in a trap. I can break my teeth against the -bars, and all in vain. I must wait for some miracle to deliver me, and -not only myself but my dearest friends. Meanwhile their home, their -beautiful home, is burned before my eyes, and I must look on helpless -while a mob of drunken brutes rejoices in its destruction. I know that -no miracle can restore it. And yet, M. de Tavernay, you ask me to -fancy myself in some fool’s paradise!” - -“It was a paradise,” I agreed; “whether a fool’s or a wise man’s does -not matter. Paradise is always paradise.” - -“Not for the onlookers!” she retorted. - -“But what need those within care for those without? Ah, I -understand--you class yourself as an onlooker. You have not love to -work the alchemy for you,” I added sadly. - -She looked up at me slowly with luminous eyes. - -“Perhaps you are right,” she said. “I have never been really within the -pale. I have always stood outside, peering in, wondering why others -thought it so beautiful.” - -I know not what folly I was about to utter, when a sudden tremendous -crash sounded behind me. - -“The roof has fallen in,” said M. le Comte quietly, as we rushed to the -parapet. “That is the end of it.” - -The flames leaped high into the air with a roar like the passing of a -mighty wind over a great forest. The mob seemed for the moment to have -forgotten us in the grandeur of that spectacle; but always at the foot -of the tower that little group of armed men stood apart. - -The sudden burst of light threw their faces into strong relief, and -Pasdeloup, who had been staring down at them, uttered a sharp cry. - -“He is there!” he said. “He is there!” - -“Who is there, Pasdeloup?” demanded his master. - -“Goujon! See!--that one with the cloak about him--there at the right!” - -Quick as a flash M. le Comte snatched out his pistol, levelled it and -fired. There was a cry of pain from below and a man fell--but it was -not Goujon. M. le Comte put up his pistol with an oath of anger and -disappointment. - -But hell itself had broken loose and such a fusillade of bullets rained -against the tower that we were forced to retire from the parapet. All -the fury of the ages seemed whirled upon us; all the blind madness -which centuries of oppression and injustice had engendered. Those of -the mob who were unarmed danced shrieking about the tower, shaking -their fists at it, or assailed the great stones with their nails. It -seemed that the very uproar was enough to shake it from its foundation. - -“That was not wise,” said Pasdeloup gloomily. “It was the one thing -Goujon needed.” - -“I know it!” confessed his master, and wiped his forehead with a -shaking hand. “Yet I would have risked it gladly had I only killed that -scoundrel. I must kill him--I must kill him. I could not rest in my -grave with him alive!” - -“Who is it?” asked madame. “Who is it that you wish to kill?” - -“The scoundrel who set these peasants on.” - -“Who seeks your life?” - -“Oh, more than my life, madame!” he answered hoarsely. “More than my -life! I could forgive him that!” - -For a moment she stared at him, not understanding. Then her face went -white with horror and she put out a hand for support. - -“It cannot come to that!” she murmured. “At least we will not let it -come to that!” - -“No,” he said, and drew her to him. “Do not fear, my love. It shall -never come to that!” - -The firing had slackened and at last we ventured to look down again. -The mob had drawn away from the tower and had gathered into little -groups, staring up at it. - -“It is to be a siege,” said M. le Comte, laughing grimly. “If we were -only provisioned we might hold out indefinitely--and these rogues have -little patience.” - -But Pasdeloup shook his head. - -“You do not know them, monsieur,” he said. “They have patience enough. -But it is not a siege they are planning--it is an assault--I am sure of -it.” - -“Well, let them plan,” retorted his master. “Let them assault. Much -good will it do them!” - -“No doubt,” said Pasdeloup quietly, “the governor of the Bastille -uttered the same words when he looked down at the unarmed mob of Paris -from the battlement of his prison.” - -“You are right, my friend,” agreed M. le Comte gently. “He did not -understand the power of the people. But I, who have been in La Vendée, -should know better. You think we are in danger, then?” - -“Beyond question,” answered Pasdeloup. “And I am glad that it is -so--that there will be no siege. Since there is no succor for us -anywhere, we must in the end either starve or surrender. For myself I -prefer a short, sharp fight, with death at the end of it.” - -“And I,” I said. - -“For myself I can say the same,” agreed M. le Comte. “But for the -women!” and he glanced toward where they stood, sheltered by the -parapet. - -“For the women,” said Pasdeloup grimly, “the last bullets must be -saved.” - -“There is nothing, then, but to remain here and be murdered?” demanded -his master. “You believe that, Pasdeloup?” - -“Not in the least, monsieur,” answered the other cheerfully. “We shall -first make every effort to escape.” - -“But how?” - -“I must consider it,” said Pasdeloup, with a self-assurance which at -another time would have been amusing. “There is no time to be lost;” -and he disappeared down the stair leading to the floor below. - -My companion looked after him musingly. - -“Ah, Tavernay,” he said, “I am beginning to suspect that there are -depths in these peasants of which we never dreamed. I have seen them -fight like heroes, and I had always thought them cowards. Here to-night -I have seen one stand erect, a man, and I had fancied that they could -only crawl. When France wins through this peril and shakes off this -madness which has her by the throat, there will be such a searching of -hearts as the world has never seen!” - -A sudden stillness had fallen upon the mob below; no sound rose to the -platform save the crackling of the flames. We looked down to see what -this strange silence meant, and found that the little groups of people -had drawn still farther away from the tower and were watching it with -a kind of awed expectancy. Their silence was infinitely more sinister -than their shouting. There was something about it--something horrible -and threatening--which sent a chill to the marrow. Why should they -stand there staring at the tower? What frightful thing was about to -happen? - -My companion evidently felt the same foreboding, for he gazed down at -them with drawn brows. - -“What do they mean?” he muttered. “What do they mean?” - -He stared a moment longer, then turned to his wife. - -“Come hither, my love,” he said, and when she came, drew her to him and -held her close. - -My heart was full to bursting. In an instant I was beside Charlotte. - -“My love!” I said softly, and held out my arms to her. - -“What is it?” she whispered. “Oh, what is it?” - -“I do not know. They are preparing something, awaiting something. It is -the end perhaps.” - -“The end!” she echoed hoarsely. “The end!” and she stared up into my -eyes, her lips trembling. - -“And if it were,” I questioned gently, “would you not wish to meet it -with my arms about you? Oh, they are longing for you!” - -She did not answer, but I fancied she swayed toward me. - -In an instant she was close against my heart--close against my heart! - -“Since this is the end,” I said softly, “since there is no future, you -are going to love me, are you not, Charlotte? And there is a future! In -a moment more nothing can ever part us--your soul and mine! Look at me, -my love!” - -The tears were streaming down her face as she lifted it to mine. - -“Kiss me!” she whispered. “Kiss me!” - -I bent and kissed her and felt her warm lips answer. Oh, now I could -smile in the very face of death! - -“I love you!” I murmured, my pulses bounding wildly. “I love you!--love -you!--love you! Now and always, I love you!--for life or death!----” - -A deep roar burst upon the night, a sheet of livid flame leaped upward -toward us, and the tower swayed and trembled as though smitten by some -mighty hand. - -[Illustration: A SHEET OF LIVID FLAME LEAPED UPWARD TOWARD US, AND THE -TOWER SWAYED] - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -A BETTER MAN THAN I. - - -I OPENED my eyes to find the tower still standing and my love clinging -to me, her face tear-stained and white. - -“We are safe!” she cried. “We are safe! It was not the end!” - -Then the bonds of bewilderment were struck away, for the mob with a -wild yell charged toward the tower as one man. - -“A mine!” cried M. le Comte. “A mine!” And putting his wife gently from -him, he hurled himself toward the stair. - -Blindly I bent and kissed the red lips still raised to mine, put away -the clinging hands--with what aching of the heart may be imagined--and -followed M. le Comte without daring to look back. Down we flew, half -smothered by the fumes of sulphur and clouds of dust--down into that -black pit which yawned to swallow us--one flight, two--then M. le Comte -held me back. - -“Wait,” he said--“wait;” and he descended cautiously some few steps. He -was back beside me in a moment. “They have made a breach,” he said. “I -could see the glint of their torches through it. But they must clear -away the debris before they can enter. We have perhaps five minutes.” - -“We can hold the stair.” I said. “It is steep and narrow. Two swords -can keep an army back.” - -“But once they gain entrance below us they can burn us out. No, we must -escape, Tavernay--or make a dash for it. Better death by the sword than -by fire.” - -“And the women?” - -“For them,” he said with set teeth, “the same death as for us--it is -the only way. For me, my wife; for you, Charlotte. Are you brave enough -to thrust your sword into her heart, my friend?” - -A cold sweat broke out upon me, head to foot. - -“God in heaven, no!” I cried, hoarsely. “Not that--anything but that!” - -“As for me,” said my companion, with a terrible calmness, “I prefer to -kill my wife rather than abandon her to the mercies of Goujon. Come, -Tavernay, be a man! You love her and yet you hesitate!” - -“Love her! Oh, God!” I groaned. - -“Come! We have but a moment. They are almost through!” and indeed I -could hear the frantic blows with which the debris was being swept -aside, could see the reflection of the torches’ glare. By a supreme -effort I controlled the trembling which shook me. - -“Very well, monsieur,” I said, as calmly as I could, “I am ready. What -is it you propose?” - -By the dim glare of the torches I could see his white face poised like -a phantom’s in the air before me. - -“Spoken like a man!” he said, and gripped my hand. “What I propose -is this--we will hold this stair until they find they cannot carry it -by assault; then, as they prepare their fire, we will ascend to the -platform, bid the women good-by--God of Heaven!--what is that?” - -I, too, heard the blood-curdling sound which came suddenly from one -corner of the room. It was a sort of snarling whine, which rose and -fell and rose again, mixed with a hideous panting which never stopped. -There was something bestial about it--something appalling, inhuman--yet -what beast could produce a sound like that? - -Cautiously we approached the corner, sword in hand. Whatever it was, -however formidable, we must have it out--we could run no risk of being -taken in the rear. The great, draped bed loomed through the darkness, -sinister and threatening. The sounds came from within it. As I stared -with starting eyes I fancied I could see the curtains quiver, as though -the Thing behind them was trembling with eagerness to spring upon us. - -“A light! We must have a light!” cried M. le Comte, stamping his feet -in an agony of impatience. “God’s blood! What is it, Tavernay?” - -Gripping my teeth to restrain their chattering, I advanced to the bed -and jerked down the rotting curtains. They fell in a suffocating shower -of dust; yet even then I could see nothing of what lay behind. But the -noise had ceased. - -Then suddenly beside me rose a phantom, which, even as I drew back my -arm to strike, seized my wrist and held it in a grip of steel. - -“Not so fast, monsieur,” said a hoarse voice. - -“Pasdeloup!” I cried. “Pasdeloup! Was it you, then?” - -But Pasdeloup had already turned to his master. - -“I have a rope, M. le Comte,” he said simply. - -“A rope! A rope! But where did you get it, Pasdeloup?” - -“From the bed. Oh, I had trouble enough loosening those knots! They had -been tightened by I know not what weight! The people who lay in that -bed were giants! And at the end I thought it would be too late. But it -is not--it is not! Come--there is yet a chance!” - -He started for the stair, and at the same instant there came from below -a crash of falling stone and a chorus of exultant yells. - -“They have broken through!” said M. le Comte. “They will be upon us in -a moment! Tavernay, to you I confide my wife, and to you, Pasdeloup! -Hasten! Hasten! I will keep them back;” and he took his station at the -stair-head. - -Without a word Pasdeloup threw the rope to me, sprang to the corner -where the bed stood, and with a single jerk ripped off one of the heavy -posts, tipped with iron; then pushing his master aside, roughly and yet -tenderly, he seized for himself the post of danger from which there -could be no retreat. - -“Go, messieurs!” he cried. “Go quickly! There is yet time!” - -We stood uncertain. It seemed such a cowardly thing to run away, -leaving this man to face that frenzied mob--to abandon him, to permit -him to lay down his life for us--such a cowardly thing! - -He glanced around to see us still standing there. - -“Not gone!” he cried furiously. “Body of God! Are we all to die, -then--and the women, too? Fools! Cowards!” - -“He is right,” said M. le Comte hoarsely. “He is right, Tavernay--it -is cowardice holds us here! We must go if we would save the women. -Pasdeloup,” he said, “I thank thee. I honor thee. Thou art a better man -than I!” - -“Go, monsieur!--go!” urged Pasdeloup. “I am paying my debt. My life has -been yours any time these twenty years. It is nothing. Go!” - -Without a word, M. le Comte turned and started up the stair. I followed -him, my eyes blurred with tears. And as we went we heard a rush of feet -behind us, then a chorus of groans and yells which told us that the -attack had begun and that Pasdeloup stood firm. - -And M. le Comte’s words were ringing in my head. - -Pasdeloup, Pasdeloup! A better man than I! A better man than I! - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -THE END OF GABRIELLE’S TOWER. - - -NOT until we had reached the platform and come out into the clear -moonlight and the radiance of the glow cast by the flames was it -possible for us to examine the rope and ascertain if Pasdeloup had -really provided us with a means of escape. It was a cord, light, but of -unusual strength, which had been passed from side to side of the bed to -support the bedding, and was not rotted as I had feared. But it was too -short--a glance told me that--too short by many feet to reach from the -parapet to the ground. - -“We must use one of the windows,” I said; and M. le Comte assented with -a motion of the head. - -I ran down to the floor below, and closing my ears as well as I could -to the shrieks and curses of the mob which was struggling to force a -passage of the stair, flung back the shutter of the window which looked -out upon the wood opposite the château. Then cautiously I scanned the -ground about the tower, but could see no evidence of any guard, nor any -stragglers from the mob which was hurling itself on Pasdeloup. With a -deep breath of relief I withdrew my head, and securing one end of the -cord to the great hinge of the shutter, made a loop in the other. - -At that instant M. le Comte came down the stair bringing the women -with him. He noted my arrangements at a glance and approved them with a -nod. - -“Now, my love,” he said; and madame came forward at once, pale, but -holding herself admirably in hand. - -By the moonlight which flooded the apartment through the open window -I perceived, dark against her bosom, the handle of a dagger, and -instantly I knew who had given it to her, and why. - -“I am ready,” she said, and lifted a radiant face to his. - -I knew that she believed she was going to her death and was not afraid. -They may rant about equality as they will, but after all blood will -tell. - -“Good!” he cried. “You are setting us all an example of courage. Sit -here on the window-sill--so; now swing your feet over--so; now place -them in this loop and grasp the rope tightly. Stay close by the tower -until we descend. It will be but a moment. And now good-by, my love.” - -She bent and kissed him, then let herself slide slowly from the -window-ledge while we braced ourselves for the shock. I could see the -shudder which shook her as she whirled for a moment in mid-air. I saw -her teeth sink into her lip to restrain the cry of terror which rose in -her throat. Then she succeeded in steadying herself, and we lowered her -hand over hand. - -“God grant that she has not been seen!” murmured M. le Comte; and from -my heart I echoed the prayer. - -In a moment the rope slackened and we knew that she had reached the -ground. M. le Comte leaned out and looked down at her and waved his -hand. - -“She is safe,” he said. “She has not been seen.” - -In a breath we had drawn the rope up again. - -“Now, Charlotte,” said M. le Comte; and I helped her to mount the -window. - -“Mademoiselle,” I said hoarsely, “take this pistol. Conceal it -somewhere in your gown; and if you are surprised, if you see there is -no escape, use it.” - -For an instant she did not understand; then with a quick breath she -held out her hand. - -“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I shall not forget;” and she thrust the -weapon beneath her cloak. - -“Good-by, my love!” I whispered; and with melting eyes she pressed her -lips to mine. “My love! My love!” - -She smiled at me tenderly; then she passed slowly downward, out of -sight. A moment more and she, too, had reached the ground. - -So concerned had we been in getting them safely down that neither of -us had thought or ear for the tumult beneath our feet; but now, as we -paused an instant to take breath, it seemed to me that it was mounting -toward us. - -“You next, M. le Comte,” I said; “and do not wait for me. Get under -cover of the wood, and I will join you--but do not wait too long.” - -He hesitated an instant, then sprang to the sill. - -“That is best,” he assented. “We shall wait for you at the edge of the -wood directly west of the tower. You cannot miss us. And we will wait -until you come.” - -He gripped my hand, caught the rope, and disappeared from the window. -At the same instant I turned and darted down the stair. - -At every step the pandemonium below grew in volume until it seemed that -all the fiends of hell were fighting there. The pungent smell of powder -assailed my nostrils, and through the darkness I caught the flash of -musket and pistol and the flare of torches. But with a gasp of relief I -saw that the mob had not yet gained a foothold in the room. - -I sprang to one side where an angle of the wall shielded me from the -bullets, and paused to look about me. The air was thick with smoke; and -not until I drew quite near could I perceive Pasdeloup’s squat figure. -He was standing at the head of the stair, a little to one side, his -huge club raised in his hands. At that instant a shaggy head appeared -and the club fell upon it, crushing it like a shell of glass. The body -pitched forward quivering, and again Pasdeloup raised his club and -waited, like the very god of death. - -As I silently took my place beside him I perceived that the sounds from -below were not all yells of rage and triumph; there were groans among -them, and oaths, and screams of agony; and as the smoke lifted for an -instant I saw that the stair was cumbered with bodies. - -A sort of panic seized upon the mob as it discovered its own losses, -and for a moment it drew back in terror before this mysterious and -fearful weapon, which slew, and slew--silent, untiring. A sudden -stillness fell upon them as they contemplated that bloody stair--a -stillness broken only by those groans and curses. Then some one shouted -a sharp command, and a cloud of black smoke puffed into our faces, and -the odor of burning straw. - -As I touched him on the arm, Pasdeloup, whose attention had been wholly -concentrated on the stair, wheeled upon me, his club ready to strike. - -“Come!” I shouted in his ear. “Come!” And I motioned to the stair -behind us. - -“M. le Comte,” he demanded, “where is he?” - -“He is safe,” I answered. “So are the women. Save yourself!” - -He glanced at the thickening smoke and sniffed the air with distended -nostrils. - -“They are going to burn us out,” he said; and even as he spoke a tongue -of yellow flame licked the bottom of the stair. - -Then the wounded wretches stretched upon it understood the fate in -store for them. Their shrieks redoubled; but now there were prayers -mingled with the curses. My heart turned sick within me as I looked at -them. - -“Come!” I urged, and plucked at my companion’s sleeve. - -This time he nodded, and I sprang up the stair. He followed at my -heels. - -“Here we are,” I said, and paused at the open window. - -He motioned me to precede him. I sprang to the sill, seized the cord -and slid to the ground so rapidly that it burnt into my fingers; but I -scarcely felt the pain. In a moment Pasdeloup stood beside me. - -“This way,” he said; and without an instant’s hesitation led the way -toward a thicket near the tower. We plunged into it without stopping to -look back and pushed our way forward until we came to a little eminence -bare of trees. Here we paused to take breath. - -The dawn was just tinging the eastern sky, but across the cold, grey -light there burst suddenly a mighty finger of flame. It was the tower, -blazing like a monster torch; and I shuddered as I thought of the fate -of the wretches who had perished there. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -THE TRAGEDY. - - -PASDELOUP did not so much as glance at the blazing tower. He was gazing -at the woods about us, scanning each thicket with eyes preternaturally -bright. It was still too dark for me to discern anything in the smudge -of shadow beneath the trees, but my companion seemed to labor under no -such disability. I knew of course that he was searching for some trace -of his master. - -“He said that he would wait for us at the edge of the wood,” I told -him, “straight westward from the tower.” - -“We came that way,” said Pasdeloup gruffly. “It was there I thought to -find him, but he was not there. I will go back again. Wait here for me.” - -In an instant he had disappeared beneath the trees so quietly that -I did not hear so much as the rustle of a leaf. He melted into the -forest; became a part of it. - -I turned back to the tower and watched the flames as they leaped high -in the heavens, as though striving to touch the stars, which faded -and paled before the growing light in the east. Dawn was at hand, and -I realized the folly of lingering there. That rope hanging from the -window must be soon discovered--perhaps had been discovered long -ere this--and pursuit of course would follow instantly. And my heart -suddenly chilled at the thought that perhaps M. le Comte and the women -had walked straight into a trap which had been set for them. - -The thought brought me to my feet, and I looked to right and left with -an overpowering feeling of helplessness. At the first step I would be -lost. And yet I could not stand idle---- - -A sudden vivid sense of companionship caused me to start around. It was -Pasdeloup who had returned as noiselessly as he had gone. - -“You found them?” I asked. - -He shook his head and sank to a sitting posture, his brows knitted, -his eyes staring straight before him. I burned to ask the direction of -his search, the details of it, but something in his attitude warned me -to hold my tongue. Then suddenly his face cleared and he sprang to his -feet. - -“Come,” he said, and set off down the hill at a pace which I found it -hard to equal. - -Once among the trees the going was still more difficult, but Pasdeloup -sped forward with astonishing ease and swiftness and as silently as a -shadow. As for myself, I floundered through the underbrush and over -the uneven ground as best I could. But the best was bad enough, and -more than once I fancied that Pasdeloup had abandoned me to my own -resources, as I certainly deserved. But always I found him patiently -awaiting me. He seemed to have some well-defined objective point in -view, for he went straight forward without looking to right or left. -We came out at the end of half an hour into a gentle valley nearly free -of trees, and up this he turned almost at a run. At last I panted after -him up a little hill and found him calmly sitting at the top. - -I flung myself beside him, breathless, utterly exhausted. - -“Do not wait for me,” I said, as soon as I could speak. “You must find -them--they need you more than I. I will shift for myself.” - -“We stop here,” he answered, still gruffly. “They must pass this way.” - -At last I was able to sit up and look about me. The hill on which we -were stood at the junction of two little valleys. - -“They must come by one of those,” continued Pasdeloup. “We will wait -until they pass.” - -“But why did they not wait for us in the wood?” I questioned. “Perhaps -M. le Comte gave me up when I did not follow him.” - -“No,” said Pasdeloup. “They waited, but they were discovered and forced -to flee.” - -“Discovered?” I repeated despairingly. - -“At least a body of peasants passed over the spot where they had -stopped. Perhaps they were not seen.” - -I breathed again. - -“And they will come this way?” - -“They must, if they keep to the cover of the woods.” - -“They will, of course, do that,” I said, and strained my eyes down each -of the valleys in turn. - -Our position commanded a considerable view of the surrounding country, -but the château was hidden by a low spur of hill which ran down into -the valley at our left. I fancied I could still see in the sky the -reflection of the light from the burning tower, but a moment later I -saw it was the sun just peeping over the trees to the east. - -Then I began to chafe at the delay, for it seemed to me that we were -wasting time. I glanced at my companion and found that apparently he -had totally forgotten me. - -“Pasdeloup,” I said at last, “are you quite sure that M. le Comte must -pass this hill?” - -He looked up with a start and a frown. - -“Yes,” he answered harshly; and I saw that he himself was disturbed by -the delay. “To north and south are only open fields where people are -working, and many houses. He could not hope to pass that way unseen, -especially with the women. He will know this. He will know that he must -follow this valley to the west. In this way he can keep to the shelter -of the hills until he reaches the valley of the