She had some suspicions; but, while her father did not swear that he exaggerated nothing, he could at least give her his word of honor that he had proposed their betrothal to the marquis, and that he had evaded the proposal on the pretext that Mario was still too young to have the idea of love suggested to him. Lauriane was too pure to realize the risks she might have run by returning to Briantes. She remembered that, at the moment of parting from her, Mario, who was said to be ill, had shrugged his shoulders and turned his head away, saying:
"You make too much ado about a little cramp. I have no pain now."
So she said again to her father what she had said to him with all sincerity some time before, that she had never looked upon that marriage as a possibility; and she encouraged him to go away, as he desired to do, promising him that she would marry any suitable aspirant who did not inspire aversion in her.
But such an aspirant did not appear. All those whom Madame de la Trémouille presented to her failed to please her. She found in them the positivism which had invaded her father like a passion, but she found it in the form of cold and somewhat cynical selfishness. The halcyon days of the Reformation were passing away, like the social structure of the preceding century. The Reformed religion was heroic only under cruel persecution, and Richelieu, crushing the remains of the party by the inevitable logic of events, bore no resemblance to a persecutor. France said to the Protestants by his mouth: "Confine yourselves to religious liberty; let politics alone. Turn your faces with us against the enemies without the realm!"—The Protestants proposed to become a republic; they became a Vendée.
Save the French Puritans—that redoubtable, heroic, indomitable party, which stood at bay and immolated itself at La Rochelle two years later—all French Protestants were at this time inclined to adhere to the principle of French unity; but many had determined not to give in their adhesion until after a victory which should secure favorable and lasting terms for their party.
Now, among those who reasoned well, but who were about to be led on to reason ill and to choose between a foreign alliance and final extermination, the nobility were generally speaking less pure in their purposes than the bourgeoisie and the common people. They made reservations in their own interest; those most highly placed insisted upon being purchased, and translated their craving for religious liberty into a craving for offices and money.
Lauriane was intensely indignant at these numerous defections which were announced every day, or which awaited their turn in shameful anticipation. She had formed a more chivalrous idea of the honor of the party. She was forced now to recognize the fact that her father, whose greed had so humiliated her, was simply doing a little more tardily what most men of his age had done all their lives, and what most young men were eager to do in their turn. Still, Monsieur de Beuvre was one of the best; for he had no idea of betraying his flag. He simply made haste to make his bargain before the flag was dragged in the dust.
It was possible that Lauriane might fall in with an exception to the general rule. There were exceptions, for she herself was one. She did not fall in with them, perhaps because she was so pensive and distraught that she did not know how to look for them.
Youth and beauty are justifiably proud. They wait to be discovered and reveal naught themselves, because they dread to have the appearance of offering themselves.
Although we have hitherto done our utmost to follow our characters step by step through the ordinary life of the stay-at-home nobility, which our authorities enabled us to study with some care, we are forced now to pass over a brief interval of time, and to seek the Beaux Messieurs de Bois-Doré far from their peaceful domain.
It was in 1629, the first day of March, I believe. Mont Genèvre, covered with snow, presented a scene of extraordinary animation upon both slopes, and even to the very opening of the ravine called the Pas de Suse.
The French army was marching upon the Duc de Savoie, that is to say upon Spain and Austria, his trusty allies.
The king and the cardinal climbed the mountain in spite of the intense cold. The cannon were dragged up through the snow. It was one of those scenes of grandeur which the French soldier has always acted so magnificently amid the sublime grandeur of the Alps, under Napoléon as under Richelieu, and under Richelieu as under Louis XII., without diverting himself with attempts to dissolve the rocks, as Hannibal's genius is said to have done, and without other artifice than intrepid determination, ardor and cheerfulness.
In one of the paths trodden through the snow parallel with the road, two horsemen happened to be ascending side by side the precipitous slope of the mountain on the French side. One was a young man of some nineteen years, of robust frame and with a grace of movement most pleasant to behold under the becoming warlike costume of the age. So far as colors were concerned, the young man was dressed in accordance with his own fancy. His equipment and his weapons, as well as his isolation, indicated a gentleman making the campaign as a volunteer.
Mario de Bois-Doré—the reader will assume that it is he whom I am describing—was the comeliest cavalier in the whole army. The development of his youthful strength had in no wise diminished the wonderful charm of his noble and intelligent face. His expression was like an angel's in purity; but the sprouting beard reminded one that this youth with the divine glance was but a simple mortal; and that young moustache faintly outlined the curve of a smile, somewhat indifferent, perhaps, but with a cordial kindliness showing through its melancholy.
Magnificent brown hair, of a soft shade and curling naturally, framed the face to the neck, and fell in a heavy braid—the cadenette was more in vogue than ever—below the shoulder. The face wore a delicate flush, but was pale rather than ruddy. The exquisite distinction of manners and dress was the principal characteristic of that figure, which did not attract the glance, but from which the glance found it difficult to detach itself when it had rested upon it.
Such was the impression of the horseman whom chance had brought side by side with Mario.
The last-mentioned horseman was about forty years of age; he was thin and sallow, with regular features, very mobile lips, a piercing eye, and an expression of cunning tempered by a disposition to serious reflection. He was dressed in rather a problematical costume, all in black, and in a short cassock, like a priest on a journey, but armed and booted like a soldier.
His bony, active horse easily kept pace with his companion's ardent and impetuous steed.
The two horsemen had saluted each other without speaking, and Mario had slackened his pace to allow the other, as his senior, to ride first. The traveller seemed to appreciate that scrupulous courtesy, and declined to pass the younger man.
"In truth, monsieur," said Mario, "our horses seem to keep step, which fact proves the good-will of both, for I have difficulty in keeping mine to a pace which does not leave all the others behind, and I have had to give my companions a long start, in order not to reach the top of the pass before them."
"That which is a fault in your noble beast is a good quality in mine," replied the stranger. "As I almost always travel alone, I go my way without giving anyone reason to blame me for fatiguing my horse. But may I ask you, monsieur, where I have had the honor of seeing you? Your amiable face is not altogether strange to me."
Mario looked closely at him and said:
"The last time that I had the honor of seeing you was at Bourges, four years since, at the baptism of Monseigneur le Duc d'Enghien."
"Then you are really the young Comte de Bois-Doré?"
"Yes, Monsieur l'Abbé Poulain," replied Mario, putting his hand once more to his plumed hat.
"I am overjoyed to find you as you are, monsieur le comte," rejoined the rector of Briantes; "you have grown in stature, in attractiveness, and in merit as well, I can see by your manners. But do not call me abbé; for I am not one as yet, alas! and it is possible that I may never be."
"I know that Monsieur le Prince has always refused to assent to your appointment; but I thought——"
"That I had found something better than the Abbey of Varennes? Yes and no. While awaiting the opportunity to assume some title, I succeeded in leaving Berry, and chance attached me to the fortunes of the cardinal, in the service of Père Joseph, to whom I am devoted body and soul. I can say to you, between ourselves, that I am one of his messengers; and that is why I have a good horse."
