Les beaux messieurs de Bois-Doré Vol. 2 (of 2)

LVIII

The marquis did not know at once what rescuing angel had come to his assistance.

He freed himself from the body of Sancho, whose bent knees were still pressing upon him. He threw out his arms at random, thinking that he was attacked by a new enemy, who had missed him.

His arms came in contact with Mario, who was struggling to lift him, exclaiming in a heart-broken tone:

"Father, my poor father, are you dead?—No, you embrace me. Are you wounded?"

"No, it is nothing! just a little suffocated, that is all," replied the marquis. "But what has happened? Where is that infamous knave?"

"I think that I must have killed him," said Mario, "for he doesn't move."

"Do not trust him, do not trust him!" cried Bois-Doré, rising with an effort, and dragging his beloved child to the foot of the stairs. "So long as the serpent breathes, he tries to bite!"

At that moment Clindor arrived with a torch, and they saw Sancho lying inert and disfigured. He was still breathing, and one of his great fierce eyes, glaring confusedly through the blood, seemed to say: "I die twice over since you survive me!"

"What! my poor David, did you kill this Goliath!" cried the marquis, as soon as he began to collect his thoughts.

"Ah! father, I killed him two minutes too late," replied Mario, who was like one intoxicated, and whose grief returned with his memory; "I think that my Mercedes is dead!"

"Poor girl! Let us hope not!" said the marquis with a sigh.

They recrossed the bridge to go to her, while Clindor, who was terribly afraid that Sancho, contrary to all appearances, would rise again, pierced the wretched creature's throat with a halberd.

The Moor had risen to her feet. She insisted that they should pay no heed to her, although she could hardly stand. She was grievously wounded; the bullet had passed through her right arm, which was about Mario's waist when the shot was fired; but she was thinking only of Mario, who was no longer at her side; and when she found him there again she smiled and lost consciousness.

They carried her to the château, whither Mario and Lauriane accompanied her, holding her hand and weeping bitterly, for they believed that she was lost.

The marquis remained outside.

Guillaume's absence seemed to him of evil augury, and he rode forward, fancying that he heard, on the higher ground, sounds of more serious import than were likely to be caused simply by the capture or resistance of a few fugitives.

As he advanced, the sounds became more alarming, and when he emerged from the ravine he saw a number of men, vassals of Ars and Briantes, retreating toward him in disorder.

"Halt, my friends!" he cried. "What is going on here, and how happens it that brave fellows like you seem to be showing your heels?"

"Ah! is it you, monsieur le marquis!" replied one of the demoralized men. "We must return to the château and fight behind the walls; for the reitres are coming. Monsieur d'Ars being warned of their approach by Monsieur Mario, rode back to meet them, and he is engaged with them. But what can we expect to do against those fellows? They say a reitre is stronger and crueller than the Christians, and they have cannon too; they would have used them against us already if they had not been afraid of hitting their own men, in the confusion into which Monsieur d'Ars has thrown them."

"Monsieur d'Ars has borne himself gallantly and prudently, my children!" said the marquis; "and if fear of the reitres made you retreat, you are not worthy to be in his service or mine. Go and hide behind the walls; but I warn you that, if I am forced to fall back and shut myself up in the château, I will turn you out as fellows who eat too much and do not fight enough."

These reproaches brought several of them to their senses; the rest took flight; almost all of these were in Guillaume's service. They were not cowards by any means; but the reitres had left such terrible memories in the province, and legend had added thereto such appalling and prodigious details, that one needed to be doubly brave to face them.

The marquis, attended by the stoutest-hearted of them, who already blushed for their demoralization, soon joined Guillaume, who was leading a gallant charge upon Captain Macabre.

The darkness, which, however, had become much less dense, enabled Guillaume to lie in ambush, in order to fall suddenly upon them and prevent them from going forward to cannonade the château; for they actually had a small field-piece, of which Bois-Doré, when a prisoner at Etalié, had not suspected the existence.

Everybody knows that a single paltry cannon would suffice to batter down those little fortresses, which were skilfully disposed to repel the assaults of besiegers in the Middle Ages, but utterly helpless in face of modern siege guns. The most formidable castles of the feudal period, in Berry, crumbled like card-houses under Richelieu and Louis XIV., when the royal power undertook to put down the armed nobility; and it is surprising to find how few soldiers and cannon-balls sufficed for such great execution.

It was most essential therefore for the marquis to prevent them, at any cost, from approaching the château, and he dashed forward to support Guillaume, who bore himself most gallantly despite the desertion of the greater part of his force.

But he soon had to fall back before the onset of the reitres, who had the advantage of position as well as of numbers, and the battle seemed lost when they heard the sounds of fighting at the enemy's rear, as if they were caught between two fires.

Monsieur Robin de Coulogne had come up with his men at the critical moment. His moderation was providential. If he had followed the reitres more closely, he would have overtaken them sooner, and probably would not have found them an easy prey.

Thus hemmed in, the reitres fought desperately, especially Macabre's stout Germans, and La Proserpine's hot-headed Frenchmen. Saccage's Italians gave way first, for they detested both Macabre and Proserpine, and had not the slightest desire to die for them.

They tried to steal away and reach the château by a détour; but they were met on the road by Aristandre, who, having gone in pursuit of the gypsies, knew nothing of the attack of the reitres, and fell upon them without any idea as to who or what they were.

As he had quite a numerous party, and as he laid the lieutenant low at the outset, the others were speedily routed, and, fearing a fresh display of generosity by Bois-Doré, the coachman lost no time in despatching those who were taken, Lieutenant Saccage at their head.

The latter's belt proved to be a valuable capture; but Aristandre did not choose to appropriate it, but reserved it for general distribution.

A moment later, as he was hurrying to join the marquis, he fell in with one of the men who had accompanied Lucilio to Brilbault.

"Ho! Denison!" he shouted to him, "what have you done with our bag-piper?"

"Ask me rather," replied Denison, "what those brigands of reitres have done with him. God knows! We started for Etalié with him to find monsieur le marquis, but at the foot of the hill we were surrounded by those devils, who pulled us from our horses and made us prisoners. At first, they proposed to shoot Master Jovelin on the spot. They were frantic because he did not reply to them, and they took his silence for contempt. But there was a lady there who recognized him and said that monsieur le marquis would pay a very big ransom for him. So they bound him like the rest of us, and at this moment he and the other four of us must either be free like me, or have been killed in the battle. As for the lady, who was dressed like an officer, I don't know who she is; but may the devil take me if you wouldn't say she was our Demoiselle Bellinde!"

"Well, Denison, let us go and see," replied Aristandre, "and let us save all our friends if it can be done!"

