Part 40 (1/2)
La Chatre, rea.s.sured by her tone, which of course had the ring of truth, again breathed freely.
”Then I release you from your agreement, mademoiselle,” he said, and added slowly and with a curious look at Montignac, ”and your father may languish in the chateau of Fleurier. But note this, mademoiselle: you withdraw your aid from our purpose of capturing this traitor. Therefore, you wish him freedom. For you, in the circ.u.mstances, not to oppose him is to aid him. That is treason. I must treat you accordingly, mademoiselle.”
”I have said, do with me as you will,” she answered. For a time, relieved of the burden that had weighed so heavily on her, she seemed resigned to any fate. It was not yet that her mind rose to activity, and she began to see possibilities of recovering something from the ruins.
And now the demeanor of La Chatre became peculiar. He spoke to mademoiselle, while he looked at Montignac, as if he were taking an unexpected opportunity to carry out something prearranged between him and the secretary; as if he were dissembling to her, and sought Montignac's attention and approval. His look seemed to say to the secretary, ”You see how well I am doing it?” Montignac stood with folded arms and downcast eyes, attending carefully to La Chatre's words, but having too much tact to betray his interest.
”And yet,” said La Chatre, ”you have been of some service to me in this matter, and I would in some measure reward you. You sent me information of La Tournoire's whereabouts, and for so much you deserve to be paid.
But you leave unfinished the service agreed on, and of course you cannot claim your father's release.”
”Yet, if I have at all served you in this, as unhappily I have, there is no other payment that you possibly can make me,” said mademoiselle.
”The question as to whether you ought to be rewarded for what you have done, or held guilty of treasonable conduct in withdrawing at so late a stage,” said La Chatre, ”is a difficult matter for me to deal with. There may be a way in which it can be settled with satisfaction to yourself. It is your part, not mine, to find such a way and propose it. You may take counsel of some one--of my secretary, M. Montignac. He is one who, unlike yourself, is ent.i.tled to my favor and the King's, and who may, on occasion, demand some deviation from the strict procedure of justice.
Were he to ask, as a favor to himself, special lenience for your father, or even a pardon and release, his request would have to be seriously considered. Advise her, Montignac. I shall give you a few minutes to talk with her.”
And La Chatre, aided by his stick, made his way to the window, where he stood with his back towards the other two.
I was not too dull to see that all this was but a clumsy way of throwing mademoiselle's fate and her father's into the hands of Montignac. The governor's manner, as I have indicated, showed that he had previously agreed to do this on fit occasion, and that he now perceived that occasion.
A new thought occurred to me. Had Montignac, coming more and more to desire mademoiselle, and doubting the ability of his hastily found instrument, De Berquin, sought and obtained the governor's sanction to his wishes? Had he advised this midnight march to Maury in order that I might be caught ere mademoiselle could fulfil her mission; in order, that is to say, to prevent her from earning her father's freedom by the means first proposed; in order that La Chatre might name a new price for that freedom; in order, in fine, that herself should be the price, and Montignac the recipient? Montignac could persuade the governor to anything, why not to this? It was a design worthy alike of the secretary's ingenuity and villainy. Circ.u.mstance soon showed that I was right, that the governor had indeed consented to this perfidy.
Mademoiselle's unexpected arrival at Clochonne had given excellent occasion for the project to be carried out. The governor himself had recognized the fitness of the time. No wonder that he had at first falsely charged her with tardiness, pretended that her delay had caused the alteration of his plans. He had needed a pretext for having sent his troops to capture me so that he might cheat her of her reward. I burned with indignation. That two men of power and authority should so trick a helpless girl, so use her love for her father to serve their own purposes, so employ that father's very life as coin with which to buy her compliance, so cozen her of the reward of what service she had done, so plot to make of her a slave and worse, so threaten and use and cheat her! No man ever felt greater wrath than I felt as I stood behind the curtains and saw Montignac lift his eyes to mademoiselle's in obedience to the governor's command. Yet, by what power I know not, I held myself calm, ready to act at the suitable moment. I had taken a resolution, and would carry it out if sword and wit should serve me. But meanwhile I waited unseen.
Mademoiselle drew back almost imperceptibly, and on her face came the slightest look of repugnance. From her manner of regarding him, it was evident that this was not the first time she had been conscious of his admiration and felt repelled by it. The meeting in the inn at Fleurier had left with her a vastly different impression from that which it had left with him.
Without smiling, he now bowed very courteously, and placed a chair for her near where she stood.
”Mademoiselle,” he said, with great tenderness, yet most respectfully, ”a harder heart than mine would be moved by your gentleness and beauty.”
And here my own heart beat very rapidly at sound of another man speaking so adoringly to my beloved.
She looked at him questioningly, as if his tone and manner showed that she had misjudged him. His bearing was so gentle and sympathetic that she could not but be deceived by it. She ceased to show repugnance, and sat in the chair that he had brought.
”Monsieur,” she said, ”in my first opinion I may have wronged you. If your heart is truly moved, you can demonstrate your goodness by asking for my father's freedom. M. de la Chatre will grant it to you. You have a claim on his favor, as he says, while I have none. Free my father, then, and make me happy!”
Poor Julie! She thought not of herself. She knew that it would be useless to ask anything for me. Yet there was one thing that might be had from the situation--her father's freedom. So she summoned her energies, and devoted them to striving for that, though she was in terror of my being at any moment discovered.
”I would make you the happiest of women,” said Montignac, in a low, impa.s.sioned tone, falling on one knee and taking her hand, ”if you would make me the happiest of men.”
Apprehension came into her eyes. She rose and moved towards the bed-curtains, and, in the vain hope of turning him from his purpose by pretending not to perceive it, said, with a sad little smile:
”Alas! it is out of my poor power to confer happiness!”
She half-turned her head towards where I stood behind the curtains, partly at thought of the happiness that it seemed impossible for her to confer on me, partly in fear lest Montignac's words might bring me forth.
”It is easily in your power to confer more than happiness,” said Montignac.
”How, monsieur?” she faltered, trembling under two fears, that of Montignac's ardor and that of my disclosing myself. ”I am puzzled to know.”
”By conferring your hand, mademoiselle,” said Montignac, following her and grasping her wrist. ”Your father will be glad to give his consent for his liberty, if he knows that you have given yours. But we can arrange to proceed without his consent. Do not draw back, mademoiselle. It is marriage that I offer, when I might make other terms. My family is a good one; my prospects are the best, and I have to lay at your feet a love that has never been offered to another, a love as deep as it is fresh--”