CHAPTER VIII.
[BLAISE DE LORGNAC.]
We lost no time in setting forth from The Golden Frog, and as Lalande had apparently been warned by Norreys of the danger of our meeting any of de Clermont's following, we once more left, what by a stretch I might call the direct road, and again took to the hill tracks, where our wearied beasts, whom from my heart I pitied, stumbled slowly and painfully along.
But if the beasts were wearied, how was it with myself and my maid? I was able to keep up, no doubt because of the mental excitement under which I laboured; but I have never understood how my faithful Mousette endured that journey; it was in truth a road of suffering.
I simply went on mechanically, my mind a prey to a thousand conflicting emotions, and to thoughts that chased one another across it like dry and fallen leaves in a forest glade, blown hither and thither by an autumn wind. It had struck me, as there was nothing to be feared from de Termes, that I should order Lalande to turn and guide me back to Madame and Périgueux; but de Clermont barred the way, and it was better after all to push on to Meymac, and there with a cooler head than I now possessed, decide what to do. What had I not passed through within the last few hours? I had made trouble enough for myself by jumping womanlike to conclusions, and imagining that the postscript of de Termes' letter to his wife referred to me, whereas it clearly concerned some one else. That was perhaps a pardonable error considering the circumstances; but there were other things, and even now my face grows hot when I think of them.
My nature is proud! That can never alter, though sorrow and many a bitter lesson has brought me good sense; but it cut like a knife to realize how I had been fooled by de Clermont, and how near I had been to fall a victim to a pitiless libertine. It is a bad and cruel lesson for any woman to learn that she has been the sport of a man, ten times bad and cruel if the woman be proud and high-spirited. And as for de Lorgnac I did not know what to think. My mind concerning him was a chaos. I had misjudged him, wronged him utterly; but it was gall to me to know that he had stood forth as my champion. It was bitterness untold to think that I must humble myself in my heart before him; I could never do so in words to his face, if ever we met, a daughter of Mieux could not do that. It was awful to think that his hands were red with blood for my sake, and I shuddered as I reflected that I had been as it were the immediate cause of a frightful death; de Lorgnac had no business to kill that man whoever he was; he had no right to make me feel almost a murderess; and withal there rose in my heart a kind of fierce pride in the man who could do this for my sake, and a joy I could not make out because he was other than I took him to be--because, in short, he was a gallant gentleman, and not--oh! I need say no more.
When we had travelled for about the space of two hours the horse of one of the two troopers, whom M. Norreys in his kindness had lent to me, fell whilst crossing a water-cut, and on examination it was found to be so hurt that it was impossible for it to continue the journey to Millevranches. It was decided that the two men should be left behind to return to their camp--they had not far to go--and that we should press on as before. I gave the good fellows a brace of crowns apiece, and commending myself to M. de Norreys, we went on, the sheep track--I can call it by no better name--now passing through all the wildest scenery surrounding the Puy de Meymac.
"If luck befriends us, madame, and the storm which has kept off so long does not come, we should reach Millevranches in a little over two hours," said Lalande to me as we rode down a narrow and steep descent.
"Why should the storm come on now? There is no breath of air stirring, and the moon is clear."
The equerry did not reply until reaching the more level ground at the foot of the incline down which we had ridden, and then, pointing behind me, said simply, "Look, madame!"
Turning, I saw that half the arc of the heavens was obscured as it were by a thick curtain, that hung heavily and sullenly over it, and as we looked a chain of fire ran across the blackness, the distant roar of thunder came to us, and then a low, deep moaning vibrated through the air.
"The storm is afoot, I fear, madame. We must press on and cross the Luxège, which though narrow enough to jump over now, may in an hour be impassable, and with the darkness it will be impossible to tell the way."
At this speech Mousette gave a little cry of alarm, and then, her fears overcoming her, began to declare that she could go no further, and begged us to leave her there to die, to be killed by the storm or eaten up by the wolves, it did not matter which, either alternative was preferable to going on. I tried all I could to pacify the poor girl, but she was getting into a state of hysterical excitement, and absolutely refused to move, though every moment was precious, and the dead stillness formerly around us was now awake with the voice of the coming storm. At last I began to despair of moving her, when Lalande said grimly, "Leave her to me, madame. I am an old married man." Then bending forward he seized my bridle and with a cool "Adieu, mademoiselle! I hope you will not disagree with the wolves," to Mousette, began to urge our beasts forward, notwithstanding my protests. But the issue showed he was right, though I confess I was surprised to see the way in which my maid recovered her strength under this rough-and-ready treatment, for in two minutes she was bustling along at our heels. But the lost time never came to our hands again, and as we began to descend the wooded slope towards the Luxège, which we could hear humming angrily below us, the stream burst with a shriek of the winds, and an absolute darkness, that was rendered more intense and horrible by the vivid flashes of lightning, and the continuous roar of thunder. In a trice Lalande had dismounted and taken us from our horses, and the poor animals seemed so overcome by fear or fatigue, or both combined, that they stood perfectly still.