The honest coachman, as he ran, collected as many men as he could, and attacked the flank of the reitres skilfully and most opportunely.

Assailed thus on three sides, and reduced to half their original number, for Bois-Doré, Guillaume and Monsieur Robin had killed as many as Saccage had taken away by his defection, the compact little battalion of reitres devoted their energies to effecting their retreat in good order. But so small a force was too easily surrounded; their cannon, which was with the rear-guard, had already fallen into Monsieur Robin's hands. They could not even disperse. They were forced to surrender at discretion, with the exception of a few who were blinded with rage and whom it was necessary to kill, but not until they had inflicted some damage upon their unmounted adversaries.

Some time, was lost in disarming and binding the prisoners; for they could hardly trust the promises of reitres; and day was breaking when they all assembled, victors and vanquished, in the courtyard of the château.

The fire among the farm buildings was extinguished. The damage was great, doubtless; but the marquis paid little heed to it; he wiped away the perspiration and the powder which obscured his sight, and looked about with much emotion in search of the objects of his affection: first of all, Mario, who was not thereto congratulate him, which fact made him fear that the Moor was in a bad way; then Lauriane, who made haste to encourage him concerning Mercedes's condition; then Adamas, who was kissing his feet in a frenzy of joy; then Jovelin and Aristandre, who had not yet appeared, and his worthy farmer, whose death they concealed from him; and lastly all his loyal retainers and vassals, whose number had diminished during that fatal night.

But, while he was asking for them all in turn, he interrupted himself to inquire anew for Mario with sudden anxiety.

Two or three times during his desperate combat with the reitres, he had fancied that he saw his child's face hovering about him in the twilight.

"Ah! at last, Aristandre!" he exclaimed, as he spied the coachman on horseback by his side; "have you seen my son? Answer me quickly!"

Aristandre stammered some incoherent words. His great face was drawn by fatigue and confused by inexplicable embarrassment.

The marquis turned as pale as death.

Adamas, who was gazing at him ecstatically, soon perceived his suffering.

"No, no, monsieur!" he said, as Mario jumped into his arms from Squilindre's back, where he had been hiding behind the coachman's bulky figure. "Here he is as fresh and sound as a rose from the Lignon!"

"What were you doing there behind the coachman, monsieur le comte?" said the marquis after embracing his heir.

"Alas! my kind master, forgive me," said Aristandre, who also had dismounted. "When I went to the stable to get Squilindre to carry me against those devils of German horses, I just locked Coquet up so that monsieur le comte could not ride him; for I had seen your demon—forgive me! your darling son prowling around there, and I suspected that he meant to run into danger. But, just as I was in the thick of the fight, I felt something against my side! I didn't pay much attention to it at first, it was so light! But lo and behold, I found I had four arms: two long ones and two short ones. With the two long ones I managed my horse and struck down the enemy; with the two short ones, I reloaded my pistols, and handled my pike so quickly that I did the work of two men. What would you have had me do? I was in a scrimmage where it wouldn't have been a good thing for my little double to put him down on the ground, so I kept on and came out of it whole, thank God! after thrashing the enemy soundly, and riding down more than one villain who wanted your life, which God preserve, monsieur le marquis! with this brave old coach horse, who is an excellent war-horse at need, monsieur! If I did wrong, punish me; but don't blame monsieur le comte; for, by the name of—, he's a fine little—, who pounded those—Germans like a—, and who will soon be a—, like you, master!"

"Enough, enough flattery, my good fellow," rejoined Bois-Doré, pressing the coachman's hand. "If you must teach your young master to disobey, at all events do not teach him to swear like a heathen."

"Did I disobey you, father?" said Mario; "you forbade me to attack the gypsies, but you didn't say anything about the reitres."

The marquis took his child in his arms, and could not resist the temptation to exhibit him proudly to his friends, telling them how he had rescued his uncle from the hands of the terrible Sancho.

"Well, my young hero," he added, embracing him again, "it is useless for me to try to keep you in leash; you are your own master. At eleven years of age, you have avenged your father's death with your own hand, and won your spurs of knighthood. Go and kneel at your lady's feet; for you have earned the right to hope to win her heart some day."

Lauriane kissed Mario fraternally without hesitation, and Mario returned her caress without blushing. The moment had not arrived when their holy friendship was to be changed into a holy love.

They returned together to Mercedes, after relieving the marquis's mind concerning Lucilio, who was an excellent surgeon and was already in attendance upon her. Mario had not chosen to boast of having contributed to the rescue of his friend, who had thereafter fought stoutly at his side.

The Moor was so overjoyed by Mario's return and by the tutor's nursing, that she felt no pain from her wound.

After it was dressed, Lucilio turned his attention to the wounded men, even among the prisoners, whom they were making preparations to send, under a strong escort, to the prison at La Châtre.

The reitres were sitting in the basse-cour, around the dying embers of the fire, in dire discomfiture; Captain Macabre, who was drunk during the battle and was severely wounded, did nothing but beg for brandy to enable him to forget his misery; Bellinde was so terribly frightened while the battle was in progress, that she was fairly dazed; which fact saved her from feeling the humiliation of being exposed to the contempt and reproaches of the servants and vassals whom she had so long despised and disciplined.

She was the object of some consideration on the part of the village women because of her gorgeous costume, by which they were involuntarily dazzled.

But when Adamas learned of the preposterous attempt she had made to force the marquis to marry her, and her manifest purpose to torture Mario, he was so vehement in commending her to general execration, that the marquis had to hasten her departure for the prison. He even had the generosity, in spite of Adamas's remonstrances, to allow her to retain her jewels, her purse and a horse to carry her.

All the other horses belonging to the reitres, excellent beasts and well equipped, as well as the weapons and the officers' money, were distributed among the brave fellows who had taken them; nor would the marquis keep any part of the booty for himself. He turned his attention at once to the needs of his unfortunate vassals, who had been robbed and maltreated by the gypsies.

LIX

They separated as soon as the prisoners had departed, in charge of Monsieur Robin and a large escort of men of the neighborhood, who had been attracted by the uproar of the battle, a little tardily perhaps, but in time at all events to allow the combatants to procure the rest which they sadly needed.

Jean le Clope, who arrived among the last and was already half tipsy, was overjoyed and highly honored to join the escort. He had an old grudge against Captain Macabre, and had lost his leg in an engagement with reitres.

So he entered the town of La Châtre, with his nose in the air, assuming the airs of Captain Fracasse, and telling everybody who chose to listen that, with his bright sword, he slew fourteen of them.

He pointed out the most important prisoners, saying of each one:

"I captured that fellow."

When the basse-cour was restored to order, there was still much confusion in the courtyard of the château.

