GIACINTO'S RETURN
Amélie was forced to resign herself patiently to await the news. Life tends to normalize itself, whatever the given conditions, and she wisely accommodated herself to the inevitable. During the mornings she roamed over the great castle, in company with Vilon and Baby Dick. They would ascend towers and descend into subterranean passages, rearranging the salons and adorning the altars. The only inmates of the lofty feudal edifice, besides Vilon, Amélie, Louis Pierre and the child were two maid-servants, one of whom was in charge of the kitchen. At dawn both maids went into the fields for fruit and vegetables or to take the cows to pasture, so that Amélie, free from importunate eyes, walked about freely. They were curious to see the Marquis's relative, she who slept in the Marquise's boudoir, but they made no impertinent inquiries through fear of Jean Vilon, who alone waited upon the guest. During the afternoon, Louis Pierre would come up from his room and play dominoes or discuss the future with her. The Carbonaro had read many books. His brain had received certain ideas as though they had been graven thereon with a corrosive. He was visionary, mystical and a dreamer, and pertained to the sect known as Theophilanthropists; he believed himself destined by Providence to accomplish some high mission requiring great valor and abnegation. His chief characteristic was a contempt for life, and this secured him Amélie's esteem.
With Jean Vilon, Amélie conversed less than with Louis Pierre and her treatment always displayed an air of affectionate patronage. She was a woman, very much of a woman, and fully conscious of her effect upon men. She used no coquetry toward the fine peasant for in no particular did her feminine artifices approach familiarity. The homage she loved to receive was that of the soul, the adoration of chivalry; she longed for the devotion which illustrious unhappy queens had inspired, such as Mary Stuart, or Marie Antoinette. The attachment of Jean Vilon, each day more apparent, was such as a youth of medieval ages paid the holy relics. He divined and filled her every wish. On warm nights he escorted her through the woods that she might breathe the fresh, pure air. They took long walks which brought the roses back to her cheeks and the litheness to her limbs. These clandestine rambles, which seemed at first so risky, soon became a custom.
But her chief delight was the child, the unfortunate waif, torn from the arms of his drowning mother and cast into hers. When asked his name, he would answer "Baby, baby!"
"Only Baby?" Amélie would ask.
One day the little fellow fixed his blue eyes, full of candor, on her face, and added:
"Baby Dick."
"His name is Richard, then," said Amélie. "This is some information gained," and with that much she had to content herself. The child had either forgotten or did not know his family name. Of his father he remembered nothing; of his mother he knew that she lived in a cottage near the beach, amid many flowers and with a large dog, as large as Silvano. Amélie began to think that he was a child born out of wedlock and she felt for him a greater attachment than ever. From the first moment of being with her, he had called her "Mamma." Her eyes would fill with tears as she placed him at night in his little bed and clasped his tiny hands in prayer. "He has no mother but me," she would say with trembling lips.
One afternoon Louis Pierre read aloud to her from Rousseau's Emile while she held Baby Dick on her knees. Suddenly Jean Vilon appeared.
"A man has just arrived," he said "bringing my master's watch-word. He came by the road of Saint Brieuc. Shall I open to him?"
Louis exchanged a lightning glance with Amélie.
"Is he dark, handsome, with curly black hair and in sailor's clothes?" she asked.
"Yes, and he seems very tired."
"Bring him through the subterranean passage, no matter how great is his fatigue. The servants must not see a stranger enter."
Jean Vilon withdrew, and it was night when, almost fainting with exhaustion, and covered with dust, Giacinto appeared before them. Amélie ordered Vilon to retire. There was no need to ask questions. The Italian's face, with terrible eloquence, revealed the truth. Nevertheless Louis Pierre inquired:
"Bad news?"
"The worst."
"Volpetti is saved?"
"Saved and on the road to Paris."
Louis Pierre's voice uttered an inarticulate growl, but the girl recovered sufficient courage to say:
"Come, take heart! How did he save himself?"
"He and three others swam ashore. The waves dashed them against the rocks, wounding and bruising them seriously. One of the men died from the effects; two others are lying on their backs in a fisherman's hut, and the only other of the party—was ever misfortune equal to this?—the only other,—he whose bruises amounted only to pinches and who speedily recovered sufficient strength to write a number of letters,—each of which is a dagger thrust in our sides—is that—cursed dog,—that—fiend—Volpetti!"
Giacinto clutched his fine black hair and tore a handful from his head.
"Fate is against us," said Louis Pierre gloomily. "And Soliviac?"
"Aboard the Polipheme, on the sea, coasting toward Cherbourg. He would gladly sail away to Hamburg, out of danger's way, were he not a knight. He stays because we may have need of him."
"So you have accomplished nothing?"
"Nothing. After Volpetti communicated with the prefect, a guard of soldiers surrounded the hut in which he was recovering. 'Tis a wonder that I was not captured for I have been chased like a wild beast. A bullet pierced my cap and I have reached you by miracle."
Louis Pierre interrupted:
"You and I must leave for Paris at once. If one of us be killed, the other may reach the city and warn Naundorff. We shall take separate routes."
"Very well, but we need horses and money."
"Mademoiselle," said Louis Pierre, "you will be safe, here. Danger cannot reach you with Vilon as a guard. Otherwise, I should not leave you. You know the secret passages and are safe from all the spies and European cabinets in existence. As for us, we are burning our last cartridge in going to Paris. Volpetti has unlimited resources: gendarmerie, regular troops, magistrates, spies and those fellows who go by the name of 'Partisans of the Order.' What a tremendous mistake it was to let Volpetti go. If we today considered our own safety, we should immediately board the Polipheme and depart forever from the coasts of France."
Amélie rose and stretched a hand to each Carbonaro:
"Defenders of a cause you espoused through generosity, friends, brothers, you shall live always in my heart. If my father's act in freeing Volpetti bring evil to you, O forgive him! I implore you on my knees." And the beautiful girl was sinking to the floor, when the Knights interposed and raised her. They pressed their lips upon her white hands, as though she were a queen. They left without a word, for their voices were full of tears. From a window, she watched them leave and her brave spirit sank within her.
After their departure, she seemed to fall into a lethargy. She missed the long colloquies with Louis Pierre. Alone in the sumptuous apartments whose dust-covered portraits of ladies and paladins seemed to look upon her with cold disdain, she suffered the inevitable effect of isolation. No letters reached her, for René trusted nothing to the mails. She tortured herself with surmises; she seemed to see her father in the hands of the police or in a dungeon; René the victim of some political snare, and the Carbonari prisoners on an indictment of piracy. And she told herself over and over that her father's absurd magnanimity had caused all the trouble.
Her only consolation was the companionship of Baby Dick, and the little fellow was never separated from her. Hours and hours they would sit together at the window which looked over the deep entrenchments, Amélie sewing, but with frequent interruptions, for she could not refrain from stroking Baby's soft curls or taking him on her knees. He, meanwhile, asked questions incessantly and, when she failed to reply promptly, covered her face with kisses. Silvano would lay his splendid head in her lap and look into her face with his great intelligent eyes.