Part 2 (1/2)
”I cannot understand,” she said.
”It is for my husband to explain,” I said bitterly. ”It is for the gentleman, to whom we are to trust our lives on this journey, to say in how knightly a manner he can treat a woman.”
And there de Lorgnac stood, both of us looking at him, his forehead burning and his eyes cast down. Even then a little pang of pity went through me to see him thus humbled, so strangely does G.o.d fas.h.i.+on the hearts of us women. But I hardened myself. I was determined to spare him nothing, and to measure out in full to him a cup of bitterness for the draught he had made me drink.
”Speak, man,” exclaimed Madame. ”Have you no voice?”
”He works in silence, madame,” I burst in with an uncontrollable gust of anger; ”he lies in silence. Shall I tell you what has happened?
I, Denise de Mieux, am neither more nor less than M. de Lorgnac's price--the hire he has received for a business he has to perform for the King. What it is I know not--perhaps something that no other gentleman would undertake. All that I know is that I, and my estates of Mieux, have become the property of this man, who stands before us, and is, G.o.d help me, my husband. Madame, five hours ago, I had not spoken ten words to him in my life, and now I am here, as much his property, as the valise his lackey bears behind his saddle.”
”Hush, dear--be still--you forget yourself,” and Madame drew me once more to her side and turned to my husband.
”Is this true, Blaise de Lorgnac? Or is the child ill and raving?
Answer, man!”
”It is,” he answered hoa.r.s.ely, ”every word.”
In the silence that ensued I might have heard my glove fall, and then Madame, with a stiff little bow to my husband, said, ”Pray excuse me for a moment,” and stepped out of the room. He would have held the door for her, but she waved him aside, and he moved back and faced me, and for the first time we were alone together.
In the meanwhile I had made up my mind. I had repeated parrot-like the words that it was my duty to obey. I had vowed to follow my husband whithersoever he went; but vow or no vow I felt it was impossible, and I spoke out.
”Monsieur, you stand self-convicted. You have pleaded guilty to every charge I have made. Now hear me before Madame comes back, for I wish to spare you as much as possible. I have been forced into this marriage; but I am as dead to you as though we had never met. I decline to accept the position you have prepared for me, and our paths separate now. Would to G.o.d they had never crossed! I shall throw myself on the protection of Madame de Termes, and at the first opportunity shall seek the refuge of a convent. You will have to do your work without your hire, M. de Lorgnac.”
He made a step forward, and laid his hand on my cloak.
”Denise--hear me--I love you.”
”You mean my chateau and lands of Mieux. Why add a lie to what you have already done? It is hardly necessary,” and I moved out of his reach.
His hand dropped to his side as he turned from me, and at the same time Madame re-entered the room.
”Monsieur,” she said, ”I fear the honour of your escort is too great for such as I, and I have arranged to travel with such protection as my own people can give me. As for this poor girl here, if she is willing to go with me, I will take the risk of the King's anger--and yours. She shall go with us, I say, and if there is a spark of honour left in you, you will leave her alone.”
”She is free as air,” he answered.
”Then, monsieur, you will excuse me; but time is pressing.”
CHAPTER III.
THE SPUR OF LES ESCh.e.l.lES.
De Lorgnac was gone. Through the open window overlooking the courtyard, that let in the warm summer evening, we heard him give an order to his men in a quick, resolute voice, far different from the low tones in which he had spoken before, and then he and his troop rode off at a rapid trot in the direction, as it seemed, of the Porte St. Honore. I could hardly realize that I was free and that de Lorgnac had resigned me without a struggle. All that I could think of was that he was gone, and with a quick gasp of relief I turned to my friend.
”Oh, madame! How can I thank you? What shall I say?”
”Say nothing to me, my child, but rather thank the good G.o.d that there was a little of honour left in that man. And now, before we start, you must have some refreshment.”
”I cannot--indeed, no. I am ready to go at once. I want to put leagues between me and Paris.”