The ground-floor apartments were transformed into a hospital for men and animals. The kitchen and dining-room were open to all who wished to warm themselves, and the marquis refused to sit down until he had attended to everybody's needs. Lucilio and Lauriane devoted themselves to the care of the wounded.

There were many varied incidents in this animated scene.

Here, lay a man shrieking and groaning while a bullet was being extracted; there, men were laughing and drinking together as they recalled the exploits of the night; and farther on, were others weeping for the dead.

Ugly, withered old hags made a terrible outcry about goats that could not be found; others had lost their children, and rushed hither and thither, wild-eyed, so choked with grief that they could not call them.

Mario, active and sympathetic, would go in search of them, while Adamas, always provident, caused a large trench to be dug, in a neighboring field, for the interment of those of the enemy who were killed. Their own dead were treated with more honor, and they went in search of Monsieur Poulain to recite prayers for them pending their burial.

They made much of the bravest. Almost everybody had been brave at the last moment; and yet, throughout the day they constantly found poor dazed creatures, still cowering behind wood-piles or in the dark corners of sheds, where they would have allowed themselves to be burned or suffocated without a word, they were so completely paralyzed by fear.

Amid all these scenes, tragic and grotesque, Bois-Doré and Guillaume were untiring inf their activity. Although ghastly and heart-rending sights met their eyes at every step, they were urged on by that somewhat feverish enthusiasm which always follows the happy ending of a great crisis.

What they had to deplore and regret was a mere trifle compared with what might have happened.

The marquis had remounted his horse in order to perform his charitable duties more quickly; his costume was incomprehensible to most of those who saw him pass. He still wore his cook's apron, now a mere rag, it is true, and stained with blood; so that many of his vassals thought that he had tied a strip of a banner about his waist as a symbol of victory. His long moustaches had been scorched in the fire, and Master Pignoux's oilskin cap, crushed under the hat that Bois-Doré had hurriedly donned, came down to his eyes; they thought that he was wounded in the head, and he was constantly met with anxious inquiries whether he was in much pain.

As the first spadefuls of earth were thrown on the dead bodies, one of them remonstrated. It was La Flèche, who declared that he was not quite dead.

The amateur grave-diggers were not much inclined to listen to him; but Mario happened to pass not far off and overheard the discussion. He ran to the spot and ordered them to disinter, the poor wretch. The order was obeyed with reluctance, but, despite all his seignioral authority, he could not induce anyone to take him to the hospital.

They all disappeared on various pretexts, and Mario was obliged to go in search of Aristandre, who obeyed without a murmur, and returned with him to the place where the dying gypsy lay on the moist, blood-stained ground.

But it was too late. La Flèche was lost beyond recall. He was hardly breathing; his haggard, staring eye indicated that his last moment was at hand.

"It is too late, monsieur," said Aristandre to his young master. "What would you have! It was I who crushed him, and I was not gentle about it; but it wasn't I who stuffed his mouth with dirt and stones to stifle him. I should never have thought of that."

"Dirt and stones?" repeated Mario, looking with horror and amazement at the gypsy, who was actually suffocating. "He spoke just now! he must have gnawed at the ground in his struggle against death!"

As he leaned over the wretched creature to try to relieve him, La Flèche, whose face already wore the pallor of a corpse, moved his arms as if to say: "It is useless; let me die in peace."

Then his arm fell with the forefinger extended, as if he were pointing to his murderer, and so remained, stiffened by death, which had already quenched the light of his eyes.

Mario's eyes instinctively turned in the direction indicated by that horrible gesture, and saw no one. Doubtless the gypsy, as he breathed his last, had seen a vision bearing some relation to his melancholy and evil life.

But Aristandre's attention was attracted by the fresh prints of tiny feet on the clayey soil. Those footprints were on all sides of the body, and seemed to indicate a trampling or stamping around the head; then they led away from the spot in the direction in which the gypsy's finger still pointed.

"There are some terrible children, eh?" said the honest coachman, calling Mario's attention to the marks. "I know that these gypsies are viler than dogs, and perhaps it was poor Charasson's boy, who, seeing that you were trying to save this beast, determined to finish him this way in order to avenge his father! It's a devilish invention all the same, and it is quite right to say that evil leads to evil."

"Yes, yes, my good friend," said the horrified Mario; "you understand that a dying man is no longer an enemy. But look in the bushes over there; isn't that little Pilar hiding?"

"I don't know who little Pilar is," Aristandre replied, "but I know that that little hussy is the one whose life I saved last night. See, there she goes again. She runs like a genuine cat. Do you recognize her now?"

"Yes," said Mario, "I know her too well, and it is clear that the evil one is in her. Let her go, coachman, and may she go far away from here!"

"Come, monsieur, don't stay in this horrible place," rejoined Aristandre. "I will put this villain's body underground, for the dogs and the crows scent him already, and monsieur le marquis would not like to have it lying around on his land."

Mario, being utterly exhausted, went to take a little rest.

When he had slept an hour in a chair, beside his dear Moor, who pretended to sleep in order to set his mind at rest, he began anew to go about the château and through the village, bearing assistance and consolation, accompanied by the lovable and unselfish Lauriane.

The marquis, having hastily repaired his toilet, received the lieutenant of the provost, and, with the assistance of Messieurs d'Ars and Coulogne, set forth the facts to the magistrates whose duty it was to do prompt and signal justice.

LX

The day was advancing.

The tranquillity of fatigue reigned in the village and the château. Mario and Lauriane, on returning from their round, craved a breath of fresh air, and went into the garden, the only part of the enclosure which had not been profaned by acts of violence and devastation.

As he told his friend in detail his own adventures, which she had not previously had time to comprehend, they arrived at the Palace of Astrée, in the labyrinth, where he had passed such an agitated hour during the preceding night.

The weather was mild. The two children sat down on the steps of the little cottage.

Mario, although he was not ill, had a touch of fever in his blood. Such a succession of violent emotions had matured him suddenly, as it were, and Lauriane, on booking at him, was struck by the expression of melancholy resolution which had so changed his sweet and transparent glance.

"My Mario," she said, "I fear that you are ill. You have been afraid and courageous, tired and untiring, happy and unhappy, all at once, during this last horrible night; but it is all passed. Master Jovelin assures us that Mercedes is safe, and she declares that she hardly, suffers at all. You saved our dear papa Sylvain's life and avenged your poor father's death. All this has transformed you into a noble, gallant youth; but you must not keep those folds on your brow, but think rather about thanking God for the assistance He gave you in this affair."

"I do think about it, my Lauriane," Mario replied, "but I am thinking also of something my father said to me this morning, after which you kissed me and said: 'Yes, yes.' I did not understand it, and you must explain it to me. My father said that I had earned the right to hope to please you. Does that mean that I have not pleased you hitherto?"