"I congratulate you, monsieur. Père Joseph's service can call for no work that a patriotic Frenchman may not do, and the cardinal's fortune is the destiny of France."
"Do you really mean what you say, Monsieur Mario?" queried the priest with an incredulous smile.
"Yes, monsieur, on my honor!" the young man replied, with an accent of sincerity which overcame the diplomatic priest's suspicions. "I do not wish Monsieur le Cardinal to know that he has two cordial admirers in my father and myself; but do us the honor to believe that we are loyal enough to desire to serve the cause of the great minister and of the fair kingdom of France, with our hearts and bodies, as well as you, if we can."
"I believe in you implicitly," replied Monsieur Poulain, "but I have less faith in monsieur your father! For example, he did not send you to the siege of La Rochelle last year. You were still very young, I know; but younger men than you were there, and you must have chafed at having to miss the glorious rendezvous of all the young nobility of France."
"Monsieur Poulain," rejoined Mario, with some severity, "I thought that you were bound to my father by the ties of gratitude. All that he was able to do for you he did, and if the Abbey of Varennes has been secularized for the benefit of Monsieur le Prince, you can not blame my father, who was largely defrauded in that affair."
"Oh! I do not doubt it!" exclaimed Monsieur Poulain; "give me the Prince de Condé of all men to tangle up accounts! and I blame him and him alone. As for your father, monsieur le comte, let me tell you that I still love and esteem him infinitely. Far from having any thought of injuring him, I would give my life to know that he had devoted himself without mental reservation, to the Catholic cause."
"My father does not need to devote himself to the cause of his country, monsieur! I mean to say that he warmly embraces the cardinal's cause against all the enemies of France."
"Even against the Huguenots?"
"The Huguenots are no more, monsieur! Let us leave the dead in peace!"
Monsieur Poulain was impressed anew with the dignified expression of that sweet face. He felt that he was not dealing with an ambitious and frivolous youth, like others with whom he was familiar.
"You are right, monsieur," he said. "Peace to the ashes of the men of La Rochelle, and may God hear you, to the end that they may not come to life again at Montauban and elsewhere. Since your father has recovered so fully from his religious indifference, let us hope that he will, if need be, permit you to march against the rebels in the South."
"My father always has permitted me to follow my own inclination; but understand, monsieur, that it will never lead me to march against Protestants, unless I see that the monarchy is in great danger. Never will I draw the sword against Frenchmen, from ambition or vainglory; never can I forget that that cause, once glorious, now brought low, placed Henri IV. on the throne. You were reared in the spirit of the League, Monsieur Poulain, and now you are fighting against it with all your strength. You have changed from the wrong to the right, from the false to the true; I have lived and I shall die in the path upon which my feet were placed: loyalty to my country, detestation of intrigues with the foreigner. I am entitled to less credit than you, having never had occasion to change my views; but I promise you that I will do my best, and that while respecting freedom of conscience in others, I will fall with all my strength upon the allies of Monsieur de Savoie."
"You forget that they are the allies of the Reformed religion to-day."
"Say of Monsieur de Rohan! Thereby Monsieur de Rohan is consummating the ruin of his party; and that is why I said to you: Peace to the dead!"
"Well, well!" said Père Joseph's trusted agent, "I see that, like the excellent marquis, you have a romantic mind, and that you will be guided, according to his example, by sentiment. May I, without indiscretion, inquire for the health of monsieur your father?"
"You will soon see him in person, monsieur. He will be glad to see you. He is riding ahead, and we shall overtake him within a quarter of an hour."
"What do you say? Monsieur de Bois-Doré, at seventy-five or eighty years of age——"
"Takes the field against the enemies and assassins of Henri IV.! Does that surprise you, Monsieur Poulain?"
"No, my child," replied the ex-Leaguer, now become, by the force of events, a continuator and admirer of the policy of the Béarnais; "but it seems to me that he is a little late in setting about it!"
"What would you have, monsieur? he did not choose to take the field all alone; he waited for the King of France to set the example."
"Faith," said Monsieur Poulain with a smile, "you have an answer for everything! I long to salute the marquis's noble old age! But it is impossible to trot here. Pray tell me of a man to whom I owe my life: Master Lucilio Giovellino, otherwise called Jovelin, the great bag-piper."
"He is happy, thank heaven! He has married my dearest friend, and they are doing us the favor to take charge of our house and our property during our absence."
"Your dearest friend? Do you refer to Mercedes, the beautiful Moor? I should have supposed that you preferred to her—with feelings of a different nature, it is true—a younger and even lovelier friend."
"Do you mean Madame de Beuvre?" rejoined Mario, with a frankness in striking contrast to Monsieur Poulain's insinuating curiosity. "I can readily answer you as I would answer the whole world. She is, in very truth, a person whom I loved fervently in my childhood, and whom I shall respect all my life; but her affection for me is very placid, and you may question me concerning her without reserve."
"Is she not married yet?"
"I have no idea, monsieur. As we have been travelling for several months, we have little news of our friends at a distance."
Monsieur Poulain scrutinized Mario by stealth. He had the tranquillity of a broken heart, but not the prostration of a hopeless soul.
"Do you not know," said the rector, "that Monsieur de Beuvre was with the English fleet before La Rochelle?"
"I know that he was killed there, and that Lauriane has no one but herself to depend upon."
"She was in Poitou when the Duc de Trémouille, after the desertion of the English, went to the king's camp to abjure his heresy."
"She did not accompany him there!" said Mario, hastily. "She asked permission to share the captivity of the heroic Duchesse de Rohan, who refused to submit; and, having failed to obtain that favor, she was preparing to return to Berry when we left our province."
"I knew all that," said Monsieur Poulain, who seemed, in truth, to be well posted upon all subjects.
"If you did not know it," Mario replied, "I should not regret having told you. Surely you would not furnish the Prince de Condé with a new pretext for confiscating Madame de Beuvre's property?"
"No, indeed!" replied the rector laughing outright, with a sort of cordiality. "You reason well, and a man may, without great risk, be as frank as you are, when he knows his companions. But have entire confidence in me, for I have broken entirely with the Jesuits, at my risk and peril!"
Monsieur Poulain spoke the truth.
A few moments later he was in the Marquis de Bois-Doré's presence, and the interview was very civil—almost friendly—on both sides.
The marquis did not need to convoke the ban and arrière-ban in order to raise a small troop of volunteers. His best men, sure of being well rewarded, had followed him enthusiastically.
The intrepid Aristandre took a keen personal delight in the idea of thrashing messieurs the Spaniards, whom he detested in memory of Sancho; the faithful Adamas rode a gentle palfrey in the rear-guard, and carried in his saddle-bags his master's perfumes and curling-tongs, nothing more!
