Part 13 (1/2)
”Do you, then, wish to ruin my life, Monsieur?” he exclaimed; ”to ruin _our_ life; for if I love Marie-Anne, she also loves me.”
It was easy to see that he spoke the truth. The unhappy girl, crimson with happy blushes the moment before, had suddenly become whiter than marble, as she looked imploringly at her father.
”It cannot be,” repeated M. Lacheneur; ”and the day will come when you will bless the decision I make known at this moment.”
Alarmed by her son's evident agony, Mme. d'Escorval interposed:
”You must have reasons for this refusal.”
”None that I can disclose, Madame. But never while I live shall my daughter be your son's wife!”
”Ah! it will kill my child!” exclaimed the baroness.
M. Lacheneur shook his head.
”Monsieur Maurice,” said he, ”is young; he will console himself--he will forget.”
”Never!” interrupted the unhappy lover--”never!”
”And your daughter?” inquired the baroness.
Ah! this was the weak spot in his armor; the instinct of a mother was not mistaken. M. Lacheneur hesitated a moment; but he finally conquered the weakness that had threatened to master him.
”Marie-Anne,” he replied, slowly, ”knows her duty too well not to obey when I command. When I tell her the motive that governs my conduct, she will become resigned; and if she suffers, she will know how to conceal her sufferings.”
He paused suddenly. They heard in the distance a firing of musketry, the discharge of rifles, whose sharp ring overpowered even the sullen roar of cannon.
Every face grew pale. Circ.u.mstances imparted to these sounds an ominous significance.
With the same anguish clutching the hearts of both, M. d'Escorval and Lacheneur sprang out upon the terrace.
But all was still again. Extended as was the horizon, the eye could discern nothing unusual. The sky was blue; not a particle of smoke hung over the trees.
”It is the enemy,” muttered M. Lacheneur, in a tone which told how gladly he would have shouldered his gun, and, with five hundred others, marched against the united allies.
He paused. The explosions were repeated with still greater violence, and for a period of five minutes succeeded each other without cessation.
M. d'Escorval listened with knitted brows.
”That is not the fire of an engagement,” he murmured.
To remain long in such a state of uncertainty was out of the question.
”If you will permit me, father,” ventured Maurice, ”I will go and ascertain----”
”_Go_,” replied the baron, quietly; ”but if it is anything, which I doubt, do not expose yourself to danger; return.”
”Oh! be prudent!” insisted Mme. d'Escorval, who already saw her son exposed to the most frightful peril.
”Be prudent!” entreated Marie-Anne, who alone understood what attractions danger might have for a despairing and unhappy man.