Very few minutes sufficed to give my orders respecting the picket, and I was in my saddle and ready for the road; and although my departure excited no surprise among my men, coupled as it was with the orders I had just given, I overheard the troop sergeant mutter to another as I passed out, “Parbleu, I always suspected there was something wrong about that old château yonder; come what weather it would, they'd never let you take shelter within the walls of it.”
The night was so dark that when I turned into the road I could not even distinguish my horse's head; heavy drifts of rain, too, went sweeping along, and the wind roared through the forest with a noise like the sea in a storm.
I now put spurs to my horse, and the animal, fresh from long pampering, sprang forward madly, and dashed onward. The very beating of the rain, the adverse wind, seemed to chafe his spirits and excite his courage. With head bent down, and hands firmly grasping the reins, I rode on, till the faint glimmering of a light caught my eye at a distance; a few miles brought me beside it. It was a little candle that burned in the shrine above the image of the Virgin. Some pious but humble hand had placed it there, regardless of the rain and storm; and there it was now burning secure from the rude assaults of the harsh night, and throwing its yellow light on the few cheap trinkets which village devotion had consecrated to the beloved saint. As I looked at the little altar, I thought of the perilous enterprise I was engaged in. I could have wished my heart to have yielded to the influence of a superstition which for every moment of life seems to have its own apt consolation and succor. For when, as wayworn travellers refresh their parched lips at some roadside well, and bless the charity that carved the little basin in the rock,—so followers of this faith have ever and anon before their eyes some material evidence of their Church's benevolence: now arming them against the arrows of the world; now rendering them grateful for benefits received; now taxing their selfishness by sacrifices which elevate them in their own esteem; now comforting them by examples which make them proud of their afflictions. It is this direct appeal from the human heart to the hourly consolations of religion, that forms the stronghold of belief in Catholic countries.
These thoughts were passing through my mind long after I left the little shrine behind me. “So,” said I, “here must be the cabaret the sergeant spoke of,” as I heard the sound of a voice issuing from a small house on the roadside. For a second or two I hesitated whether I should not dismount and ask the way; but a moment's consideration satisfied me it were better to risk nothing by delay, and cautiously advancing, I heard by the sound of my horse's feet that we had left the highroad, and were now on the clay path I looked for.
Again I dashed onward at a gallop, my powerful horse splashing through the deep ground, or striding boldly across the heavy furrows; now breasting some steep and rugged ascent where the torn-up way gave passage to a swollen rivulet; now plunging down into some valley where the darkness seemed thicker and more impenetrable still. At last I could see, far down beneath me, the twinkling light of the village, and began to deliberate with myself at what point I should turn off leftwards. Each moment the path seemed to lead me in the direction of the light, while I felt that my road led straight onwards. I drew my rein to deliberate what course I should take, when directly in front of me I thought I could detect the clank of a sabre flapping against the flank of a horse. I lowered my head on a level with my horse's main, and could now distinctly hear the sound I suspected; and more still, the deep tones of a soldier's voice interrogating some one, who by the patois of his answer I guessed to be a peasant.
“You are certain, then, we have not come wrong?” said the horseman.
“Ah! I know the way too well for that,—travelling it daylight and dark since I was a boy. I was born in the village below. We shall soon reach the little wooden bridge, and then, taming to the left, beside Martin Guichard's—”
“What care I for all that?” interrupted the other, roughly. “How far are we now from the château? Is it still a league off?”
“Parbleu! no, nor the half of it. When you rise the hill yonder, you 'll see a light,—they always have one burning in the tourelle there,—and that 's the château.”
“Thank Heaven for that!” muttered I. “And now only let me pass them, and all is safe.”