Dive. Beyond that is -the Bocage.” - -“Yes,” I agreed; “it is the Bocage he will seek to reach. But perhaps -he has already passed.” - -Pasdeloup shook his head. - -“Impossible. We came by a shorter way which the women could not have -followed. Besides, he said he would wait for you. It is that which -is delaying him. He fancies you are lost somewhere in the woods down -yonder. I shall have to seek him;” and he rose to his feet with sudden -resolution. - -Then he stopped and stood for an instant staring down the valley. - -“It is they!” he cried. “It is they!” - -I sprang to my feet and followed with my eyes his pointing finger. For -some moments I saw nothing--only the tangle of trees and underbrush; -then I caught a movement among the trees and three figures came out -into the little glade below us. - -The women advanced slowly and with difficulty, as though already weary. -M. le Comte paused to look back. - -“You were right,” I said, touched to the heart. “He is still seeking -me.” But Pasdeloup had placed his hand behind his ear and was listening -intently, his face of a sudden rigid as stone. - -“They have waited for you too long,” he said roughly. “They are -followed;” and he plunged down the hillside, I after him. - -M. le Comte had given an arm to each of the women and was hurrying them -forward, encouraging each in turn. Not until we were almost upon them -did he hear us; then he snatched out his pistols and whirled toward us. - -“M. le Comte!” I cried. “Madame!” But my eyes were only for that other -face, gray and dreary in the cold light of the morning. She had been -staring listlessly at the ground, but at sound of my voice she started -round upon me, her face white as death. - -“Tavernay!” cried M. le Comte, a great light in his eyes. “And -Pasdeloup! Ah, I understand now why you lingered!” and he held out a -hand to each of us. “We thought you dead! We thought the flames had -caught you!” - -“Come,” said Pasdeloup. “This is no time for words.” - -“You are right,” agreed his master. “Tavernay, I again entrust -Charlotte to you.” - -I crossed to her, took her hands in mine and drew her to me. - -“I thought you dead,” she murmured, raising brimming eyes to mine. “I -thought you had stayed too long;” and I felt how she was trembling. - -“Come!” cried Pasdeloup again; “there is a hiding-place, if we can only -reach it;” and he glanced anxiously over his shoulder. - -I drew my love forward, my arm still about her. - -“We are going to escape,” I murmured in her ear. “We are going to be -very happy. God intends it.” - -She looked up into my eyes and smiled tremulously. I could guess how -near she was to absolute exhaustion and did my best to shield her. -Our way for a time led over a smooth meadow, then we plunged into the -rocky bed of a brook which mounted so steeply that our progress was -very slow. The way grew more and more rough, great boulders blocked the -path, and on either side the banks of the torrent rose abruptly to a -height of many feet. - -Then, from far down the valley behind us, came the bay of a hound. - -M. le Comte stopped and listened. - -“I know that sound,” he said. “That is Roland. What can he be hunting?” - -“He is hunting his master,” answered Pasdeloup grimly. “Goujon devised -that trick.” - -“Goujon!” murmured M. le Comte. “Always Goujon.” - -“It was he trained the dog,” added Pasdeloup. “Come; we are losing -time.” - -“The women cannot go much farther along such a road as this,” his -master warned him. - -“We have not far to go--just around that turn yonder, and we are safe.” - -Suddenly behind us rose a chorus of savage yells. - -“They have seen us!” said M. le Comte. - -I drew my companion to me and half carried her up the steep slope over -which in rainy weather the torrent plunged. Pasdeloup had already -reached the top. As I looked back I saw a mob of men clambering -savagely over the rocks below. At that instant M. le Comte panted up -with madame in his arms. - -“There!” he said with a smile of triumph, as he placed her on her feet. -“That is accomplished! For the moment we are safe. They will never -dare----” - -A single musket shot rang out. I saw the smoke drift slowly up, and -at the same instant madame staggered and fell into her husband’s -outstretched arms. - -“What is it?” he cried. “Oh, my love! My love!” - -[Illustration: AS I LOOKED BACK I SAW A MOB OF MEN CLAMBERING SAVAGELY -OVER THE ROCKS BELOW] - -Her eyes were open and she was gazing fondly up at him. She tried to -speak, but could not. Her lips were flecked with blood. Then her eyes -closed, her arm fell limp. - -It had happened so suddenly that I could not realize it--could not -believe it. - -“Come,” said Pasdeloup again, and touched his master’s arm. - -M. le Comte lifted to us a face convulsed. - -“Go!” he said hoarsely. “Pasdeloup, I charge you with those two. Save -them! I can hold this mob back.” - -Pasdeloup looked down at them. They were very near and climbing -steadily upward. With a strength almost superhuman he caught up a huge -boulder and sent it bounding toward them down the slope. They saw it -coming and scattered; then, when a second followed it, fled wildly. -Their advance had been checked for the moment. - -Pasdeloup turned back to his master. - -“Come,” he said again. - -M. le Comte laid his wife’s body gently down and stood erect. - -“I tell you I die here,” he said, a great calmness in his eyes. “Will -you obey me, or will you not? I command you to guide these two to the -hiding-place you spoke of.” - -For an instant Pasdeloup’s eyes blazed defiance; then he glanced down -at the enemy, and his lips curved into a smile. He bent his head and -set off up the stream. - -“Follow him, Tavernay,” commanded M. le Comte, seeing that I -hesitated. “I would not save my life if I could--it is loathsome to me. -I commend Charlotte to you. Go straight west to the Bocage; there you -will find friends. God bless you!” - -“I cannot go,” I faltered. “I cannot leave you here. That would be too -cowardly!” - -“Cowardly?” he echoed, facing around upon me. “It is I who have chosen -the coward’s part! To you I give a duty far more difficult. Ah, here -they come!” he added, and raised his pistols. “Go--I beg of you. Be -brave enough to go.” - -I could do nothing but obey--no other path lay open. With sinking -heart I passed my arm again about the waist of my companion, who had -seemingly lapsed into a sort of stupor, and followed Pasdeloup who was -awaiting us impatiently at a little distance. - -“This way,” he said; and turned from the bed of the torrent up the -steep hillside. I paused for one backward glance at the friend I had -abandoned. He was standing erect, pistols in hand. The tears blinded -me, and I hastened on. - -In a moment Pasdeloup stopped. - -“Do you see that ledge of rock up yonder overgrown with vines?” he -asked. “Put the vines aside and you will find behind them a very -comfortable cavern. Enter it and you are safe.” - -“And you?” I asked, seeing that he turned away. - -“I? Oh, I return to my master;” and he was off in an instant. - -I gazed after him, touched anew by that dog-like devotion, until he -disappeared from sight down the bed of the torrent. In the distance -I heard a rattle of muskets. They were attacking him, then; and I -pictured to myself that gallant figure defying them, his eyes gleaming, -a smile upon his lips. Ah, if I were only there beside him! - -Then suddenly I became conscious of a dead weight on my arm, and -glanced down to see that Charlotte was lying there unconscious. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -I TAKE A VOW. - - -FOR an instant I was so shaken by that dead weight on my arm, by that -white drawn face turned blindly up to mine, that my heart stopped in my -bosom; for I recalled that other white face and that other limp form I -had seen but a moment since. Then I shook the horror off. - -“She has only fainted,” I told myself. “She is not dead; she cannot be -dead; it is nothing; it will pass in a moment;” and gripping my teeth -together in a very agony of effort I lifted her in my arms and set off -up the hillside toward the ledge which Pasdeloup had pointed out. How -I reached it I know not, for ere I covered half the distance the world -was reeling red before me and the blood pounding like a hammer in my -brain. But reach it I did, and pushing aside that curtain of vines, -I saw behind it the dark entrance to the cavern, framed by the solid -rock. I stooped and entered, then laid my burden gently on the hard, -dry floor, and flung myself well-nigh senseless beside her. - -But a moment or two sufficed to give me back my breath, and struggling -to my feet I first assured myself that the leafy curtain had fallen -naturally into place. Then I made a quick circuit of the cavern. I -found it rudely circular, with a diameter of perhaps a rod and a -height of half as much. Pasdeloup had doubtless occupied it more than -once, for in one corner was a pile of dry moss, which had evidently -served for a bed. To this I bore that still, limp body and fell -to chafing wrist and temple, with a harrowing fear again gripping -my heart. She was so pale, so haggard, her hands were so cold and -nerveless, that I was almost ready to believe that the horrors -and hardships of the night had slain her. There was no pulse, no -respiration.... - -Despairingly I let the limp hand fall. My path lay clear before me--I -would share the fate of my companions--I would die beside them! - -I bent and kissed her lips, softly, reverently. And in that instant a -gentle sigh came from them, her eyes opened and she lay looking up at -me. - -“Then you are not dead!” I cried. “You are not dead!” And I caught up -her hands again and chafed them madly, feeling with joy indescribable -the warmth of life returning to them. - -She lay still a moment longer, then gently drew her hands away and -raised herself to a sitting posture. - -“Where are we?” she questioned, staring about her in the green -half-light which filtered through the leafy curtain. - -“We are in a cavern which Pasdeloup knew of,” I explained. “We are -safe.” - -“I thought we were under the ocean,” she said, still staring about her. -“Far down in the depths of the ocean--I have always fancied it must be -like this. But where are the others?” she demanded suddenly. - -“That I do not know,” I answered as cheerfully as I could. “No doubt -they have escaped in another direction;” but in my heart I knew the -absurdity of such a hope. - -“You left them, then?” she questioned, looking at me from under level -brows. - -“M. le Comte commanded it,” I answered flushing. “Do you not remember?” - -She pressed her hands to her temples. - -“I remember nothing,” she said at last, “except that we climbed a great -mountain, and that your arm was about me, aiding me.” - -I breathed a sigh of relief that her memory stopped there. - -“Shall I go back and look for them?” I asked. - -“No, no!” she protested, and caught my hand. “Do not leave me here--at -least not yet!” - -“I shall have to go before long. We must have food.” - -“I want no food--I feel as though I never shall.” - -“Nevertheless you must eat. You must be strong and brave. We have a -long journey before us.” - -“A long journey?” - -“Yes; we shall not be really safe until we are among M. le Comte’s -friends in the Bocage.” - -“Is that far?” she asked. - -“Not so far but that we shall win through safely,” I assured her. - -She lay back again upon the moss with a long sigh of utter weariness. - -“You must sleep,” I added, gently. “Do not fight it off--yield to it. -You will need your strength--all of it--for to-night.” - -“For to-night?” - -“Yes; we dare not start until darkness comes, and we must get forward -as far as we can ere daybreak. You can sleep in perfect security. No -one suspects that we are hidden here.” - -She did not answer, but turned on one side, laid her head upon her arm -and closed her eyes. Sleep, I knew, would claim her in a moment. - -I crept forward to the mouth of the cavern and sitting down behind the -screen of vines pulled them aside a little and peered down the valley, -in the hope that I might see Pasdeloup and M. le Comte making their way -toward us. But there was no one in sight, nor could I hear any sound -of conflict in the direction whence we had come. It might be, I told -myself, that Pasdeloup by some miracle had again succeeded in saving -his master, and that they had fled together in some other direction; -but I felt there were limits to the power of even his supreme devotion. -Certainly no situation could have been more critical and hopeless than -that in which I had left my friend. - -Whatever the result of that struggle, there was evidently nothing left -for me to do save to stand sentinel over my companion and see that no -harm came to her. I sat down with my back against the wall of stone -and composed myself as comfortably as I could to watch the valley. -Indeed my posture was too comfortable. The knowledge that we were safe, -the lifting of the cloud of horror, the slackening of the strain under -which I had labored, left me strangely weary. My eyelids drooped, and -before I realized the danger I was sound asleep. - -I awoke with a guilty start, but a single glance down into the valley -reassured me--no danger threatened us from that direction. How long I -had slept I could not guess, but it must have been some hours, for I -felt refreshed, invigorated, ready for anything--ready especially to -undertake an energetic search for food to appease the gnawing in my -stomach. - -But first I turned back into the cave and bent over my companion. She -was still sleeping peacefully. A ray of light which had fought its way -through the leafy curtain fell upon her face in benediction. I saw how -sleep had wiped away the lines of weariness and care, and I knew she -would be ready for the task which nightfall would bring with it. - -I drew her cloak more closely about her, then went out softly, leaving -her undisturbed. I glanced up and down the valley to assure myself that -I was unobserved, drew carefully together the veil of vines behind me, -then paused a moment to reflect. I had two things to do--I must secure -food, and I must discover if possible the fate of our companions. I -resolved to do the latter first, and so proceeded cautiously down the -valley, keeping a sharp lookout on every side. I thought for a time -that I had got my directions strangely reversed, for the sun appeared -to be rising in the west instead of in the east; but I soon perceived -that it was not rising at all, but setting, and that instead of being -mid-morning, it was mid-afternoon. I had slept not three or four hours, -as I had fancied, but eight or nine. - -That discovery had the effect of hastening my steps and lessening my -caution. I had no time to lose, and whatever the result of the fight -at the cliff, it was improbable that any of the enemy had lingered so -long in the neighborhood. So I went forward boldly and as swiftly as -I could, down the hill, into the narrow bed of the torrent where now -murmured the clear waters of a little brook, over the rough stones, -around a jagged point of rock--and the scene of the fight lay before me. - -For a moment I saw only the rocks, the red earth. Then my eye was -caught by a huddled mass so trampled into the mud as to be almost -indistinguishable from it, yet unmistakably a human body. I hastened -to it; I bent above it and stared down into the battered and blackened -face. Disfigured, repulsive as it was, I knew it instantly--it was -Pasdeloup. - -With a sudden feeling of suffocation I stood erect and looked about -me, trembling at the thought of the dread objects my eyes sought and -yet shrank from. Then I drew a quick breath of relief, of joy, of -thankfulness. Pasdeloup had sacrificed his life, indeed, but not in -vain. His master had escaped--by some miracle he had escaped, bearing -his wife with him. But which way had he gone? Why had he not pressed -forward to the cave? Which way---- - -I stopped, shivering, my eyes burning into my brain; for there, in -cruel exposure half way down the slope, were two objects.... - -How I got down to them, shaken as I was by the agony of that discovery, -I know not. I remember only the tempest of wild rage which burst -within me as I looked down at those mutilated figures. And I held my -clenched hands above my head and swore, as there was a God in heaven, -that I would have vengeance on the devil who had done this thing. He -should pay for it--he should pay to the uttermost, drop by drop. I -vowed myself to the task. By my father’s memory, by my mother’s honor, -by my hope of heaven, I swore that for me there should be no rest, no -happiness, no contentment, until I had pulled this monster down and -sent his soul to the torture which awaited it. - -For an instant the mad thought seized me to set off at once on the -trail of the murderers, to harry them, cleave them asunder, seize the -fiend who had set them on and wring his life out. A superhuman strength -possessed me, a divine ardor of vengeance; and not for an instant did I -doubt that God would nerve my arm to accomplish all this. But suddenly -I remembered that another duty had been laid upon me. I must discharge -that first; I must go on to the Bocage. Then I could turn back to Dange. - -I grew calmer after a time; that divine rage passed and left me weak -and shaken. I sat limply down upon a nearby stone and gazed at those -desecrated bodies, with hot tears starting from my eyes at thought of -the gallant man and fair woman for whom this hideous fate had been -reserved. In that moment of anguish there was but one comforting -reflection--she had died with her husband’s arms about her, his voice -in her ears, his kisses on her lips. - -Yet, deserted, insentient as they were, I could not leave these bodies -here to rot in the sun, food for carrion birds and unclean beasts -of the night. Nor could I spare the time to bury them, for the sun -was already sinking toward the horizon. I glanced despairingly about -me--then I saw the way. - -Twenty feet above the bed of the stream some tremendous freshet had -eaten into the bank and so undermined it that it seemed to hang -tottering in the air. In a moment I had carried the bodies, one by one, -into the shadow of this bank and laid them tenderly side by side. Then -I hesitated--but only for an instant. I went straight to the spot where -Pasdeloup lay, and half dragging, half carrying, placed him at last -beside his master, where he surely had the right to lie--where I was -certain he would have wished to lie. - -As I was about to turn away a sudden thought struck me. I had donned my -gayest suit the night before,--the suit indeed I had not thought to -wear until I approached the high altar at Poitiers,--and though it was -already sadly soiled and torn, it must still attract attention to a man -with no better means of conveyance than his legs. Here was a disguise -ready to my hand; for under the rude garments which Pasdeloup had -worn--stained as they were with blood and dirt--no one would suspect -the Royalist. In a moment I had stripped off his stockings, blouse -and breeches, cleaned the caked mud from them as well as I could, and -throwing my own garments over him, donned his,--not without a shiver -of repugnance,--taking care to transfer to my new attire my purse, my -ammunition, and the one pistol which remained to me, and to secure the -knife which had already done such execution, and which I found gripped -in his right hand. I tied his coarse handkerchief about my head, and -stopping only for a little prayer clambered to the top of the bank -and with my sword began to loosen the overhanging earth. Great cracks -showed here and there, and it must soon have fallen of its own weight. -So very little remained for me to do, and at the end of a moment’s work -I saw the cracks slowly widen. - -Then, with a dull crash which echoed along the valley, the earth fell -upon the bodies, burying them to a depth of many feet, safe from -desecration by the fang of brute or the eye of man. - -The tears were streaming down my face as I turned away; but I could -not linger, for darkness was at hand and I had already been too long -absent from my charge. I flung my sword far down the cliff, for I would -have no further need of it, then with all the speed at my command I -retraced my steps along the bed of the stream and upward toward the -ledge of rock. As I approached it I fancied I saw a figure slip quickly -out of sight behind the vines. Dreading I knew not what, I hastened my -steps, swept aside the curtain and stooped to enter. - -But even as I did so there came a burst of flame almost in my face, and -I felt a sharp, vivid pain tear across my cheek. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -CIRCE’S TOILET. - - -SO blinded was I by the flash and by the swirl of acrid smoke which -followed it that for an instant I thought there had been some terrible -explosion--another mine perhaps, designed to wreck our cavern and -entomb us beneath the rocks. Then, in an agony of fear, not for myself, -but for the girl confided to my keeping, I sprang forward, determined -to close with my assailant before he could fire again. Once my fingers -were at his throat, I knew he would never fire.... - -But at the third step I stumbled over some obstruction and came -headlong to the floor. I was up again in an instant, my back to the -wall, my pistol in my hand, wondering at my escape. But there was no -second attack, not a sound, save my own hurried breathing. - -Then, as my eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, I saw with astonishment -that the cavern was empty. What was it that had happened? Who was it -had fired that shot at me? What was the obstruction which had brought -me down? I could just discern it on the floor before me--a dim, huddled -mass. I went to it, bent over it, peered down at it--and in a sudden -panic terror saw that it was Charlotte! The fiends had been watching -then; they had seen me leave the cavern; they had seen me desert -her--fool that I was!--they had waited till I was safely away; then -they had crept in upon her, surprised her as she slept, secure in the -thought that I was watching over her! - -With a groan of agony I groped for her wrist and found myself clutching -a pistol whose barrel was still warm. In a flash I understood, and -my heart bounded again with joy, the while I cursed my carelessness. -It was she who had fired at me! How was she to know me in this garb? -She had been watching for me outside the cave, and had seen a brigand -approaching her. She had slipped behind the curtain, and a moment later -I had burst in upon her without a word of warning. Fool that I was! -Fool! Fool! And yet my heart was singing with joy and thankfulness--joy -that she had escaped; thankfulness that she had turned the pistol -against me and not against herself! Had she done that!--but I shook the -thought from me lest I break down completely. - -I drew her to the entrance of the cavern that the cool air of the -evening might play upon her face. At the end of a moment her lips -parted in a faint sigh, her bosom rose and fell convulsively and she -opened her eyes and stared up at me with a gaze in which horror grew -and deepened. - -“Do you not know me, my love?” I asked. “It is Tavernay. See!” and I -snatched off Pasdeloup’s knotted headgear. - -The warm color flooded her face, and she sat suddenly upright. - -“Then it was you!” she gasped. “It was you!” - -“Yes;” and I laughed with the sheer joy of seeing her again so full -of life. “It was I at whom you discharged your pistol. An inch to the -right, and I should not be talking to you now;” and I placed my finger -on the still smarting scratch across my cheek. - -She gave one glance at it, then fell forward, sobbing, her face between -her hands. What would I not have given to take her in my arms--to hold -her close against my heart--to kiss away those tears! But even in that -moment there was about her something which held me back; something -which recalled the promise I had made her; something which bade me -remember that she was in my care, defenseless. So I stilled the hot -pulsing of my blood as far as in me lay, and even succeeded in speaking -with a certain coldness. - -“Mademoiselle,” I said, touching her delicate, quivering shoulder, “it -was nothing--or rather it was just what you should have done. The fault -was wholly mine. I should not have burst in upon you like that; but I -was so worried, so anxious to know that you were safe. You were right -in shooting. If you had killed me it would have been no more than I -deserved. I blame only myself, and bitterly. I was a fool. I hope you -will find it in your heart to pardon me.” - -Her sobs had ceased, and as I finished she threw back her hair and -sat erect again. I saw with astonishment and relief that she was -smiling--and I found her smile more disturbing than her tears. - -“Then we are quits, are we not,” she asked, “since we each made a -mistake?” - -“You did not make a mistake,” I protested, “so we are not quits until -you have forgiven me.” - -She held out her hand with a charming gesture. - -“You are forgiven,” she said, “so far as you need forgiveness. And -now,” she continued, drawing away the hand which I had not the courage -to relinquish, and rising quickly to her feet, “what are your plans?” - -“There is down yonder,” I answered, “a charming little brook, which -purls over the stones, and stops to loiter, here and there, in the -basins of the rock. The water is very cool and clear.” - -“Then come!” she cried. “Ah, I am desperately thirsty and frightfully -dirty. I am ashamed for you to see me!” - -“I was just marvelling,” I retorted, “that you had kept yourself so -immaculate. I cannot understand it.” - -“Immaculate!” she echoed, and set off down the slope. - -But suddenly she stopped. - -“Shall we return?” she asked. “Shall we see the cave again?” - -“No, I think not,” I answered; “we must be starting westward.” - -“Then I must say good-by to it;” and she ran back to the entrance, drew -aside the curtain and fell upon her knees. I saw her throw a kiss into -the darkness and her head bent for a moment as though in prayer. I, -too, closed my eyes and prayed God that He would give me strength to -guide this woman through to safety. At last she arose and rejoined me. - -“It is a lovable cave,” she said, “and it kept us safe. It would have -been ungrateful to go away without a word of thanks;” and somehow, -for me, as for her, the cavern in that instant assumed a personality, -benign and cheerful. I could fancy it glowing with pleasure at thought -of this last good deed. - -“You were right,” I agreed. “But then you are always right.” - -“Oh, no,” she protested quickly. “Sometimes I am very wrong. But you -will discover that for yourself.” - -“Shall I? When?” - -“All too soon, I fear;” and she looked at me with a curious little -smile. - -“I don’t believe it!” I retorted, with conviction. - -She only smiled again in