Part 22 (1/2)

Not only the dejection of Mlle. de Varion made our ride a melancholy one, despite the radiance of the autumn morning. Blaise, repentant of his overindulgence, and still feeling the humiliation of the easy capture made of him by four scurvy knaves, had taken refuge in one of those moods of pious reflection which he attributed to maternal influence. Piqued at this reticence, the maid, Jeannotte, maintained a sulky silence. The two boys, devoted to their mistress, now faithfully reflected her sad and uneasy demeanor.

”Look, mademoiselle!” said I, glad of having found objects toward which to draw her attention, ”yonder is the Chateau of Clochonne. Beyond that, and to the right, are the mountains for which we are bound. It is there that I shall introduce to you the Sieur de la Tournoire.”

Mademoiselle looked at the distant towers and the mountains beyond with an expression of dread. She gave a heavy sigh and shuddered in her saddle.

”Nay, mademoiselle,” I said; ”you have nothing to fear there.”

She turned pale, and answered, in a trembling voice:

”Alas, monsieur! Am I not about to put those mountains between myself and my father?”

I thought of the joy that I should cause and the grat.i.tude that I should win, should I succeed in bringing her father safe to her on those mountains, but I kept the thought to myself.

We skirted Clochonne by a wide detour, fording the Creuse at a secluded place, and ascended the wooded hills in single file. After a long and toilsome progress through pathless and deeply shaded wilds, we reached, in the afternoon, the forest inn kept by G.o.deau and his wife. It had been my intention to stop and rest here, and to send Blaise ahead to Maury, that one of the rooms of our ruined chateau might be made fit for mademoiselle's reception. I had expected to find the inn, as usual, without guests, but on approaching it we heard the sound of music proceeding from a stringed instrument. We stopped at the edge of the small, cleared s.p.a.ce before the inn and sent Blaise to reconnoitre. He boldly entered and presently returned, followed by the decrepit G.o.deau and his strapping wife, Marianne. Both gave us glad welcome, the old man with obsequious bows which doubtless racked his rheumatic joints, the woman with bustling cordiality.

”Be at ease, monsieur,” said Marianne. ”We have no one within except two gypsies, who will make music for you and tell your fortunes. G.o.deau, look to the horses.”

I dismounted and a.s.sisted mademoiselle to descend. Then, on the pretext of giving an order, I took Marianne and G.o.deau aside, and bade them to address me as M. de Launay, not on any account as M. de la Tournoire. The old man then saw to our horses, and Marianne brought us wine.

”Before sunset,” I said to mademoiselle, as I raised my gla.s.s, ”you shall meet the Sieur de la Tournoire at his hiding-place.”

Mlle. de Varion turned pale, and, as if suddenly too weak to stand, sat down on a wooden bench before the inn door. Jeannotte ran to support her.

”Before sunset!” she repeated, with a shudder.

”Yes, mademoiselle, unless you are too ill to proceed. I fear the fatigue of this ride has been too much for you.”

She gave a look of relief, and replied:

”I fear that it has. I shall be better able to go on to-morrow,--unless there is danger in remaining here.”

”There is very little danger. People crossing the mountains by way of Clochonne now use the new road, which is shorter. If, by any chance, soldiers from the Clochonne garrison should come this way and detain us as fleeing Huguenots, we could summon help,--for we are so near the hiding-place of the Sieur de la Tournoire.”

Again that shudder! Decidedly, in the accounts that she had received of me, I must have been represented as a very terrible personage. I smiled at thinking of the surprise that awaited her in the disclosure of the truth.

It was thereupon arranged that we should stay at G.o.deau's inn until the next morning. Mademoiselle's portmanteaus were carried to the upper chamber, which was a mere loft, but preferable to the kitchen. Thither, after eating, she went to rest. Blaise then departed to direct the desired preparations at Maury, with orders to return to the inn before nightfall. Jeannotte and the two boys remained in the kitchen to hear the music of the two gypsies, a man and a girl. Having nothing better to do, I took my seat on the bench outside the inn and sat musing.

Late in the afternoon, I heard the light step of mademoiselle on the threshold. On seeing me, she stopped, as if it were I whom she had come out to seek I rose and offered her the bench. She sat down in silence, and for a moment her eyes rested on the ground, while on her face was a look of trouble. Suddenly she lifted her glance to mine and spoke abruptly, as if forcing herself to broach a subject on which she would rather have been silent.

”Monsieur,” she said, ”I suppose that the Sieur de la Tournoire, whom we are so soon to meet, is a very dear friend of yours!”

”A very close friend,” I replied, with an inward smile. ”And yet he has got me into so much trouble that I might fairly consider him my enemy.”

”I must confess,” said she, ”that I have heard little of him but evil.”

”It is natural that the Catholics in Berry should find nothing good to say of him,” I replied. ”Yet it is true that he is far from perfect,--a subtle rascal, who dons disguises, and masquerades as other than he is, a leader of night-birds, and sometimes a turbulent roysterer.”

”I have been told,” she said, ”that he treacherously killed a man in Paris, and deserted from the French Guards.”

”As for the killing,” I replied, ”there was no treachery or unfairness on his part; and if he deserted from the King's French Guards, it was when the King had consented to give him up to the Duke of Guise, whom the weak King, then as now, hated as much as feared.”

She gave a heavy sigh, and went on, ”La Tournoire is a brave man, of course?”