Part 39 (1/2)

”Now I am in prison no longer,” he said. ”I am going to run across to La Mariniere; will you come too, little cousin?”

But Monsieur Joseph had something to say to that. He would not let Angelot go without sermons so long that the boy could hardly listen to them, on the care he was to take that no servant or dog at La Mariniere saw him, on the things he might and might not say to his mother.

At last Angelot said aside to Henriette: ”There is only one thing I regret--that I did not go straight home at first to my father and mother. That will bring misfortune on us all, if anything does--my uncle is absolutely too much of a conspirator.”

”Hush, you are ungrateful,” said Riette, gravely.

”Ah! It seems to me that I am nothing good or fortunate--everything bad and unlucky! My relations and their politics toss me like a ball,”

Angelot sighed impatiently. ”I wish this night were over and we were on our way, I and that excellent grumpy Cesar. And the farther I go, the more I shall want to come back. Tiens! Riette, I am miserable!”

The child gazed at him with her great eyes, full of the love and understanding of a woman.

”Courage!” she said. ”You will come back--with the King.”

”The King!” Angelot repeated bitterly. ”Ask Martin Joubard about that.

Hear him talk of the Emperor.”

”A peasant! a common soldier! What does he know?” said the girl, scornfully. ”I think my papa knows better.”

”Ah, well! Believe in him; you are right,” said Angelot.

They talked as they stood outside the house in the dim starlight, waiting a few moments for Monsieur Joseph: he chose to go part of the way with Angelot, and consented unwillingly to take Riette with him. The dead silence of the woods and fields was only broken by the moan of the wind; a sadness that struck to the heart brooded over the depths of lonely land; far down in the valley cold mists were creeping, and even on the lower slopes of Monsieur Joseph's meadow a chilly damp rose from the undrained ground. As far as one could tell, not a human being moved in the woods; the feet of Monsieur d'Ombre's messenger had pa.s.sed up the lane out of hearing; all was solitary and silent about the quaint turreted house with its many shuttered windows and dark guards lying silent, stretched on the sand. Only one of these rose and shook himself and followed his master.

But the loneliness was not so great as it seemed. Behind a large tree to leeward of the house, Simon was lurking alone. He had sent his men away for the night, and he ground his teeth with rage when he saw his victim, out of reach for the time. For he had not the courage, with no law or right on his side, to face the uncle and nephew, armed and together.

Avoiding the open starlit slope, those three with the dog pa.s.sed at once into the shadow of the woods, thus taking the safest, though not the shortest way to La Mariniere. Simon stole after them at a safe distance.

They came presently to a high corner in a lane, where, over the bank on which the pollard oaks stood in line, they could look across to the other side of the valley. As a rule, the Chateau de Lancilly was hardly to be seen after sunset, facing east, and its own woods shadowing it on three sides; but to-night its long front shone and glowed and flashed with light; every window seemed to be open and illuminated; the effect was so festal, so dazzling, that Riette cried out in admiration.

Monsieur Joseph exclaimed angrily, and Angelot gazed in silence.

”Ah, papa! It is the ball! How beautiful! How I wish I could be there!”

cried the child.

”No doubt!” said Monsieur Joseph. ”Exactly! You would like to dance till to-morrow morning, while Ange is escaping. Well, shall I take you across there now? One of your pretty cousins would lend you a ball-dress!”

Riette's blushes could not be seen in the dark, but she said no more.

Monsieur Joseph walked on a few paces and stopped.

”Ange will go quicker without us,” he said. ”Go, my boy, and G.o.d bless and protect you. We have given those rascals of police the slip, I think, or they have decided that you are not to be caught here. For the last day or two Tobie has seen nothing of them. But remember you are not safe; go cautiously and come back quickly. Do not let your mother keep you long. I believe I am doing very wrong in letting you go to her at all!”

”As to that, Uncle Joseph, it is certain that I won't leave the country without seeing her,” said Angelot.

”Go, then, and don't be long, don't be rash; remember that I am dying with impatience. You have the pistols I gave you?”

”Yes.”

”Don't shoot a gendarme if you can help it. It might make things more serious. Away with you! Come, Riette.”

As the two walked back along the lane, Simon scrambled out of their way, like Angelot out of his, into the thick ma.s.s of one of the old _truisses_. The dog looked up at the tree and growled as they pa.s.sed.