a way I could not understand, and blushed and -went on without speaking. Who can read a woman’s thoughts? Certainly -not I! - -But I was fiercely, madly happy. For the moment no thought of the -future, of its penalties and duties, shadowed me. I was content to be -here with this brave and lovely girl, alone with her--a comrade and -friend. Since nothing more was possible,--since to friend and comrade I -could not add lover,--I would yet be happy in what was granted me. And -that I must be content with this, I saw too well--not in any coldness -or aversion, but by a subtle change of manner, the merest nuance of -expression, which at the same time kept me near to her, and yet held me -away. On the tower she had permitted my endearments, had even raised -her lips to mine; but that was looking in the face of death at a moment -when we need take no thought for the future--at a moment when she had -wished to comfort me, and herself stood in need of comfort. But we had -emerged from that shadow; there was the future again to be reckoned -with, and between us an impalpable but invulnerable veil was stretched -which I must never hope to pass. - -We reached the brook, and I placed two broad flat stones at the edge -of a little pool where the lucid water paused for an instant before -pursuing its course along the rocky way, and watched her while she -stooped and drank. She had cast aside her cloak, and I noted with a -clear delight the soft curve of her arms, the slim grace of neck and -shoulders. - -“Now it is your turn, my friend,” she said, and made room for me. - -I knelt and drank too. How good the water tasted! How it cleansed and -purified the parched throat! How it heartened the whole body! - -“And now I shall use some of it externally,” she said, as I stood -aside; and I sat down on a nearby rock to enjoy the spectacle. - -She rolled back her sleeves and bound her hair in a tight coil -upon her head. Then from some hidden pocket she produced a dainty -handkerchief, and dipping it in the stream, applied it vigorously to -face and neck. I saw her skin glow and brighten under touch of the cool -water; she seemed like a nymph---- - -Suddenly she looked aside and caught my eyes. - -“Is this the first time you have seen a lady at her toilet, M. de -Tavernay?” she asked, witheringly. - -“The very first, mademoiselle.” - -“And you feel no compunctions of conscience for keeping your seat -there?” - -“None in the least,” I answered calmly. “I must see that no enemy -surprises you.” - -“From which direction would an enemy come?” - -“Probably from down the valley.” - -“You have eyes, then, in the back of your head? How fortunate!” - -“Oh, I glance around from time to time,” I explained coolly. “Surely -you would not deny me the pleasure I have in looking at you! That would -be heartless!” - -She glanced at me again, with a little pout. - -“But I should think that you yourself would feel the need of a bath,” -she retorted. - -“So that you might feel some pleasure in looking at me?” I asked. “I -know I must appear a most hideous scoundrel. My skin is fairly stiff -with the dirt upon it; and yet I dare not so much as touch it with -water.” - -“Dare not?” - -“A clean skin would hardly be in keeping with this clothing,” I pointed -out. - -“That is true,” she admitted, with a swift glance over it. “But why did -you assume such a disguise? Who will see you?” - -“Many people, I am afraid. In the first place we must have food.” - -“It is useless to deny that I am very hungry,” she agreed. - -“Instead of seeking food, I fell asleep,” I confessed miserably. “I -shall never forgive myself.” - -“Nonsense! We both of us needed rest first of all. Indeed I find the -pangs of hunger rather exhilarating--and how I shall relish the food -when we get it! But continue: whom else shall you meet?” - -“In the second place,” I went on, “I must ask my way, since I am wholly -unfamiliar with this country.” - -“Yes, of course.” - -“And in the third place, in a country even thinly settled, we must be -prepared for chance encounters. To all the people we meet I must appear -a peasant in order to protect you.” - -“To protect me?” - -“Yes; you are my prisoner--a spoil of war; there is a price on your -head which I am anxious to secure. I may even have to be a little -brutal with you.” - -“I pardon you in advance,” she smiled. “Do not hesitate to be as brutal -as is needful.” - -“I had thought at first,” I explained, “of endeavoring to get for you a -disguise somewhat like my own, but I saw the folly of the plan when I -came to consider it.” - -“Why, pray?” - -“Oh, mademoiselle,” I said, “you would be no less beautiful in the -dress of a peasant than in the robe of a queen! Such a disguise would -deceive no one. On the contrary, it would serve only to attract -attention, since a diamond is never so brilliant as in a tarnished -setting.” - -“Thank you, monsieur,” she said, bowing. “That was very prettily -turned. But since you slumbered all the afternoon, where did you find -those garments? Had some one thrown them away?” - -“No, mademoiselle,” I stammered, turning red and white, for I had not -expected the question. “I--that is----” - -“What is it?” she demanded, looking at me steadily. “Do not fear to -tell me. Oh, I have been selfish! I have been thinking only of myself! -Where are the others, M. de Tavernay? Where are our friends? Did they, -also, escape?” - -With her clear eyes upon me, it was impossible to lie as I had intended -doing. - -“No,” I answered in a low voice, “they did not escape.” - -“They were captured?” she cried, her face livid. - -“Oh, not so bad as that! Thank God, not so bad as that! Madame was -killed by that first shot and died in the arms of the man she loved, -smiling up at him. M. le Comte and Pasdeloup met the end as brave men -should, facing the enemy. It was only I who ran away,” I added, the -tears blinding me. - -She held out her hand with a quick gesture of sympathy and -understanding. - -“It was for my sake,” she said softly. “Never forget that, my friend. -In telling the story over to yourself never forget that.” - -“You are kind,” I murmured with full heart. “That thought alone -consoles me--it was not for myself I fled.” - -And then I told her of the grave which I had improvised, of how I had -placed Pasdeloup’s body beside that of his master. She heard me to the -end with shining eyes; and when I had ended she sat for a moment, her -hand still in mine, her head bowed; and I knew that she was praying. - -“They are at peace,” she said at last, looking up at me with eyes -tear-dimmed. “Nothing can harm them now. And God will avenge them.” - -“I am sure of it,” I answered, “for I am the instrument which He has -chosen.” - -“The instrument?” - -“I have sworn to kill the scoundrel who set them on,” I said simply. “I -know that He heard the oath and approved it.” - -She sat looking at me a moment longer, then passed her hand before her -eyes and rose to her feet. - -“You will keep the vow, M. de Tavernay,” she said quietly; “I am sure -of it. And the same God who listened and approved will see you safe -through for your guerdon at the end.” - -“My guerdon!” I stammered, startled out of my self-control. “Ah, -mademoiselle, I crave no guerdon; at least there is only one----” - -She was looking at me steadily, and the words died upon my lips, for -the veil had fallen again between us. - -“Come, monsieur,” she said in another tone, “we must be setting -forward. See--it is growing dark.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -THE FIRST VENTURE. - - -WE turned our faces westward toward the sun, whose last rays were -gilding the clouds along the horizon, following the little valley which -had been hollowed in the hills by the stream at which we had drunk. As -we went on, this valley opened more and more, changing from a rough and -precipitous aspect to one smooth and rolling, giving promise of human -occupancy. Our most urgent need was food, and I determined to apply for -it at the first house we came to, no matter what its appearance,--first -with silver, and if that failed, with a loaded pistol as a persuasive. - -So I kept a sharp lookout, but for nearly an hour we pressed forward -without catching a glimpse of any human habitation save a few shacks -long since deserted and falling to decay. Plainly this country had not -escaped the blight which had fallen on the rest of France--which swept -the peasants into the armies, drove the nobles abroad, and left the -fields deserted. Darkness closed in about us as we went; but I still -kept my eyes to left and right, in the hope that they might be greeted -by a ray of light from some welcome window. - -At last my companion, who had kept close at my heels, halted and sank -down upon a hummock of earth with a sigh of weariness. - -“I fear I must ask a breathing-spell, my friend,” she said. - -“Of course,” I answered instantly. “I have been thoughtless;” and I -dropped beside her. Even in the darkness I could see by the white face -she bent upon me how utterly spent she was, and a sharp twinge of -remorse seized me. “I strode along without considering you!” - -“You paid me the compliment of thinking me not entirely a weakling,” -she corrected, and smiled wearily. - -“You turn it skilfully,” I said. “At least, I hope you will discourage -any more such compliments.” - -“Very well,” she agreed; “I promise. But we must be getting on;” and -she attempted to rise. - -I caught her arm and held her in her seat. - -“We must be doing no such thing!” I retorted. “It is worse than foolish -to plunge ahead as we have been doing, half-starved. You are going to -remain here and rest. I will make you a bed of grass and leaves in this -little hollow, and you will lie here quietly and gaze at the stars, -thinking of me as kindly as you can, while I go in search of food. I -shall not be long away, and you will be quite safe.” - -She sat without answering, watching me while I piled such dry grass as -I could find into the little hollow. At last it was ready. - -“Now,” I said, turning to her, “if you will rest here----” - -“You are very good to me,” she breathed, and took her place upon the -couch I had provided, which, I fear, was none too soft. - -“Oh, no,” I answered, controlling myself with a mighty effort as I bent -above her and assured myself that her cloak was snug about her; “I am -not wholly unselfish. I must keep you fresh; I must not permit you to -exhaust yourself, or you will be getting ill, and then what should I -do?” - -“No, I shall not be ill,” she said quite positively. “I am not such a -weakling as that!” - -“Besides,” I added, “I am frightfully hungry; I must have something to -eat, if I commit murder for it.” - -“You will not expose yourself?” she asked quickly. - -“No; there is no danger,” I assured her. - -“I shall pray for you,” she added calmly. “And I fear there is one -thing I must ask of you.” - -“Ask it,” I said. - -“Before I left my room at the château,” she continued, “I chose the -heaviest shoes I had----” - -There was no need that she should say more. I bent and touched one of -the little feet just peeping from beneath the cloak. However heavy -the shoes had been, they were certainly far too light for the rough -service which had been exacted of them. They were almost in tatters, -and I could guess how the sharp stones which had torn the leather had -bruised the tender flesh within. Yet she had followed me without a -sigh, without a murmur! Impulsively I bent and kissed the instep of -the little shoe, then rose unsteadily to my feet. - -“I will get you another pair,” I said; “and if I am to have any peace -of mind, you must not again permit me to forget your welfare, as I have -been doing. With the best intentions in the world, I am only a selfish -and obtuse fellow, with a brain not bright enough to think of more than -one thing at a time.” - -“I saw how your thoughts were occupied,” she protested. “I knew that -our safety depended upon you, and I did not wish to disturb you.” - -“To disturb me?” I echoed. “Ah, for once, mademoiselle, you were not -really kind; for by keeping silent you have done more than that--you -have made me suffer. But there!--I am wasting time, and I can guess -your hunger by my own. I will go. You are not afraid?” - -“No,” she murmured; “and yet I hope that you will not be long.” - -“No,” I said; “no;” and not daring to trust myself further, I turned -and strode away through the darkness. - -Only the biting need for prompt and well-directed action enabled me -to master the sweet emotion which those words, so softly uttered, had -awakened. But I managed to crush it down, to put it behind me, and to -address myself wholly to the task in hand. I must get food at once, and -at any price. But food in such a wilderness! - -Yet fortune favored me,--or perhaps the country was not such a -wilderness as I imagined,--for at the end of ten minutes’ brisk -walking I collided with a hedge, and too rejoiced at the discovery to -heed the scratches I had sustained, I felt my way along it and came at -last to a gate. It was not even latched, so I pushed it open and passed -through. Once on the other side of it, I found myself in what seemed an -orchard. - -Arguing that where there was a hedge, a gate, and an orchard, there -must also be a house, I pushed forward among the trees and came out at -last into the clear air beyond. At the first glance I perceived a light -just ahead of me, and made my way toward it with a deep thankfulness -readily imagined. As I drew nearer I saw that the light proceeded from -the window of a small house which I was evidently approaching from the -rear. I advanced cautiously and looked within. Three men were sitting -about a table on which was a bottle of wine and the remains of a meal. -They were talking together with great earnestness. - -There was no time for hesitation or the weighing of risks, so I waited -to see no more, but hastened around the house. It fronted upon a road -which seemed wide and well kept--undoubtedly a high-road, and not a -mere country lane. A creaking sign proclaimed the place an inn. I -raised the latch and entered, and without pausing to look about me sat -down at the nearest table and rapped loudly. One of the three men whom -I had observed through the window arose and came to me. - -“You are the inn-keeper?” I asked. - -“Yes,” he answered gruffly, his brows drawn close with annoyance, not -in the least in the manner of a man welcoming a customer. - -“Well, citizen,” I continued, “I am in great haste--I am on an errand -of importance; I must be off at once. Can I have some food to take -with me--a fowl, say, and whatever else is at hand; together with two -bottles of wine?” - -“All that may no doubt be had, citizen,” he answered, relaxing nothing -of his sinister expression. “But there are certain difficulties in the -way.” - -“Money you mean?” and I laughed and threw two silver crowns upon the -table. “Well, there it is, and you cannot quarrel with it. I don’t -offer you assignats, mind you--and one doesn’t often hear the ring of -honest coin nowadays.” - -“That is true,” he admitted; and his face relaxed a little as he eyed -the money. “But there is yet another difficulty.” - -“And what is it?” I demanded. - -“The other difficulty,” he answered, watching me keenly, “is that in -giving you these provisions I may be succoring an enemy of the Nation.” - -I threw myself back in my chair and burst into a roar of laughter. -Looking back upon it, there is no moment of my life of which I am more -proud than I am of that one. - -“An enemy of the Nation!” I repeated, and then fell suddenly silent and -affected to study him. “But how am I to know,” I asked at last, “that -that description may not really be deserved by you? How am I to know -that it is not some villainy against the Nation which you are plotting -at that table yonder?” - -He started, turned red, shifted under my gaze, and I saw that I had won. - -“I swear to you, citizen,” he began; but I cut him short. - -“And I also swear to you,” I retorted, “that I am on the Nation’s -business, which brooks no delay. If you are a friend of the Nation, -give me food; if you are its enemy, refuse it. The Nation knows how to -punish, and its hand is heavy. Shall I write your name in my little -book, and after it the word ‘suspect’? Come, prove yourself a good -citizen, and at the same time get these pieces of silver for your -pocket.” - -He hesitated yet a moment, going from one foot to the other in -perplexity; but the silver, or my arguments, or perhaps both together, -carried the day. - -“You shall have it,” he said, and went to the farther end of the room, -where he opened a cupboard which was at the same time larder and -wine-cellar. From it he produced two bottles, a fowl already roasted, -and a loaf of bread. As he passed his two companions I fancied that a -glance of understanding passed between them. A moment later they pushed -back their chairs, bade him a noisy good-night, and left the room. - -“How will this do?” asked my host, placing the bottles, the loaf and -the fowl on the table before me, his vexation quite vanished. - -“Excellently,” I answered, noting with surprise that the fowl had -really some flesh upon its bones. “One thing more: this road, I -suppose, leads to----” - -“Loudun,” he said. - -“And from there to Thouars?” - -“Undoubtedly.” - -“I am on the right track, then,” I said, simulating a sigh of relief. -“That is all,” I added; for I saw it was useless, as well as dangerous, -to ask for shoes. “The silver is yours;” and while he tested it with -his teeth, I placed a bottle in either pocket, and with the loaf under -my arm, and the fowl in my hand, opened the door and stepped out into -the night. - -I had my pistol ready, and looked sharply to right and left, but saw -no one. Then, taking care to walk in the middle of the road, I pushed -forward at a good pace until I was well away from the inn. I glanced -around from time to time, but saw no sign that I was followed nor heard -any sound of pursuing footsteps. So telling myself at last that my -fears were groundless, I leaped the ditch at the side of the road and -retraced my steps, until I came again to the hedge back of the inn. -From this I had but to follow the course of the brook, here the merest -thread of water, and at the end of ten minutes I was back again at my -starting-point. I stopped and bent over the hollow, when a soft hand -rose and touched my cheek. - -“Is it you, M. de Tavernay?” asked a voice. “Oh, but I am glad! I was -beginning to fear for you. What is that in your hand?” - -“It is food,” I answered, sitting down beside her and laughing with -sheer joy. I drew my knife and severed loaf and fowl alike into two -equal portions; then with the point of it drew the corks and placed the -bottles carefully in a hollow of the grass, propping them upright with -some little stones. “There!” I said, “the meal is served. I think we -may dispense with grace, as we must with knives and forks.” - -She laughed delightedly as she took the portions I placed in her hands. - -“You are a wizard, M. de Tavernay,” she said. “I had expected at most a -crust of bread, and you provide a feast.” - -“A feast is of value,” I pointed out, “only when it is in one’s -stomach.” - -“Well, this shall soon be in mine,” she retorted. “Never in my life -have I had such an appetite;” and she attacked the food with a vigor -which it did me good to see. - -Nor was I behind her. Never before or since have I tasted a fowl so -tender, bread so sweet, wine so satisfying. It was almost worth the -privations we had undergone--it was nature’s compensation for that -suffering. And our first hunger past, we took time to pause and chat -a little. She had regained all her old spirit, and I am sure that for -her, as for me, there was something fascinating and even dangerous in -that moment. We forgot past sorrow and future peril; we forgot our -present situation and the trials we must still encounter. The moon was -rising again over the hills to the east, and revealed, just as it had -done the night before, all the subtle delicacy of her beauty. What she -was thinking of I know not, but my own thoughts flew back irresistibly -to that hour in the garden--that sweet, swift-winged hour! - -“But was it only last night?” I murmured, not realizing that I spoke -aloud until the words were uttered. - -“Indeed, it seems an age away!” she assented absently; and a sudden -burst of joy glowed within me. - -“So you were thinking of it, too!” I cried, and tried to catch her hand. - -“Thinking of what?” she asked, drawing away from me. - -“Of the garden--of the few precious moments we passed together there,” -I answered eagerly, my eyes on hers. - -“On the contrary,” she answered coolly, though I could have sworn -she blushed, “I was thinking only that last night I was safe with my -friends at the château----” - -“Oh!” I said, not waiting to hear more; and I sank back into my seat -with a gesture of impatience. - -“Though if you had not interrupted my thoughts,” she continued, smiling -slyly, “I should doubtless in time have come to the garden scene.” - -“In time!” I repeated bitterly. “Of all the hours of my life, that one -is ever present with me. It eclipses all the rest.” - -“It will fade!” she assured me lightly. “It will fade! As for me, I do -not dwell upon it, because I must be careful.” - -“Careful?” - -“Certainly. Careful not to permit myself to think too tenderly of a man -already betrothed. That would be the height of folly. Suppose I should -begin to love him!” - -“I see you are armed against me,” I said dismally, “and that the -poniard of your wit is as sharp as ever.” - -“It is the instinctive weapon of our sex,” she explained. “We draw it -whenever we scent danger. Once it fails us we are lost.” - -“It failed you for a time last night, thank God!” I retorted. “I have -that to remember;” and I recalled the sweet face raised to mine, the -yielding form---- - -“Ungenerous!” she cried. “I did not think it of you, M. de Tavernay! -Darkness and stress of storm drive a bird to take refuge in your bosom, -and at daybreak you wring its neck!” - -“No,” I said, with a sudden revulsion of feeling, “I release it; I toss -it back into the air; it flies away without a thought of me, glad only -to escape; but I--I remember it, and love it, and I thank heaven for -the chance which drove it to me.” - -Impulsively she reached out her hand and touched my own. - -“That is more like yourself,” she said. “Now I know you again. And -perhaps, my friend, the bird is not so ungrateful as you think.” - -“It may even return to the bosom which sheltered it?” I asked softly, -leaning forward. “You think that, mademoiselle?” - -“I fancy it would fear to do so.” - -“Fear?” I repeated. “Surely--that least of all!” - -“Fear that it might not find the bosom empty,” she explained -remorselessly; and I saw the old light in her eyes. “Fear that it might -blunder upon another occupant with a better right----” - -I drew away from her, wounded, stung. - -“But whether it returns or not,” she added in a gentler tone, “I am -sure it will never forget.” - -And with that comfort, cold as it was, I was forced to be content. - -“Come,” I said, a sudden impatience of the place seizing me, “we must -be getting forward. The moon will light our way.” And then my heart -fell suddenly; for I remembered her torn and ragged shoes. “I could not -get you shoes,” I said. - -“No one can accomplish the impossible. It was foolish of me to ask for -them.” - -“I _will_ get them,” I said; “but until then I shall have to carry you.” - -“Nonsense!” she protested. “You will do nothing of the kind. With that -light in the sky I can choose my steps. Besides, my shoes are stronger -than you imagine.” - -“The road is not far off,” I said. “Once we have gained that, you may -perhaps be able to walk alone. But I shall not permit you to torture -yourself by limping over this rough ground.” - -She was looking at me with defiance in her eyes, and I saw that I -should have to use _finesse_. - -“Please do not forget,” I reminded her, “the selfishness of my -disposition. One step upon a sharp stone and you will be so lamed that -I shall have to carry you, not a matter of a few hundred yards, but all -the way to the Bocage. My back aches at thought of it; and so I propose -for myself the lighter task, in order to escape the other.” - -Her look changed from defiance to amusement. - -“You have a wit truly ingenious, M. de Tavernay,” she said. “I yield to -it--for the moment.” - -“I knew that reason would convince you,” I replied, trembling at the -thought that I should have her in my arms again. “Come, there is still -a little wine in the bottles. I propose a toast--the toast we drank -last night;” and I arose and bared my head. “God and the King!” - -But that toast was never to be drunk; for even as I raised the bottle, -it was dashed from my lips, and two men hurled themselves upon me out -of the darkness. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -A DAGGER OF ANOTHER SORT. - - -FOR an instant I did not resist, so sudden and unlooked-for was the -attack; then, as I felt a merciless hand gripping my throat, I struck -savagely at a face I could dimly see just in front of my own. A burst -of blood flooded down over it, changing it into a hideous mask; but -again I felt those fingers of steel about my neck--fingers which -tightened and tightened, tear at them as I might. In a mad frenzy of -rage and agony, I struck again and again at the face before me, until -my tongue swelled in my mouth and the heavens danced red before my -eyes. This was the end, then! I was to be murdered here by these tavern -vagabonds. That vengeance I had sworn was never to be accomplished; and -Charlotte--Charlotte---- - -The pang which struck through me was not one of physical suffering -alone; indeed, for an instant I ceased to feel those savage fingers. -Ah, I could die--that were nothing! But to leave her! Had God abandoned -us? Where was His justice? Where was His mercy? Again I tore at those -fingers, desperately, madly. I felt the blood spurt from my nostrils, -the heavens reeled before me, a black moon in a sky of living flame.... - -What magic was it drew that breath of air into my lungs?--life-giving -air, which sent the heart bounding and the pulse leaping in answer! A -second!--a third! I was dimly conscious of a knife gleaming in the air. -I struck again. The face vanished from before me. But the fingers!--the -fingers!--they were buried in my flesh!