‘No more, madame, I beseech you,’ replied her companion. ‘It would be a crime indeed not to have assisted you in this extremity, knowing all as I do.’
‘All!’ half exclaimed the Marchioness, as she bent her eye upon Philippe’s countenance; but nothing there indicated a meaning of any import. She continued—
‘Let this cloud but blow over, and you shall not complain of my want of gratitude. But at present, take this clasp, and keep it as a souvenir of our journey. And promise me,’ she went on, as she unclasped a jewel from her dress and placed it in Philippe’s hand—‘and promise me that, come what may, you will see me again, under whatever circumstances it may be practicable to do so.’
‘I swear it,’ replied Philippe, as he put the gift in his pocket, ‘even if you were watching my journey to the scaffold!’
Again Marie regarded the student with an intensity, as though she would have probed his most hidden thoughts. It was not the first time that he had alluded to the Place de Grêve upon their journey. Still there was an absence of any apparent intention in the speech; but the words caused a shiver to run through her frame, and she turned even paler than before, a slight quivering of her lip, in addition, betraying her emotion. At this moment the carriage which was to bear her to Offemont was announced; and pressing Philippe’s hand warmly, she averted her face, and without another word hurriedly entered the vehicle. The word was then given to start, the windows were drawn up to shut out the freezing morning air, and in another minute she was on the road to Offemont.
Philippe watched the carriage until it turned the street, and then returned to the salle à manger of the hotel. The intense excitement, and the hazards he had undergone, now left a reaction of extreme depression. The beauty of Marie de Brinvilliers, and her singular fascinations—her rank and acknowledged acquirements—no less than the romance which her very gallantries had given to her character, had half-turned the student’s head, and he began to question himself, as he had done a dozen times before during the night, when he felt her clinging to him on the horse, whether his chivalry was not turning into love; and lighting his pipe, he sat over the hearth ruminating upon her present situation, and the events of the last few hours, and what a great thing it was for a student to be in love with a Marchioness; and lastly he determined, in the event of her being taken, literally to go through fire and water to assist her, if such were requisite. And then he remembered that when Camille Theria had left Paris for Liége, he had spoken of some letters he had received from the Marchioness, which brought about a new train of thought, until his ideas became altogether confused, and he fell into a doze at the warm fireside.
He was aroused by the entrance of an individual in the costume of the Guet Royal, who marched clanking into the room with an important air, shouting loudly for the hostess. But the landlady was engaged at that minute; and having restlessly walked up to the window and curled his mustachios, he returned to the fireplace, and gave a loud, gruff ‘hem!’ which startled Philippe from his reverie.
‘Have you been here long, mon brave?’ he asked with a patronising air, having attracted his attention.
‘About half an hour,’ said Philippe. ‘I came in early to the market.’
‘Then perhaps you can tell me whether any travellers have arrived or departed within that period.’