Save for a touch of the tongs to what little hair was still left on his neck, and a little scented water for his own enjoyment, the marquis was as simple in his toilet as he had formerly been dazzling. No more wigs, no more paint, almost no lace, embroidery and purl; simply an ample doublet of woolen cloth, with open sleeves, short-clothes of the same material extending below the knee, boots fitting tight to the leg, with plain linen ruffles falling over the tops, a broad unembroidered neckband, and over the whole an immense, thick fur-lined cloak—such was the costume of the Beau Monsieur de Bois-Doré.
The metamorphosis can be explained in a few words.
Mario had fought a duel to discipline an impertinent knave who in his presence had made sport of the marquis's plaster mask, black hair and innumerable bows and buckles. Mario had dealt severely with his adversary—it was his first affaire!—but Bois-Doré, being informed of the episode after it was over, did not choose to expose his son to a repetition of it. Suddenly, and without a word to any one, he abandoned his dye and his wig one day on the pretext that Monsieur de Richelieu was justified in proscribing luxury, and that everyone should set a good example. Being thus resigned to appear old and ugly, he heroically appeared before his family. But to his great surprise they all uttered an exclamation of pleasure, and the Moor artlessly said to him:
"Ah! how handsome you are, master! I thought you much older than you are!"
The fact is that the marquis was exceedingly well preserved under his mask, and was extraordinarily handsome considering his great age. He did not know—he was not likely to know—what infirmities were. He still retained his teeth; his ample, bald forehead was furrowed by graceful wrinkles, without a trace of malice or hatred; his moustache and royale, white as snow, stood out against his yellowish-brown complexion, and his great eye, keen and laughing, still shone mildly through his long, bushy, bristling eyebrows.
He was still erect as a young poplar, and stiff in proportion; but he no longer shrank from placing his foot in Aristandre's powerful hand to mount his horse. Once in the saddle, he was as firm as a rock.
Thereafter he received so many sincere compliments upon his beautiful old age, that he changed his whole system of coquetry: instead of concealing his age, he exaggerated it, representing himself as eighty years old although he was but seventy-seven, and taking the keenest pleasure in astonishing his young comrades-in-arms by his tales of the old wars, long buried in the archives of his memory.
On the 3d of March—that is to say on the second day after the meeting of the Beaux Messieurs de Bois-Doré with Monsieur Poulain—the royal vanguard, consisting of ten or twelve thousand picked men, camped at Chaumont, the last village on the frontier. The volunteers, having no materials for a camp, passed the night as best they could in the village.
The marquis tranquilly retired in the first bed that came to hand, and fell asleep like a man inured to the trade of war, who knew how to make the best of the hours of repose, to sleep for one hour when he had but one, and for twelve, to provide against emergencies, when he had nothing better to do.
Mario, intensely excited and impatient to fight, sat up with several, young men, volunteers like himself, with whom he had become acquainted on the road.
It was in a wretched inn, the common room of which was so crowded that one could hardly turn about, and so filled with tobacco smoke that men could not recognize one another.
While the regular troops were as sedate and silent as the most rigid community of monks, the bands of volunteers were merry and uproarious. They drank and laughed and sang obscene songs, recited erotic or amusing verses; they talked of politics and love-making; they quarreled and embraced.
Mario sat by the fireplace dreaming, amid the uproar. Close beside him stood Clindor, become as stout-hearted a youth as his master, but somewhat awed to find himself surrounded by the nobility. He took no part in the noisy conversation; but he was burning to muster courage to do so, while Mario's reverie was cradled by the tumult, which neither tempted nor annoyed him.
Suddenly Mario saw a creature of most extraordinary aspect enter the room. It was a small, thin, dark girl, dressed in an incomprehensible costume; five or six skirts of brilliant hues, each one shorter than the next below; a waist glistening with tinsel and spangles, a quantity of multi-colored plumes in her crimped and curled hair, innumerable necklaces and gold and silver chains; she was covered with bracelets, rings, and glass ornaments, to her very shoes.
That strange creature was of no age. She might have been a precocious child or a worn-out woman. She was very small, ugly when she chose to smile and talk like other people, beautiful when she flew into a temper, which latter seemed to be with her a constant necessity or a normal condition. She insulted the inn-servants because they did not serve her quickly enough, swore at the troopers because they did not make room for her, clawed those who tried to take liberties with her, and retorted with indescribable blasphemy upon those who made sport of her absurd costume and her savage humor.
Mario was wondering with what purpose so shrewish a creature had introduced herself into such company, when a stout woman with a pimply face, absurdly bedizened with wretched gewgaws, also entered the room, laden with boxes like a mule, and called for silence. She had some difficulty in obtaining it, but at last delivered in French a sort of announcement, overflowing with hyperbolical laudation of her companion, the incomparable Pilar, Moorish dancer and infallible soothsayer, possessed of all the learning of the Arabs.
That name Pilar aroused Mario from his lethargy. He examined the two gypsies, and, despite the change that had taken place in them, recognized in one the pupil, victim and executioner of the miserable La Flèche; in the other the ex-Bellinde of Briantes, the ex-Proserpine of Captain Macabre, now styling herself Narcissa Bobolina, lute-player, dealer in laces, and on occasion mender and plaiter of ruffles.
The company assented to an exhibition of the talents proclaimed. Bellinde played the lute with more energy than correctness, and the dancer, for whom they made room by climbing on the tables, gave a display of epileptic agility, her extraordinary suppleness and energetic grace winning frantic applause from an assemblage already much excited by wine, tobacco and discussion.
Pilar's success with those inflamed imaginations simply intensified Mario's disgust, and he was about to retire; but he had sufficient curiosity to listen to the predictions which she was beginning to make on general subjects, while waiting for someone to ask her to reveal the secret of his future.
"Speak, speak, young sibyl!" was the cry on all sides. "Shall we be lucky in war? Shall we force the Pas de Suse to-morrow?"
"Yes, if you are in a state of grace," she replied disdainfully; "but as there is not a man among you who is not covered with mortal sins as with blotches of leprosy, I am sorely afraid for your soft white skins!"
"Stay," said someone, "we have here a chaste and gentle stripling, an angel from heaven, Mario de Bois-Doré! Let him begin the test and question the soothsayer."
"Mario de Bois-Doré?" cried Pilar, her sparkling eyes becoming dull and lifeless. "He is here, you say? where? where? Show him to me!"
"Come, Bois-Doré," they shouted on all sides, "do not hide your face, but hold out your hands."
Mario came forth from his corner and showed himself to the two women, one of whom darted forward to grasp his hand, while the other turned her head away as if to avoid being recognized.
"I saw you, Bellinde," said Mario to the latter; "and as for you, Pilar," he added, withdrawing his hand, which she seemed to wish to put to her lips, "look at my lines, that is enough."
"Mario de Bois-Doré!" cried Pilar, suddenly losing control of herself, "I know them well enough, the lines in your fatal hand! I studied them carefully enough long ago. I never told your fortune; it is too cruel and too unhappy."
"And I know your science," retorted Mario, shrugging his shoulders. "It depends on your whim, your hatred, your folly."