"It is death, madame, attempting to ride now. We must get to the river on foot." Saying this, Lalande managed somehow to get the horses in front of us, and then, holding on to each other and guided by the incessant flashes of lightning, we began a slow and painful progress. I soon began to feel the fatigue and exhaustion so much that I, in my turn, begged Lalande to stop.
"Courage, madame, 'tis but a few yards more to the river bank," he answered, "there we can stop and rest," and I took my heart up and strove onwards once again. At last, when within a few yards of the river, I sank down utterly exhausted and unable to move further, and Mousette alternately sobbed and prayed over me, whilst now and again I could see the tall figure of Lalande standing grim and motionless, and once I fancied I heard a deep oath.
He gave us some cognac from a flask he carried, and then there was nothing for it but to wait and meet death, if it was so to be. Now there came a series of lightning flashes that lit up the terrific scene, and I almost gasped, for right before me on a butting crag I made out a small castle. Lalande saw it too, for he blew long and shrilly on his horn, and then we watched and waited for a time that seemed interminable, when all at once the flare of a huge beacon rose bright and red against the darkness, and an answering bugle reached our ears. Lalande blew again, and to our joy there was a reply. Strength came back to me with the prospect of safety, and rising to my feet I called to Lalande: "On! On!"
He answered, "The river, madame----"
I looked, and saw below me a white lashing flood that swung and swirled past with a savage roar. The lightning showed us the angry water, and the wicked dancing foam, that seemed to leap up in delight at the prospect of the black swirl below it dragging us down to death. Then again we heard the bugle notes, and saw the lights of torches, and heard the shouting of men from the opposite bank.
"Let us go on to meet them--we are saved!" screamed Mousette, and holding on to each other we staggered forward past the horses, who stood all huddled together, only to be stopped here by the utter darkness, and Lalande.
"For the love of heaven, madame, do not move," he cried, "rescue is coming."
And it did come.
All that I can remember was seeing the light of many sputtering torches around us. Some one lifted me in his arms like a child, and I heard a voice say, "Be careful with the horses over the bridge, Pierre," and then my strength gave way.
I had been asleep, asleep for ages it seemed, and all the past was a dream, thank God! This was the thought that struck me as I opened my eyes; but as I looked around, I saw the room in which I lay was strange to me, and inch by inch everything came back--all except the events of the last moments by the river, where my recollection became confused. It was daylight, but still the remains of the storm of last night were in evidence, and I could hear the water dripping from the eaves, and through the half-open dormer window, the murmur of the Luxège, still angry and unappeased, reached my ears.
Where was I? I looked about me, and found that I was in a large room, warm from the effects of a huge wood fire that danced cheerily in the fireplace. Leaning on one elbow, I glanced still further about me, and saw that the furniture was of the same old and heavily antique make that we had at Mieux. The curtains of the bed were, however, worn and faded, the tapestry on the walls was older and more faded still; and then my eyes were arrested by the coat-of-arms carved on the stonework of the fireplace--two wolves' heads, with a motto so chipped and defaced that I could not read it. Whose was the device? I lay back and thought, but could not make it out. Certainly not that of any of the great houses--no doubt my kind preserver belonged to the lesser nobility--but I could soon find out. Then I closed my eyes once more and would have slept, but was aroused by some one entering the room, and, looking up, saw Mousette.
"Ah! madem--madame, I mean," she said eagerly, "thank God, you are looking none the worse for that terrible night. I little thought we would ever live to see daylight again."
"Where are we, Mousette? And who are the kind people who saved us?"
"I do not know, madame," she answered quickly, "but we are the only women here. But," she ran on, "it is mid-day and touching the dinner hour. Will madame rise or be served here?"
"I will rise, of course, Mousette;" and during the course of my toilet I asked if the people of the house knew who we were.
"I have not mentioned anything, madame," replied Mousette, with her face slightly turned away, "and Lalande is discreet."
I felt that Mousette knew more than she cared to tell; but it is not my way to converse with servants; and finishing my dressing in silence, I asked her to show me the way to the salon, and as I spoke I heard a gong go.
"Monsieur will be served at once," said Mousette. "This way, madame," and opening the curtains of the door, she led me down a series of winding steps worn with the feet that had passed up and down there for perhaps a couple of centuries, and then, past a long passage hung with suits of rusty armour and musty trophies of the chase, to a large door. I gathered that Mousette had been making good use of her time whilst in the house, but kept silent. The door was open, and as I passed in Mousette left me. I found I was in a room that was apparently used as a dining-room and salon as well. There was trace of recent occupation, for a man's hat and a pair of leathern gloves somewhat soiled with use were lying on a table, and a great hound rose slowly from the rushes on the floor, and, after eyeing me a moment, came up in a most friendly manner to be patted and made much of. A small table near the fireplace was laid for one, and as I was looking towards it a grey-haired and sober servant brought in the dinner, and then, bowing gravely, announced that I was served.
"Is not monsieur--monsieur--?" I stammered.
"Monsieur le Chevalier has had to go out on urgent business. He has ordered me to present his compliments to madame----"
"I see; monsieur does not dine here."