"No, indeed, Mario; you please me immensely, for I love you dearly."

"Good! But, when my father says sometimes laughingly that I shall be your husband, do you think that that might happen?

"Really, I do not know, Mario, but I hardly think so. I am two or three years older than you, and when you are a young man I shall be what might be called an old maid."

"And yet, Lauriane, Adamas told me that you married your cousin Hélyon, who was three or four years older than you. Did he ever blame you for being too young for him?"

"Why, yes, sometimes, before our marriage, when we played at quarrelling."

"Well, I think that he was wrong; I think that you are neither young nor old, and I shall always think that you are just right, because I shall always love you the way I love you now."

"You don't know anything about it, Mario; it is said that one's heart changes with one's age."

"That is not true with me. I still think my Mercedes young and lovable, and I have always loved her ever since I have been in the world. My father is old, so people say, but I enjoy myself more with him than with Clindor; and I don't see that age makes any difference between Master Lucilio and us. Do you get tired of me because I am younger?"

"No, Mario; you are much more sensible and attractive than other boys of your age, and you already know more than I do, in the studies we have together."

"Tell me, Lauriane, do you think me nicer than your other husband?"

"I must not say that, Mario. He was my husband, and you are not."

"Did you love him because he was your husband?"

"I cannot say; I did not love him much when he was only my cousin; I thought him too wild and too fond of making a disturbance. But when they took us to the Reformed Church together and said to us: 'Now you are married; you will not see each other again for seven or eight years, but it is your duty to love each other;' I answered: 'Very well;' and I prayed for my husband every day, asking God to do me the favor to make me love him when I should see him again."

"And you never saw him again! Were you grieved when he died?"

"Yes, Mario. He was my cousin, and I wept for him."

"And so if I should die, who am neither your cousin nor your husband, you wouldn't weep for me?"

"You must not talk about dying, Mario," said Lauriane; "they say that it brings bad luck when one is young. I don't want you to die, and I say again that I love you dearly."

"But you won't promise me when I shall be your husband?"

"Why, Mario, what good would it do you to have me for your wife? You do not even know whether you will want to marry when you are old enough."

"Yes, I do, Lauriane! I want nobody else for a wife but you, because you are good, and because you love everybody that I love. And as you say that a woman must love her husband, I know that you will always love me if we are married; but, if you marry someone else, you will never think about loving me. Then I shall be very unhappy, and it makes me want to cry just to think of it."

"And now you are really crying!" said Lauriane, wiping his eyes with her handkerchief. "Come, come, Mario, I tell you that you are ill to-night, and that you must have a good supper and a good night's sleep; for you are worrying about troubles that are still to come, instead of rejoicing over those that you conquered last night."

"What is past is past," said Mario; "what is to come—I don't know why I think so much about it to-day; but I do, and I cannot help it."

"You have been too much wrought up!"

"Perhaps so; but I do not feel tired; and I do not know why I thought of you all through the night, whenever my father and I were in great danger.—'If we should both die,' I said to myself, 'who will save my Lauriane?'—Really, I thought of you as much, perhaps more than of my Mercedes and all the others. And I thought of you more when I met Pilar than at any other time."

"Why did that bad girl make you think of your Lauriane?"

Mario reflected a moment, then replied:

"You see, when I was travelling with the gypsies, I used often to play and talk with that child, who knows Spanish and a little Arabic, and who made me feel sorry for her, because she always seemed sick and unhappy. Mercedes and I were always as kind to her as we could be, and she was fond of us. She called Mercedes mother and me my little husband. And when I said: 'No, I don't want to be,' she would cry and sulk, so that I had to say to comfort her: 'Yes, yes, it is all right!' She did us a service last night, I agree; she went very promptly to give warning to Monsieur Robin and Monsieur Guillaume, as I told her to; but I had a horror of her all the same, because I knew that she was cruel and had no religion. And then that name of husband, which she had often given me against my will, made me sick, and I remembered that you and I had promised in sport to marry each other, and I saw the devil on one side of me, with her features, and my guardian angel on the other side, with yours."

As Mario concluded, a stone from the little cottage fell so near Lauriane that she had a narrow escape from being wounded.

The two children hastily departed, thinking that the cottage was falling to pieces; and they joined the marquis, who was awaiting them for dinner.

LXI

Meanwhile, Monsieur Poulain had been sought in vain to administer the sacrament to his dying parishioners; he could not be found.

His house had been pillaged by the gypsies before any others. His servant had been roughly used and was in bed, praying to heaven for the return of the rector, concerning whom she was unable to give any information. He had disappeared two days before.

At last, during the evening, just as Monsieur Robin and Guillaume d'Ars were about to retire with their men, leaving their wounded to the hospitable care of the marquis, Jean Faraudet, the farmer of Brilbault, appeared, and requested permission to make an important communication to his master.

This is what he had to tell; and we will describe at the same time the events of the previous evening at Brilbault, whither we have not as yet had leisure to follow the numerous persons who had assembled there by agreement, to surround and storm the old manor.

The arrangements had been so carefully made that no one failed to appear at the rendezvous except Monsieur de Bois-Doré, whose absence was not noticed at first, all the confederates being divided into small groups, which held communication with each other in total darkness when they approached the mysterious ruin.

The said ruin, being explored from roof to cellar, was found to be silent and empty. But they found traces of recent occupancy in that portion of the ground floor which the marquis had not dared to enter alone: hot embers in the fireplaces; rags and broken food on the floor.

They had also discovered an underground passage, with an exit at a considerable distance from the house, outside the enclosure. Such passages existed in all feudal châteaux. They were almost all filled up at the time of our narrative; but the gypsies had cleared this one and masked the opening cleverly enough.

They had carried their investigations no farther, not only because they deemed it useless, the enemy having already vanished, but because they were beginning to be alarmed about Monsieur de Bois-Doré and to scour the neighborhood for him. They were seriously alarmed when the little gypsy arrived and told her story.

More time was wasted in serious perplexity. Monsieur Robin thought that the marquis had fallen into some ambuscade, and he persisted in searching for him; whereas Monsieur d'Ars, to whom the child's statements seemed not improbable, decided to start for Briantes with his following. An hour later, Monsieur Robin concluded to do likewise.

When they had all ridden away, the farmer of Brilbault, who had received orders to continue the exploration of the château, had postponed the task to the following day, yielding to fatigue, as he said, and probably even more to a remnant of terror.