--they were crushing my life -out! I raised a hand to my throat. The fingers were not there! And -again the sky turned red, and a black moon hung low in it--a moon which -grew and grew, until it swallowed the heavens and the earth.... - - * * * * * - -I was lying upon a vast bed of seaweed, which rose and fell with the -waves of the ocean. Oh, the peace of it! the bliss of it,--save that -from time to time a single strand coiled about my throat like a living -thing, and would have choked me had I not torn it off. The wish came -to me that I might lie there forever, rocked in that mammoth cradle, -lulled by the murmur of waters never ceasing. Then, afar off across the -undulating plain, I saw a figure speeding toward me, and knew it was -my love. At last she reached me, bent above me, looked into my face, -flung herself upon me, calling my name and pressing warm kisses on my -lips--kisses which I could not return, struggle as I might, for my lips -seemed frozen into stone. - -I tried to throw my arms about her, but some mighty weight held them at -my side. I tried to call her name, but my voice died in my throat. Then -I knew that I was dead, and a great sadness fell upon me. She would -never know that I felt her kisses, that I heard her voice. She would -never know how I loved her! The thought stung me to fury. She must -know! she should know! For her I would burst the bonds of death itself! -I fought against them desperately, desperately, every muscle strained -to breaking.... - - * * * * * - -I opened my eyes to see a face bending over me--the face of my dream. -Very near she sat,--so near that I could feel the sweet warmth of -her body,--and she was bathing my face and neck with the cool water -from the brook. How good it felt--like the hand of God Himself! I saw -that she had filled a bottle with it, and guessing the wish I had not -strength to utter, she held it to my lips, and gave me a long draught. - -It sent new life through me. The pain of swallowing was as nothing to -the delight it gave me. I lay still a moment looking up at her; then I -sat erect unsteadily. - -“What is it?” I asked hoarsely. “What has happened to me?” - -“Then you are not dead!” she cried. “Then you are going to live! Oh, -thank God!” - -“Dead!” I repeated in amazement. “No--nor like to be!” - -Then my eyes fell upon an object at my feet, and in a flash I -remembered. I sat for a moment looking down at that huddled shape, -touched here and there into hideous distinctness by the rays of the -moon. - -“But even yet I do not understand,” I said at last. “What killed him? A -bolt from heaven? God saves me for my vengeance then!” - -She did not answer, only huddled her head into her arms and swayed -forward, shaken by a convulsive shuddering. - -I leaned down and looked at the body. Was it blasted, shrivelled as in -a furnace? Had I really been saved by God’s intervention? And how else, -I asked myself; what less than a miracle could have saved me? - -The body was lying on its face, and as I stared down at it, I fancied -I saw something protruding from the back. I touched it--it was the -handle of a knife. I drew it forth, not without some effort, and -recognized the knife as mine--Pasdeloup’s--the knife I had used to cut -the bread--the knife I had left lying in the hollow beside the bottles. -Then I understood. - -“You!” I cried, staring at the bowed figure. “You!” - -She did not answer, only sat and shivered, her head in her arms. - -“You!” I said again. “It was you who saved me?” - -She raised her head and looked at me. - -“I saw--that--he--was choking--you,” she gasped. “God--guided my -hand--to the knife;” and she held it up and looked at it with a kind of -horror. - -I caught the hand and drew it to my lips. - -“Mademoiselle,” I said hoarsely, “I loved you before--I reverence you -now. But where is the other? I thought there were two of them.” - -“There were,” she answered. “The other tried to stab you, but you -struck him and he fled.” - -I started up in alarm. - -“Then must we flee too, and instantly,” I cried. “He will return and -bring others with him. Come;” and I raised her to her feet. - -“But are you strong enough?” she asked. - -“Strong enough? I am strong as Hercules! Why should I not be since joy -gives strength? Come.” - -Then I remembered her ragged shoes. What hope of escape was there when -our flight must be at a snail’s pace? - -“Come,” I repeated; and held out my arms. - -“What do you mean?” she demanded, looking at me darkly. - -“I am to carry you, you know, until we reach the road. That is already -settled, so we need not waste time arguing it over again.” - -“Indeed!” she retorted. “But that was under different circumstances. -Besides, we are not going toward the road, are we?” - -“No,” I admitted; “we are going straight up this hill.” - -“Very well,” she said, “then our agreement is at an end, and I refuse -to reconsider. It is you who are wasting time.” - -I saw she was immovable, and a mad impulse seized me to snatch her up -despite her protests; to overpower her resistance.... - -Then my glance fell upon the body. In an instant I had dropped beside -it and was pulling the rude, strong shoes from its feet. - -“What are you doing?” she gasped, staring down at me. - -“Sit here beside me,” I commanded, my heart beating triumphantly; and -as she obeyed, still staring, I pulled off my own shoes and slipped -them over hers. Worn in that way, they fitted as well as could be -desired; they would at least protect her from the roughness of the road -until better ones could be found. Then I stuffed the dead man’s shoes -with grass until they fitted my own feet snugly. - -“Now,” I said, “we are ready to be off;” and I sprang to my feet and -drew her after me. - -“You are a most ingenious man, M. de Tavernay,” she commented. “I -am ready;” and she followed me up the hill and through a thicket of -underbrush which crowned its summit. - -Not a moment too soon; for as we paused to look back before starting -downward, we saw a score of torches advancing up the valley toward the -spot which we had left. Evidently there was to be no chance of failure -this time. - -“Come,” I said, and caught her hand. - -The slope was free from underbrush and fairly smooth. - -“A race!” she cried, her eyes dancing; and a moment later we arrived -breathless at the bottom. - -Here there was a wall of stone. We rested a moment on top of it, then I -helped her down into the narrow, rutted road beyond. It ran, as nearly -as I could judge, east and west, and turning our faces westward, we -hurried along it, anxious to put all chance of capture far behind. - -The night was sweet and clear and my heart sang with the very joy of -living. I felt strong, vigorous, ready to face any emergency. My recent -encounter had left no souvenir more serious than a tender throat, and -as I thought of it I wondered again at the resolution which had nerved -that soft and delicate arm to drive the blade home in the back of my -assailant. She, too, had proved herself able to meet a crisis bravely, -and to rise to whatever heroism it demanded. - -Ah, if she only loved me! I might yet find some way to evade with honor -the unwelcome match my father had arranged for me. But she did not; -so there was an end of that. I must go on to the end, even as I had -promised. But it was a bitter thing! - -“Why that profound sigh, M. de Tavernay?” asked my comrade, looking up -at me with dancing eyes, quite in her old manner. “Surely we are in no -present danger?” - -“I was thinking not of the present but of the future,” I answered. - -“You think, then, that danger lies before us?” - -“Undoubtedly!” - -“But why cross the bridge till we come to it?” - -“Because,” I answered, “since the bridge must be crossed it is as well -to do it now as any time.” - -“But perhaps it may be avoided--one can never tell.” - -“No,” I said gloomily, “it is a destiny not to be escaped.” - -“You frighten me!” she cried; but when I glanced at her she looked -anything but frightened. “What is it that awaits us? Let me know the -worst!” - -“It was of myself I was speaking,” I explained. - -“Another instance of your selfishness! Are you going to face the -enemy and bid me run away? Depend upon it, I shall think twice before -obeying.” - -“This is an enemy which you will never be called upon to face, -mademoiselle. I was thinking of that moment,--a moment not far -distant,--when I have placed you in the hands of your friends and must -bid you adieu.” - -“To turn your face southward toward Poitiers? Inconstant man! I did not -think you so eager!” - -“No, mademoiselle; I turn back to Dange, as you know, on an errand of -vengeance, and then----” - -“To Poitiers on an errand of love. To the hero his reward!” - -“Say rather on an errand of duty,” I corrected. - -“It will become an errand of love also, once you have seen the -lady--what is her name?” - -“No matter,” I said shortly, and strode on in silence. - -“M. de Tavernay,” she said in a provoking voice, keeping pace with me, -“I should like to make you a wager.” - -“What is it?” I asked, none too gently. - -“That my prediction will come true,” she answered, laughing. “That you -will fall madly in love with this lady--oh, desperately in love with -her! and once you have safely married her will remember this youthful -passion only with a smile. Come; the stake shall be anything you like.” - -This time I was thoroughly angry. Even if she did not love me she -had no right to wound me, to stab me deliberately, maliciously, with -a smile on her lips. She had no right to draw amusement from my -sufferings, to torture me just for the pleasure of watching my agony. -So I quickened my pace and strode on in silence, my hands clinched, -trying to stifle the pain at my heart. - -A touch on my arm aroused me. - -“_Ciel!_” gasped a voice; and I turned to see my companion still at my -side indeed, but spent and breathless. “Did you fancy these shoes of -yours were seven-league boots?” she questioned when she could speak. -“Or did you desire to abandon me out here in this wilderness?” - -“It would be no more than you deserve!” I retorted; then, as I -remembered how fast I had been walking and pictured her uncomplaining -struggle to keep pace with me, I relented. “Pardon me,” I said, humbly; -“I am a brute. Come; sit here in the shadow of this tree and rest. We -are beyond danger of pursuit--besides, no one can see us here.” - -She permitted me to lead her to the shadow and sat down. I leaned -against the tree and stared moodily along the road. - -“What is it, monsieur?” she asked at last. “Still brooding on the -future?” - -“No, mademoiselle,” I answered; “since it must be endured I shall waste -no more thought upon it.” - -“That is wise,” she commended. “That is what I have advised from the -first. Besides, you should remember it is when troubles are approaching -that they appear most terrible.” - -“A thousand thanks,” I said dryly. “You are no doubt right.” - -“And then,” she added, “one grows morbid when one thinks too much of -oneself.” - -“It was not wholly with myself I was occupied this time,” I said; -“or at least with myself only in relation to you. I was thinking how -unfit I am to take care of you; how little I merit the trust which -M. le Comte reposed in me when he gave you into my keeping. I permit -you to limp along behind me with bruised and wounded feet until you -sink exhausted; I lead two scoundrels, whose pursuit I had foreseen, -straight to your hiding-place and would have perished but for your -courage and address; I stride along at top speed until you are ready -to die of fatigue; I show myself a fool, a boor, and yet expect you to -feel some kindness for me. Hereafter you will command this expedition; -I am merely your servant; I am at your orders.” - -“Very well,” she responded instantly, “I accept. My first order is that -you sit here beside me;” and she patted the spot with her hand. - -“A soldier does not sit in the presence of his commander,” I protested. - -“What! Rebellion already!” she cried. “A fine beginning, truly!” - -I sat down, a little giddy at this unexpected kindness. - -“And now,” she continued severely, “you will repeat after me the -following words: Mademoiselle de Chambray----” - -“Mademoiselle de Chambray----” - -“I know you are only a silly girl----” - -“I know nothing of the sort,” I protested. - -“Will you obey my orders, M. de Tavernay, or will you not?” she -inquired sternly. - -“No one can be compelled to perjure himself,” I answered doggedly. - -“Nor shall I compel you to do so. We will continue then: I know you are -only a silly girl, yet even a silly girl should hesitate to do a friend -malicious injury. Nevertheless I will forgive you, for I see how you -yourself regret it and I am too generous to strike back, even though -you deserve it.” - -I looked down at her and saw that there were indeed tears in the eyes -which she turned up to me. - -She held out her hand with a little tremulous smile. - -“Will you not forgive me, my friend?” she asked. - -I seized the hand and covered it with kisses. - -“I adore you!” I cried. “Adore you!--adore you!” - -And I would have asked nothing better, nothing sweeter, than to die -there at her feet, with her warm hand in mine and her eyes enfolding me -in a lambent flame which raised me to a height that kings might envy. - -For in that instant I knew that she loved me. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - -FALSE PRETENSES. - - -BUT only for the merest breath did she permit her soul to stand -unveiled before me. Then she drew her hand away and fenced herself -again with that invulnerable armor. - -“Come, my friend,” she said, and her voice sounded a trifle unsteady in -my ears, “we must be going on--we have a long journey still before us.” - -I arose like a drunken man. I dared not believe what that glimpse of -glory had revealed to me; it seemed too wonderful, too stupendous to be -true. I had looked into her soul and seen love there--but was it really -there? Or was it merely the reflection of what my own soul disclosed? - -I glanced down at her, but she was staring straight before her as -she walked steadily forward with a face so cold and impassive that -the doubt grew, enwrapped me, darkened to conviction. It was folly -to suppose that her eyes had really revealed their secret; it was -absurd to believe that such a secret lay behind them. Who was I that -I should hope to waken love in the breast of such a woman as this? -Pity, perhaps--sympathy, friendship, kindness--anything but the deep, -splendid passion I hungered for. She had been moved for the moment, but -plainly she already regretted her emotion. Well, I certainly would -never remind her of it. - -So we went on through the night, taking at every forking of the road -the way which led nearest the west, for in the west lay safety. But -I knew we had ten leagues and more to cover ere we should reach the -Bocage, and the nearer we approached our destination the more closely -would danger encompass us. From south and east troops were being massed -to crush out by sheer weight of numbers the flame of insurrection which -had arisen so suddenly in the very heart of France. From every town -within fifty leagues the National Guard had been summoned. From Paris -itself levies were hastening--levies of Septembrists, cut-throats, -assassins, asking nothing better than permission to murder and pillage, -and commanded by a general determined not to fight but to destroy, not -to defeat but to exterminate--in a word, not to rest until all Vendée -had been made a wilderness, a barren waste. This line of enemies, -marching forward in this temper, we were forced to pierce in order to -reach our friends. - -The moon rose high in the heavens, paused at the zenith, then started -on its course down the western sky. I thanked the fortune which gave us -her friendly light to guide us, for the road grew ever more wild and -rough. In one place indeed it was merely the bed of a torrent little -different from that over which we had already toiled so painfully. So -we left it, and breaking our way through the hedge which bordered the -road, followed along beside it. - -Even I was beginning to feel fatigued and I could guess at my -companion’s weariness, yet she refused to listen to my suggestion that -we stop and rest. But dawn was not far distant and we must find some -safe hiding-place for the day. There were no houses in sight, nor had -we seen any for some time, but where there was a road, however bad, -there must also be people to travel it; and to seek rest, to resign -oneself to sleep, save in a safe covert, would be the height of folly. - -The country had grown more open and level with only an occasional tree -here and there, and was evidently used for pasturage, though I saw no -sheep nor cattle; but at last along a ridge at our right I caught sight -of a thicket, and toward this we made our way. We found it a dense -growth of small saplings and underbrush and broke our way into it with -difficulty; but the event repaid the labor, for at last we came to a -little glade not over a rod across and carpeted with grass. - -“Here is our resting-place,” I said, “and our home for another day.” - -My companion sank down with a sigh of utter fatigue. - -“I am very tired,” she murmured, and drew off the shoes which I had -slipped over her own. - -“You are to sleep until you are quite rested,” I added. “We will remain -here until evening. Then, after darkness falls and before the moon is -up, we shall try to pierce the lines of the Republicans, which cannot -be far away. For that you must be fresh, for we may need to be fleet.” - -“But you?” she broke in quickly. “You are going to sleep too?” - -“Undoubtedly,” I answered. “Only first I wish to assure myself that -there is no house too near us. Good-night, mademoiselle.” - -“Good-night, my friend,” she said, looking up at me with a little -tremulous smile full of sorrow and weariness. - -I stood a moment gazing down at her, longing to gather her in my arms, -as one would a child, and caress and comfort her and hold her so until -she fell asleep. But I managed to crush the longing back and turn away -to the task which I had set myself. - -The thicket crowned a low ridge which stretched between two gentle -valleys. That we had left was, as I have said, innocent of human -habitation. In the one to the north I fancied I could discern a group -of houses, but they were so far away that we need apprehend no danger -from them. To the westward, along the ridge, the thicket stretched as -far as I could see. - -Assured that our hiding-place was as safe as could be hoped for, I made -my way back to it and walked softly to the dark figure on the grass. -She was lying on her side, her head pillowed on her arm, and as I bent -above her to make sure that she was protected from the chill of the -night, I knew by her regular breathing that she slept. That sleep, -so peaceful and trusting, consecrated the little glade--hallowed it, -transformed it into such a temple that I dared lay me down only upon -its margin, as though it were a holy place. - -Long I lay staring up at the heavens, wondering if I might indeed hope -to win this superb creature; weaving a golden future which we trod arm -in arm. To possess her, to have her always at my side, the mistress -of my home, the mother of my children--the thought shook me with a -delicious trembling. But at last cold reason snatched me down from this -empyrean height. I told myself I was a fool, and so turned on my side, -closed my eyes resolutely, and in the end sank to sleep. - -I awoke with the full sun staring me in the face and sat up with a -start to find my companion smiling at me across the little amphitheatre. - -“Good-morning, monsieur,” she said. - -“Good-morning,” I responded, and rose and went toward her. - -In some magical way she had removed the stains of travel; to my eyes -she seemed to have stepped but this moment from her bath. A sudden -loathing of my own foul and hideous clothing came over me. How, in that -guise, could she regard me with anything but disgust? - -“Mademoiselle,” I said, “I am ashamed to stand here before you in this -clear light, for you are sweet and fresh as the morning, while I----” - -“Choose the harder part,” she interrupted, “in order to serve me -better.” - -“But to be hideous----” - -“Oh, I do not look at the clothes,” she said; “and as for the face----” - -“Well,” I prompted, “as for the face----” - -She stole a glance at me. - -“As for the face,” she continued, “you will remember that I bathed it -last night, monsieur, while I was attempting to revive you, and so it -is nearly as attractive as nature made it.” - -“A poor consolation,” I retorted. - -“Well,” she said, looking at it critically, “I confess I have seen -handsomer ones.” - -“Yes?” I encouraged, as she hesitated. - -“But never one I liked better,” she added, a heavenly shyness in her -eyes. - -“Mademoiselle,” I said, suddenly taking my courage in my hands, “last -night while I was unconscious I dreamed such a beautiful dream. I -wonder if it was true?” - -She glanced again at me hastily and her cheeks were very red. - -“Dreams are never true,” she said decidedly. “They go by contraries. -You will have to bedaub your face a little before you venture forth -again.” - -“But the dream,” I insisted, refusing to be diverted. “Shall I tell you -what it was?” - -“I have never been interested in dreams,” she responded calmly, and -brushed from her skirt an imperceptible speck of dust. - -“But perhaps this one----” - -“Not even this one, I am sure. How long are we to remain here, M. de -Tavernay?” - -I surrendered in despair before the coldness of her glance. - -“You are to remain till evening,” I replied. “But I must go at once. My -first task will be to get some food. Hunger is an enemy which always -returns to the attack no matter how often it is overcome.” - -“And so is a foe to be respected and appeased rather than despised,” -she added smiling; “I came across some such observation in a book I was -reading not long ago. It had a most amusing old man in it called The -Partridge,[A] who was always hungry.” - -“I can sympathize with him,” I said. “My own stomach feels particularly -empty at this moment; I must find something to fill it--and yours, too.” - -“But I fear for you,” she protested. “I wish you would not go. I am -sure we can get through the day without starving. I should prefer to -try, rather than that you should again run such risks as you did last -night.” - -“Those risks were purely the result of my own folly,” I pointed out. “I -shall not be such a fool a second time. There is a village down yonder -and I shall breakfast at the inn like any other traveller. It was my -haste last night which aroused suspicion. Besides,” I added, “I doubt -if any one could follow even me by daylight without my perceiving it. -You may have to wait an hour----” - -“It will not be hunger which distresses me,” she interrupted earnestly, -“but fear for your safety. Let us do without the food.” - -“It is true we shouldn’t starve,” I admitted, “but for to-night we -must be strong, ready for anything. A fast is bad preparation for the -kind of work we have before us. Besides, I must find where we are, how -the Republican forces are disposed, and the nearest point at which we -may find friends. We must guard against the possibility of blundering -haphazard into some trap and so failing at the last moment.” - -“You are right, of course,” she agreed instantly, though her face was -very pale. “I will wait for you here, and pray for you.” - -She gave me her hand and I bent and kissed it with trembling lips. - -“There will be no danger,” I assured her again, waved my hand to her -and plunged into the thicket. - -I made my way through it for some distance before venturing into the -open; then, under shelter of a hedge, I hastened down the slope, -gained the road and turned my face toward the village. Ten minutes -brought me to it--a straggle of sordid houses along each side the road -teeming with dirty children and with a slatternly woman leaning in -every doorway. There was an inn at either end to catch the traveller -going east or west and I entered the first I came to and asked for -breakfast. It was served by a pert and not uncomely maid,--bacon, eggs -and creamy biscuits,--and I fell to it with an appetite tempered only -by the thought that I must eat alone. There was at the time no other -guest, and as the maid seemed very willing to talk, I determined to -turn her to account. - -“These are delicious biscuits,” I began. “I have tasted none so good -since I started on this journey.” - -She dropped me a curtesy, flushing with pleasure. - -“Have you come a long journey, monsieur?” she asked. - -“What!” I cried. “You still say ‘monsieur’! Is it a royalist then with -whom I have to deal,--a _ci-devant_,--an aristocrat?” - -“A royalist?” she repeated, visibly horrified. “Oh, no; but the habit -is an old one.” - -“Yes,” I admitted, “old habits are hard to break; even my tongue slips -sometimes.” - -“Besides,” she added, looking at me steadily, “there was about you -something which made me hesitate to call you citizen.” - -It was my time to flush. I found myself unable to meet her clear eyes -and covered my confusion clumsily by a laugh which even I perceived did -not ring true. If my disguise was so easily penetrated it was time I -was getting back to my hiding-place. - -“Nonsense!” I retorted. “It is proper to say citizen to any one. And, -by the way, citizen, what is the name of this village?” - -“What, you don’t know!” she cried. - -“Is that wonderful? It hardly seemed to me a second Paris.” - -“Yet you come to it!” - -“I pass through it because it happens to be in my way; I stop for -breakfast--I would wish to stop longer,” I added with an expressive -glance, “but the Nation needs me.” - -“Needs you?” - -“As she needs every man she can get to stamp out those cursed rebels in -Vendée.” - -“Oh, so it is there you go?” she said, her face clearing. “Yes--you are -right. My father went yesterday to join the Blues; our guard marched -last night. There is scarcely a man left in the village.” - -“And now perhaps you will tell me its name,” I suggested. - -“It is called Dairon.” - -“And where is the nearest Republican force?” - -“There is a small one at Airvault and another at Moncontour; but if it -is fighting you are looking for, citizen, you will press on to Thouars.” - -“How far is Thouars?” - -“Four leagues, and this road will lead you there.” - -“Then it is this road I will take. So there is to be fighting at -Thouars?” - -“Our officers dined here last night,” she explained, “and I heard them -talking. It seems that the brigands are gathering at Coulonges and -expect to take Thouars. Bah! The Blues will fall upon them, surround -them, exterminate them! For do you know what it is that they are -planning, those scoundrels? They are planning to hold a place where -that ogre of a Pitt may land his troops upon the sacred soil of France!” - -Her eyes were blazing. I sprang to my feet. - -“Then I must be off!” I cried. “I can’t afford to miss that fun. But -first, citizen, can you put me up a lunch for the road--a big one, for -I have the devil of an appetite. Ransack your larder--I can pay for -it;” and I laid a golden louis on the table. “In the vicinity of an -army there is never anything to eat. I shall no doubt meet plenty of -poor fellows with nothing in their bellies, and two or three bottles of -wine would not be amiss.” - -“Just so,” she nodded, and flew to the kitchen, where I heard her and -another woman talking vigorously together to the accompaniment of a -clatter of knives and dishes. - -I walked to the door and looked down the village street. It was still -deserted, save for the women and children. Evidently the men had all -been caught in the dragnet of the Blues, or had hurried into hiding for -fear they would be drafted to the front. How these poor creatures, left -here to their own resources, managed to exist I could not imagine. - -“Well, citizen,” asked a voice, “how is this?” - -I turned to find the maid smiling up at me and in her hand a hamper -filled to the brim and covered with a cloth through which the necks of -three bottles protruded. - -“Excellent!” I cried as I took it. “That will make me welcome, at any -rate. A thousand thanks, my dear.” - -“There is one more thing I can do for you,” she said. “Your disguise is -a poor one, citizen.” - -“Disguise!” I echoed, my heart in my throat. - -“Because the face does not match the clothes,” she went on -imperturbably. “Any fool could see that these rags do not belong to -you. Sit here a moment.” - -I sat down obediently, not daring to disobey. Whereupon she produced a -greasy rag and rubbed it over my face, retiring a step or two from time -to time to admire the effect, and then returning to add another touch, -much in the manner of an artist engaged upon a masterpiece. At last she -was satisfied. - -“There,” she said, “I defy any one to detect you now. And remember, -as long as you wear those rags you are not to wash face or hands. -Your business is none of mine, but you are too pretty a fellow to be -permitted to run your head into a noose.” - -“Thank you, my dear!” I said again, and rose and took up my hamper. - -She came to me and stood on tiptoe. - -“A salute for the Nation, citizen,” she said, and kissed me on either -cheek. “If you return this way you are to stop here and inquire for -Ninette. She will be glad to see you. Adieu--and may the good God have -you in His keeping.” - -I turned westward along the street, unheeding the curious glances cast -at me, with a conscience not wholly at peace. I had secured these -generous provisions under false pretenses. I had not merited those pure -kisses. