The Rocks of Valpré

by Ethel M. Dell

His voice slipped into sudden pleading. He stretched out his hands persuasively to the impassive Englishman, who still seemed to be looking through him rather than at him. He waited for an answer, but none came.

"Eh bien!" he said, with a quick sigh of disappointment. "Then I shall speak in spite of you. I begin with our meeting four years ago among the rocks of Valpré. It was an accident by which we met. I was working to complete my invention, and for the greater privacy I had taken it to the old cave of the contrabandists upon the shore—a place haunted by the spirits of the dead—so that I was safe from interruption. Or so I thought, till one afternoon she came to me like a goddess from the sea. She had cut her foot among the stones, and I bound it for her and carried her back to Valpré. She was only a child then, with eyes clear as the sunshine. She trusted herself to me as if I had been her brother. That is easy to comprehend, is it not?"

Again he paused for an answer, but Mordaunt said no word; his lips were firmly closed.

With a characteristic lift of the shoulders Bertrand continued. "Après cela we met again and then again. La petite was lonely, and I, I played with her. I drew for her the pictures in the sand. We became—pals." He smiled with a touch of wistfulness over the word that his English friend had taught him. "We shared our secrets. Once—she was bathing"—his voice softened imperceptibly—"and I took her into my boat and rowed her back. It was then that I knew first that I loved her. Yet we remained comrades. I spoke to her no word of love. She was too young, and I had nothing to offer. I said to myself that I would win her when I had won my reputation, and in the meantime I would be patient. It was not very difficult, for she did not understand. And then one day we went to explore my cavern—she called it the Magic Cave, of which she was the princess and I her preux chevalier. We were as children in those days," he put in half-apologetically, "and it was her fête. Bien, we started. Le petit Cinders went with us, and almost before we had entered he ran away. We followed him, for Christine was very anxious. I had never been beyond the second cavern myself, and we had only one lantern. We came to a place where the passage divided, and here we agreed that she should wait while I went forward. I took the lantern. We could hear him yelp in the distance, and she feared that he was hurt. So I left her alone, and presently, hearing him, as I thought, in front of me, I ran, and stumbled and fell. The lantern was broken and I was stunned. It was long before I recovered, and then it was with great difficulty that I returned. I found her awaiting me still, and Cinders with her. It was dark and horrible, but she was too brave to run away. I heard her singing, and so I found her. But by that time the sea had reached the mouth of the cave, and there was no retreat. We had no choice. We were prisoners for the night. It might have happened to anyone, monsieur. It might have happened to you. You blame me—not yet?"

Again the note of pleading was in his voice, but Mordaunt maintained his silence. Only his eyes were no longer sphinx-like. They were fixed intently upon the Frenchman's face.

Bertrand went on as though he had been answered. "I kept watch all through the night, while she slept like an infant in my arms. You would have done the same. In the morning when the tide permitted, we laughed over the adventure and returned to Valpré. She went to her governess and I to the fortress. By then everybody in Valpré knew what had happened. They had believed that we were drowned, and when we reappeared all were astonished. Later they began to whisper, and that evening the villain Rodolphe, being intoxicated, proposed in my presence an infamous toast. I struck him in the mouth and knocked him down. He challenged me to a duel, and we fought early in the morning down on the sand. But that day the gods were not on my side. Christine and Cinders were gone to the sea to bathe, and, as they returned, they found us fighting. Le bon Cinders, he precipitate himself between us. La petite rush to stop him—too late. Rodolphe is startled; he plunge, and my sword pierce his arm. C'était là un moment très difficile. La petite try to explain, to apologize, and me—I lead her away. Après cela she go back to England, and I see her not again. But Rodolphe, he forgive me—never. That, monsieur—and only that—is the true story of that which happened at Valpré. The little Christine left—as she arrived—a pure and innocent child."

He stopped. Mordaunt's eyes were still studying him closely. He met them with absolute freedom.

"I will finish," he said, "and you shall then judge for yourself. As you know, I had scarcely attained my ambition when I was ruined. It was then that you first saw me. You believed me innocent, and later, when Destiny threw me in your path, you befriended me. I have no need to tell you what your friendship was to me. No words can express it or my desolation now that I have lost it. I fear that I was never worthy of your—so great—confidence." His voice shook a little, and he paused to steady it. "It was my intention—always—to be worthy. The fault lay in that I did not realize my weakness. I ought to have left you when I knew that la petite was become your fiancée."

For the first time Mordaunt broke his silence. "Why not have told me the truth?"

Bertrand raised his shoulders. "I did not feel myself at liberty to tell you. Afterwards, I found that her eyes had been opened, and she was afraid for you to know. It did not seem an affair of great importance, and I let it pass. We were pals again. She gave me her confidence, and I would sooner have died," he spoke passionately, "than have betrayed it. I thought that I could hide my heart from her, and that only myself would suffer. And this I can say with truth: by no word, no look, no action, of mine were her eyes opened. I was always le bon frère to her, neither less nor more, until the awakening came. I was always faithful to you, monsieur. I never forgot that she belonged to you—that she was—the wife of—my friend."