"When the day broke I was there"—it is Jean Faraudet who is speaking,—"and after turning and pulling over all the old wood and rubbish from one end of the place to the other, I spied a little hole that I hadn't seen, and there I found a man bound faster than any sheaf of grain; for his hands and feet were tied, and his mouth gagged with a bunch of straw which was very cunningly twisted around his neck like a rope. So the man seemed to be dead from head to foot. I picked him up and carried him to my house, where a little brandy brought him to after I had untied him and rubbed him."

"Who was the man?" inquired the marquis, thinking that it was D'Alvimar "you did not know him, did you?"

"Yes, indeed, Monsieur Sylvain," replied the farmer; "I had seen him many a time. It was Monsieur Poulain, the rector of your parish. It was more than four hours before he could speak a word, because he had strained himself so in trying to struggle in his bonds. At last he said to us:

"'I will not tell the authorities anything. I am not to blame for anything that may have happened; I swear by the holy oil and my baptism!'

"He had the fever all day and talked at random. This evening he felt better and wanted to go home, so I brought him behind me on my brood mare, saving your presence."

"Let us go and question him," said Guillaume, rising.

"No," said the marquis, "we will let him sleep. He needs it as much as we do ourselves. And what could he disclose that we do not know too well now? And of what could we accuse him? He went there to administer the sacrament to Monsieur d'Alvimar; that was his duty. When he learned what they were plotting there against me, if he did not threaten to betray it, he at least refused to take part in it. And that is why the gypsies bound and gagged him."

Guillaume observed that Monsieur Poulain was a dangerous rector for the parish of Briantes, and that he ought at the very least to be threatened with a charge of complicity in the affair of the reitres, as a means of keeping him quiet or driving him away.

The marquis absolutely refused to harass a man who seemed to him sufficiently punished already by the brutal treatment he had endured and the risk he had run of perishing in oblivion and silence in a prison.

"What!" said he, "by the grace of God, we got the better of forty reitres, well equipped and provided with a cannon; of a band of active and adroit thieves; of a terrible conflagration, and an execrable ambush; and we can think of such a thing as wreaking vengeance on a poor priest who can no longer injure us!"

The marquis forgot that he was not yet entirely out of danger.

Monsieur le Prince, who had set off in hot haste for the court, might not be well received there, and might suddenly return and vent his ill-humor on the nobles of his province.

It was most essential therefore that the marquis should at all events not allow a dangerous advocate of D'Alvimar's cause to intervene between the prince and himself. This consideration was suggested to the marquis on the following day by Lucilio; whereupon Bois-Doré hastened to call upon Monsieur Poulain as if to inquire for his health.

The rector, who was unable as yet to leave his easy-chair, he had suffered so intensely with cold, discomfort and fright, attempted to tell him that a fall from his horse had caused his injuries and had detained him twenty-four hours at the house of one of his confrères.

But Bois-Doré went straight to the fact, and talked to him with a mild and generous firmness; nor did he fail to show him D'Alvimar's notes and call his attention to the manner in which his deceased friend referred to himself and the prince.

Monsieur Poulain did not attempt to combat these revelations. His pride was much humbled by the atrocious perplexities in which he had suddenly become involved.

"Monsieur de Bois-Doré," he said with a sigh, wiping away the cold perspiration which stood out upon his brow at the recollection of his sufferings, "I have seen death at very close quarters. I did not think that I feared it, but it appeared to me in such hideous and cruel guise that I made a vow to retire to a convent if I ever came forth from that icy tomb in which I was buried alive. I have come forth, and it is my earnest purpose never again to take part for or against any person or any interest in this world. Henceforth I shall devote my life, in profound seclusion, to my salvation and to that alone; and if it be your pleasure to allot me a cell in the Abbey of Varennes, of which you are the fiduciary possessor, I should ask nothing more."

"So be it," replied Bois-Doré, "on condition that you inform me frankly and fully what took place at Brilbault. I will not fatigue you with useless questions; I know three-fourths of all that you know. I wish to know but one thing: whether Monsieur d'Alvimar confessed to you the assassination of my brother."

"You ask me to betray the secret of the confessional," replied Monsieur Poulain, "and I should refuse, as it is my duty to do, were it not that Monsieur d'Alvimar, who was sincerely penitent at the last, instructed me to reveal everything after his death and Sancho's, which latter he did not suppose to be so near at hand as it proved to be. I will tell you, therefore, that Monsieur d'Alvimar, descended through his mother from a noble family, and authorized, by the mystery surrounding his birth, to bear the name of his mother's husband, was, in reality, the issue of a guilty intrigue with Sancho, an ex-leader of brigands turned farmer."

"Really!" exclaimed the marquis. "That explains Sancho's last words, monsieur le recteur. He declared that he sacrificed me to the memory of his son! But how did this fact enter into Monsieur d'Alvimar's confession, unless he felt obliged to confess the sins of others as well?"

"Monsieur d'Alvimar had to confess his connection with Sancho in order to induce me not to deliver to the secular authorities the man whom he with shame and sorrow called the author of his days. He called him also the author of his crime and his misfortunes.

"It was that heartless and wicked man who had made him an accessory to the death of your brother, to whom the idea first occurred, and who stabbed him to the heart, while D'Alvimar consented to assist him and to profit by the crime. It is only too true that the sole object of that crime, the victim of which was unknown to its perpetrators, was to obtain possession of a sum of money and a casket of jewels which your brother had imprudently allowed them to see the night before, at an inn. At that period Monsieur d'Alvimar was very young, and so poor that he doubted whether he could pay the expenses of his journey to Paris, where he hoped to find patrons. He was ambitious; that is a great sin, I know, monsieur le marquis. It is the most dangerous bait that Satan holds forth. Sancho inspired and nourished that infernal ambition in his son. He had to overcome his repugnance, but he triumphed by pointing out to him that this murder was a sure opportunity which would never be repeated, and which would place him above the need of debasing himself by imploring the compassion of others.

"When D'Alvimar made this confession, Sancho was present; he hung his head and did not seek to excuse himself. On the contrary, when I hesitated to give absolution for a sin which did not seem to me to have been sufficiently expiated, Sancho vehemently accused himself, and I must confess that there was something grand in the passionate desire of that fierce soul for his son's salvation. I believed then that I was dealing with two Christians, both guilty and both repentant; but Sancho filled me with horror and dismay as soon as his son had breathed his last.

"It was a ghastly scene, monsieur, which I shall never forget while I live! The lower room in which we were, in that ruined château, had but one fireplace; and, although it was an enormous apartment, we were much cramped in the small space where we were sheltered from the cold air that rushed down from above. Monsieur d'Alvimar had nothing but straw for his bed, and only his cloak and Sancho's for covering. He was so exhausted by two months of agony that he resembled a spectre. However, Sancho had prepared him as best he could to receive the last consolations of religion; and the spectacle presented by that gentleman of distinguished bravery, resigned to his fate, amid a horde of gypsies, heretics and villains, saddened the heart and the eyes.