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -THE PONIARD AGAIN. - - -NOT until a turn of the road hid me from the village and I was -satisfied that I was unobserved did I turn aside and, again sheltering -myself behind a friendly hedge, gain the thicket which stretched along -the ridge. Then plunging into its cover I hastened back with what speed -I could toward the spot where I had left my comrade, uneasily conscious -that I had lingered at the inn longer than I had thought to do, for the -sun told me that noon had come and gone. - -So it was with an anxiety which increased at every step that I broke -my way through the underbrush, unheeding the briers which clutched at -my clothes and stung hands and face--an anxiety which leaped to mortal -anguish as I came out suddenly into the little amphitheatre where I had -left her and saw at a glance that it was empty. - -I set down the hamper with a groan of agony and wiped the cold sweat -from my forehead. Fool!--idiot that I was to leave her unguarded for so -long a time! Some one had blundered into our retreat, had discovered -her, had taken her prisoner. This thicket doubtless harbored many -scoundrels seeking to evade the draft. Perhaps even at this moment---- - -“Good-day, M. de Tavernay,” called a gay voice; and I turned my head -mechanically, to see her emerging from the thicket, her face alight. -“So you have returned!” - -“Thank God!” I cried. “Thank God! You are safe, then!” - -“Safe?” she repeated, eyeing me a little curiously. “But certainly! -What did you imagine?” - -“I feared you had been captured,” I answered hoarsely. “Carried away! -No matter, since you are safe.” - -“I heard some one approaching,” she explained, still eyeing me, “and -decided I would better conceal myself until I was certain it was you. -That was wise, wasn’t it?” - -“Wise? Oh, yes! But I thought I had lost you! I had stayed away so -long.” - -“And in truth,” she went on, laughing again, “I am not yet quite -certain that it is really you. What a villainous countenance!” - -“Yes,” I said, flushing. “The--the girl at the inn fixed it for me.” - -“So!” she cried. “It was a girl that kept you--and pretty, I’ll be -bound! To think that I have been worrying about you!” - -“You must be nearly starved,” I said, anxious to change the subject. - -“I confess a lively pleasure at the sight of that hamper. May I explore -it?” - -“At once,” I urged, and sat down a little weakly, for I was not yet -wholly recovered from the swift reaction from that agony of fear. - -She spread upon the grass the cloth with which the hamper was covered -and uttered little cries of delight as she drew forth its contents and -arranged them before her. - -“Why, you are a wizard, M. de Tavernay!” she cried when the hamper was -empty. “Here is a feast fit for a king. That girl must have fallen -desperately in love with you! A real passion! Poor creature!” - -“I posed as a Republican,” I explained. “She is a good patriot and -anxious to serve the Nation.” - -“Especially when it is personified by a handsome and gallant fellow,” -she amended. “No matter; I am not jealous. Indeed I have no right to -be. But I wonder what the betrothed would say? Rest easy; she shall -never know, I promise you that. And now, if you will draw the corks, we -are ready to begin.” - -“I am glad to see you in such spirits,” I remarked with irony as I got -out my knife. - -“It is so much pleasanter than being dull and gloomy, is it not?” she -agreed. - -“You remind me of a red Indian,” I continued as I drew the corks, -“dancing around his captive and burying a barb in his flesh from time -to time just to see his anguish.” - -“Well,” she retorted, “I am going to treat you as no red Indian ever -treated a captive. Sit down and share the feast.” - -“But I have already eaten,” I protested. Nevertheless I sat down in the -place she indicated. “Besides, my fright when I found you gone killed -any return of appetite.” - -“Were you really frightened?” - -“Horribly!” - -“I know what you need--a draught of wine.” - -“If you will drink first,” I agreed. - -She raised a bottle to her lips, then handed it to me. - -“You were right,” I said, as I put it down. “That was really what I -needed. My heart is bounding again, though perhaps not wholly from the -wine.” - -She smiled as she looked at me. - -“Whatever the cause, I am glad to see you more like yourself. And now -you will eat--I detest eating alone.” - -“I will try,” I said; but I confess I found eating a difficult task -with that vision across from me. - -“Did you learn where we are?” she asked at last. - -“The village is called Dairon. We are about four leagues from Thouars, -where the Blues are in force. We must get past them somehow to -Coulonges, a league beyond, where we shall find friends.” - -“And we must wait until to-night to go forward?” - -“Till twilight, at least.” - -“We should get to Coulonges to-night, then?” - -“Yes,” I answered with a sinking heart at the thought that my dream -was to end so soon. “If all goes well we should reach Coulonges by -midnight.” - -“You actually say that in a tone of despondency!” - -“And do you see in it nothing to regret, mademoiselle?” - -“To regret? Assuredly not! Shall you regret being in safety?” - -“Danger is not the worst thing that can befall a man,” I said, “more -especially----” - -“Well?” she questioned tantalizingly as I hesitated. - -I leaned across the cloth and caught her hands and held them prisoner. - -“More especially when it is shared by the woman he loves,” I continued, -throwing discretion to the winds. “Ah, then he forgets the danger, -mademoiselle! He remembers only that she is beside him,--that he may -look into her eyes as I look into yours,--that he may kiss her hands as -I kiss these dear ones. And when he knows that to restore her to her -friends is to sever himself from her, he may well despond as he sees -the hour approach.” - -She sat looking at me, the color coming and going in her cheeks, her -lips parted, her eyes a little misty. And she made no effort to take -her hands away. Ah, what a woman she was! The beauty of her!--the -whiteness, the delicacy, the slim grace!--and with it all, a woman’s -passionate heart, a woman’s power of loving and desire of being loved! -It was there, I knew, waiting to be awakened, needing only the touch of -a certain hand, the sound of a certain voice. - -“You really love me!” she murmured. “You really love me!” - -“Oh, my dearest!” I cried. “Can you doubt it? Looking into my eyes, can -you doubt it? And last night, looking into yours, I fancied that you -swept aside the veil for a moment, and that I saw into your heart, your -soul, and read a secret there which made me madly happy! Did I read -aright?” - -“Not to value your devotion would be indeed ungrateful, monsieur,” she -answered in a whisper---- - -“It is not gratitude that I ask,” I broke in. “It was not gratitude -that I saw! Did I read aright?” - -“Suppose I say yes,” she said; “what is it you propose?” - -“I propose to take you and keep you,” I answered madly, drawing her -toward me, my blood on fire. “You do love me!--come, confess it! Look -into my eyes and tell me! I defy the whole world to take you from me -now!” - -She swayed toward me for an instant, her lips parted, her eyes swimming -in a veil of tears. I had won! I had won! Then she drew her hands away -and sat erect, a convulsive shiver running through her. - -“And your honor,” she asked, her face suddenly white--“what of it? The -word you have given--what of it? The vow you have taken--what of it? -And if I did love you--do you not see that it is the man of honor that -I love? Do you think I could keep on loving a dishonored man--even -though that dishonor were incurred for me? Do you think I could find -any place in my heart for a man unfaithful to such a vow as you have -taken? No, no!--you cannot believe that!--you cannot so mistake me! I -have built a temple for you in my heart--do not tell me that you are -unworthy to dwell there!” - -I was struck dumb before her. I could find no word of answer. She was -right--a hundred times right. And by the trembling which shook her I -saw that it was not I alone who suffered. - -“Forgive me!” I groaned. “Forgive me!” and I flung myself forward at -her feet. - -But her arms were about me, and she raised me up and kissed me on the -forehead, and her eyes were shining, and her face was very pale. - -“Be brave!” she whispered brokenly. “Be brave, my friend! The future -will be brighter than you think. Oh, you are worthy to occupy that -temple! Oh, I must----” - -A sudden rattle of arms and tramp of feet rose to us from the valley. - -“What is that?” she asked with bated breath. - -I sprang to my feet, went cautiously to the edge of the thicket and -looked down. A regiment was marching westward along the road by which -we had come--a regiment dusty and travel-stained, with tri-colored -cockades in their hats and tri-colored scarfs about their necks. I -watched them until they disappeared around a turn of the road. Then I -rejoined my comrade. - -“It was a regiment of Blues,” I said; “that is bad. I had hoped to take -that road. Now we must take the other; but we must keep to the cover of -this thicket until we are past the village. We would better be starting -now while there is light; then at dusk we can descend to the road and -hasten on to Coulonges.” - -She was replacing the food in the hamper before I had finished. - -“We may need it,” she said; “you shall not risk yourself again.” - -She was entirely self-controlled and turned to me the old, clear, -friendly gaze; the emotion which had shaken her a moment before had -been conquered and swept aside. What was it she had been about to say? -Should I ever know? Should I ever again get past the barrier of her -reserve? - -I watched her as she slipped my shoes over her own again and fastened -them. Then I took up the hamper and started. At the edge of the little -glade she paused and threw a kiss back to it. - -“Good-by,” she called. “Good-by. You also have kept us safely. I shall -always remember!” - -I dared not look back. I felt that I was forever leaving a spot more -dear and sacred than home itself. So I strode blindly on, hurling -myself savagely at the underbrush, until the very fury of my exertions -served to exhaust the fire which raged within. - -“Am I going too fast?” I asked, pausing and turning to her, for her -footsteps told me that she was close at my heels. - -“No,” she said, “but you must be tiring yourself terribly, and to -little useful purpose.” - -“It was the brute fighting itself out,” I explained; “exhausting itself -by bruising and trampling down those poor little saplings.” - -“And is it quite exhausted?” - -“I trust so. Do you never have an impulse to destroy things--to rend -them apart and shatter them to bits?” - -“Sometimes,” she admitted, laughing. “It’s like a thunderstorm, isn’t -it--all fire and fury while it lasts, but leaving one cleansed and -purified. Oh, I am far from perfect,” she added, laughing again as she -caught my glance, “as you would have seen for yourself long ere this -had you been of an observing turn. Is this as far as we go through this -thicket?” - -“No,” I answered, checking the words which rose to my lips; and I set -off again, nor paused until the village had sunk from sight behind us. -“Now we can rest,” I said, and sat down at the edge of the bushes. - -She sat beside me and leaned her chin upon her hand as she gazed down -into the valley. The sun was sinking to the west and the road seemed -the merest yellow ribbon between its green hedges. Far ahead I could -see that the country again became more broken, and a low range of -purple hills closed in the horizon. - -As we sat there silent, a cloud of dust appeared far down the road, -and we moved deeper into the cover of the bushes, fearing that it was -another regiment approaching. But it was only a flock of sheep, driven -by three shepherds. - -“Food for the enemy,” I remarked. “That explains why there are no -longer any flocks in these pastures. The Republic has swallowed them, -as it has swallowed so many other things.” - -We watched them until they passed from sight on the horizon behind a -cloud of dust which rose and rose until it covered the sun’s face. - -“Yonder behind that cloud lies Thouars,” I said. - -“And a league beyond is Coulonges--and our friends,” she added. - -“Always thinking of that!” I rejoined bitterly. - -“Yes--of safety and home. How I shall delight to be there again!” - -“Home! And I do not even know where that is! Why is it, mademoiselle, -that you have told me nothing of yourself? Do you mistrust me?” - -“Mistrust you?” she repeated. “What an absurd question! But there is so -little to tell.” - -“And you refuse to tell me even that? I know nothing of you except your -name. How am I to find you again, if fate is indeed kind to me? Where -am I to look for you?” - -“A perfect lover would have trusted his heart to lead him,” she -retorted. “But since you do not, you may as well know that the Château -de Chambray is two leagues south of Poitiers.” - -“Then,” I said, “I shall not have far to go if--if--pray heaven it may -be my fortune to seek you there.” - -I could see by her sparkling eyes that the spirit of mischief had -sprung to life again. - -“We shall be very glad to welcome you, my father and I,” she said, -without permitting me to finish. “Perhaps we can even persuade you -to bring your betrothed with you. Why not spend your honeymoon at -Chambray, monsieur?” - -“I should like to spend it there,” I retorted, “but with another woman.” - -It was her turn to redden, and she did so in good earnest. - -“Do you think fortune will favor me that far?” I persisted. - -Then she armed herself and struck me a savage blow. - -“No,” she answered quickly; “I think fortune will hold you to your -promise and that you will soon forget to rail at her. Your heart is -exceedingly inflammable and will burn none the less ardently, whether -it be I or your betrothed who applies the spark.” - -“If that is your opinion,” I returned bitterly, “there is nothing more -to be said.” - -“And I am quite certain,” she added, smiling strangely, “that you will -one day accept that invitation. My father will insist upon it.” - -“Let him!” I retorted. “Are you hungry?” - -“No.” - -“Nor I. This hamper, then, we will leave here, as we shall reach -Coulanges to-night. It is time we were setting off.” - -She arose without a word and followed me down the slope. Only, when at -last I glanced back, did I perceive that she was bearing the hamper. - -“Why are you bringing that?” I demanded, wheeling sharp around. - -“Food is not plentiful enough in France to be wasted in that way,” she -answered evenly. - -“What do you propose to do with it?” - -“I propose to leave it at the door of the first hut we reach;” and she -made a motion as though to pass me. - -I seized the hamper roughly and strode on through the dusk, marvelling -at the inconsistencies of a heart which could be at the same time so -cruel and so tender. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - -FORTUNE FROWNS. - - -WE gained the road again and turned westward along it, walking for -some time in silence. I confess I was in bad humor. I was not altruist -enough to burden myself willingly with that hamper, and more than once -I was tempted to fling it into the ditch at the roadside, especially as -minute followed minute and no house appeared. But at last at a turn of -the road we came upon a miserable hovel supported by a pile of stone, -without which it must inevitably have collapsed. I thought for an -instant that the hut was empty, but as we drew near a child’s thin wail -came to us through the open door. I set the hamper down, knocked and -passed on, and I doubt not that in that family there still survives the -legend of a heavenly visitation. - -My spirit cleared after that, perhaps as the reward of a good action, -perhaps because I was rid of the hamper; at any rate, I could lift -my head and look about me and take joy in the beauty of the night. -There were only the stars to light us, for the moon had not yet risen. -They looked down upon us from the high heavens, and it seemed to me -that there was kindness and sympathy in their gaze--that they blessed -us and wished us well. The road was much smoother than the one we -had traversed the night before, and we got forward at a speed which -warranted our reaching Coulonges in good time if nothing happened to -delay us. We were both well rested and I already had good reason to -know and wonder at my companion’s powers of endurance. - -I glanced down at her and saw that she was staring straight ahead -at the road unrolling before us. How near we were to the moment of -parting! With every step we approached the place where I must leave -her. Even should I survive my pilgrimage of vengeance, it seemed most -unlikely that I should see her again--certainly we should never be -thrown together in this sweet, intimate, personal relation. And would -I wish to see her in any other way? To gaze at her from a distance, -to find her fenced about, to stand silent while some other gallant -whispered in her ear--would not all that be as the rubbing of salt into -an open wound? - -Indeed she had already applied that torture with that mocking -invitation to Chambray. Why was it that I had so failed to touch a -responsive chord in her? Or rather why, at the very moment I fancied I -had touched it, should she draw back and deal me a cruel blow? Perhaps -she fancied there was kindness in this cruelty; perhaps she was trying -to save me from sinking too deeply into the quicksand which entangled -me. Alas! I felt that I was already past all hope of rescue. So a real -kindness would have been to make my last moments as happy as might be -ere the sands closed over me and divided us forever! - -I shook the thought away. Nothing on earth should so divide us. Honor -compelled no man to wreck his life beyond redemption. But as I turned -the problem over in my mind, I confess my heart sank. So long as Mlle. -de Benseval lived, just so long was I bound to her. That was the final -statement to which the tangle reduced itself, and I reflected bitterly -upon the folly of parents who disposed of their children without asking -their consent, or indeed before they were old enough to know to what -they were consenting. A boy of ten will blithely promise to marry any -one, or will bind himself indifferently with a vow of celibacy, for -what does he know of either? Only when he comes to look at the world -and the women in it with a man’s eyes does he understand. - -“What is it, Sir Sorrowful?” asked my companion at last. “The old -problem?” - -“The old problem.” - -“Why ponder it? You have already said that no man can escape his -destiny.” - -“I am going to escape mine if it be possible.” - -“Is escape worth so much worry?” - -“It is all the difference between hell and heaven!” - -“Oh, fie! What would the betrothed think could she hear you?” - -“I wish she could!” I retorted bitterly. - -“Ah, M. de Tavernay,” and her voice had a note of sadness in it, “I -thought you a gallant man. I thought you brave enough to approach -your fate with a smile upon your lips. I thought you generous enough -to make this girl who is waiting for you believe that you really -loved her. Consider how much more difficult is her task. Perhaps she -remembers you only as a thoughtless and unattractive boy; perhaps she -also has seen some one whom she fancies she could love better; perhaps -it is some one who is really better worth loving. Yet she is awaiting -you, stifling her misgivings in her bosom, ready to keep her oath, -although an oath is not the same thing to a woman as to a man. Nor is -marriage the same thing. To a man it is an episode; to a woman it is -her whole life. She belongs to the man she has married. Do you think -the woman to whom you are betrothed does not realize all this? Be sure -she does--and trembles at it. And you propose to make her task more -difficult still. You will come to her with a sour and downcast face; -you will say to her as plainly as if you spoke the words, ‘I do not -love you; I take you because I must. If I were free I would not look -at you a second time; I am making a martyr of myself by marrying you.’ -Which do you think will be the greater martyr, monsieur, you or she? -You are right in your estimate of yourself--you are wholly selfish.” - -I had listened with bowed head and quivering nerves. Every word burnt -into me as a white-hot iron. - -“You are right,” I said hoarsely, when she had finished. “I am a -coward--a cur. I am not really a man of honor.” - -“You are only a boy,” she said; and her tone was more tender. “You -have been too long in your mother’s leading-strings. But you have in -you the making of a man, my friend, and I know that I shall live to be -proud of you.” - -I caught her hand and kissed it--a kiss not of love but of gratitude. -I swear that at that moment passion was as dead in me as though it had -never been. - -We went on in silence after that. I had my bitter draught to swallow, -and swallow it I did without flinching, for all pretty euphemism had -been stripped away. - -“Mademoiselle,” I said at last, “I hope that in time you will pardon -me. And I thank you from the bottom of my heart that you had the -courage to speak as you did just now. It was the only way to open my -eyes to my real self. Believe me, I shall be brave enough to look at it -steadily.” - -She held out her hand with a quick gesture. - -“I am sure you will,” she said very softly. “And let me tell you one -thing more: I shall always be a better woman for having known you.” - -Again I kissed her hand,--humbly as a slave might,--and again we went -on in silence. The moon rose and threw our shadows far before us -along the road. We came at last to the rough and uneven ground I had -seen from the hillside and here we found the way more difficult, for -the road grew narrow and uneven, with high untrimmed hedges closing -it in on either hand and sometimes even meeting overhead, so that we -seemed to be stumbling forward in a tunnel into which no ray of light -could penetrate. I aided her as well as I could, but even then it was -disheartening and exhausting work. - -“We must rest,” I said; “we must rest;” and I led her to a seat in the -shadow of the hedge. - -“I shall recover in a moment,” she protested. “We must reach Coulonges -to-night. I have set my heart on it. Remember, we burnt our ships -behind us when we abandoned our provisions.” - -“We shall reach Coulonges,” I said confidently. “At the next house I -will inquire the way.” - -“Come,” she said, starting to her feet. “Let us go. I am quite rested.” - -She was a few paces ahead of me, and I let her keep the place for a -moment that I might admire her erect and graceful figure, when suddenly -she shrank back against me with a little cry of fright. - -“What is it?” I asked. “You are not hurt?” - -“No, no,” she whispered; “but yonder--creep forward and look.” - -There was a sharp turn in the road and as I went forward cautiously and -looked around it my heart stood still. For there, not two hundred yards -distant, was encamped a regiment of infantry--the same perhaps that we -had seen pass that afternoon. I contemplated the camp in silence for a -moment, noting how it lay in the little valley, then I drew back and -rejoined my comrade. - -“There is no danger,” I said. “We must make a wide detour and avoid -these fellows.” - -I searched along the hedge until I found a place where I could break -through, and in a moment we were together in the field on the other -side. Cautiously we crept away up the hillside until the lights of -the camp gleamed faint behind us; then we went forward past them. -There was no danger of our being seen, despite the brightness of the -moonlight, for the field was full of sheep--the same we had seen -pass, no doubt--and at a distance, so low we crept, we could not be -distinguished from them. We came to another hedge and broke a passage -through it, and I was just turning back toward the road when a low moan -behind me brought me sharp around. - -“What is it?” I asked again, and stretched out my arms and caught her, -or she would have fallen. - -“My ankle,” she gasped, her lips white to the very edge. “I turned it -back yonder. I thought I could walk on it but--oh!” and she shivered -and hid her face against my shoulder. - -I placed her gently on the ground and with trembling fingers undid the -laces of her shoe. She shivered again with agony at my touch and closed -her eyes. I felt that the ankle was already swelling, and the sweat -poured down my face as I realized what anguish she was in. - -“I must get aid,” I said thickly. “I must get you to some house.” - -She was clutching wildly at my