"Very well, put it to the test!" cried Pilar, more and more incensed; "and if you do not believe in my science, do not fear to listen to your sentence. To-morrow, my pretty Mario, you will sleep on your back, on the edge of a ditch; but to no purpose will your lovely eyes be open and staring, you will never again see the light of the stars."
"Because there will be clouds in the sky," observed Mario, undisturbed.
"No, the weather will be fair; but you will be dead!" said the sibyl, wiping the cold perspiration from her forehead with her hair. "Enough! let no one else question me! I shall say things that are too harsh to all of you here!"
"You will take back your words, you wicked she-devil!" cried the young man who had procured for Mario the pleasure of this agreeable prophecy. "Do not let her leave the room, friends! These infernal witches lead us into death by the confusion they sow in our minds. They are the cause of our losing, in the face of danger, the confidence that saves. Let us compel her to swallow her words and to confess that she said them from pure deviltry."
Pilar, supple as a snake, had already glided from the room. Some ran after her. Bellinde fled by another door.
"Let them go," said Mario. "They are two venomous beasts whose story I will tell you some other time. I am not at all disturbed by the prediction; I have paid for my knowledge of what that noble science is worth!"
They pressed Mario with questions.
"To-morrow," he said, "after the battle, after my threatened death! Permit me now to go to see if my father is carefully guarded by his people; for I know one of those women, perhaps both of them, to be quite capable of seeking to injure him."
"And we," replied his young friends, "will make a circuit of the village to be sure that there is no band of thieving, murdering gypsies in hiding anywhere."
They made the circuit with great care. It seemed quite useless, the regular camp having sentries posted and vigilant patrols who covered all the neighborhood to a considerable distance. They learned from the villagers that the two women had arrived alone on the preceding day and lodged in a house which they pointed out. They declared that the women were then in the house, and Mario did not consider it necessary to set a watch upon them. It was enough in his judgment, to guard the house in which his father was.
The night passed very quietly; too quietly for the liking of the impatient young gentlemen, who hoped to be awakened by the signal for battle. But they were disappointed. The Prince of Piedmont, brother-in-law of Louis XIII., had come on behalf of the Duc de Savoie to open negotiations, and the conferences effected a suspension of hostilities to the great dissatisfaction of the French army.
The following day passed in feverish suspense, and the gypsy's prediction, having come to naught, ceased to alarm Mario's friends.
The two vagabonds had packed up and passed through the vanguard on their way to France, there to ply their wandering trade. There was no fear that they would be allowed to retrace their steps. The cardinal had issued the strictest orders that all women and children, and especially women of disorderly lives, should be rigorously excluded from the camp-followers. Lewd women, gypsies, dancing girls and sorceresses were threatened with death if caught within the lines.
During the evening of the 4th of March, Mario was called upon to narrate the adventures of big Bellinde and little Pilar. He did it in a clear and simple way that drew upon him the attention of all who were present. Hitherto his modesty had prevented him from attracting notice: his interesting narrative, and the touching, natural, and at the same time entertaining way in which he told it caused his delighted comrades to forget the pleasures of the gaming-table and the advanced hour.
He might, had he chosen, have told the whole story of his life; but an indescribable feeling of timidity made him omit any mention of Lauriane's name.
It was after midnight when they separated. Each group repaired at once to the more or less execrable lodgings it had secured, and Mario was standing with Clindor at the door of his own lodgings, when a vague shadow, crouching on the threshold, rose and came toward him.
It was Pilar.
"Mario," she said, "do not be afraid of me. I have never injured you, and I have no reason to wish your old father ill. I do not espouse Bellinde's hatred of you."
"Does Bellinde still hate my father?" said Mario. "Has she forgotten that he saved her from being hanged as Captain Macabre was?"
"Yes, Bellinde has forgotten it, or perhaps she never knew it; but it is too late to tell her of it, and she doesn't hate anyone now."
"What do you mean?"
"That I have done to her what she wanted to do to you."
"What was that? Tell me!"
"No, Mario, it's of no use; you would not love me any more for it; and you hate me now, I know."
"I hate no one," replied Mario; "I hate evil, and evil instincts horrify me. You have retained yours, unfortunate girl! I knew it yesterday, when you took a frantic delight in trying to disturb my mind. You will never succeed, you may as well understand that and leave me in peace; it is better for you that I forget you."
"Listen, Mario," exclaimed Pilar half aloud, in a choking voice. "This is not the way to treat me. Really, it is not, if you love anyone on earth! for I love you and I have always loved you. Yes, in the days when we were equally poor, sleeping on the same heather and begging on the same road, I was in love with you. I was born so; I cannot remember a single day in my whole life when I was not consumed by the passion of love or hatred. I never had any childhood! I was born of flame and I shall die of flame, a genuine spark from the stake! What does it matter? Even so, I am worth more to you than your Lauriane, who has always despised you and who will never love anything but her old heretics—luckily for her! Yes, luckily for her, I tell you! for I know all about both of your lives. I have been twice in your province, and one day I passed close to you without your recognizing me. You tossed me a small coin. See, here it is at my neck, concealed under my necklaces as my most precious treasure; I made a hole in it, and I wrote your name on it with the point of a knife. It is my talisman. When I no longer have it, I shall die!"
"Come, come," said Mario, "enough of this nonsense! What do you want now? Why did you return here at the peril of your life, and why did you wait for me at this door? Give me back that coin, and take these gold pieces which you may need."
"Keep your gold, Mario; I do not need it; I wish to keep and I shall keep your pledge, although you blush to know that your name is written on my breast. I have come here to tell you my story, and you must listen to it."
"Tell it quickly then; it is very cold and I am sleepy."
"I wish to tell it to you alone, and your page is listening. Come outside the walls with me."
"No, my page is sleeping against the door. Speak here, and make haste, or I leave you."
"Listen then, I shall soon have told it all. You know that my father was hanged and my mother burned!"
"Yes, I remember that you often told me so. Well?"
"Well, La Flèche brought me up to torment me. It was he who broke my bones to make me more flexible, and carried me about in a cage to make me ill and frantic. He exhibited me like a wild beast that bites everybody."
"But you took a horrible revenge upon him, did you not?"
"Yes, I suffocated him with sand and stones and dirt, when he was calling: 'Help! I am thirsty! I am thirsty!'—One of his arms still moved, and he tried to choke me with it. But, at the risk of my life, I forced what life he had left down his throat. Didn't I owe him that? Wasn't it my right? You would have saved him perhaps, and he would have paid you like Bellinde, who, but for me, would have succeeded in poisoning you all yesterday, you and your father and your servants, in order, so she said, to fulfil the prediction I had made before witnesses, and to protect my fame as a soothsayer."
"And then you——"
"I owed her that, too! Listen, listen to my story! After avenging myself on La Flèche, I hid in the pavilion in your garden. I had seen that you were angry with me, and I was waiting for your anger to pass. I thought that you would look for me, that you would be anxious about me, and would keep me in your château to love me. But toward evening, you came there with your Lauriane, and you told her that you hated me and I heard every word! Then I dropped a stone on her to kill her, and I hid myself. But you thought the stone had fallen of itself and you left me there.