"Those miscreants, displeased at having to look on at a Christian ceremony, howled and swore and shouted derisively to avoid hearing the prayers of the Holy Church, which are detestable to them. It seems that it was always so during Monsieur d'Alvimar's last days in that place. Every night Sancho tried to take advantage of their slumber to repeat to his son the prayers that he desired; but, as soon as one of the gypsies detected him, the whole band, men, women and children, joined in a frightful uproar to drown his voice and not allow their own ears to be offended by any of the blessed words of our service.

"It was therefore in the midst of this horrible tumult, in which Sancho's authority—based upon the fact that he had some money hidden, which he doled out to them little by little—sometimes succeeded in restoring silence for a moment, that I administered the sacrament to that unhappy young man.

"He died reconciled with God, I trust; for he expressed much regret for his crime and begged me to inform Monsieur le Prince of the truth, if he, being deceived as I myself had been concerning the causes and circumstances of your duel, should molest you because of it."

"And have you resolved to do it, monsieur le recteur?" asked Bois-Doré, scrutinizing Monsieur Poulain's altered face.

"Yes, monsieur," was the reply, "on condition that you return seriously and sincerely to the path of duty."

"That is to say, that now you are bargaining with me for your testimony to the truth, in the name of the supreme truth?"

"No, monsieur; for what happened after D'Alvimar's death deprived me of the hope of converting you by the example of the repentance of your enemies. Sancho leaned over his son's pallid face and remained so for an instant, without speaking or shedding a tear; then he rose, swore aloud the execrable oath to avenge him by any and every means, and placed his hand in that of a vile and brutal Huguenot who was present."

"Captain Macabre?"

"Yes, monsieur, that was the ill-omened name they gave him.

"'I have sent for you,' said Sancho, 'to deliver the treasures of Bois-Doré into your hands; I will join you, and I promise you the aid of this band of volunteer scouts and skirmishers whom you see about you. I promised you through Bellinde a chance for an excellent coup de main, and the rector here, who hates Bois-Doré and who stands well with Monsieur le Prince, will assure you impunity.'

"Then it was, monsieur, that I objected."

"Doubtless!" rejoined Bois-Doré with a smile. "You were well aware that Monsieur le Prince desired my alleged treasure for himself alone, and that he was not the man to allow it to pass through the hands of such trustees."

Monsieur Poulain accepted the rebuke and hung his head with an expression, sincere or feigned, of repentance and humiliation.

Being urged to continue his narrative, he told how Captain Macabre had suggested blowing out his brains without ceremony to prevent his speaking, and how the gypsies had thrown themselves upon him to secure his clothes before they were ruined by blood.

"That discussion," continued Monsieur Poulain, "saved my life; for Sancho had time to suggest another plan. It was he who bound me and then imprisoned me as you have heard. But what a rescue! It seemed to me worse than a sudden and violent death, when the infamous villain, without assisting me or giving me a word of hope, left Brilbault with his gypsies, to attack your château."

"And what was done with D'Alvimar's body, I pray to know?" asked the marquis.

"I understand," replied the rector with a faint smile, wherein could be detected a trace of the old aversion, "that you are interested in finding it, in case proceedings should be instituted against you. But consider that that would not be evidence that could be used against you. If people chose to lie, they would be free to say that you buried your victim there with the help of your friend, Monsieur Robin. And so, monsieur le marquis, you must depend for your future security upon my loyalty alone, and I hereby offer you its guaranty."

"On what conditions, monsieur le recteur?"

"Conditions? I make no more conditions, my brother! From this day I am a recluse, withdrawn from the world. I have implored from your kindness the Abbey of Varennes."

"Oho!" said Bois-Doré, "the abbey? A simple cell was all that you wanted a moment ago."

"Will you allow so venerable an abbey to go to ruin, and entrust to boors the management of a community which is expected to set a noble example to the world?"

"Very good, I understand. We will see, monsieur le recteur, how you conduct yourself with respect to me, and you shall be abundantly gratified if I have reason to be. Meanwhile, I presume that you will not tell me where my brother's murderer is buried?"

"Pardon me, monsieur," replied the rector, who was too clever to appear to haggle, and who, moreover, was really striving to extricate himself from the tempests and passions of the age, provided that the penalty was not too severe; "I will tell you what I saw. Sancho seemed extremely anxious to rescue the body from any profanation on the part of the gypsies. He raised a flagstone in the centre of the floor of the room where we were, and he certainly interred his son there. For my part I saw nothing more; they dragged me to my horrible dungeon, where I languished for eighteen mortal hours, alternating between unconsciousness and despair."

The marquis and the rector parted on excellent terms, and the latter made an effort to rise and officiate at the burial of his parishioners. But after the ceremony he was so ill that he sent for Master Jovelin, whose balsams and elixirs were much extolled as miraculous in their operation.

At first he had a great dread of placing his life in the hands of one whom he looked upon as a natural enemy. But the Italian's remedies relieved him so effectually that he was conscious of a sort of gratitude, especially when Lucilio obstinately refused all compensation.

The rector was compelled to offer his sincere thanks to the Beaux Messieurs de Bois-Doré, who, during his illness, ministered to his comfort personally and through others, with a solicitude equal to that which they displayed for their dearest friends.

LXII

Lauriane fell asleep, on the evening of her matrimonial interview with Mario, slightly disturbed concerning the undue agitation of that lovable child's heart, and his absorbing interest in the future. Inexperienced as she was, she had a somewhat clearer idea of life, and she foresaw that when Mario was old enough to distinguish between love and friendship, he would still be too young, as compared with her, to inspire her with any other sentiment than sisterly affection. She smiled sadly at the thought of a possible combination of circumstances which should require her to marry a child, after having been married when she was herself a child, and she said to herself that in that case her destiny would be a strange problem, perhaps a painful and fatal one.

She was depressed therefore, and summoned all her resolution to resist the influences which threatened to coerce her; for the marquis took his plan very seriously, and Monsieur de Beuvre in his letters evidently concealed beneath a jesting tone an earnest desire for the realization of that plan.

Lauriane did not resolutely demand love in her dreams of marriage and of happiness; but she felt vaguely that it would be too hard to marry twice without knowing love. It seemed to her therefore that a cloud, still very light, but disquieting none the less, hovered over her present tranquillity and her delightful relations with the Beaux Messieurs de Bois-Doré.

She was reassured however on the following day.