The man bowed, and I sat down to a solitary meal with the big dog at my feet, and the silent, grave attendant to wait on me. I amused myself with the hound, and with taking note of the room. Like everything else I had seen, its furniture and fittings seemed a century old, and spoke of wealth that had passed away. There was a sadness about this, and a gloom that saddened me in spite of myself, so that it was with an effort I managed to eat, and then, when dinner was over, I told the servant to inform his master that I desired to thank him for the great kindness shown to me.
"I will deliver madame's message," and with this reply he went.
Left to myself, I went to the window and looked out through the glazing. The landscape was obscured by a rolling mist; but the sun was dissipating this bravely. It was a wild and desolate scene, and, despite the sunlight, oppressed me almost as much as my solitary meal, so I turned back into the room, and, seating myself in a great chair, stared into the fireplace, the hound stretching himself beside me. I was still wearied, and my thoughts ran slowly on until I caught myself wondering who my unknown host was, and getting a trifle impatient, too, because he did not come, for I was anxious to set forward to Meymac.
Suddenly I heard a steady measured step in the passage, the hound leaped up with a bay of welcome, and as I rose from my seat the curtain was lifted, and I stood face to face with my husband.
"You! De Lorgnac!" I gasped.
"Even I," he said. "I thought you knew. Are you none the worse for your adventure of last night?"
"I am quite well, thanks to God." "And thanks to you," I was about to add, but my lips could not frame the words, and I felt myself beginning to tremble. Monsieur noticed this.
"I am afraid you underrate your strength; do sit down," he said kindly.
"I prefer to stand, thank you, Monsieur le Chevalier," and then there was a silence, during which I know not what passed through de Lorgnac's mind; but I, I was fighting with myself to prevent my heart getting the better of me, for if so I would have to humble myself--I, a daughter of Mieux! Monsieur broke the silence himself.
"Denise, I give you my word of honour that I would not have intruded on you, but that you asked to see me, and I thought you knew whom you wished to see. Besides, I felt that I owed a little to myself. You have accused me of being a dishonoured gentleman, of being little less than a common bravo, of wedding you to your misery for your estates." He came forward a step and looked me full in the face with his clear strong eyes. "As God is my witness," he went on, "you are utterly mistaken. I am going to-day on an affair the issue of which no one can foresee. Think! Would I go with a lie on my lips? Answer me--tell me. Whatever else you may think, you do not believe this."
I was fumbling with one of his gloves, and could not meet his look.
"You put me in a difficult position, monsieur--this is your own house."
He looked about him with a bitter smile. "Yes--it is my house--hardly the house to which one would bring the heiress of Mieux--but is that your answer to me?"
And still I was silent. I could not bring myself to say what he wanted. And now too it was not only pride that was holding me back. I felt that if I gave him the answer he wished, manlike he would begin to press his love on me, and I was not prepared for this. I did not know my own feelings towards him; but of one thing I was sure--I would not be bound by hollow vows that were forced upon me, and so I fenced.
"This adventure of yours, monsieur--is it so very dangerous?"
"It is not the danger I am thinking of. It is your faith in my honour. No man is blameless, and least of all I. I own I was wrong--that I sinned grievously in marrying you as I have. My excuse is that I love you--that is a thing I cannot control. But I will do all I can to make reparation. I will never see you again, and the times are such that you may soon be as free as air. All that I ask is this one thing."
"But, monsieur, have you no proof--nothing to bring forward?"
"I have nothing to offer but my word."
"Your word--your word--is that all you can say?"
He bowed slightly in reply, but his look was hungry for his answer. Still I could not give it, and played with time.
"You say you love me. Does love resign its object as you do--without a struggle? If I believe one thing I must believe all, monsieur. I cannot believe a profession of love like yours"--how false I knew this to be--"and the rest must follow."
He twisted at his moustache in the old way, and I saw his sunburnt face grow, as it were on a sudden, wan and haggard, and the pity that lies in all women's hearts rose within me.
"Monsieur le Chevalier, if you were to get the answer that you wanted, would you still adhere to your promise and never see me again?"
"I have said so," he said hoarsely.
"Then, monsieur, let me tell you that I have found I was wrong, and that I do believe your word--nay, more, monsieur, I have found de Lorgnac to be a gallant gentleman--whom Denise de Mieux has to thank for her honour and her life----"
"Denise!" There was a glad note in his voice, and in a moment he had stepped up to me, and I had yielded, but that I wanted this king amongst men to be king over himself.
"A moment, monsieur. You have given me your word, be strong enough to keep it. I have learned to respect and honour you; but I do not love you. You must keep your word, de Lorgnac, and go--until I ask you to come back."
"Without a word he turned on his heel and walked towards the door; but I could not let him go like that and I called to him. He stopped and turned towards me, but made no further advance, and then I went up to him with my hand outstretched.
"Monsieur, there is one thing more. I have the honour to be the wife of de Lorgnac, and for the present I crave your permission to make Lorgnac my home. Will you not grant me this request? And will you not shake hands before you go?"
I thought I had tried him too far, and that the man would break down; but no, the metal was true. Yet the haggard look in his face went out as he answered:
"Denise, Lorgnac is yours to its smallest stone, and I thank you for this." Then he bent down and touched my fingers with his lips, and was gone.