"STOP!" CRIED TOURNAY
The suddenness of his outburst silenced her. He saw that her bosom heaved convulsively. He could not guess the conflicting emotions in her breast; her pride struggling with her gratitude; her horror and detestation of the Republic contending with her admiration for his brave bearing in the face of danger; but as he looked at her, slight and girlish, standing there before him with flushed cheeks, as he saw the fire flash in her eyes although her hands trembled, he realized keenly how young, how defenseless she was, and his sudden burst of anger subsided. Her very pride moved him to pity by its impotence, and his heart yearned to be permitted to protect her from all the dangers which threatened her.
In a voice that trembled with emotion he went on:—
"Mademoiselle, I have known you since you were a child, and I have served you faithfully. Your wishes, your caprices have been my law. It was no galling servitude to me, mademoiselle, for mine was a service of love." He uttered the last words almost in a whisper, then stopped suddenly, as if the avowal had slipped from his lips unwittingly.
Mademoiselle de Rochefort started; while he spoke she had turned away; so he could not see her face, but he could imagine the look of disdain and scorn with which she had listened.
"Yes, I dared to love you," he continued. "I never meant to tell you, but now that the avowal has slipped from my lips I would have you know that I always loved you. That is why I am here now, pleading with you, not for your love, for that I know never can be mine, but for your safety, your life." She remained silent, and he continued, speaking rapidly,—"You have said that a king's blood is upon my hands. His death was necessary and I do not regret it." Edmé shuddered and letting herself sink back into a chair sat there with her head resting on her hand, while she still kept her face turned from him. "I do not regret it, because it has given us the Republic. I glory in the Republic which has made me your equal." Bending over her, he said in a low voice, "I love you and am worthy of your love. Mademoiselle, listen to me. Come with me while there is yet time. Give me but the right to be your protector. I will protect you as the man guards the object of his purest, his deepest affection." In his fervor he bent over her until his lips almost touched her hair. "I will win a name that even you will be proud to own. Edmé, come with me. It is the love of years that speaks to you thus—Come!" and he took her hand in his. As his fingers closed upon hers she sprang to her feet.
"Do not touch me," she cried, with a tone almost of terror. "I will hear no more. I cannot bear it. I cannot bear to see you. Go! for the love of heaven, leave me."
For a moment Tournay stood still. Her words wounded him to the quick, yet as they stabbed deepest, he loved her the more. Without speaking again he turned and left her. As he descended the stairs and passed out through the broken doorway he vowed within himself that despite her pride, despite what she might say or do, he would yet find means to save her.
An hour passed, and Edmé remained in the salon where Tournay had left her. The spirit she had shown a short time before seemed much subdued. Darkness had settled down over the room, and she felt herself alone and deserted. A current of air, coming through the broken doorway, swept up the stairs into the apartment, chilling her with its cold breath. She wondered what had become of Father Ambrose and old Matthieu, and whether Agatha had deserted her. Yet she did not seek for them. Indeed, she did not know where to find them, for the house had all the silence of emptiness.
She tried to plan what she should do in case she had been entirely abandoned, but her brain, usually so active, seemed benumbed. She could not think. Conscious that she must shake off this feeling of helplessness, she was about to rise and go in search of a light, when she heard a footstep outside in the corridor. "Agatha has come back," she thought, and stepped forward to meet her maid. The sound of footsteps approached until they reached the door of the salon; there they seemed to hesitate.
Edmé was on the point of calling Agatha by name, when the door was pushed open and a man entered and passed stealthily across the floor of the salon into the ante-chamber without noticing her presence. Edmé thrust her hand over her mouth to stifle the cry that was upon her lips.
The man was evidently familiar with the surroundings, for almost immediately the light of a candle shone out from the ante-room, throwing a faint glow upon the polished floor of the salon. Edmé had seen him very imperfectly in the darkness. She was uncertain whether he was one of the mob, returned alone for plunder, or one of the lackeys of her household who had got the better of his terror and returned to the château.
Unable to bear the suspense, she advanced toward the door of the ante-room. Her heart beat rapidly as she placed her hand upon the door, which had been left ajar. She hesitated one moment, then summoning up the courage that had sustained her during the whole of that terrible afternoon, she boldly pushed the door open and looked into the room. To her amazement she saw, bending over a cabinet, her cousin, the Marquis de Lacheville. The marquis held a candle in one hand while he searched hurriedly for something in the drawer of the cabinet. In his haste and anxiety he threw out the contents of each drawer as he opened it till the floor was littered with papers. So intent was he upon his search that he did not hear Edmé's approach.
"Monsieur de Lacheville!" she said in a low tone. Upon hearing his name, the marquis uttered a cry like that of a hunted animal, and turning, confronted her.
"Mademoiselle de Rochefort, you here! How you startled me!" he exclaimed, endeavoring to control himself; but his knees shook, and his lips twitched nervously.
"Your coming gave me a start also, monsieur. You glided across the floor of the salon so like a phantom, I did not know who it was, nor what to think."
"I have just arrived from Paris, where I have been in hiding for months," he stammered. "Upon seeing the doors all battered down and the frightful disorder in the lower halls, I thought the château must be deserted and that you had sought some place of refuge. Knowing that in times past the baron, your father, was in the habit of keeping money in this old secretary, I have been ransacking it from top to bottom. I have need of a considerable sum; but I find nothing here—not a sou."
Edmé noticed that his dress was in great disorder and that his face was pale and haggard. Every few moments he put up his hand in an attempt to stop the nervous twitching of the mouth which he seemed unable to control.