"I passed the night there, dying with cold and hunger. I was in a frenzy of rage; that kept me up. I cursed you both; I cursed myself for having offended you. I meant to let myself die; but I had not the courage, and as I wanted nothing more of you, whom I believed that I hated, I went to Brilbault to get Sancho's money, which La Flèche had made me steal two or three months before, at La Caille-Bottée's house.
"In those days I didn't know the value of money, and I hated La Flèche so bitterly that I gave it all back to Sancho, who had hidden it so carefully that he was able to manage the gypsies with promises and a few crowns from time to time. But I knew where he had buried his treasure, and there was a good deal of it left; a good deal to me, at least, I needed so little. I divided it into several parts and hid them in different places.
"I had taken it into my head that I could live alone without being dependent on anybody, and wander all over the world at will, child that I was! But I soon got tired of it, and as I happened to fall in with Bellinde, who was flying from the country, with her head shaved and in a miserable plight, I told her that I had some little hidden treasures, but was very careful not to tell her where they were! Oh! how she flattered me, tormented me, made me tipsy and questioned me even in my sleep, trying to find out! She never lost the hope of extorting my secret from me; that is why she became my mother and my servant, always fawning on me and betraying me. Ah! yes, she betrayed me shamefully! She sold me, she abandoned me when I was still a child; and when, later, I realized and felt my shame, I swore that I would be revenged upon her when I no longer needed her. Now, the crows are feeding oh her flesh, and it was a righteous deed, God knows!"
"You are a wretched, horrible girl!" said Mario. "Now have you finished?"
"Now, I want you to love me, Mario, or I will avenge myself on your Lauriane, whom you still love, I know that; for you didn't choose to speak of her to your comrades in the inn just now. Oh! I was there too, hidden in the garret, where I heard all the evil you said of me."
"Since you heard all, how can you be mad enough to ask me to love you?"
"I am not mad! One can pass from hatred to love, I know by my own experience. You abhor and adore at the same time. Besides, you admitted that I had fine eyes now, and slender arms, and a sort of diabolical beauty. That is what you said at the inn just now. And many of those gentlemen offered me the night before money to buy other silk skirts and other ear-rings, because, beautiful or ugly, I had turned their heads. But I want nothing from them and nothing from you! I still have money hidden in Berry, and I can go there when I choose. Beware, Mario! Your Lauriane will answer to me for you. Take me with you, or renounce her."
"As you confess your evil purposes so boldly, I arrest you," said Mario.
He tried to seize her, being determined to turn her over to the camp authorities; but he seized nothing but her scarf: the girl herself, fleeter and more unsubstantial than the clouds driven by the wind, eluded him and vanished. He pursued her and might have caught her, for he too knew how to run; but he had hardly turned the corner when the bugles sounded boots and saddles; it was the signal of departure for the long-expected battle.
Mario forgot the wild threats that had excited him and hastened to his father, who was hurriedly dressing.
At daybreak the whole army was on the march.
"The Pas de Suse is a gorge about a quarter of a league in length, in some places less than twenty paces wide, and obstructed here and there by fallen rocks. The tergiversation of the Prince of Piedmont had had no other purpose than to delay the advance of our army for a few days. The enemy had used the interval to good advantage in strengthening their position.
"The gorge was intersected by three strong barricades protected by bastions and ditches. The cliffs commanding it on each side were alive with soldiers, and protected by small redoubts.
"Lastly, the cannon of Fort Tallasse, built on a neighboring mountain, swept the open space between Chaumont and the entrance to the gorge. It was one of those positions where it seems possible for a handful of men to check the advance of an army.
"Nothing, however, could check the furie française."[10]
So many accomplished historians have described this glorious action, that we shrink from attempting the task after them; it is not our business to write history according to official facts, but to seek it in episodes that have been overlooked. That is why we shall follow the Beaux Messieurs de Bois-Doré through the carnage, and not allow ourselves to be dazzled by the majesty of the picture as a whole. An additional reason for adopting this course is that they had little leisure to contemplate it themselves.
It was a magnificent scene: a combat of heroes on a sublime stage!
The first cannon-shot awoke echoes of intense excitement in Mario's heart. How he passed the first barricade, whether upon a winged horse or "upon the fiery breath of the god Mars himself;" how he forgot his sworn promise to his father not to leave his side, he never knew. All the passion of his soul, all the fever in his blood, ordinarily restrained by modesty and filial love, produced a sort of volcanic eruption within him.
He even forgot for a moment that his father was following him into the very midst of the fray, and, in order not to lose sight of him, was exposing himself to no less risk.
Aristandre was there, it is true, stationed like a marble wall about his master; but Mario, when the fighting was most desperate, turned more than once to look for the old man's gray plume, which towered above all the rest, and each time, as he saw it waving still, he thanked God and trusted to his lucky star.
The whole affair was carried through so impetuously that it did not cost France the lives of fifty men. It was one of those miraculous days when every man has faith, and when nothing is impossible.
The position carried, Mario was galloping along the Suse road in pursuit of the fugitives, among whom was the Duc de Savoie in person, when he saw a masked horseman riding toward him at full speed on his right.
"Halt, halt!" he shouted; "the king's service before everything! Take my despatches! I know you; I trust you!"
As he spoke, the horseman slipped from his horse in a swoon, while the horse himself, utterly exhausted, fell on his knees.
Mario was the only one of the young men who had the self-restraint to renounce the opportunity to display his prowess farther; he leaped from his horse and picked up the sealed package which the courier had dropped.
But as he was about turning back toward the royal camp, a party of armed men, who seemed not to have taken part in the action, and who were evidently pursuing the messenger without regard to where they were going, suddenly appeared at Mario's right and rode toward him, shouting in Italian that his life would be spared if he surrendered the package without giving the alarm.
Mario shouted for help with all his strength. No one heard him. His father was still far behind, his companions already far ahead. He fired his carbine to attract attention, and, to avoid wasting his shot, aimed it at his assailants, one of whom rolled in the dust. Mario did not wait for the others. He had remounted, and rode away like an arrow, amid a hailstorm of bullets, some of which lodged in his hat, others in the bank by the road.
He heard a tumult behind him, yells, shots. He paid no heed and did not turn.
He had not seen the messenger's face or recognized his voice. He regretted having to abandon to the enemy a man who might be useful. But if was of the utmost importance to save the despatches, and it was only by a miracle that he saved them.
His retrograde course surprised those whom he met; At a short distance from the royal headquarters, he met his father, who was alarmed to see him pass thus without stopping, and supposed that he was wounded and that his horse was running away.
But Mario shouted: "Nothing! nothing!" and vanished in a cloud of dust.
At first he was turned away from the king's tent; he at once determined upon his course of action and hastened to the cardinal's.
The cardinal had already been exposed to so many attempts at assassination that it was no easy matter to obtain access to him. But the despatches which Mario waved above his head, and the excellent young man's winning countenance suddenly inspired the great minister with entire confidence. He summoned him to his presence and took the package, which Mario, in his haste, did not think to present to him with one knee on the ground.