sleeve, her face convulsed, her eyes -bright with suffering. - -“Leave me,” she said, pulling me down to her. “Leave me. It is no more -than I deserve. Save yourself. Only,” she added softly, “kiss me -first.” - -For answer, I bent and lifted her tenderly in my arms, pressed her -close against my heart and kissed her quivering lips, her shining eyes, -and fragrant hair. - -“I love you,” I whispered--“more than ever I love you! Oh, I shall -never be able to tell you how I love you!” - -She clung to me desperately, and I held her close--close--trembling -with a great happiness. - -“Tell me,” I whispered; “I know it now--but tell me!” - -She lifted her face to mine, no longer pinched with suffering, but -radiant with joy. - -“I love you!” she said. “Oh, why should I deny it?” - -Again I kissed her; then I set off down the hill, while she dropped her -head upon my shoulder and sobbed silently--but I knew that it was not -with pain. She was mine--mine! Nothing could alter that! Not all the -oaths of heaven and hell could alter that! Not the scorn of the living -nor the memory of the dead could alter that! I had happiness within -my hand and I would hold it fast; there should be no paltering with -it, no looking back, no question of this or that. How foolish all such -questions seemed, now that the die was cast! - -At last I reached the road and for an instant hesitated, looking up and -down. To ask aid of the Blues would be to court the guillotine, and -yet I might blunder along the road for hours without coming to a house -where help could be secured. Had I the right to condemn her to that -suffering? Then I remembered Goujon. Better a sprained ankle than that -infamy--better any suffering than that! And resolutely I set my face -westward. - -“It will not be long,” I whispered. “We shall find a house. Be brave! -Remember only that I love you!” - -She answered with a pressure of her arms about my neck, and I went on -with new strength, my heart singing. At last, with a deep breath of -thankfulness, I discerned the roof of a cottage rising above the hedge -to the right. Was it occupied? There was no light at the window nor -smoke rising from the chimney, but I hastened forward to its door and -knocked. There was no response. I tried the door and found it barred, -so I knocked again, or rather hammered savagely with my fist. This time -a step approached. - -“Be off!” cried a harsh voice. “No entrance here.” - -“Citizen,” I said as mildly as I could, “I ask your aid--you will lose -nothing by opening the door.” - -“Be off!” he cried again. “I will not open.” - -“Well then I shall kick it in,” I said, letting my wrath burst forth, -“and shoot you down like the dog you are. Choose--a gold louis if you -aid me, death if you refuse!” and I gave the door a premonitory kick -which made the flimsy building tremble. “Come, is it war or peace?” - -“What is it you require, citizen?” asked the voice after a moment in a -milder tone. - -“Some water boiling hot and cloth for a bandage.” - -“And for these you will give a gold louis?” - -“I promise it.” - -“Very well, I will open the door.” - -“You will make a light first,” I said; and placing my burden carefully -on the ground in the shadow of the hedge I drew my pistol and assured -myself that it was ready. “Come, make haste,” I added. - -In a moment a light sprang up within and the door slowly opened. I -crossed the threshold with a bound, to find myself face to face with -as villainous a wretch as I had ever encountered. A great shock of -yellow hair hung over a face so grimed and crusted with filth that the -features were almost indecipherable. The head hung forward, and the -great hands dangling below the knees showed that the man was deformed. - -“Quick! stir up the fire,” I commanded, “and heat the water.” - -“And the gold louis?” he asked, eyeing my dress. - -I drew it forth and placed it on a rude table which stood in one corner. - -“There it is,” I said; “but it is not yours yet.” - -His eyes gleamed as he looked at it and he licked his lips as a dog -might have done at sight of a savory bone; then he turned to the -hearth, stirred the smoldering embers, threw some pieces of wood upon -them, filled an earthenware pot from another vessel which stood on the -hearth, and placed it in the midst of the flames. - -“Your water will be ready in three winks, citizen,” he said. - -“Good!” and I moved before the fire a bench which served as a chair. -“Now I will bring in my companion.” - -“Your companion?” he repeated, looking about with a snarl. - -“Yes--and if you touch the gold-piece I will kill you. Sit down in -yonder corner.” - -He backed into the corner indicated and sat down, staring vacantly. In -an instant I was outside, and lifting my comrade tenderly in my arms, -bore her back into the cottage and closed and barred the door. - -“Sit here, my love,” I said, and placed her on the bench. “Now, let us -see the ankle.” - -I knelt before her and with fingers which trembled so that I could -scarcely guide them removed the shoe and cut away the stocking. The -ankle,--which should have been so slim, so graceful,--was cruelly -swollen. - -“It will be better in a moment,” I said, and dipping the remnant of the -stocking into the steaming water, held it close against the hurt. - -“Oh, that is heavenly!” she murmured, and breathed a deep sigh of -relief. - -I bathed the ankle thoroughly, immersing it in water almost scalding, -and every instant I joyed to see the lines of pain in her face soften -and disappear. - -“And now,” I said at last, “we will bandage it tightly and it will not -pain you--only of course you cannot use it for some days.” - -“For some days!” she echoed in dismay. “But we cannot stay here so long -a time.” - -“No,” I agreed, “certainly not--but first let us bandage the ankle.” - -But my face fell as I glanced about the room. - -“What do you require for a bandage?” she asked, following my eyes. - -“A strip of clean cloth--the longer the better. But clean cloth in a -hovel like this!” - -She colored slightly as she looked down at me. - -“If you will turn your back for a moment,” she said, “I think I can -supply the bandage.” - -I walked over to the corner where our involuntary host still squatted, -cursing softly to himself, and stood before him. There was a sharp rip. - -“How is this, doctor?” asked a voice; and I turned to see her holding -out to me a strip of linen. - -“Excellent!” I cried; and kneeling before her, I drew it tightly around -the ankle. I rejoiced to see that the swelling had already decreased -considerably, and I bent and kissed the little foot. - -“Is that a portion of the treatment?” she asked, laughing. - -“A very necessary portion--don’t you feel the improvement?” - -“Yes,” she said, her eyes dancing, “I believe I do.” - -“And now,” I added, standing up again, “we must get out of this. We are -still too near that camp down yonder.” - -“But I am such a burden!” she protested. - -“A dear, delightful burden;” and I stooped to raise her. But at that -instant a violent blow sounded on the door. - -“Open!” cried a voice. “Open!” - -There was no time to temporize; besides, I knew that to hesitate would -be to double any suspicion we might awaken. - -“At once!” I answered. “Be brave, my love!” I whispered, and kissed her -lips. As I turned away I saw the brute in the corner spring upon the -gold-piece and hide it among his rags. - -“Open!” cried the voice again; and the door shook under a savage blow. - -I strode to it and flung it wide. - -A flash of arms greeted my eyes, a vision of fierce faces. In an -instant a dozen men came crowding into the room, and I saw that they -wore the uniform of the Republic. - -[Illustration: I STRODE TO THE DOOR AND FLUNG IT WIDE] - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - -THE DRAGON’S DEN. - - -THE rush of the intruders, sudden and overwhelming, drove me back from -the door, but I managed to hold my place, pistol in hand, before my -love, too dazed for the moment to do aught but stare at them and curse -the fortune which had brought us to this desperate pass. But I had a -part to play,--a part I had rehearsed more than once for an emergency -just such as this,--and I got my wits back by a supreme effort, while -the newcomers still stood gaping in a semicircle about us. - -“Well, citizens,” I said, trying to achieve a smile, “one would have -thought you were taking a fortress by assault.” - -“We were set to patrol this road,” explained one of them. “We saw this -light and determined to find out what was going forward here.” - -I saw by their awkwardness and want of discipline that they were not -trained soldiery, but raw levies with no clear idea of their duties; -and my spirits rose. - -“Quite right,” I commended, smiling this time in earnest. “I suspected -as much. That is why I opened so promptly, since we have nothing to -conceal. There is no enemy of the Republic here--only this honest old -fellow, this woman and myself. So farewell, my friends. Oblige me -by using this to drink the health of the Nation;” and I tossed their -spokesman a silver crown. - -A murmur of satisfaction ran around the group, and such is the power of -self-assurance, that three or four of them made a motion to withdraw. -But their spokesman, evidently the most intelligent among them, -lingered. - -“I fear we must require some account of you, citizen,” he said, looking -at me apologetically, “and above all of your companion, who appears to -me to be an aristocrat.” - -“An aristocrat!” I laughed, realizing in a flash that in these -circumstances I must take some other line than that I had originally -resolved on. “So it seems you cannot tell maid from mistress! She is -so little of an aristocrat that she hopes to be _vivandière_ to the -regiment which I join.” - -“Then, _pardieu_, you must join ours!” cried one of the rogues, and -pressed toward her. “Hey, my dear, look at us--we’re a likely set of -fellows. We’ll be kind to you--we’ll do our best to make you happy;” at -which his comrades laughed approvingly and gazed at my companion with -meaning glances. - -“We are already pledged to a regiment at Thouars, citizen,” I -protested, pushing him back good-naturedly, though there was red murder -in my heart. - -“Her clothing is not that of a servant,” said another, staring at her. - -“Well, may not a maid don her mistress’s gown?” I demanded. -“Especially when she is leaving her for the last time?” - -They laughed again at that, but I saw that suspicion had been -aroused--faint indeed, but enough to imperil us. Any but these country -louts would have seen through the lie at once--that peerless creature a -servant, indeed! - -“What is your business here, citizen?” queried the first speaker after -a moment’s silence during which I noted with uneasiness that none of -them made any movement to retire. - -“We stopped here to rest,” I explained. “My comrade has injured her -ankle. We will spend the night here, since it is impossible for her to -go farther. Your regiment passes here?” - -“Undoubtedly, since it also goes to Thouars.” - -“Well, we will join it as it passes. Perhaps you will give us breakfast -and permit my comrade to ride in one of the wagons.” - -“Undoubtedly, citizen,” chimed in another with a laugh; “but we’ll -not permit any such scarecrow as you to ride with her. You’d prefer a -handsome soldier, wouldn’t you, my dear?” - -“As you will,” I agreed, laughing too, though with no small effort; -“but you see how pale she is--she suffers greatly. A night’s rest will -change all that. So good-night, citizens; till to-morrow.” - -This time they appeared really satisfied and started for the door in a -body. But a sudden uproar from without stopped them. - -“Name of a dog!” yelled a hoarse voice. “Where are those blockheads? -Ah, they shall hang for this! Deserters! Traitors!” - -There was an uneasy movement among the men. I saw that they had reason -to know and fear that voice. In another instant a ferocious face -appeared in the doorway, its eyes gleaming with rage. - -“What!” it cried; and I saw a sword gleam in the air and descend with -no uncertain force on heads and shoulders. “Dallying here with a -light-o’-love! Is it thus you do your duty? Is it thus you serve the -Nation? Hounds! Curs! I’ll show you!” and he drove them forth pell-mell -into the road. “And who are you, citizen?” he demanded, wheeling upon -me when the last of them had disappeared. - -“I am on my way to join the army at Thouars,” I said. - -“And she?” and he jerked his thumb toward my companion. - -“Spoil of war,” I explained with a wide smile, seeing he was too wise -to swallow the other story. - -He turned and stared at her for a moment. - -“My word, you have a pretty taste, citizen,” he said; and his eye -gleamed lasciviously. “I think I will release you, my dear, from this -dirty brute,” he added to her with a leer he no doubt thought engaging. -“You’d rather have a brave fellow like myself, wouldn’t you? Say, -wouldn’t you?” and he approached and tweaked her ear. “Of course you -would! So it is settled.” - -“Citizen,” I interposed, “I shall have a word to say to that. She -belongs to me.” - -He turned upon me a disdainful countenance. - -“Get out, you beast!” he said. “Don’t you see we wish to be relieved of -you? You say you are going to Thouars. Well, the door is open. Suppose -you start now.” - -“When I start my prisoner goes with me,” I said. - -He stared at me for a moment as though scarcely able to believe his -ears. - -“What!” he shouted. “You dispute with me! You--you scum! You insect! -You toad! I tell you to get out! I advise you to get out while you are -able to use your legs.” - -“Pah!” I retorted, rage mastering me. “Save your ass’s voice for those -cowards out yonder. I’m not afraid of noise!” - -“Dog!” he yelled, and sprang upon me. - -But I had my pistol out--it was his life or mine--and fired straight -into that savage countenance. I saw the gaping hole the bullet left; -I saw the blood spurt from it as he pitched forward at my feet. Then -a score of savage hands seized me, and I thought for an instant that -I should be torn asunder. But a mounted patrol, summoned by the shot, -cantered up, cut their way through the crowd, and jerked me out of its -clutches. - -“What is all this?” demanded their officer. - -In two words they told him the story, pointing to the body on the floor -and to the girl cowering in one corner, her hands before her face. They -ended by demanding that I be hanged forthwith. - -“Oh, he shall hang!” my new captor assured them. “Rest content. But he -may be a spy; and first we’ll see what he knows. Tie his hands.” - -They were secured behind my back in a twinkling. - -“Bring the woman too,” he said; and one of them brought her forth and -threw her across a horse. I saw with a sigh of relief that she had -fainted. “Give me your rope, Couthon,” he added to one of his men. - -The rope was a strong yet slender line. Already in one end of it there -was a running noose, and I shuddered as I guessed its meaning. He threw -the noose over my head, drew it tight about my neck and made the other -end fast to a ring in his saddle. - -“Release him,” he commanded, with an evil laugh. “He can’t get away. -Forward!” - -For an instant the thought flashed through my brain that I would end it -here, that I would let myself be dragged under the hoofs of the horses. -Then, as a trooper cantered by me bearing a limp form before him, I -realized my cowardice. So long as a breath of life remained I must -fight to save her from the hideous fate which threatened her. - -So I ran along in the dust beside my captor in such an agony of rage -and despair as I had never known. If a wish of mine could have engulfed -the world in ruin I would instantly have uttered it. I prayed for an -earthquake to swallow us, for a thunderbolt to blast us. I looked up at -the clear sky and cursed it. So this was the end--for me, death by the -rope--for her.... - -The lights of the camp gleamed ahead. In a moment we passed the outpost -and approached a tent before which a sentry was stationed. - -“Announce to Citizen Goujon,” said my captor, reining in his horse, -“that we have here two traitors to be judged.” - -The sentry saluted and disappeared into the tent. As for me, my heart -had stopped at the mention of that name. Goujon! Was he to prove my -murderer, too? And Charlotte---- - -“Enter, citizen,” said the sentry, holding back the flap of the tent. - -My captor threw himself from the saddle and led me into the tent, the -rope still about my neck. Another followed carrying Charlotte. - -Within the tent was a table upon which two candles gleamed. Before it -sat a man examining a pile of papers. He looked up as we entered, and I -shuddered as I met his eyes; for they seemed a snake’s eyes, so veiled -and cold and venomous they were. The face was pock-marked, clammy-grey, -and the nose so fissured and swollen that it had the appearance of a -sponge. - -He glanced from me to the burden which the trooper bore, and a slow -flush crept into his cheeks. - -“Well?” he asked, sharply, turning back to my captor. - -And again I had the pleasure of listening to the highly-colored -story of my recent exploit. I was a murderer, a traitor--undoubtedly -an aristocrat. I had shot down in cold blood the officer who was -interrogating me. I was plainly a desperate character and should be -hanged before I had further opportunity for evil. - -“But before hanging him,” my captor concluded, “I thought it best to -bring him to you for interrogation. He may be a spy.” - -Goujon nodded. - -“You were right,” he said. “Receive my compliments. Tie him to that -pole yonder. As for the woman, place her on my cot,--we shall find -means to revive her;” and he laughed menacingly. “You may retire,” he -added, “but stay within call.” - -They saluted and withdrew. - -Goujon waited until the flap fell behind them. Then he approached me -slowly, until he was quite near, and contemplated me with those snake’s -eyes of his--my face, my clothes, my shoes. With a little smile of -enjoyment he turned away and bent above the cot, his hands clasped -behind him. At last he turned to the table, took up a candle and held -the flame close to her lips. It flickered back and forth, and he set it -down again with a chuckle of satisfaction. - -Then he came back to me and stood for a moment gloating over me. - -“So, Citizen Tavernay,” he said at last with an infernal smile, “you -did not escape after all!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - -IN THE SHADOW. - - -“SO, Citizen Tavernay,” he repeated, dwelling on the words with a -malicious triumph, “you did not escape after all--you and yonder pretty -aristocrat. God’s blood! but this is a pleasant moment!” - -He stopped and looked into my eyes, then burst into a roar of laughter. - -“For me, I mean!” he cried, holding his sides. “For me--not for you. -Come--look at it from my standpoint. Be large-minded enough to look -at it from my standpoint. Could anything have been more perfect, more -complete, more admirable in every way? It tempts me almost to believe -in Providence.” - -I could only stand and stare at him and wonder numbly whether he were -man or devil. - -“You wonder how I know you?” he continued. “True, I have never before -had the supreme pleasure of meeting you thus, face to face, and of -conversing pleasantly with you as I am now doing; but I know you -perfectly nevertheless. The Nation has a sharp eye for its enemies, and -it never sleeps. That eye has been upon you from the moment of your -flight.” - -But I had shaken off my stupor and got something of my boldness back. - -“Nonsense!” I said contemptuously. “I am not fleeing. I am on my way to -join the forces at Thouars. You mistake me for some one else.” - -He looked at me and nodded, while his smile grew and broadened. - -“Not bad,” he commended; “but it is useless to lie. Even if you were -not Tavernay, your fate is none the less assured. I can well understand -your reluctance to part with life;” and he cast a leering glance toward -the still form on the cot. “You must have found life very pleasant -recently. But do not despond. You are leaving your mistress in tender -hands. She will not want for affection.” - -“What is the charge against me?” I demanded, controlling as well as I -could the wrath which devoured me. - -“The charge?” he repeated negligently. “Oh, I do not know--there are a -dozen charges. I have not yet determined which I shall use. But what -does it matter? Between ourselves, I will tell you, citizen, that I -have decided upon your death because you are in the way;” and again his -eyes wandered to that still figure. - -“You would, then,” I said, realizing that I must keep my calmness, -“murder a patriot in order to be more free to wrong a woman?” - -“A patriot?” he sneered. “Perhaps not--but I would murder an aristocrat -for far less cause than that.” - -“I am not an aristocrat,” I protested desperately. - -“So you persist in that farce?” he queried coldly. “Really, you grow -wearisome. Perhaps you will explain then how you happen to be wearing -the clothing of that traitor, Pasdeloup?” - -My tongue refused to answer, and he laughed again as he noted my -confusion. - -“I recognize it, every stitch,” he went on evenly; “every stitch except -the shoes. And I even think I can guess where you got those. More than -that, I can have you identified in a moment. Perhaps you remember -Sergeant Dubosq, whom you encountered on the road from Tours. I am sure -that he will recall you readily, even in this guise, for he has an -excellent memory. Shall I summon him?” - -I saw that it was useless to persist. - -“No,” I answered; “don’t disturb the sergeant.” - -“You admit then that you are Tavernay?” - -“Yes,” I answered boldly; “why not? I have committed no crime----” - -“You have opposed the Nation.” - -“In what way? By trying to escape?” - -“You have abetted the Nation’s enemies.” - -“By accepting their hospitality? That is childish!” - -“You have murdered two patriots,” he went on inexorably. - -“Two?” I repeated with a start. - -“One you stabbed last night.” - -“It was his life or mine.” - -“The other you shot a few moments ago.” - -“To defend a woman’s honor.” - -A sudden light blazed in his eyes. - -“You pretend it still exists?” he sneered. - -I gave him a look, which, had looks that power, would have scorched and -shrivelled him where he stood. But instead of shrinking he came very -close to me and stared into my eyes, a fiendish grin upon his lips. - -“Really, Citizen Tavernay,” he said at last, “it would appear from your -countenance that this surprising thing is true; and yet I can scarcely -believe it. Have you taken a vow? Are you--but no matter. I thank -you, my friend, for your forbearance. I applaud your virtue, which is -really unique even in this age of virtue. Nevertheless you must agree -with me that your death is more than ever necessary. Indeed I find you -already one too many!” and he glanced toward the cot with a meaning -unmistakable. - -“What a brute!” I murmured, contempt mastering every other emotion. -“What a brute! This is your whole life, then! You think of nothing -but vileness. I might have guessed as much by looking at you! But one -victim has already escaped you----” - -“Yes,” he broke in, his face suddenly contorted with rage; “and the -wretch who fired that shot is burning in hell for it!” - -“She died in her husband’s arms,” I continued, seeing how the words -stung him, “happy, his lips on hers. Of you she had never so much as -heard the name. During her whole life not once did she so much as -think of you. For her you have never existed--never will exist! She has -escaped you!” - -“Go on!” he said hoarsely, licking his lips with a purple tongue. “Body -of God! Go on!” - -His face was convulsed with anguish, great drops of sweat stood out -across his forehead; he was quivering under the blows I dealt him, and -yet he seemed to get a kind of fearful pleasure from them. And in that -instant I saw how he had been consumed by a hopeless passion; how he -had beaten himself against a lofty wall which he could never hope to -scale; how he was at this moment eating his heart out--and I might have -found it in my soul to pity him, if I had not so loathed and hated him -for the evil it was still in his power to do. - -“Go on!” he repeated savagely. “What more?” - -“Nothing more,” I answered, “except that your second victim will escape -you even as the other. God protects His angels!” - -“Pah!” he yelled, his wrath bursting forth like a whirlwind. “I will -show you how He protects them;” and he sprang toward the cot like a -wild beast. - -A blind fury seized me--a fury maddening, uncontrollable. I saw -red--literally and actually I saw red, as though the world had been -suddenly drenched with blood. I strained at the cord about my wrists -until it cut deep into the flesh; I hurled myself toward him, only to -be jerked back cruelly by the noose about my neck. I cursed him till -I could curse no longer; I offered my soul’s hope of eternity for a -single moment’s freedom. - -Then suddenly I realized my impotence; a great calm fell upon me. I -stopped and looked at him. He had left the cot and come back to me, -bringing a candle with him in order to see more clearly, and he stood -there regarding me with the air of a connoisseur. - -“Well, citizen,” he asked with a diabolical smile, “have you finished? -If you care to begin again, pray do so, for it is very amusing. If not, -I fear I shall have to bid you adieu. After all, one must prosecute his -loves in private.” - -A long sigh from the cot interrupted him; he turned with a start, -holding the candle above his head. In an instant I saw my chance; I -drew up my leg and kicked him savagely with all my strength, full in -the belly. - -He went back and down with one terrible yell and lay writhing upon the -floor. Again I tore wildly at my bonds, but the flap of the tent was -dashed aside, and the guard rushed in. - -Goujon sat upright with an effort, swaying from side to side. - -“String him up!” he yelled, his lips white with froth like a mad dog’s. -“Hang him! Out with him this instant! An aristocrat and a traitor!” The -words rose to a scream of agony. “Oh, he has killed me!” he groaned, -and fell forward upon his face. - -“God grant it!” I murmured. “Oh, God grant it!” - -Already their hands were upon me, dragging me away. - -“Tavernay!” screamed a voice. “Tavernay! Oh, my love!” and I turned my -head to see Charlotte starting from the cot, her hands outstretched. - -For an instant I shook them off; then they closed about me and hurled -me from the tent. I fancied that death was upon me then and there, so -merciless were the blows they dealt me. By some miracle I managed to -keep my feet, and suddenly a gigantic figure drove itself through the -crowd like a catapult. - -“Murderers!” he shrieked. “Assassins!” and I heard the blows which sent -them to right and left. “What!” he continued, taking his stand before -me. “You would kill a defenseless man--twenty against one! What