Part 30 (2/2)

Her impatience became intolerable, for the Chevalier should have returned full three hours before. At last she rose and slipped quietly out of the room, through the ante-chamber, along the corridor, and so into her little quiet boudoir, far away from the jarring merriment of her guests. There she wrapped herself in a great cloak lined with sables, opened the window, and stepped out on the terrace.

It was a gloomy night. The moon shone fitfully through ma.s.ses of black cloud. There was snow upon the terrace; snow in the garden beneath; snow in the valley; snow on the distant mountains. The silence was profound; not a sound was audible from the noisy _salon_; not a sound from the distant forest. All around lay deep shadow and spectral moonlight; and upon all the scene a stillness as of death. Suddenly, in the midst of the silence, Marguerite de Peyrelade heard the sharp, clear report of a distant musket shot. She listened, trembling and terrified. It was instantly followed by another.

”_Oh, mon Dieu!_” murmured the young woman, leaning for support against the window-frame; ”what Christian hunts at such an hour as this? Heaven protect Eugene!”

And now another sound almost as deadly--a prolonged howling of wolves startled in their lair--came up from the valley. Then the moon became obscured by heavy clouds, and snow began to fall.

The Countess re-entered her boudoir, closed the windows hastily, and was glad once more to find herself in the noisy _salon_.

”Our hostess looks very pale,” whispered the Marquis de Morac to his partner at ombre. ”She is anxious, I suppose, for the arrival of M. de Fontane.”

”Very likely,” said his companion--”I play the king.”

”Is Madame unwell?” asked a young Colonel of Hussars, going up to her with a profound salutation. ”Madame appears much agitated.”

”I have heard something very strange,” stammered the Countess, as she sank into a chair: ”the report of a gun!”

”Indeed, Madame!” said the Lieutenant of Police. ”That is somewhat strange at this hour of the evening!”

”And it was followed by--by a second,” said the Countess.

”Stranger still!” muttered the Lieutenant.

”Pooh! nothing but the fall of some fragment of rock up in the mountains yonder,” said the Commander de Fontane, with a gay laugh. ”The days of banditti are past. Do not be alarmed, _chere pet.i.te cousine_; Eugene is safe enough, and knows how to take care of himself.”

”He should have been here some hours ago, Monsieur,” replied the lady.

At this moment the door of the _salon_ was thrown open, and the Majordomo announced that supper was served.

”But the two princ.i.p.al guests are not yet here,” cried the Marquis de Florac. ”Monsieur le Chevalier de Fontane, and Monsieur le Baron de Pradines!”

”Three are wanting, M. le Marquis,” said the Countess, forcing a smile.

”Our good Abbe Bernard, the Cure of St. Saturnin, has not yet arrived; and how could we take our places at table without his presence on All-Saints' Eve? We must wait awhile for the three missing guests. I am surprised at the absence of M. le Cure, for he has the shortest road to travel; not more than a quarter of a league.”

”A quarter of a league, did you say?” exclaimed the Commander: ”is that all? Why, with a good horse it would not take more than five minutes to go and return. If you command it, Madame, I will fly to M. le Cure, and bring him to your feet dead or alive!”

”Monsieur, I thank you,” said the Countess, smiling; ”but here is our worthy Abbe!”

At the same instant the Cure of St. Saturnin was ushered into the _salon_. He looked strangely white and wan; his teeth chattered; his hands were damp and cold.

”At last, Monsieur le Cure!” said the Countess, as she advanced to meet him.

”At last, Monsieur le Cure!” repeated several voices.

”Five minutes later, Monsieur le Cure, and I protest that Madame's _chef de cuisine_ would have committed suicide for grief at the ruin of the _ragouts_, and you would have had murder on your conscience!” exclaimed the Commander.

”Murder!” echoed Andre Bernard in a hollow voice, staring round him upon the company--”who speaks here of murder?”

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