[10]Henri Martin, History of France.
The cardinal read the despatch.
It contained some good news: perhaps a report of the small number of troops that Gonzalez of Cordova had before Casal; perhaps of a conspiracy of the queens against the power which saved France.
Whatever it may have been, the cardinal folded the despatch with a shrewd smile and looked up at Mario, saying:
"Propitious fate has ordained everything so well to-day, that it has chosen an archangel for messenger. Who are you, monsieur, and how does it happen that you are the bearer of such a despatch?"
"I am a volunteer," Mario replied. "I took this despatch from the hand of a dying man, which was held out to me in the midst of our pursuit of the enemy. He said to me: 'The king's service before everything.'—I could not obtain access to the king, so I thought I would seek access to your eminence."
"So you thought that it was all the same, in the sense that the king can have no secrets from the minister?"
"I thought that he should have none," replied Mario, calmly.
"What is your name?"
"Mario de Bois-Doré."
"Your age?"
"Nineteen years."
"Were you at La Rochelle?"
"No, monseigneur."
"Why not?"
"I do not care to fight against those of the Reformed religion."
"Are you one of them?"
"No, monseigneur."
"But you approve of them?"
"I pity them."
"If you have any favor to ask of me, do it quickly, for time is precious."
"Give us days like this often, that is all that I ask," replied Mario; and, in his eagerness not to waste the cardinal's time, he took his leave without observing that His Eminence was inclined to speak further with him.
But other duties demanded the great minister's attention. He turned to something else and forgot Mario.
On the following day, as they were pitching their camp at Suse, Mario thought that he saw Monsieur Poulain pass dressed as a countryman. He called him, but received no reply.
Monsieur Poulain was in hiding, according to his custom. Being regularly employed upon secret missions, the ex-rector showed his face as little as possible in certain localities, and never appeared openly in the presence of the eminent personages who employed him.
While the king—that is to say the cardinal—was receiving the Duc de Savoie's submission at Suse, which ceremony necessarily lasted several days, the marquis was reposing after his excitement.
Although Richelieu's campaigns in nowise resembled the partizan warfare of his youthful days, Bois-Doré had borne himself as tranquilly as if he had never left the battle-field; but it had been a rude shock to him to see Mario subjected to that test. In the first place, he had been afraid that Mario would not come up to his hopes; for, since the terrible night of the attack upon Briantes and Sancho's death, Mario had often exhibited much repugnance for bloodshed. Sometimes, indeed, when he saw how little interest he took in the siege of La Rochelle, which excited all the youthful minds in their neighborhood, the marquis, although well satisfied with his principles, had been somewhat afraid of his prudence. But when he saw him rushing upon the Spaniards and climbing over the redoubts in the Pas de Suse, he thought him far too rash, and asked pardon of God for bringing him there. At last, however, he had recovered confidence, and, upon learning of the episode of the despatch, he wept for joy and chattered with pleasure in the bosom of the faithful Adamas.
Adamas attracted attention in the town by his arrogant airs and his utter contempt for everybody except Monsieur le Marquis and Monsieur le Comte de Bois-Doré. Aristandre was well pleased to have killed many Piedmontese, but he would have liked to kill more Spaniards. Clindor had not behaved badly. He was terribly frightened at the beginning, but he said that he was all ready to go through it again.
But Mario, amid the gratification of all his dear ones, was oppressed by profound disquietude. Although he despised vain predictions, and had passed through his baptism of fire without thinking of them, he trembled at the recollection of a foolish threat, and Pilar appeared again and again in his dreams, as the spirit of evil, in the guise of an invisible and intangible enemy. He learned, to his cost, that the weakest adversaries may, by a perseverance of hatred, become the most formidable. He had Lauriane constantly before his eyes; it seemed to him that she was threatened by some terrible danger. He took his fears for presentiments.
One morning he returned to Chaumont, as if for exercise. He inquired for the little gypsy to no purpose. He rode over to Mont Genèvre, and learned that a woman's body had been found there on the morning of the 3d of March. At first they had thought that she was frozen to death; but when they buried her they noticed that her lips and her neckerchief bore the marks of burning, as if she had been forced to swallow some corrosive poison. The mountaineers who gave Mario this information proposed to show him the body. They had buried it in the snow temporarily, the ground being frozen so hard that a grave could not easily be dug.
Mario at once identified the body as Bellinde's. So Pilar had told the truth. She had disposed of her companion; she might by the same means dispose of her rival.
Mario returned to Suse at full speed and told his father the whole story.
"Let me go to Briantes," he said. "Await me here to continue the campaign, if it is to be continued. If a definitive treaty is signed, you will know it in a few days, and will join me at home, without haste and without tiring yourself. I can go more quickly alone, quickly enough to arrive before that detestable creature, who has neither the means nor the power to travel by post."
The marquis consented. Mario instantly made his arrangements to start the next day with Clindor.
During the evening Monsieur Poulain visited them, with the utmost precaution. He was in most excellent spirits, and, at the same time, most mysterious.
"Monsieur le marquis," he said to Bois-Doré, when he was alone with him and Mario, "I owed you much before, and I shall owe my fortune to your amiable son! The valuable despatch of which I was the bearer, and which he succeeded in saving, assures me a less dangerous and more honorable place in the confidence of Père Joseph, that is to say, of the cardinal. I have come to pay my debt, and to inform you that your sole ambition is gratified. The king confirms your claim to the marquisate of Bois-Doré, on the sole condition that you shall construct somewhere on your domains a house to which you shall give that name, and which shall, by royal letters patent, be made transmissible to your heirs and their descendants. His eminence hopes that you will continue to serve in his army, if the war continues, and he will avail himself of his first leisure moment to summon you to his presence, in order to congratulate you upon the courage and devotion of the old man and the child; I ask your pardon, those were his words. Monsieur le cardinal noticed you both in the charge, and he afterward inquired your names. He was also particularly gratified with you, monsieur le comte, because you asked him simply for more fighting as your reward. I had the honor to appear before him in my humble person, and to tell him the story of my perils and your own, not forgetting that, at eleven years of age, you killed with your own hand your father's murderer; and lastly I reminded him that he was indebted for the receipt of news that was no less advantageous than agreeable to him to this same child, who is as shrewd and intelligent as he is brave. So you have a good start, Monsieur Mario. Humble as I am, I will help you forward with all my strength if opportunity offers."
Despite the marquis's very earnest desire to present Mario to the cardinal, Mario refused to await the uncertain fulfilment of the promise of an audience.
Having warmly thanked Abbé Poulain—he told them under his breath, with a smile, that they might call him so thenceforth,—Mario, happy in the joy of his father and Adamas because of the famous marquisate, threw himself on his bed, slept a few hours, embraced his old friends once more, and started for France at daybreak.