sort of -cowards are you?” - -“He is an aristocrat,” broke in the man who held my halter. “Citizen -Goujon has ordered that he be hanged.” - -“Hang him and welcome,” rejoined the newcomer; “but don’t let me catch -you worrying him like dogs. Now off with you!” - -The voice sounded strangely familiar in my ears, and when I had shaken -the blood from my eyes, I saw that my rescuer was Dubosq. - -“Many thanks, my friend,” I said; and he started round astonished. “It -seems you do not know me,” I added, as he stared his bewilderment, -“and yet it was only three days ago that we met on the road from Tours.” - -He seized a torch from the hand of a bystander and flashed it into my -face. - -“My word, citizen!” he cried. “Small wonder! You looked like a -bridegroom, then--and now-- What have you been doing with yourself?” - -“I have been trying to escape being murdered,” I rejoined. “And it -seems that I am not going to escape after all.” - -“Oh, yes, you will,” he corrected; “you shall not be murdered, I will -see to that--only prettily executed.” - -“There is a difference, then?” I questioned, with irony. - -“All the difference in the world,” he answered with conviction. “The -one is irregular and apt to be bungled; it is done without authority -and without method, and is often needlessly prolonged. The other is -carefully planned and quickly carried out; all unpleasantness is -avoided----” - -“Oh, it is!” I broke in with a little laugh. “I am glad to know that!” - -“Citizen, you surprise me!” protested Dubosq; and I saw that he was in -earnest. “I thought you more of a philosopher. Since this is the end, -why worry about it?” - -“I will try not to,” I said; “but at twenty-one the end comes rather -early.” - -“True,” he agreed, and gazed at me contemplatively; “I had forgot that -you were so young.” - -“At any rate, I thank you for your interest,” I said. - -“Perhaps it is misplaced;” and he looked at me, frowning heavily. “So -you were an accomplice of the _ci-devant_ Favras, after all. You lied -very prettily that morning, citizen--and I would have sworn that you -were fresh from the nursery. That’s one on old Dubosq.” - -“Not in the least,” I protested. “I did not lie--I had never seen -Favras before. He took my horse by force, as I related to you; but I -found him awaiting me at the next town. He restored my horse to me and -insisted that I spend the night at his château.” - -“Faith, citizen,” said Dubosq with a laugh, “you’d better have lost -your horse and spent the night under a hedge. As it is, you lose your -life and enter the eternal night.” - -“Yes; there’s no help for that, I suppose?” - -“Not if Citizen Goujon has ordered it.” - -“He did order it,” broke in one of my persecutors, who had listened to -all this with ill-concealed impatience, “and at once.” - -“Very well, comrade,” said Dubosq; “come along, then. But he didn’t -order you to torture this fellow, and, _pardieu_, I’ll see that you -don’t. If you have any message, Citizen--I’ve forgotten your name.” - -“Tavernay,” I prompted. - -“Oh, yes; I remember. Well, if you have any messages, Citizen Tavernay, -I’ll be glad to take charge of them. It’s the only kindness I can do -you, I’m afraid.” - -“Thanks, my friend,” I answered, tears in my eyes at this unexpected -favor. “If you could convey news of my death to my mother at -Beaufort----” - -“Consider it done,” he broke in. “Anything else?” - -“Citizen,” I said, lowering my voice, “for myself I do not greatly -care. But I had a companion--a pure and beautiful woman. If you can -save her from death, or worse, you will be doing a noble action.” - -Dubosq pulled his great mustaches thoughtfully. - -“Is she an aristocrat?” he asked at last. - -“Not at all,” I hastened to assure him. “She was merely a guest at the -château like myself.” - -“I will see what can be done,” he promised; “but it will be no easy -task.” - -“I know it, my friend; therefore I ask it of you.” - -“Come, Citizen Tavernay,” he said, raising his head suddenly, “I can -pledge you one thing.” - -“And that?” - -“That she has nothing worse to fear than death.” - -“God bless you!” I said with trembling lips. “God bless you! Now I can -die in peace.” - -“Do you know, citizen,” said Dubosq in a voice almost tender, “I regret -more and more that you did not accept my invitation to join us that -morning, for, by my soul, you are a gallant fellow!” - -We had reached a small oak which grew upon the hillside, and one end of -the line was thrown over a lower branch. - -“One minute to shrive yourself, citizen,” called a rude voice. - -I looked out over the hillside. The moon was sailing high in the -heavens, and I noticed that the flock of sheep was moving down toward -us. Just above us was the line of sentinels, and the fires of the camp -gleamed along the road below. I could see the soldiers crowded about -them, for the night was chill; could hear their jests and laughter. -The tragedy which was enacting here on the hillside, and which meant -so much to me, concerned them not at all. They would go their way, -the world would wag along, only I would no longer be a part of it. My -mother--this would be her death, too--the death of all her hopes, all -her ambitions. She would have nothing more to live for. I wondered what -she was doing at this moment. Did some message of the spirit warn her -that her only son was in deadly peril? Another woman would miss me--but -aside from these my disappearance would be scarce noted. It would -create not even a ripple on the great ocean of the world. My life would -count for nothing. - -I thought of all this, and more, which I cannot set down here--and -commended my soul to God. So this was the end! How little I had -foreseen it when I had ridden so bravely out from Beaufort! How deeply -I had lived in those three days! They seemed to count more than all the -rest of my life---- - -“The time is up, citizen!” called the same rude voice. - -Dubosq was at my side. - -“Courage!” he whispered. “It is soon over!” - -“Adieu, my friend,” I said. “Remember your promise.” - -“I do remember it. Trust me.” - -I raised my head. At least I would die worthily. - -“God and the King!” I shouted. “Death to the Na----” - -There came a sharp pain at my throat---- - -Then, as though I had uttered a signal, a hundred muskets crashed -from the hedge at our right. The rope relaxed; I opened my eyes to -see with astonishment the sheep rising on two legs and charging down -upon us. The night was filled with shrill cries, with hideous yells. -In the camp a drum was beating, and I could see the Blues running to -arm themselves, dashing hither and thither in panic, their officers -straining to bring order to the frenzied mob. But the savage flood was -upon us.... - -“At least, aristocrat, you shall not escape!” hissed a voice in my ear; -and the world reeled and turned black before me as a great blow fell -upon my head. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - -“COURAGE!” - - -FOR a time I thought I was again in that raftered chamber at Beaufort -which had been mine for so many years; but finally I recognized -uneasily that this was not the bed to which I was accustomed, nor were -these dark and grimy walls the ones at which I had been wont to stare -while building my castles in Spain. - -Then in a flash I remembered,--escape, flight, capture, rescue,--and I -started to spring from the bed, but fell back again with a cry of pain. -For an instant my head seemed splitting open, and I closed my eyes -dizzily. - -“Gently, monsieur, gently,” said a voice; and I opened my eyes to see a -kindly woman’s face bending over me. “You must lie still,” she added, -and placed a cool hand upon my forehead. “You must go to sleep.” - -“But where am I?” I asked. - -“You are with friends.” - -“And Mademoiselle de Chambray?” - -“She also is safe.” - -I closed my eyes with a deep sigh of thankfulness. Safe, safe, safe--I -repeated the word to myself again and again. Safe! Surely Providence -had guarded us! Safe.... - -When I awoke the second time it was night, and I lay for long staring -up through the darkness and piecing together the adventures which had -befallen me since that moment when Dubosq had halted me on the highway -from Tours. My heart quickened as I recalled that evening in the -garden, as I rebuilt it, as I lived it over again, second by second. -Ah, that had been the one hour of my life! And yet, even in the shadow -of the perils which followed, I had not been unhappy, for she had been -beside me, with her clear eyes and smiling lips; and if she chose to -smite me now and then, why certainly I had invited the blows and even, -in a way, deserved them. - -Then at the end I had won. That final disaster had driven her straight -into my arms, as a storm drives the boats to harbor. She had laid -her head upon my shoulder and whispered that she loved me! My pulses -quickened at thought of it. She loved me--that superb, matchless -woman loved me! What did all the rest matter--the world’s opinion, my -plighted word? I would take her--I would never give her up! She loved -me! That should be my justification. And gripping that thought tight -against my heart I dropped away to sleep. - -The sun was shining brightly at the open window when I awakened for the -third time, and again I saw that kindly face bending above me. - -“You are better, monsieur?” she asked; and again her cool hand touched -my forehead. “Yes--your fever is nearly gone.” - -“I am quite well,” I assured her, “except for a little soreness of the -head. Where are my clothes?” - -“You will not need them for some days yet,” she said, smiling at my -eagerness. - -“Nonsense!” I protested. “I must get up at once;” and I made a movement -to throw back the covers, but she held my hands, and I found with -surprise that she was stronger than I. - -“You see,” she added, still smiling, “you are weaker than you thought.” - -“But I cannot lie here,” I cried half angrily. “I must get up. I have -many things to do.” - -I shrank somehow from asking her outright where my love was waiting, -why she did not come to me. Perhaps she was ill and could not come. -That injury to the ankle.... - -“I must get up,” I repeated doggedly; but again she held me back, her -kindly eyes reading the trouble in my face. - -“If you will lie still,” she said, “I will bring you some one who will -tell you all you wish to know--and whom, besides, I think you will be -very glad to see.” - -“Thank you,” I answered, my heart beating madly. “At once?” - -She nodded, went to the door and spoke a word to some one in the room -beyond. - -Then my heart chilled, for it was not the dear face I had hoped to -see which appeared in answer to the summons, but an ugly, bearded -countenance, set on gigantic shoulders. And yet, at a second glance, -I saw that the countenance, though ugly, was not repulsive, that the -eyes were kindly, and that the lips could smile winningly. - -“M. de Tavernay,” said my nurse, bringing him to my bedside, “this is -M. de Marigny.” - -He bent and pressed one of my hands in his great palm, then sat down -beside me, while I gazed with interest at perhaps the most famous among -the leaders of the Bocage. - -“And very pleased I am to find you doing so well, monsieur,” he said in -a voice singularly rich. “In faith, I thought for a time that we had -rescued you from the rope merely to condemn you to the bludgeon.” - -“Even that would have been a service, monsieur,” I answered, smiling in -response to him. “But it seems I am to get well again.” - -“Yes; you had youth and health to fight for you. Alas, they are not -always on one’s side!” - -“But the rescue, monsieur?” I asked. “How came it so pat to the moment?” - -“I must confess that that was an accident,” he laughed. “My spies -brought me word that this regiment was marching to Thouars. I -determined to strike one more blow before Easter, so I called my men -together and we waited behind our hedges. When night fell we turned our -sheepskins and, mingling with the flock upon the hillside, gradually -descended upon our enemy’s pickets. It was then that a sudden commotion -in the camp below attracted our attention. We saw a fracas, from which -emerged that little procession of which you were the central figure. We -saw them prepare for the execution and supposing them to be about to -hang some cut-throat of their own waited until they should accomplish -it. Then suddenly you gave our battle-cry, ‘God and the King!’ and -brought us headlong to your rescue. In fact I had not even to give the -word to fire.” - -“It was fortunate I chose to make a theatric exit,” I commented, -laughing. - -“Permit me to say that it was the act of a brave man, monsieur. I trust -that I shall meet my end as bravely.” - -Poor, gallant gentleman! He met it more bravely still--the victim of -treacherous envy, he faced the muskets erect, with eyes unbandaged, and -himself gave the word to fire. - -“Tell me more,” I urged. “You won?” - -“Oh, yes; we cut them to pieces and seized a store of arms and -ammunition which will stand us in good stead. But we captured something -else a thousand times more welcome.” - -“What was that, monsieur?” I asked. - -“That was Citizen Goujon,” he answered; and his eyes grew cold as -steel. “We found him writhing in his tent----” - -“Yes--I planted one good blow,” I said, and told him the story. “What -did you do with him?” - -“We dragged him out, screaming with terror, begging for mercy, offering -to divulge I know not what secrets, and hanged him with the rope which -had been prepared for you. It was a pretty vengeance--even you could -not desire a better.” - -“No,” I murmured. “No.” - -His face softened into a smile. - -“It has a resemblance to a certain Bible story, hasn’t it?” he asked. -“I did not then know the full tale of Goujon’s iniquities, or I might -have chosen a different death for him. It was Mademoiselle de Chambray -who told me of the assault upon the château and the death of my dear -friend, de Favras. Permit me to say that in that affair also, M. de -Tavernay, you proved yourself a gallant man.” - -“Thank you, monsieur,” I answered. “I but did what any gentleman would -do. You found Mademoiselle de Chambray, then?” - -I tried to ask it carelessly, but I fear my burning face betrayed me. -At any rate, he smiled again as he looked at me. - -“Yes,” he said, “we found her lying senseless on the floor of Goujon’s -tent. At first we thought her dead, but she soon opened her eyes. Can -you guess what her first word was? But perhaps I ought not to tell you!” - -“Tell me,” I murmured, striving to restrain the leaping of my heart. - -“Well, you deserve some reward. Her first word was ‘Tavernay!’” - -“Yes,” I said, my eyes suddenly misty; “she had just seen me dragged -away to be hanged.” - -“And when we told her what had befallen you she ran to where you -lay----” - -“But her ankle,” I broke in. “Did you know----” - -“Yes, but she had forgotten it. She ran to where you lay; she washed -and dressed your wound; she had you borne hither on a litter; and she -remained beside you until yesterday--until, in a word, it was certain -that you would recover.” - -“Then she has gone?” I asked. “She has gone?” and my heart seemed to -stop in my bosom. - -“Yes, she has gone.” - -“But her ankle?” I protested. “Oh, how she must have suffered!” - -“She did not suffer at all,” said Marigny. “When she at last had -time to remember her injury she found that it no longer existed. She -attributed its cure to you.” - -I lay a moment silent, striving to appear composed. She had gone--she -had been brave enough to go; she had sought to spare me the agony of -that farewell which must in any event be spoken. She had been wise -perhaps. She knew my weakness; but I felt that I would give my whole -life to see her again, to hold her hand, to look into her eyes, to hear -her say once more, “I love you!” - -“She left no word for me?” I asked at last. - -“She left a note; but I am not to give it to you until you are ready to -set out for Poitiers.” - -“For Poitiers?” I repeated, trembling. “Did she herself name Poitiers?” - -“Most assuredly. And why do you grow so pale, my friend? Is it not near -Poitiers that her home is?” - -“Yes, monsieur,” I groaned; “but my journey ends two leagues this side -of Chambray. Those two leagues I shall never cover.” - -“What nonsense! Take my advice, the advice of a man who knows more -than you of women. Do not draw rein at Poitiers. Press on to the end of -the journey. You will find a fair prize awaiting you.” - -I shook my head--he may have known other women, but not this one. - -“Nevertheless I should like to have the note, M. de Marigny,” I said. -“It will comfort me somewhat. And besides, I am to start to-morrow.” - -“To-morrow!” he cried. “A week hence perhaps, if all goes well.” - -I smiled and continued to hold out my hand. - -“Let me have the note, monsieur,” I repeated. - -He hesitated a moment, still looking at me, then went to the other room -and brought the note back with him and placed it in my hands. - -My fingers were trembling so I could scarcely break the seal; a mad -hope possessed me that she had absolved me from my vow, that she -summoned me to her. As I opened the paper a little heap of withered -rose leaves fell upon my breast. - -“Ah, you see!” cried Marigny. “I was right, then!” - -I could not answer, but I held out the note for him to read. It -contained but one word: “Courage!” - -“Well,” he said, “that is good advice. That is precisely what you need -in this affair, M. de Tavernay.” - -“Yes,” I agreed bitterly; “courage to give her up--courage never again -to see her. You see she has gone!” - -“She could not very well remain,” he said dryly, “after listening to -you three days in your delirium!” - -“My delirium?” - -“Oh, I dare say she was not offended--what woman would have been?--but -she was certainly red to the ears most of the time. Few maidens, I -fancy, have been treated to such a continuous stretch of love-making.” - -I reddened, too, at thought of it. - -“What she has suffered on my account!” I murmured. - -“I tell you she did not suffer in the least,” repeated Marigny. “You -permitted her to see to the very bottom of your soul, and she saw no -image there except her own!” - -“She knew that from the first,” I said sadly; “that does not alter -matters. No; there is no way out, M. de Marigny. I can never hope to -marry her--honor forbids it--an oath not to be broken. She herself has -pointed that out to me in the clearest way. She has shown me what a -coward I was when, for a moment, I permitted my love for her to blind -me to my duty; and I know how she hates a coward. That is the real -meaning of this message, monsieur; she is afraid even yet that I may -not be brave enough.” - -Marigny had risen and stood looking down at me with a queer little -smile upon his lips. - -“Ah, M. de Tavernay,” he said at last, “I understand now why that blow -on the head failed to kill you.” - -With which cryptic utterance he left the room. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - -THE PATH OF HONOR. - - -AT dawn two days later I took horse for Poitiers with clothes and -equipage furnished me by M. de Marigny, who had been exceedingly kind -to me from the first, though delighting to speak in riddles, from which -he seemingly drew vast amusement. For myself, I was not in vein to be -amused. I had fought my battle, and I had won it; I had set forward -on the path of honor; but the victory had left a wound still raw and -bleeding. - -Yet such is the vanity of human nature that it was not without a -certain pride in my achievement that I bade my host good-by and turned -my horse’s head toward the south. At least I need be ashamed to look no -man or woman in the face. As for that scar in my heart, no eye except -my own should ever contemplate it. - -What a different creature this from that careless, heart-free boy who -had pricked forth from Beaufort little more than a week before! Since -then I had lived my whole life; I had sprung from youth to manhood; -I had faced death, tasted of the world, gazed into a woman’s eyes. I -had taken blows and given them; I had walked in the black depths of -despair, and stood transfigured on the uttermost peaks of joy. Love -had touched me and left me changed. I had lived,--for a week I had -lived,--nothing could take that from me! - -After much thought I had formed my plan of action. It was quite -possible, as Mlle. de Chambray had said, that Mlle. de Benseval desired -me as little as I desired her. In case this were true,--and I flattered -myself that it would require no great penetration on my part to discern -it,--I would offer her her freedom. Should she refuse it, should she -feel bound by our oath, as I did, I would marry her, then fling myself -into the war in La Vendée, trusting that some kindly bullet would -release us both from our unhappy fate. But if, on the contrary, she -looked on me with favor, if I saw that I might win her heart, I would -play a man’s part and be as fond a lover as it is possible to be by -taking thought. - -So, having arrived at this conclusion, I put it behind me for the -moment and pricked forward along the road more cheerfully than I had -thought possible. Such is the virtue of facing one’s duty squarely, of -making up one’s mind--even if it is only to accept manfully the worst -that fate may offer. - -My road at first lay through the narrow valleys and between the high -hedges of the Bocage. Everywhere the peasants were working in their -fields; their flocks were grazing peacefully in the pastures, and -one would never have suspected that it was in this quiet country the -first effective stand had been made against the bloody torrent of the -Revolution. At last I passed Airvault and came out into the more level -country of the Plain. I had planned to reach Neuville by noon, so -pressed on at a good pace, secure in the knowledge that here to the -south I should encounter no Republican force and consequently no delay. - -I reached Neuville in good season without adventure of any kind and -asked to be directed to the Bon Vivant, an inn to which I had been -recommended by M. de Marigny as the only decent one in the village. -I found it without difficulty and sat down at a table on a little -vine-clad terrace overlooking a pleasant valley. Here my lunch was -presently brought to me, and here, soon after, the landlord sought me -out and leaned deferentially above my chair. - -“Is there anything more monsieur requires?” he asked. - -“Nothing; I am thoroughly content,” I answered. “I have to thank a -friend for advising me to stop here.” - -“Have I the honor of addressing M. de Tavernay?” he questioned, bending -still lower. - -“That is indeed my name,” I said, glancing up at him in surprise. “I -did not know it had penetrated to these parts.” - -“Oh, monsieur is too modest!” he returned with a flattering smile. -“There is a person here who wishes to speak with monsieur when he is at -leisure.” - -“To speak with me?” I repeated, more and more astonished. “Who is it?” - -“I do not know his name, but he is most anxious not to miss monsieur. -He has been awaiting monsieur since yesterday.” - -The thought flashed through my mind that it was some emissary of the -Republic sent to arrest me, but a moment’s reflection showed me the -absurdity of such a suspicion. How should the Republic know that I -would pass this way, that I would stop at this inn? Besides, I was too -small a bird to trouble the Republic--though, small as I was, I added -to myself with a smile, the task of arresting me would scarcely have -been entrusted to a single man. No; since he approached me alone in -this manner he could not be an enemy. A sudden trembling seized me. -Perhaps---- - -“Bring him here at once,” I said; and my host, who had been patiently -awaiting the end of my perplexity, bowed and hurried away. - -He reappeared in a moment followed by a man dressed decently in black -and showing all the marks of the servant. A glance at his face told me -that I had never before seen him. - -“This is M. de Tavernay,” said my host to him; and bowing again to me, -withdrew. Evidently I had become in his eyes a person of considerable -importance. - -“Well?” I asked, as calmly as I could, for my heart was throbbing -wildly as I turned to the newcomer. “You wished to speak to me?” - -“I have a letter for monsieur,” he answered, and produced it from an -inner pocket. - -“A letter?” I repeated, and seized it with trembling hand. Then a -sudden chill fell upon me as I saw the signature. The note ran: - - “MY DEAR TAVERNAY:-- - - “My friend M. de Marigny, who seems to have fallen in love with you, - has written me something of the adventures which have befallen you - since you started on your journey to Poitiers. I need hardly tell you - that I have awaited news from you with the greatest anxiety, and that - I am overjoyed to know that you have come through so gallantly. I am - sending a faithful man to meet you in order that he may bring you - direct to me, for I am longing to clasp the son of my old friend in - my arms. My daughter joins me in wishes for your speedy arrival. - - “LOUIS MARIE DE BENSEVAL.” - -I read it through twice in order to give myself time to recover from -the blow, especially from the poniard stroke of that final sentence. - -“Very well,” I said at last. “This was very thoughtful of your master. -Have the horses got ready and I will join you in a moment.” - -He hastened away, and when, having finished my wine, I descended into -the courtyard of the inn, I found him awaiting me with the horses -accoutred for the journey. I swung into the saddle and cantered out -from the inn, he following a pace behind. - -But my serenity of the morning had vanished utterly. Now that I was -face to face with the task which awaited me, now that there was no -longer chance of evasion or escape, the blood turned to water in my -veins. To make love to a woman I did not love, to appear before her -always with a smile upon my lips and soft words upon my tongue, to play -the gallant when my heart was far away, to lead her to the church, -to be bound to her irrevocably, and finally to pass the remainder of -my life in her company, always with deceit in my face--in a word, to -live a lie!