A MAN AND A MARQUIS
Colonel Tournay accompanied the crowd of zealous Republicans who had been the followers of Gardin, until he saw them dispersed to their various homes or noisily installed in the wine-room of the village inn. Then he rapidly retraced his steps to the château.
He found Mademoiselle Rochefort seated in the salon, contemplating half mournfully, half disdainfully, the evidences of the mob's incursion, which surrounded her in the shape of costly pieces of furniture from the drawing-room, now marred and broken; and bottles from the wine cellars, shattered and strewn upon the floor.
She did not make any movement as Tournay entered the room, but seemed occupied with her own thoughts; and for a few moments he stood in silence, hesitating to speak, as if the communication he had to make required more tact and diplomacy than for the moment he felt himself master of.
Finally, approaching her, he said: "Mademoiselle, the immediate danger is past. You have nothing to fear for the present. As soon as you have recovered sufficiently I would like to speak with you."
She let her hand drop from her forehead and looked up at him. Her face was very pale, but she was quite composed and the voice was firm with which she answered:—
"I am able to hear you now, Robert Tournay."
He drew a sigh of relief. "She has the de Rochefort spirit," he thought.
"All is quiet now," he said. "But when Gardin fully recovers consciousness I fear he will excite his followers to further violence. It will be unsafe for you to remain here." As she did not answer, he continued,—"I have made arrangements, mademoiselle, to conduct you to the German frontier. Can you prepare to accompany me at once?"
"I am prepared to leave here at once—but—I cannot go with you. It is better that I go alone," Mademoiselle de Rochefort replied.
"Alone! It would be folly in you to attempt it. Do you suppose that I could stand quietly by and see you incur such a danger?"
Mademoiselle de Rochefort's eyes, at all other times so frank and fearless, did not meet his earnest gaze; she answered him hastily, as one who would have an unpleasant interview come to a speedy end:—
"You have saved me from a great danger. Believe me, I am not ungrateful. You have already done too much. I cannot accept anything more from you. Pray leave me now to go my own way."
"That is impossible, mademoiselle; I shall only leave you when you are across the frontier. Traveling as my wife, under the passports that I have secured, the journey can be made in comparative safety, provided always that we start in time."
At the words "my wife" Mademoiselle de Rochefort started, but she only repeated:—
"I cannot go with you."
"But," ejaculated Tournay, "I don't understand; it was agreed"—
She looked up at him. "I agreed to permit you to tell those wretches that I was your wife, Father Ambrose, your father, and you, all protesting that it was the only way to prevent them from destroying the château and those within it. But you also said that the marriage would not be considered valid, and as soon as the danger was over you would go away."
"I said," answered Tournay quietly, "that I should in no way consider the marriage valid; that when I had once taken you to a place of safety I should leave you. But until then I shall remain by your side."
"Some one said you would go away at once, either your father or the priest, and so I yielded. Now you tell me I must go away with you, and"—she hesitated at the words, "be known as your wife."
"But no one will know who you are," said Tournay earnestly. "The carriage will be a closed one—you shall have Agatha with you. No one shall be allowed to intrude upon you. Three or four days will bring us to the frontier. As soon as you are there, and in the care of some of your friends who have already emigrated, I will leave you. Cannot you trust me three days?" he asked sorrowfully.
"I cannot go with you," she repeated. "You are of the Republic—I have already accepted too much from your hands. Can I forget that those hands which you now stretch out to aid me have helped to tear down a throne? that like all the Republicans, you share the guilt of a king's murder?"
"I am only guilty of loving France more than the king. I did help to destroy a monarchy, but it was to build up a Republic."
"Then, instead of aiding, you should denounce me. I am of the Monarchy and I hate your Republic," she said defiantly. "I will accept protection from one of my own order or trust to God and my own efforts to preserve me."
"Where are those of your own order?" demanded Tournay bitterly. "They are scattered like leaves. Some have taken refuge in England or in Prussia. Some are hiding here in France. Your own class fail you in the time of need."
"They do not fail," cried Edmé. "If none are here it is because they are risking their lives elsewhere for our unhappy and hopeless cause; or languishing in your Republican prisons where so many of the chivalry of France lie awaiting death."
As if the thought goaded her to desperation she added fiercely, "Where I will join them rather than purchase my freedom at the price you propose."
"Mademoiselle," said Tournay calmly but with great firmness, "listen to reason. There is no time for lengthy explanation. I am actuated only by a desire for your safety. You must accompany me hence. I shall take you away with me."
Edmé arose and confronted him with a look of scorn. "I stood here a short time ago," she said, "and before all that rabble heard myself proclaimed your wife; I, Edmé de Rochefort, called a wife of a Republican—one of their number. Oh, the shame of it! What would my father have said if he had heard that I owed my life to a man steeped in the blood of the Revolution? That his daughter consented to be called the wife of her steward's son! a man of ignoble birth, a servant"—
"Stop!" cried Tournay, the blood mounting to his forehead. "Stop! It is true that those of my blood have served your family for generations. It was one of my blood, I have heard it told, who in days gone by gave up his life for one of your ancestors upon the field of battle. Was that ignoble? My father served yours faithfully during a long life; was that ignoble? So have I, in my turn, served you. I was born to the position, but I served you proudly, not ignobly. In speaking thus, you wrong yourself more than you do me, mademoiselle."
