Le Ber’s grasp on his ward’s arm tightened. She understood that he desired her to ask the question which his own lips could not frame. Twice Diane tried to speak, but her throat seemed to close each time; the words would not come. It was Cecile who, in a burst of joyful confidence, found voice for the consuming desire of the French girl’s heart.
“And M. Le Ber du Chesne—he is safe, of course?”
“Ah! yes, Madame, our brave young commandant. And is it any wonder that the bluecoats love their leader? He fought like all the king’s troops in one, being of a valor truly marvellous.”
The father caught his breath sharply and drew a hand across his eyes, as if to clear his mind from confused ideas. Diane had been watching the working of le Canotier’s scarred and weather-beaten face with vigilant scrutiny. The reaction, the sweetness of relief, was almost as poignant a sensation as pain. For an instant she closed her eyes and clung to Le Ber’s arm. With what trembling thanksgiving she welcomed this gleam of hope. The Blessed Virgin had granted her prayer; the Holy Mother had a woman’s heart, and was touched by compassion. Though du Chesne would never be hers, yet he would live; his career, in the brilliancy of its promise, would not be cut short; he would continue to move in the light of God’s earth; she would be spared the supreme anguish of yielding him up to death.
Absorbed in the interest of le Canotier’s narrative, and in the incidents attending it, no one perceived the rapid advance of another canoe. The shrill voice of a child proclaimed the fact.
“Voilà! yet another canoe,” exclaimed one of the group. “Truly, more news. It is M. le Chevalier and the Sieur d’Ordieux—yes, and Baptiste Bras de Fer.”
Le Ber, turning abruptly, withdrew his support. Diane, gazing but not seeing, sickened with a sudden sense of dread. She made a hasty step forward, staggering like one blind, then, stretching her hands with a long, gasping cry, that seemed to carry with it the trouble of those last terrible days, recovered herself by a supreme effort.
“Mademoiselle, I have failed in my commission, believe me, through no negligence or fault of mine. I have brought back my brave and faithful comrade. Do me the justice to believe that I would willingly have given my own life in his stead.” It was the Chevalier de Crisasi who spoke, the disorder of his dress showing plainly the desperateness of the conflict through which he had passed.
In the midst of this sudden panic, the downfall of all her hopes, Diane had pity to spare for him who felt so much. As he encountered her gaze he bowed his head reverently. At that moment the girl’s secret was revealed to him, and the Sicilian gentleman stood awed and abashed before the revelation.
“It was but now they said he was safe; it cannot be du Chesne.” Le Ber’s shock was so great that he looked piteously into his ward’s eyes as she stood with her white lips pressed together.