--that was the task I had set myself. Would I be able to -accomplish it? Was it not beyond my poor strength? After all, did honor -demand of me such a sacrifice? - -But I put that thought from me for the last time as I recalled certain -scorching words which had been uttered to me on the road from Dairon. -I must accomplish it, or prove myself unworthy of that temple in which -she had enshrined me! I put my hand into my bosom and touched the note -I carried there, repeating its one word over and over to myself: - -“Courage! Courage! Courage!” - -And in that moment my doubts fell away, never to return. I was armed, -_cap-a-pie_, against whatever arrows fate might launch. - -At last I turned and motioned my attendant to come forward. - -“What is your name?” I asked, noting his intelligent face. - -“Bertin, monsieur.” - -“You left your master in good health, I trust?” - -“In excellent health, monsieur.” - -“And your mistress?” - -“She also, monsieur. I have never seen her looking better.” - -“Let me see,” I went on, “Madame de Benseval is dead, is she not?” - -“Oh, these many years, monsieur.” - -“There was only one child?” - -“Only one, monsieur.” - -“How old is she?” - -“Nineteen, monsieur.” - -It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him if she was beautiful, but I -choked the question back. It was indiscreet--and after all what did it -matter? - -“They have been greatly worried at monsieur’s failure to appear,” he -added. - -I almost groaned aloud. - -“M. de Benseval said he had been expecting me,” I murmured mechanically. - -“Oh, yes; for a week almost. He had made arrangements for the fête, but -of course it was postponed when monsieur did not arrive.” - -“Postponed until when, Bertin?” I questioned. - -“It is to take place to-morrow if monsieur approves,” he answered, and -glanced at me quickly. - -This time I could not wholly suppress the groan, but managed to change -it into a cough. The end was nearer than I had thought. - -We rode on in silence after that, for I had no more questions to ask, -nor apparently had Bertin any information to volunteer. And at last, -just as dusk was falling, we trotted around a turn in the road and saw -before us the walls and towers of Poitiers rising tier upon tier to -the cathedral which crowns the summit of the hill upon which the town -is built. It looked warm and gay in the rays of the setting sun, but -darkness had fallen ere we crossed the bridge which leads into the -town; and once engulfed in its narrow, steep, and tortuous streets, I -had soon lost all sense of direction, and appreciated more than ever M. -de Benseval’s thoughtfulness in sending me a guide. - -For my companion seemed to know the road perfectly, turned this way and -that without hesitation, and at last drew rein before a house at whose -door a torch was flaring. - -“Here we are,” he said, as he threw himself from the saddle and helped -me to dismount. “This way, monsieur.” - -Scarcely had we set foot on the lowest step when the door burst -open and a man appeared on the threshold--a man tall, of commanding -presence, with the noblest countenance I had ever seen. - -“Tavernay!” he cried, his arms extended. “Tavernay!” - -And I, as though I had found a second father, sprang up the steps and -threw myself into them. - -I know not how it was, but at the end of a moment I was telling myself -that it was worth some sacrifice to be near a man like this. He led me -in across the vestibule to the drawing-room beyond and sat me down and -looked at me. - -“You are your father over again, my boy,” he said at last; and his face -was very tender. “I see already that I am going to love you!” - -I could find no word of answer, but I think he read my heart in my face -for he held out his hand and gripped mine. - -“And now,” he continued, “before you meet my daughter I desire to -talk frankly with you for a moment. I have sometimes wondered if your -father and I were wise to bind you when you were only a child. After -all, a man should choose for himself, for marriage without love is not -marriage, and good or bad, there is no escape once the vows are taken. -I know the Paris fashion; I know that there are many fathers who do not -believe as I do; they think me a fool--which is not so harsh a name as -I sometimes apply to them. Your father was the dearest friend I ever -had. I certainly do not intend to make his son unhappy.” - -“Monsieur,” I said, “I am already betrothed to your daughter. If she -does not love another----” - -“No,” he said quickly, “I can answer for that.” - -“Then, monsieur, I am ready to espouse her, and I will do my best to -make her happy.” - -He gripped my hand again, his eyes very bright. - -“I am sure of it,” he said; “but it is not a question of her happiness, -but of yours. That she will find you a good and tender husband I do -not doubt; but there are some things which you should know. She has -had no mother for many years, and I have perhaps been too occupied -in my own affairs to give her the attention she required. She has to -a certain extent gone her own way, and such training as I have given -her has, I fear, been a man’s training rather than a woman’s. So she -grew up somewhat wild and headstrong, with strange ideas upon many -subjects; though I did not suspect this until a month ago when I bade -her prepare her trousseau. It was at that time she gave evidence of a -disposition wholly new to me. In a word, she begged me that she might -not be compelled to marry, and when I reminded her that my honor was -engaged she retorted that her happiness weighed more heavily with her -than my honor, and that at least she reserved the right to see you -before consenting.” - -“Oh, monsieur,” I broke in, “say no more. I have no wish to force her -to become my wife.” - -He held up his hand to stop me. - -“Understand,” he said, his eyes on mine, “that I did not agree with -her. With women it is not the same as men. Any man who is affectionate -and faithful can win a woman’s love, and keep it. She has not a man’s -distractions, temptations, opportunities. I am very sure that you will -make my daughter love you.” - -“God grant it,” I said, my lips quivering. “It is my wish to make -her happy. But I am not a brilliant match--not so brilliant as she -deserves. You are aware that this Revolution has ruined us.” - -Again he held up his hand. - -“No more of that, M. de Tavernay. By the way, you have not yet asked me -what her dowry is to be.” - -“No,” I answered; “I had not thought of it.” - -He smiled queerly. - -“Well, we can settle all that to-morrow,” he said. “My chief concern -is for your happiness. Tell me frankly, my friend, do you desire this -marriage?” - -“A man is bound by his oath, monsieur,” I answered, trembling a little, -but meeting without flinching the searching gaze he bent upon me. -“Courage! Courage!” my heart repeated. - -“I press this point,” he added, “even perhaps to indiscretion, because -M. de Marigny dropped what I fancied was a hint that you had formed -another attachment.” - -I put the past behind me and faced the future squarely. The moment had -come to lie, and I met it as bravely as I could. - -“M. de Marigny was mistaken,” I said steadily. “Be assured that if your -daughter does me the honor to accept my hand she will find that my -heart goes with it.” - -He sprang to his feet and gripped both my hands in his. - -“Spoken like a man!” he cried, his eyes shining strangely. “I feel that -I have found a son--I give you my daughter gladly. Come,” he added, -“she awaits you;” and he opened a door and motioned me to precede him. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - -THE GUERDON. - - -FOR a moment I did not see her; then I caught the shimmer of her gown -from the embrasure of a window, where she stood staring absently down -into the street below, and there floated to me a faint perfume which -shook me with the agony of recollection. I turned blindly, expecting -her father to announce me, but found with astonishment that he had -closed the door and left me alone with her. A terrible shyness and -indecision seized me. To advance to her boldly, to take her hand--that -was the lover’s part, and yet I felt myself utterly unable to fulfil -it. Ah, what a horrible chance that she, too, should use that perfume! -I had not reckoned upon that! - -“Courage! Courage! Courage!” I repeated to myself, and touched the note -warm against my heart; but in this supreme crisis, its power failed me. - -So I stood where I was, the cold sweat upon my brow, looking foolish -enough, as I have since been told, and waited for her to turn and -discover me. That she did not turn surprised me more and more, for -surely she must have heard the opening and closing of the door. Then, -as I saw her more clearly, I perceived that she, too, was agitated, -for she carried her handkerchief to her lips once or twice with a hand -anything but steady. - -Whatever my cowardice, I could not permit her to suffer because of it, -so I gripped my courage to me and advanced to her side. - -“Mademoiselle,” I began stammeringly. - -She turned suddenly and faced me--and I stood struck to stone, staring, -not able to believe my eyes; for it was she--my love--Charlotte! - -“You!” I said hoarsely at last. “You!” - -The blood was coming and going in her cheeks; her eyes were luminous -with a strange fire. She held out a trembling hand to me, and when I -kissed it I found it cold as ice. - -“Did you think it very heartless of me to desert you, M. de Tavernay?” -she questioned. - -“At first I could scarcely believe it,” I stammered, still staring at -her; “but afterwards I saw that you meant to be kind. I should not have -won the battle if you had stayed.” - -“And you did win it!” she cried. - -“Yes; your note helped--and--and the rose leaves,” I added hoarsely. - -“I found them--in your bosom,” she said, her color deepening. “I -thought--perhaps--you would like to have them.” - -“Yes,” I said; “yes;” then stopped, looking at her. “But one may lose a -battle even after winning it,” I warned her. “I fear I am losing mine. -You are trusting me too far, as you did once before. Do you remember?” -and my blood glowed at the recollection. - -“Don’t!” she said, and turned away. - -“Where is----” - -I hesitated, looking about me. I could not say the words. - -“Your betrothed?” she finished, turning back, her eyes gleaming in the -old manner. “You are longing for her, then?” - -“Without a rock to tie to,” I said as calmly as I could, “I shall be -swept away in another moment, beyond hope of rescue. I have never seen -you so beautiful. I have never loved you----” - -She stopped me with a gesture. - -“M. de Tavernay,” she said with impressive gravity, “it is my painful -duty to tell you that Mlle. de Benseval no longer exists.” - -“She is dead!” I murmured dazedly. - -“Oh, not in the least. She was never more thoroughly alive than at this -moment.” - -“Then she is married!” I cried, a great load lifting from my heart. “I -see it all--she _did_ love another--she has married him.” - -“Wrong again, monsieur. She is still a maiden and does not love -another.” - -“Come!” I said. “You are playing with me. I warn you, it is dangerous!” -and I gripped my arms behind me to keep them from about her. - -She noticed the movement and retreated a step. - -“Monsieur,” she said, “I will tell you the story--if you will promise -to remain where you are until I have finished.” - -“And after you have finished?” - -“Oh--then--you may do as you please.” - -“I promise!” I cried, the blood bounding madly through my veins. - -“It seems that your betrothed is a wilful and headstrong creature,” she -began, “and when the time came to prepare to marry you she rebelled. -She had been permitted to form ideas of her own. She refused to give -herself to a man she had never seen, or whom she remembered only as a -thin and unattractive boy. So the day before you were to arrive, having -failed to exact from her father the promise that the right of choice -should be left to her----” - -“Yes, he told me,” I interrupted. - -“But he did not tell you that she fled?” - -“Fled!” I repeated. “Then that is the reason she is not here.” - -“I am sure she would never have done it,” my companion continued; -“however irregular her training--would never perhaps have thought of a -step so desperate, but for a book she happened to find one day in her -father’s library. She was attracted first by the illustrations, which -were by Gravelot and very beautiful; then she became absorbed in the -story, a translation from the English, which related the adventures -of a young lady who ran away from her father to avoid a marriage into -which he would have forced her.[B] The results of this flight proved so -fortunate,--for by it she won the man she really loved,--that Mlle. de -Benseval resolved to emulate it. So she mounted her horse one morning -and instead of taking her usual ride, dismissed her groom and spurred -away to the house of a friend who, she knew, would sympathize with her -and perhaps intercede with her father.” - -“Oh, it was with him she was in love!” I murmured. - -“Not in the least, monsieur; she was in love with no one, and this -friend was a woman. But that very evening, strangely enough, she -met some one whom she fancied she might love; and in the days that -followed, when they were much together, she was drawn very near to -him; for she saw that he loved her truly. And at last, in a moment of -trial when he held her in his arms, she confessed that she loved him in -return.” - -“Well,” I said with a sigh of relief, “it appears to me then that I -need think no more of Mlle. de Benseval. Let us dismiss her--there is -another topic----” - -“Wait,” she said; “I fear you will find yourself thinking a great deal -about her before long. For after that one moment of utter joy she -drew away from her lover, held him at a distance, was unkind to him, -although all the while she was longing to throw herself on his bosom -and draw his arms close about her!” - -“What!” I said incredulously. “She did that? Was she mad, then?” - -“No; she was a woman, and she played with him because that is woman’s -nature.” - -“Yet she knew he loved her!” - -“Yes,” she answered, her eyes glowing more and more. “She knew he loved -her, deeply and purely, as she could never hope to be loved again; but -she resolved to put him to one supreme test. If he stood the test she -would adore him, worship him, she would be his, body and soul, through -all eternity. If he did not stand it--well, she would still love him!” - -“And did he stand it?” I asked, moved more and more by this story, to -which at first I had listened but indifferently. - -“Let me finish, and you will see. She returned to her home, she opened -her heart to her father, who is really the kindest and noblest of men, -and he agreed to assist her in the test. So to-day--this evening----” - -She faltered, stopped and looked at me, smiling tremulously, her cheeks -flooded suddenly with color. - -“Yes,” I cried; “this evening----” - -“Oh, it is more difficult than I had thought! How shall I go on? Three -months ago, monsieur, there was a death in our family.” - -“Yes?” I asked, failing to see what this had to do with the story. - -“It was that of my father’s elder brother,” she continued unsteadily, -without looking at me, “so that my father, who up to that time had been -M. de Benseval, succeeded to the title and became--became----” - -“M. de Chambray!” I shouted, seeing it all as in a lightning flash; and -I sprang toward her, blind with sudden joy. - -For an instant she tried to hold me off; but my arms were about her, -straining her to me. Then suddenly she yielded, and nestled to me, -close--close against my heart. - -“Oh, my love!--my love!--my love!” she cried, and raised her lips to -mine. - -“Did you call, M. de Tavernay?” asked a voice; and I raised my head to -see my father’s friend standing upon the threshold, looking at us with -smiling face. - -“Yes, monsieur,” I answered as intelligibly as I could. “I desired to -announce to you that your daughter has decided to marry me.” - -“In faith,” he said, a humorous light in his eye, “I somehow suspected -it the moment I opened the door.” - -With which remark he closed it again, and left us alone together. - - -THE END. - - - - -By BURTON E. STEVENSON - - - CADETS OF GASCONY - - Illustrated by Anna W. Betts. Cloth, $1.50; paper, 50 cents. - - “Mr. Stevenson begins early to involve his hero in a tangle of - difficulties, knows how to keep the reader in suspense, and how to - give his work a certain spirit.”--_New York Tribune._ - - “There isn’t a dull page.... ‘Romance pure and simple’ describes the - two stories in ‘Cadets of Gascony,’ and the romance is served up in a - delightfully thrilling manner.”--_Los Angeles Herald._ - - - AT ODDS WITH THE REGENT - - With frontispiece. Cloth, $1.50; paper, 50 cents - - “The tale is well worth reading. It opens in a most interesting - manner, with some desperate sword play against a historical - cut-throat--Cartouche--and half a dozen of his rogues, in a street of - Paris at the time of the regency, when the Duc de Richelieu was at - the height of his career as a heart-breaker and the especial lover of - Louise de Valois.”--_Brooklyn Eagle._ - - “It deserves a place among the best of the recent historic novels, - and will live no doubt long after the present vogue has become a - thing of the past. It is a pleasure to read a romance of the past - that is not filled with blood-curdling deeds after the style of - the ‘shilling shocker,’ for Mr. Stevenson has written a story that - appeals to the best side of one’s nature. He has characterized noble - men and gentle women, who played fair always and were always true - to themselves and the best of human impulses. The ‘Old Regime,’ as - he pictures it, was a charming era when men bartered life freely, - but held honor and plighted word dearer than existence. Altogether - the story is good as to tone, artistic development of the plot, and - finished style.”--_St. Louis Globe-Democrat._ - - - J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, PHILADELPHIA. - - - - - “_EASILY THE BOOK OF THE DAY_” - - _San Francisco Argonaut_ - - Routledge Rides Alone - - By WILL LEVINGTON COMFORT - - COLORED FRONTISPIECE BY MARTIN JUSTICE 12MO. CLOTH, WITH INLAY IN - COLORS, $1.50 - - -Here is a tale indeed--big and forceful, palpitating with interest, -and written with the sureness of touch and the breadth of a man who -is master of his art. Mr. Comfort has drawn upon two practically new -story-places in the world of fiction to furnish the scenes for his -narrative--India and Manchuria at the time of the Russo-Japanese War. -While the novel is distinguished by its clear and vigorous war scenes, -the fine and sweet romance of the love of the hero, Routledge--a brave, -strange, and talented American--for the “most beautiful woman in -London” rivals these in interest. - -The story opens in London, sweeps up and down Asia, and reaches its -most rousing pitch on the ghastly field of Liaoyang, in Manchuria. -The one-hundred-mile race from the field to a free cable outside the -war zone, between Routledge and an English war correspondent, is as -exciting and enthralling as anything that has appeared in fiction in -recent years. - - “A big, vital, forceful story that towers giant-high--a romance to - lure the hours away in tense interest--a book with a message for all - mankind.”--_Detroit Free Press._ - - “Three such magnificent figures as Routledge, Noreen, and Rawder - never before have appeared together in fiction. Take it all in - all, ‘Routledge Rides Alone’ is a great novel, full of sublime - conception, one of the few novels that are as ladders from heaven to - earth.”--_San Francisco Argonaut._ - - “The story unfolds a vast and vivid panorama of life. The first - chapters remind one strongly of the descriptive Kipling we once knew. - We commend the book for it’s sustained interest. We recommend it for - its descriptive power.”--_Boston Evening Transcript._ - - “Here is one of the strongest novels of the year; a happy blending of - romance and realism, vivid, imaginative, dramatic, and, above all, a - well told story with a purpose. It is a red-blooded story of war and - love, with a touch of the mysticism of India, some world politics, - love of country, and hate of oppression--a tale of clean and expert - workmanship, powerful and personal.”--_Pittsburg Dispatch._ - - - J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY - PUBLISHERS PHILADELPHIA - - - - - _A NOVEL OF COMPELLING INTEREST_ - - The Heart of Desire - - By ELIZABETH DEJEANS - - _Author of “The Winning Chance.”_ - - WITH COLORED ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE KINNEYS 12MO. CLOTH, $1.50 - - -A remarkable novel, full of vital force, which gives us a glimpse -into the innermost sanctuary of a woman’s soul--a revelation of the -truth that to a woman there may be a greater thing than the love of -a man--the story pictured against a wonderful Southern California -background. - - “One of the big headliners in bookland.”--_Detroit News._ - - “The book is a tissue of mysteries, quite apart from the ordinary - usages, but solved in the end satisfactorily.”--_Chicago Tribune._ - - “One of those rare examples of literary composition the artistic - excellence of which is uniform and even throughout.”--_Charleston News - and Courier._ - - “There is color, vitality, and freshness in the picture, and - charming variety of detail in the development of story. Horton is - the ideal lover, strong-hearted, wilful, persevering; and Kate is - the vivid, tantalizing, impersonal creature in an armor of secrecy. - But the author transforms this woman into a being of rarest and most - beautiful human qualities--or rather, brings those latent emotions - to the fore. She is a woman racked by grief over death and unhappy - marital experiences in youth, and, later, a woman ‘lied to, tortured, - duped, and her heart polluted and desecrated’; and in giving up her - beloved lawyer-friend, whom she would have married, to the ‘helpless, - motherless, hampered’ child who so passionately claimed his love, - Kate’s humanism stands out in almost supernatural power.”--_Boston - Evening Transcript._ - - - J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY - PUBLISHERS PHILADELPHIA - - - - - “A Powerful Portrayal of the Strongest Passions” - - IN AMBUSH - - By MARIE VAN VORST - - _Author of “The Sin of George Warrener,” etc._ - - -A striking novel of adventure, mystery, and romance, with varied -change of scene. The story opens in an Alaskan mining camp, then moves -to Egypt, where a stirring battle between the British and the wild -tribes of the Sudan is depicted, and finally returns to this country -and Kentucky. Miss Van Vorst has done the unusual in making her hero a -man with an unsavory past, but whose redemption and repentance are so -sincere the sympathy and admiration of the reader are completely with -him. - - “Full of incidents of a strong and stirring nature which will keep - the interest of the reader strongly exercised.”--_New York Sun._ - - 12mo. Decorated cloth, $1.50. - - - - - “A Stirring Story of Conspiracy” - - THE MAN _in the_ TOWER - - By RUPERT S. HOLLAND - - _Author of “The Count at Harvard,” etc._ - - -A dramatic story based upon the legend of “the invisible prince,” John -Christian XX, Prince of Athelstein, whose throne was stolen from him -by the regent while he was forced into banishment. The narrative tells -how the prince played a winning game in thwarting the conspirator by -marrying the very princess whom the regent was depending upon for the -carrying out his nefarious schemes. - - “He handles his plot of mystery and surprise with infinite - discretion. And he sweeps us along with him from cover to cover - without a diminution of interest.”--_Boston Evening Transcript._ - - FRONTISPIECE IN COLOR AND BLACK AND WHITE - ILLUSTRATIONS BY FRANK H. DESCH. - 12mo. Cloth, $1.50. - - - J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY - PUBLISHERS PHILADELPHIA - - - - - THE FASCINATING SARGASSO SEA NOVEL - - _The_ ISLE _of_ DEAD SHIPS - - By CRITTENDEN MARRIOTT - - -What do you know of the Sargasso Sea--that wonderful floating island of -seaweed in the Atlantic Ocean, directly in the path of every steamer -sailing from the Gulf of Mexico to Europe? - -This story tells how three shipwrecked passengers, two men and a -charming young woman, got drawn into the Sargasso Sea, where they -found an entire fleet of vessels, that had been similarly caught by -the revolving current, and had been there, some of them, since the -days of the Spaniards. It is all so vivid that one can see the gaunt -wrecks, the flapping sails, the marvellous lost galleons of Spain. The -experiences of these three, until they are rescued, make a story whose -interest never flags even for an instant. - - “Chapter after chapter unfolds new and startling adventures.” - --_Philadelphia Press._ - - “An original sea yarn, well spun, wholesomely exciting.”--_Cleveland - Plain Dealer._ - - “Mr. Marriott has produced in this finely-wrought tale a masterpiece - of imagination that deserves lasting fame.”--_Nashville American._ - - “A thriller from start to finish. The book will certainly prove a - delight to the lovers of romance and adventure.”--_San Francisco - Bulletin._ - - FRONTISPIECE IN COLOR AND THREE ILLUSTRATIONS IN BLACK - AND WHITE BY FRANK McKERNAN. - 12mo. Cloth, $1.00 net. - - - J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY - PUBLISHERS PHILADELPHIA - - - - - _A NEW SPARKLING ROMANCE_ - - The Woman in Question - - By JOHN REED SCOTT - - _Author of “The Colonel of the Red Huzzars,” “The Princess Dehra,” and - “Beatrix of Clare”_ - - THREE FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOR BY CLARENCE F. UNDERWOOD - - _12mo. Decorated cloth, $1.50_ - - -“_The Woman in Question_” is a romance, but not of Valeria nor mediæval -England. Mr. Scott has remained home in America, and the scenes are -laid in the Eastern United States. The story is distinctly modern in -tone and theme, and centers in and around Fairlawn Hall, an old mansion -with a marvellous garden, lying on the outskirts of Egerton, where -the new master has come with a party of friends--to find mystery, -misfortune, and love awaiting him. - -Mr. Scott shows steady improvement in each succeeding novel, and he -has planned this latest story well, filling it with many surprises and -dramatic moments. - - “The story has dash and verve.”--_New York Times Saturday Review of - Books._ - - “There are few heroines in latter-day American fiction comparable - with charming Mildred Gascoyne.”--_Philadelphia North American._ - - “The dialogue is bright and sparkling, the characters interesting, - and the plot sufficiently exciting. The woman in question, young, - beautiful, and spirited, is involved in mystery, the unfolding - of which introduces some thrilling episodes.”--_Boston Evening - Transcript._ - - - J. B. LIPPINCOTT CO. PUBLISHERS - PHILADELPHIA - - - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[A] _The Partridge_:--The book was no doubt “The History of Tom -Jones,” by Fielding, which had been translated into French some years -before.--Translator’s note. - -[B] See footnote A. - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - - - Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - - Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - - Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. - - Archaic or variant spelling has been retained. - - The cover image for this eBook was created by the transcriber and is - entered into the public domain. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PATH OF HONOR *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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