Part 11 (1/2)

”You must be blindfolded; you must not see a glimpse of the way.”

”I am ready, Armand,” she said, bandaging her eyes.

”Can you see?”

”No.”

Noiselessly he knelt before her.

”Ah! I can hear you!” she cried, with a little fond gesture, thinking that the pretence of harshness was over.

He made as if he would kiss her lips; she held up her face.

”You can see, madame.”

”I am just a little bit curious.”

”So you always deceive me?”

”Ah! take off this handkerchief, sir,” she cried out, with the pa.s.sion of a great generosity repelled with scorn, ”lead me; I will not open my eyes.”

Armand felt sure of her after that cry. He led the way; the d.u.c.h.ess n.o.bly true to her word, was blind. But while Montriveau held her hand as a father might, and led her up and down flights of stairs, he was studying the throbbing pulses of this woman's heart so suddenly invaded by Love. Mme de Langeais, rejoicing in this power of speech, was glad to let him know all; but he was inflexible; his hand was pa.s.sive in reply to the questionings of her hand.

At length, after some journey made together, Armand bade her go forward; the opening was doubtless narrow, for as she went she felt that his hand protected her dress. His care touched her; it was a revelation surely that there was a little love still left; yet it was in some sort a farewell, for Montriveau left her without a word. The air was warm; the d.u.c.h.ess, feeling the heat, opened her eyes, and found herself standing by the fire in the Comtesse de Serizy's boudoir.

She was alone. Her first thought was for her disordered toilette; in a moment she had adjusted her dress and restored her picturesque coiffure.

”Well, dear Antoinette, we have been looking for you everywhere.” It was the Comtesse de Serizy who spoke as she opened the door.

”I came here to breathe,” said the d.u.c.h.ess; ”it is unbearably hot in the rooms.”

”People thought that you had gone; but my brother Ronquerolles told me that your servants were waiting for you.”

”I am tired out, dear, let me stay and rest here for a minute,” and the d.u.c.h.ess sat down on the sofa.

”Why, what is the matter with you? You are shaking from head to foot!”

The Marquis de Ronquerolles came in.

”Mme la d.u.c.h.esse, I was afraid that something might have happened. I have just come across your coachman, the man is as tipsy as all the Swiss in Switzerland.”

The d.u.c.h.ess made no answer; she was looking round the room, at the chimney-piece and the tall mirrors, seeking the trace of an opening.

Then with an extraordinary sensation she recollected that she was again in the midst of the gaiety of the ballroom after that terrific scene which had changed the whole course of her life. She began to s.h.i.+ver violently.

”M. de Montriveau's prophecy has shaken my nerves,” she said. ”It was a joke, but still I will see whether his axe from London will haunt me even in my sleep. So good-bye, dear.--Good-bye, M. le Marquis.”

As she went through the rooms she was beset with inquiries and regrets.

Her world seemed to have dwindled now that she, its queen, had fallen so low, was so diminished. And what, moreover, were these men compared with him whom she loved with all her heart; with the man grown great by all that she had lost in stature? The giant had regained the height that he had lost for a while, and she exaggerated it perhaps beyond measure. She looked, in spite of herself, at the servant who had attended her to the ball. He was fast asleep.

”Have you been here all the time?” she asked.