Part 22 (1/2)

A lovely landscape spread out below me. It was years since I had seen it. The rivers flowing through a champagne country to the sea. The white houses and thatched roofs of the villages: the red-brick streets of Benevent. How well I knew it all! It recalled memories of the past.

The thought flashed upon me in an instant.

The last time I was here was with Marc. We desired again to take our walk--to see our old haunts of bird's-nesting and berry-gathering. It was the day before he married Cecile.

I rose, wiped the perspiration from my brow, and continued my ascent. I reached the highest level of the coach road, where, for half a league, it takes its course through a narrow defile between two precipitous hills, whose rocky sides no time can change. I looked back.

The open carriage containing Cecile and her husband I could see on the road, far in the distance. They were driving at a good pace. ”They will pa.s.s me in the defile,” I said, and hurried on. Why, I knew not.

Presently the sound of wheels on the soft, sandy road was plain enough to the ear.

Nearer and nearer came the rumble. There were some juniper bushes of giant growth a little further on the road. It was a question which would reach them first, the chaise or I.

I had the start; but horses are quicker on their legs than men.

As it turned out, we reached them almost, together. I was slightly in advance, however.

The road here was very narrow. Two vehicles could hardly pa.s.s. I took to the rough gra.s.s. Pus.h.i.+ng aside the boughs of a bush that was directly in my path, and intending to take my stand before it, and wave my hat as the carriage pa.s.sed, I came suddenly upon--Marc!

It was he!

He stood with a wild fire of jealousy in his eyes, his hat on the gra.s.s beside him; his arm raised, a pistol in his hand, his finger on the trigger!

It was a supreme moment.

My courage did not desert me. I was calm.

The carriage was pa.s.sing.

I made a dash at his arm, to strike the weapon from his hand. I stumbled and fell at his feet. Instantly I looked up. I wished to shout, but my tongue refused its office. It was glued, parched, to the roof of my mouth. There would be murder! Cecile would be killed--and by Marc! My eyes were riveted on the trigger of his pistol! He pulled it! There was a tiny flash--a tiny puff! No more! The weapon had missed fire. We were concealed by the bushes. The carriage drove by at a rapid pace. Cecile was saved for the time!

I gave a sigh of relief. Then came upon me the feeling of wonder that Marc was back. Marc, whom I had seen three years before to meet with his end--whom I had mourned as dead.

All this flashed across my mind in an instant. I rose to my knees, to my feet. I placed my hand on his arm. I looked into his eyes. His face was changed; there was terrible emotion in it.

”Marc,” I said, as quietly and with as much self-command as I could summon.

He suffered my hand to remain on his shoulder, and continued to look in the direction the chaise had taken; toward M. Andre's chateau. We stood thus a second or so. Then, turning upon me, he gasped, in low, choked, guttural accents of reproach and of the deepest despair, ”Cecile! Cecile!”

What could I say? My conscience smote me heavily. I had told my best friend's wife that her husband was dead! That I knew it--had seen him meet his death! And upon my testimony she had acted. Marc and M.

Andre--she was the wife of both! It was terrible to witness the agony of the wretched man. It was not for me to break in upon that sacred pa.s.sion of grief.

”Cecile!” he murmured, as the pistol dropped from his hand, and he sank fainting in my arms.

I placed him gently on the rough gra.s.s by the roadside, raising his head, and loosening the collar of his s.h.i.+rt.

For an hour he remained in a swoon, broken only by incoherent cries, that at rare intervals fas.h.i.+oned themselves into language. Then it was always ”Cecile!”

I had a flask of brandy in my pocket. I got water from a little mountain spring close by. I bathed my poor comrade's temples, and gave him a reviving draught of the spirit and water. I rubbed his cold hands, and beat them, to restore him to consciousness.