"My nerves have been much shaken lately," he said, as she looked at him with wonder. And then he laughed discordantly. The sound of the mirthless laughter, accompanied by no change in the expression of his face, was painful to Edmé's ears.
"I have been pursued," he said, "hunted in Paris like a dog, but I have given them the slip; they shall not overtake me now." The wild look in his eyes became more intense. "I am going to leave France; I have a friend whom I can trust waiting for me near at hand. Together in disguise we are going to the frontier—either to Belgium or Germany. We shall be safe there. But I must have some more money, money for our journey." His fear had so bereft him of his reason that he apparently forgot the presence of his cousin, the mistress of the house, and turned once more to the old writing-desk to recommence his search with feverish haste.
"To Germany!" cried Edmé joyfully. "You are going to Germany? then you can take me with you. We can leave this unhappy blood-stained country for a land of law and order."
The marquis turned upon her sharply.
"Why did not your father take you with him to England?" he demanded.
"Why? You have no need to ask the question. He went upon some secret business for King Louis. He went away unexpectedly. When he left he imagined that I, a woman, living in quiet seclusion, would be perfectly safe, notwithstanding the disordered state of the country even at that time."
"Can you not find a place of refuge with some friend here in France?" asked de Lacheville. "The journey I am about to undertake will be full of danger and fatigue."
"I am not afraid of danger," replied Edmé, "and as for fatigue, I am strong and able to support it."
"But," persisted de Lacheville, "if you could find some suitable refuge here it would be so much better."
"I cannot," retorted Edmé, in a decided tone of voice, "and I prefer to accompany you to Germany, although it seems to me that you offer your escort somewhat reluctantly."
"The fact is, Cousin Edmé," replied the marquis, "I cannot take you with me. Alone, my escape will be difficult; with you it will be impossible."
Edmé looked at him for a moment with open-eyed wonder, then she repeated the word. "Impossible! Do you mean to tell me that you, a kinsman, are going to leave me here to meet whatever fate may befall me, while you save yourself by flight?"
"No, no, you do not understand me," the marquis replied, his pale face flushing. "It is for your own sake that I cannot take you. It will mean almost certain capture. If, as I said before, you could remain in some place of safety in France for a little while"—
"I am ready to run whatever risk you do," replied the girl coolly. "When do you start?"
"Mademoiselle, this is madness," exclaimed de Lacheville, pacing the floor. "Can you not listen to reason?"
The sound of shouting in the distance caused him to stop suddenly and run to the window. The candle had burned down to the socket and went out with a few last feeble flickers. The cries of Gardin's ruffians were borne to him on the wind.
The slight composure which he had managed to regain during his talk with Edmé left him again, and he turned toward her, the trembling, shaking coward that he was when she had first discovered him.
"Do you hear that?" he whispered, his hand shaking as he put it to his lips.
"I have heard it in this very room to-day," replied Edmé, looking at him with disdain.
"They are coming here again," he whispered hoarsely. "But they shall not find me," he exclaimed fiercely, clenching his fist and shaking it in a weak menace toward the spot whence the sound came. "I have a swift horse in the courtyard beneath. In an hour I shall be safe from them," and he prepared to leave the room.
The ordeal of the afternoon had told on Edmé's nerves and the thought of being left alone again made her desperate.
"You shall not leave me here alone," she cried, seizing his arm. "You were born a man—behave like one. Devise some means to take me from this place at once. Do not leave me alone to face those wretches again, or I shall believe you are a coward."
De Lacheville roughly released himself from her grasp.
"I care not what you think of me," he snarled. "It is each for himself. I cannot imperil my safety for a woman. I must escape." And he rushed from the room.
She heard the crunching of his horses' feet upon the gravel, and going to the window saw him ride rapidly away. The remembrance of the young Republican leader offering to risk his life for her, and the cowering figure of her cousin, indifferent to all but his own safety, flashed before her in quick contrast. She turned away from the window to find herself in the arms of Agatha, who had at that moment returned.
"Agatha," she exclaimed, "do your hear those hoof-beats? Monsieur de Lacheville is running away. He, a nobleman, is a coward and flies from danger, while another man, a Republican—oh, Agatha, Agatha, what are we to do? whom are we to believe; in whom should we trust?"
"Calm yourself, mademoiselle," replied Agatha, "and think only of what I have to tell you. Listen to me closely. We must leave at once. I have a plan of flight. I have been making a few hurried preparations."
"True, Agatha, in my bewilderment and anger, I forgot for the moment the danger we incur by remaining here. Where are Father Ambrose and Matthieu?"
"Matthieu is here in the château; he says he will never desert you as long as you can have need of his poor services. Father Ambrose has disappeared, but I think he is in a place of safety. But now you are to be thought of. Will you trust me?"
"How can you ask that, Agatha? Have you not always proved faithful?"
"I mean, can you trust me to lead, and will you follow and be guided by my suggestions?"
"I will do just as you may direct. I know you have a wise head, Agatha."
"This is my plan, then," continued the maid; "listen carefully while I tell it to you."
An hour later the two women, dressed as peasants, with faces and hands brown from apparent exposure to the sun in the hayfield, left the park behind the château de Rochefort, and made their way along a hedge-bound lane that wound through the fields. As they reached the crest of a hill they stopped and looked back at the château. A red glow appeared in the eastern sky.
"Look, Agatha," said Edmé, "morning is coming, the sun is about to rise."
Suddenly the glow leaped into a broad flame which lit up the whole sky.
"'Tis the château on fire!" cried both women in one breath, and clinging to each other they stood and watched it burn.