Part 22 (2/2)
”He is a man,” I said, ”who expects to meet death as he meets life, cheerfully, not hoping too much, not fearing anything.”
”And this hiding-place of his,” she said, in a very low voice, again dropping her glance to the ground. ”Tell me of it.”
I gave her a description of the ruined Chateau of Maury.
”But,” she said, ”is not the place easily accessible to the troops of the Governor?”
”The troops of the garrison at Clochonne have not yet found the way to it,” I replied. ”The chateau was abandoned twenty years ago. Its master is an adventurer in the new world, if he is not dead. Its very existence has been forgotten, for the land pertaining to it is of no value. The soldiers from Clochonne could find it only by scouring this almost impenetrable wilderness.”
”Is there, then, no road leading to it?” she asked.
”This road leads. .h.i.ther from Clochonne, and on southward across the mountain. There are the remains of a by-road leading from here westward to the chateau, and ending there. But this by-road, almost entirely recovered by the forest, is known only to La Tournoire and his friends. A better way for the Governor's soldiers to find La Tournoire's stronghold, if they but knew, would be to take the road along the river from Clochonne to Narjec, and to turn up the hill at the throne-shaped rock half-way between those towns. At the top of that hill is Maury, hidden by dense woods and thickets.”
Mlle. de Varion, who had heard my last words with a look of keen attention and also of bitter pain of mind, now rose and walked to and fro as if meditating. Inwardly I lamented my inability to drive from her face the clouds which I attributed to her increasing distress, as she found herself further and further from her father and her home, bound for still gloomier shades and wilder surroundings.
I asked if she would go in and hear the music of the gypsy, or have him come out and play for her, but she thanked me with a sorrowful attempt at a smile, and returned to her own chamber.
When the sun declined, I ordered Marianne to prepare the best supper that her resources would allow, and then, as it was time that Blaise should have been back from Maury, I went to a little knoll, which gave a view of a part of the abandoned byroad, to look and listen for him. Presently, I heard the sound of a horse's footfalls near the inn, and made haste back to see who rode there. Just as I reached the cleared s.p.a.ce, I saw the rider disappearing around a bend of the road which led to Clochonne.
Though I saw only his back, I recognized him as mademoiselle's boy, Pierre, mounted on one of her horses.
On the bench before the inn sat mademoiselle herself, alone. She gave a start of surprise when I came up to her.
”Mademoiselle,” I said, ”I have just seen your boy, Pierre, riding towards Clochonne.”
”Yes,” she replied, looking off towards the darkest part of the forest.
”I--I was alarmed at your absence. I did not know where you had gone; I sent him to look for you.”
”Then I would better run after and call him back,” I said, taking a step towards the road.
”No, no!” she answered, quickly. ”Do not leave me now. He will come back soon of his own accord. I told him to do so if he did not find you. I must ask you to bear with me, monsieur. The solitude, the strangeness of the place, almost appal me. I feel a kind of terror when I do not know that you are near.”
”Mademoiselle,” I said, sitting beside her on the bench, ”I cannot describe that which I shall feel, if I am doomed ever to know that you are not near me. It will be as if the sun had ceased to s.h.i.+ne, and the earth had turned barren.”
A blush mounted to her cheeks; she dropped her humid eyes; her breast heaved. For an instant she seemed to have forgotten her distresses. Then sorrow resumed its place on her countenance, and she answered, sadly:
”Ah, monsieur, when you shall have truly known me!”
”Have I not known you a whole day?” I asked. ”I wonder that life had any relish for me before yesterday. It seems as if I had known you always, though the joy that your presence gives me will always be fresh and novel. Ah, mademoiselle, if you knew what sweetness suddenly filled the world at my first sight of you!”
I took her hand in mine. She made a weak effort to withdraw it; I tightened my hold; she let it remain. Then she turned her blue eyes up to mine with a look of infinite trust and yielding, so that I felt that, rapid as had been my own yielding to the charm of her beauty and her gentleness, she had as speedily acknowledged in me the man by whom her heart might be commanded.
As we sat thus, the gypsy within, who had been for some time aimlessly strumming his instrument, began to sing. The words of his song came to us subdued, but distinct:
”The sparkle of my lady's eyes-- Ah, sight that is the fairest!
The look of love that in them lies-- Ah, thrill that is the rarest!
<script>