Mario had slept soundly; the roses of childhood bloomed anew on his soft cheeks; his lovely eyes had recovered their angelic limpidity, and a smile of trustful happiness played about his lips. He had become a child once more.

As soon as he found that his father had recovered from his fatigue, that his Mercedes was comfortable, and everybody stirring, he ran to the stable to greet his little horse, to the village to inquire for everybody's health, then to the garden to spin his top, and to the farmyard to clamber over the charred ruins.

Then he returned to wait affectionately upon his dear Moor, and he was devoted in his attention to her so long as she was obliged to keep her chamber. But as soon as all anxiety on her account was dispelled, he became once more the happy and light-hearted Mario, by turns assiduous in his studies and eager in his play, whom Lauriane could love and caress chastely as before, without fear of the morrow.

This change was most fortunate for the exceptional temperament of that sweet child. If he had been subjected much longer to the violent shocks which had succeeded each other so rapidly during that critical night, he must inevitably have been driven mad or completely broken down.

It should be said, however, that in those days rougher manners tended to make men's natures more pliant, and consequently more capable of resistance. The nervous excitement to which so many precocious natures succumb to-day, was more violent, but less general and less lasting than as we know it.

Sensibility, more frequently aroused by the emotions of external life, grew dull more quickly, and the keen emotions gave place to that intense desire to live, no matter how, which is man's salvation in times of disturbance and unhappiness.

Thus the winter passed pleasantly and cheerfully at the château of Briantes.

They worked at the frames of the new farm buildings, awaiting the time when the weather would allow the masons to work. The moat was cleared and the wall repaired provisionally with stones laid without mortar; Adamas had finally succeeded in reëstablishing subterranean communication with the open country, and the marquis had purchased his future peace with the provincial courtiers and churchmen by restoring divers precious objects to certain chapels in the province, in the shape of voluntary gifts. He had begged Madame la Princesse de Condé to accept a number of jewels for herself, and Adamas had artfully concealed those which in his mind were destined to adorn Mario's future bride.

The greater part of the gold and silver coin which the marquis had in reserve was expended in rebuilding, and in renewing his stock of grain for his household and his poor vassals. He had also to replace the cattle they had lost; for the Beaux Messieurs de Bois-Doré could not endure poverty in their neighborhood.

Lastly, the famous treasure, the value of which had been so exaggerated, and which had been the moving cause of such great calamities and such odious persecution, ceased to cause scandal by ceasing to be kept in hiding. The doors of the mysterious apartment were opened and remained open, in the sight and knowledge of all the world.

They tried to make sure of Monsieur Poulain by offering him a part of the booty; but he was shrewd enough to refuse; indeed, it was not material wealth that he coveted, but power and influence. He desired, he said, not to possess, but to be. That is why he insisted upon having the Abbey of Varennes, a far from wealthy institution, situated in a veritable hollow of verdure, on the small river Gourdon.

He desired no more land than was required to support himself and two or three brethren of the order. What he coveted was the title of abbot, and an apparent withdrawal from the world, which would relieve him from the daily duties of the rectorship.

Within a month he was fully cured of his desire to renounce the world, and it was his most cherished dream to make sure of his title and his daily bread, so that he might have leisure to insinuate himself into the confidence of those in high station and bear a part in diplomatic affairs, as so many other men, less capable and less patient than he, had done.

Bois-Doré understood his variety of ambition, and gratified it with a good grace. He felt sure that monsieur le prince, who was a great secularizer of abbeys to his own profit, would sooner or later force the surrender of this one on ungenerous terms, and he could not hope for a better opportunity to set the prince's autocratic disposition and Monsieur Poulain's personal interests against each other.

So the rector was invested with the abbey in consideration of an exceedingly modest tribute, and he departed to obtain his bishop's permission to give up his living.

Thus Monsieur Poulain saw the first phase of his dream of the future realized. What he had predicted to D'Alvimar was beginning to come to pass. He made his way by artfully exploiting the question of dissent in religious matters in his neighborhood. D'Alvimar, starving for money and revenge, had fallen without profit and without honor; Monsieur Poulain, on the watch for discontent and for means of acquiring influence, exempt from other passions and quick to sacrifice his hatreds to his interests, entered the road by what he called the right gate. It was, at all events, the surest.

The non-appearance of little Pilar caused surprise. The marquis, being informed of the important commission which she had faithfully executed, would have been glad to reward her, and Lauriane said that she longed to rescue the wretched creature from her evil life. But no one knew what had become of her; they presumed that she had rejoined those of the gypsies who had escaped from the basse-cour.

The captured reitres had been transferred to Bourges. Their cases were summarily dealt with. Captain Macabre was sentenced to be hanged as a highwayman, rebel and traitor.

The marquis took pity on Bellinde, who was driven frantic by the hardships of her life in prison; he refused to testify against her, that is to say, he declared that she was not in her right mind. She was banished from the city and province, and forbidden ever to reappear there under pain of death.

The Moor was cured, and Lucilio, having witnessed her fortitude in suffering, which she endured with a sort of exalted joy, began to become very deeply attached to her. But he feared lest he should seem mad if he told her so, and their mutual affection, carefully concealed on both sides, spent itself on the children, Mario and Lauriane, with a sort of rivalry.

Madame Pignoux was handsomely rewarded, as was her faithful maid-servant. They had escaped harsh treatment by flight. The Geault-Rouge had escaped burning, thanks to the eagerness of the enemy to pursue their expedition.

At long intervals they received news of Monsieur de Beuvre. Those intervals were very painful to his daughter. It was the period when the people of La Rochelle and the nobles who had joined them became corsairs on the sea, and formed the audacious project of blockading the mouths of the Loire and the Gironde, in order to levy tribute on all the commerce of those streams. De Beuvre had hinted at a purpose to accompany Soubise in this perilous undertaking.

In her moments of grief Lauriane did not lack loving consolation; but none was so wonderfully ingenious and so untiring as Mario's. His loving heart and his delicate tact found comforting words whose sweet artlessness compelled Lauriane to smile through her tears; she could not resist the temptation to call Mario when the others failed to divert her mind from gloomy thoughts.

She would say to Mercedes:

"I do not know what spirit of light God has bestowed upon that child; but a trivial word from him does me more good than all the kind words of those who are more mature than he.—He is a mere child, however," she would add mentally, "and I am not old enough to love him with a mother's love. Ah! well, I know not how it happens that I cannot endure the thought of ceasing to live with him."

Early in April—1622—they received better news.

De Beuvre had happily thought better of his purpose to accompany Soubise, who had had very bad luck at the Isle of Rié, against the king in person. De Beuvre had confined himself to privateering on the coast of Gascogne—with profit and excellent health, he said.