Mario attempted to travel too fast. Although he had an admirable horse, he thought that he would do better to travel by post at full speed, and his own strength failed him. He had received a slight wound in the affair of the Pas de Suse, and had carefully concealed it; the wound became inflamed, he was attacked by fever, and when he reached Grenoble fell helpless on his bed. Clindor, in dismay, discovered that he was delirious.
The poor page ran to fetch a doctor. He was not skilful; he irritated the wound still more by his remedies. Mario was very ill. His impatience and disappointment at being thus delayed aggravated his condition. Clindor decided to send a messenger to the marquis; but he lost his head and sent him to Nice instead of to Suse.
One evening when he was weeping in desperation on the landing outside the room in which Mario lay helpless, he thought that he heard him talking to himself and hastily entered the room.
Mario was not alone; a slender, pale-faced creature, dressed in red, was leaning over him as if to question him.
Clindor was afraid. He thought that the devil had come to torment his poor young master's last moments, and he was trying to remember some formulas of exorcism, when by the dim light of the night lamp he recognized Pilar.
His fear increased. He had overheard her conversation with Mario at Chaumont. He knew therefore that she loved him to frenzy. He believed that she was entirely under the influence of Satan, and fear produced its accustomed effect upon him, that is to say it made him brave; he threw himself upon her, sword in hand, and nearly wounded Mario, whom Pilar exposed as she avoided the blow.
He was not able to strike a second time; Pilar disarmed him, he knew not how, jumping upon him so quickly and unexpectedly that he was forced to fall back.
"Be quiet, stupid idiot that you are!" she said; "I did not come here to injure Mario, but to save him: don't you know that I love him, and that his life is mine? Do what I bid you do, and in two days he will be on his feet."
Clindor, not knowing which way to turn, and realizing that the charlatan whom he had summoned made the patient worse with each new prescription, yielded to Pilar's ascendancy. Despite the fear she caused him, she acted upon his will by virtue of a fascination which he did not admit, but which he could not shake off. At times he trembled to entrust Mario's life to her, but he obeyed, saying to himself that he was bewitched by her.
In Mario's case the fever was simply a result of nervous irritation: a day of repose would have cured his wound. But the physician had applied a healing ointment which produced the effect of poison throughout his whole system.
Pilar washed and purified the wound. She possessed those secrets of the Moors to which the Christians of Spain had recourse as a last resort. She administered powerful antidotes. The purity of the patient's blood and the wonderful equilibrium of his constitution seconded the effect of the remedies. He partly recovered consciousness that same night; and on the following morning he was no longer delirious. In the evening, although terribly weak, he felt that he was saved.
In his transports of joy, Clindor unconsciously made a declaration of love to the clever gypsy. She paid no heed whatever. She concealed herself behind the head of the bed so that Mario might not see her. She was well aware that her appearance would agitate him.
Two days later, Mario felt so fully restored that he ordered Clindor to look about for a post-chaise which he could purchase, so that they might continue their journey. Clindor, seeing that it was too soon, pretended that he could not find one, whereupon Mario bade him bring horses for them to ride.
Clindor was driven to despair by his persistence; Pilar interposed. Mario nearly fell ill again with anger when he saw her and learned that he owed his life to her. But he soon became calm and said to her in a mild tone:
"Whence do you come? where have you been since you made those threats?"
"Ah! you are afraid for her!" rejoined Pilar with a bitter smile. "Set your mind at rest; I have had no time to go thither. I will not go, if you will cease to hate me."
"I will, Pilar, if you abandon all thought of vengeance; but, if you persist in it, I shall hate you as much as I hate the life I owe to you."
"Let us not speak of that for the moment; you can safely remain quiet and not return to your province, since my presence with you is a guaranty that everything is well."
Therein Pilar touched the crucial point of the situation. Mario restrained his impatience and consented to remain at Grenoble until he should be fully cured. He had to consent also to allow Pilar to wait upon him. He could not dream of turning over to the strong arm of the law the woman who had just saved his life and whom it was his duty to try to convert from her evil ways by gentleness. He dared not irritate her by displaying his contempt, and despite the unconquerable repugnance she inspired in him, he was reduced to the necessity of being perturbed in mind when she was long absent and of rejoicing when she returned.
This state of affairs became intolerable after two or three days. Pilar, incapable of any sort of moral reasoning, was determined to be loved; she described her passion with a species of wild eloquence, saying and believing that it was chaste, because it was not governed by the senses, and sublime, because it had all the fervor of an unbridled imagination and a wilful temper. She heaped curses upon Lauriane and bitter reproaches upon Mario, exhibiting her mad passion shamelessly before poor Clindor, who took fire beside that volcano.
Mario soon wearied of the absurd rôle he was compelled to play. In vain did he try to transform that nature, incapable as it was of loving the right for the right's sake, or even of conceiving that Mario or anyone else on earth could so love it.
"If you did not love that Lauriane so madly," she said to him with appalling frankness, "you would entrust me with your vengeance; for she always has despised you and always will."
Mario was able to leave his bed at last, and one evening he went out alone, starving for fresh air and liberty, to test his strength, being fully determined to continue his journey even though he must procure Pilar's imprisonment until further notice, or though he must allow her to accompany him in order to hold her in subjection.
Meditating upon the most advantageous plan to adopt, he walked slowly toward the Convent of the Visitation, aimlessly, as if attracted by its elevated site. Suddenly he found himself face to face with a person who stopped in front of him. He too stopped. It was as if they were both irresistibly forced to look at each other.
To judge from her appearance and her manner, the stranger was a woman of noble rank, richly dressed, short and slender, pale, but young and beautiful, so far as he could see through the black mask which women of refinement wore when walking.
She wore a widow's cap and was dressed in black throughout. Her flaxen hair was arranged in two graceful masses over her hair. She was entirely alone. No companion, no servant before or behind her.
The graceful and modest charm of her carriage had impressed Mario at a distance. As she approached, her light hair and black attire had made his heart beat fast. At a little distance he put away the illusion; face to face, he was agitated and uncertain.
The same perplexity seemed to assail the masked lady. At last she passed on, returning Mario's salute.
Mario walked a little way, not without turning several times; he walked a little farther and stopped again.
"At the risk of being discourteous and receiving a sharp rebuke, I propose to find out who that woman is!" he said to himself.
He retraced his steps, walking rapidly, and found himself again face to face with the masked lady, who also had turned back. They both hesitated, and were very near passing a second time without speaking. At last the lady determined to break the ice.
"I ask your pardon," she said with some emotion, "but unless I am deceived by a striking resemblance, you are Mario de Bois-Doré?"
"And you are Lauriane de Beuvre?" cried Mario, intensely excited.
"How does it happen that you recognized me, Mario?" said Lauriane, removing her mask. "See how I have changed!"
"Yes," said Mario, beside himself with joy, "you were not half so lovely before!"
"Oh! do not feel compelled to be gallant to that point," said Lauriane. "My father's death, the sufferings of my party, and the downfall of all my hopes have aged me more than the years have done. But tell me of yourself and yours, Mario!"
"Yes, Lauriane; but take my arm and let us go to your home; for I must speak to you, and unless you are under proper protection here, I will not leave you."
Lauriane was surprised at Mario's excited air; she accepted his arm and said to him:
"I could not, if I would, take you to my present home. It is the convent which you see yonder on the plateau. But you can escort me to the gate and on the way we will tell each other all about ourselves."
Being urged to tell her story first, she told Mario that after the fall of La Rochelle, having failed to obtain permission to share Madame de Rohan's imprisonment, she had attempted to return to Berry. But she had learned in time that the Prince de Condé had given orders to arrest her again in case she should make her appearance there.
An old aunt, her only remaining relation and faithful friend, was superior of the Convent of the Visitation at Grenoble: she was a former Protestant, who had been consigned to that institution when very young, and had allowed herself to be converted there. But she had retained a very great sympathy for the Protestants, and she urged Lauriane most affectionately to come to her for shelter and protection until the end of the war in the South. Lauriane had found some repose and much affection there. She had been no more persecuted there than by the nuns at Bourges. From consideration for her aunt, they had even pretended not to know that she was a heretic, and she was allowed to go out alone and masked, to carry alms and consolation to the divers unfortunate Protestants living in the suburbs.
"Lauriane," said Mario, "you must not go out any more; you must not show yourself in public again until I tell you. It is due to the interposition of Providence that you have not been met and recognized by an invisible and dangerous foe. Here we are at the gate of the convent; swear by your father's memory that you will not pass through this gate again until you have seen me."
"Shall I see you again then, Mario?"
"Yes, to-morrow. Can you receive me in the parlor?"
"Yes, at ten o'clock."
"Do you swear that you will not go out?"
"I swear it."
This time Mario was overjoyed to see the gate of the cloister close between Lauriane and himself. He considered that she was safe there if Pilar did not discover her. He carefully explored the immediate neighborhood of the convent, to satisfy himself that he had not been followed and watched by her. He knew that she was capable of sacrificing the whole community in order to reach her rival.
He returned to his apartments and did not find her there. Clindor had not seen her since his master went out.
All Mario's anxiety revived. He was going down to the street when he heard an uproar which made him quicken his pace. He saw Pilar being taken to prison by a party of archers. She uttered piercing shrieks, at once heart-rending and savage; and when she saw Mario, she held out her hands to him imploringly with a despairing expression which shook his resolution for a moment.
"Ah! cruel!" she cried, "it is you who cause me to be cast into a dungeon as the reward of my love and my care! Infamous wretch! you wish to be rid of me. Curse you!"
Mario, without replying, questioned the leader of the squad in whose custody she was.
"Can you tell me," he said, "whether you propose simply to imprison her for the night as a vagrant, or whether you have arrested her on suspicion of some crime or misdemeanor?"
He was informed that she was accused of a misdemeanor. The physician who had treated Mario with such ill success, irritated to find that he had been cured by an adventuress, accused her of breathing upon her patients, in terms which were equivalent in those days to a charge of unlawfully practising medicine, which charge was likely to have far more serious consequences then than in our day, since the question of witchcraft could always be raised, a crime which the most learned magistrates took seriously and punished with death.
"Whatever may happen to her," said Mario to himself, "it is most important that this dangerous girl should lose track of Lauriane, whom perhaps she has already discovered."
On the following morning he hurried to the convent.
"Now," he said to his friend, "we may breathe freely, but we cannot go to sleep over the volcano."
And he told the whole of his strange adventure with the gypsy.
Lauriane listened attentively.
"Now," she said, "I understand everything. Let me tell you, Mario, why I was so deeply moved when I saw you yesterday, and why I had the assurance to speak to you without being certain that I recognized you. Also, why I hesitated the first time, thinking that I was deceived by my imagination. A week ago, I received an anonymous letter full of insults and threats, in which I was told that you had been killed in the battle of the Pas de Suse. I was overwhelmed by that news. I wept for you, Mario, as one weeps for a brother, and I wrote a letter to your father and sent it instantly to the mail carrier. Little by little, however, reflection led me to doubt the truth of the suspicious intelligence I had received, and when I met you I was on my way to the town, to ascertain, if possible, the names of the nobles who were killed in that battle. I had resolved, if yours was among them, to go to your father and try to sustain him and care for him in that terrible trial. I surely owed him that, did I not, Mario, for all his kindness to me in years gone by?"
Mario gazed at Lauriane; he could not tire of contemplating her altered features, her eyes inflamed by grief and tears, the traces of which seemed very fresh.
"Ah! my Lauriane," he cried, kissing her hands, "so you have retained a little affection for me?"
"Affection and esteem," she replied; "I knew that you had refused to fight against the Protestants."
"Ah! I will never do that! and yet I never told my principal reason! I can tell it to you now: I would not run the risk of firing upon your father and your friends. Lauriane, I always loved you dearly; why were your letters to my father always so cold with respect to me?"
"I, too, can speak with perfect frankness now, my dear Mario. My father, when we went to Bourges the last time, four years ago, had the strange idea of affiancing us to each other. Your father rejected, as he was bound to do, the suggestion of so ill-assorted a union; and I, a little humiliated by my poor father's thoughtlessness, informed you several times of marriage projects, to which I gave but slight consideration in the melancholy situation in which I then was. At the same time I was cold to you in words, my dear Mario, and perhaps somewhat humiliated by the thought of the presumption which you would naturally attribute to me. Let us smile to-day at all that past misery, and do me the justice to believe that I do not entertain the slightest thought of marriage. I am twenty-three years old; my time has gone by. My party is crushed, and my fortune will be confiscated whenever it suits the Prince de Condé's caprice. My poor father is dead, stripped by the hazard of war of the property he had amassed in his maritime expeditions. So I am neither rich nor beautiful nor young. I have but one cause of rejoicing: it is that I can live hereafter not far from you, without being suspected of aspiring to anything except your friendship."
Mario listened, trembling and bewildered.
"Lauriane," he said impetuously, "you show your disdain of my name, my youth and my heart when you speak of the tranquil bond of friendship which it would be easy for you to resume. But it is for me to say: It is too late. I have always loved you reverently, and I do not think that my love is any less reverent because I have loved you more passionately since I lost you and since I have found you again. I, too, Lauriane, have suffered keenly! But I have never despaired altogether. When I had carefully concealed my grief, in order not to allow myself to languish and die, God sent me, in His merciful compassion, gusts of hope in Him and of faith in you.
"'She knows, she must know that it would kill me,' I would say to myself; 'she will love me, she will not love another, because of her kindness of heart if for no other reason! I am only a child, but I can soon and very quickly make myself worthy of her, by working hard, by keeping my heart pure, by having courage, by making them happy who will love me, and by fighting gallantly when there comes a righteous war': for this one is righteous, is it not, Lauriane, and your heart cannot be so changed that you love the Spaniards to-day?"
"No, surely not!" she replied. "And it was because Monsieur de Rohan insisted upon this mad, disgraceful and desperate alliance that I awaited the result of events here, and took no deeper interest in them."