But this same affair of the Isle of Rié was destined none the less to result unhappily for Lauriane and her friends at Briantes.

The Prince de Condé had hoped that the king would follow his advice and rush madly into danger. The king did not fail to do so; personal courage was the only virtue he had inherited from his father. But Condé was unfortunate: no bullet reached the king; his horse passed the shallows at low tide without encountering quicksands, and his majesty fought valiantly against the Huguenots with no resulting illness or even fatigue.

Moreover, while wielding his sword with ardor, Louis XIII., being wisely advised by his mother, who was wisely advised by Richelieu, opened his ears to suggestions of conciliation and to negotiations tending to put an end to the civil war.

Thus monsieur le prince, whose only desire was to mix up the cards, was sorely annoyed and discontented, and he replied to the letters he received from his government of Berry by honeyed letters overflowing with gall.

Among other acts of retaliation against the Huguenots in his province, although they had, as a general rule, been perfectly quiet, he ordered Monsieur de Beuvre's property to be sequestered, unless he should return to Berry within three days after the publication of the order.

It would have been very difficult for Monsieur de Beuvre, then at Montpellier, to reach his château in three days. At that epoch it would have required at least twice that length of time to advise him of the measures taken against him.

The lieutenant-general and Mayor of Bourges, Monsieur Pierre Biet, whose habit it was throughout his life to side with the strongest, and who had been a zealous Leaguer in his youth, determined to display his zeal, and decreed, on his own authority, that, Monsieur de Beuvre having failed to appear and explain his absence within the time allowed for such appearance, mademoiselle his daughter, Dame de Beuvre, de la Motte-Seuilly, etc., should be removed from her château and taken to a convent at Bourges, there to be instructed in the religion of the State.

LXIII

It was on a delightful evening in spring that Mario and Lauriane were strolling about the enclosure at Briantes, laughing together in tones as melodious as those of the nightingale, when they saw Mercedes running toward them in consternation.

"Come, come, my beloved lady," she said, throwing her arms about her young friend; "let us try to escape; they shall not take you until they have killed me."

"And what of me?" cried Mario, picking up his little rapier, Which he had thrown on the ground in order to play more freely. "But what is the matter, Mercedes?"

Mercedes had no time to explain. She knew that the outer tower was guarded by the provost's troops; she wished to try to return to the château with Lauriane hidden under her cloak, so that she could escape by the secret passage.

But it was an impossible undertaking, and Mario opposed it when he saw that the inner tower also was guarded.

While they were deliberating, the marquis was in dire distress: he had informed the provost's agents, who exhibited their commissions in proper form, that Madame de Beuvre had gone out in the saddle with his son. But when they demanded his word of honor and he pretended to be insulted by their suspicions, in order to avoid taking a false oath, their suspicions increased, and, while humbly asking his pardon, they stationed guards in the towers in the king's name, and proceeded to make a minute search of the house.

The provost's guard of La Châtre was not so numerous or so well equipped that a large force could be sent to Briantes. Moreover, officers and men alike obeyed their orders with reluctance and were very much averse to offending worthy Monsieur de Bois-Doré. But they were afraid of being denounced to monsieur le prince, who was much dreaded in the city and throughout the province.

So they did their duty conscientiously, hoping that Monsieur de Bois-Doré would threaten and resist; in which case, as perhaps they were not in sufficient force, they were all prepared and fully disposed to withdraw,—a not infrequent result of the differences between the provincial executive and recalcitrant provincial nobles.

The marquis realized the situation, and Aristandre gnawed his fists with impatience, awaiting the signal to fall upon the backs of the officers of the law. But Bois-Doré felt that it was a serious emergency, and that it was not simply a matter of thrashing the watch in some trivial dispute.

Monsieur de Beuvre was so deeply compromised that to take up his defence would inevitably be considered an act of rebellion against the royal authority; and under the circumstances, those gates were more effectually guarded in the king's name, in the eyes of every patriotic châtelain, than they would have been by a whole army.

Bois-Doré, despite his belligerent disposition, and despite the fact that he was an incorrigible Protestant at heart, had always, since the extinction of the Valois line, looked upon the king as the personification of France; and at this time, when the last efforts of the Reformed religion were on the point of betraying us to external enemies, unintentionally, doubtless, but inevitably, Bois-Doré was inspired by the genuine sentiment of nationality.

However he was resolved not to abandon his friend's daughter at any cost. He knew how the children of Protestant families were persecuted in the convents, and that Lauriane's courageous resistance would doubtless aggravate the harshness of that persecution. This new disaster must be averted by adroit management, and he appealed, by a furtive glance, to the fertile genius of Adamas.

Adamas went to and fro, heaping courtesies on the archers and scratching his head when no one was looking.

It occurred to him to flood the courtyard by opening the gates of the pond on that side, or to set fire to the château by means of a small quantity of firewood piled in the shed, at the risk of having to singe his beard a little in extinguishing it, when he had succeeded in frightening the enemy away; but in the midst of his perplexities Lauriane appeared, calm and haughty, leaning on the arm of the pale and pensive Mario.

The Moor followed them, weeping bitterly. Four of the provost's guards escorted them with due respect.

This is what had happened.

Lauriane had insisted upon being told what the matter was. She had realized at once that any resistance for the purpose of saving her would lay her friends open to the charge of high treason. She was well aware that her father had risked his head, and, when he went away, she had foreseen that her own liberty would be threatened one day or another. She had never mentioned the subject; but she was ready to submit to any fate rather than deny her opinions.

In vain did Mario and Mercedes passionately implore her to say nothing and to remain where she was: she raised her voice, declaring vehemently that she proposed to give herself up; and when the guards who were seeking her drew near the garden, she had already left it and was walking straight toward them.

They hesitated to take her into custody, her self-possession causing them to doubt if it were really she. But she named herself, saying:

"Do not put your hands upon me, messieurs; I give myself up voluntarily. Kindly permit me to go and bid my host adieu; please accompany me."

The marquis was deeply distressed by her appearance; yet he could not but admire the noble girl's great courage.

"Monsieur," he said to the lieutenant of the provost's guard, "you see that I am resigned to the necessity of obeying your commands, since such is madame's desire; but you surely will not be less honorable than she. You will permit me to drive her to Bourges in my carriage, with my son and his governess. I will take but two or three servants, and you can escort us and watch us as closely as you deem best."

So reasonable a request was readily granted, and the family had an hour in which to make their preparations for departure.

Lauriane gave her attention to that duty with wonderful self-possession. Mario, dismayed and dazed, as it were, allowed Adamas to dress him without a word. He was seated when his boots were put on, and seemed not to have sufficient strength to raise his little legs. Lucilio went to him and showed him these words, written in Italian: