"Pardon me," answered Ellen making a strong effort over herself. "You are right; such weakness is unworthy of the wife of a soldier. See; I have stopped weeping. I am calm; your words have reassured me; I am ashamed of my timorous terrors; but in the name of our child who is now asleep in his cradle, do not go away annoyed at me. Let your good-bye caresses be tender as ever; I shall need that; yes, I shall need that in order to recover the courage that I am deficient in to-day."
Despite her apparent resignation, my wife seemed to suffer so much under the restraint that she imposed upon herself, that for a moment I thought of requesting Victoria to transfer the commission to Captain Marion, to the end that I might remain at home. One consideration held me back from putting the thought into execution; the time was too short. Seeing that the journey had to be undertaken that same night, Captain Marion could not possibly start on the spot. It would take hours in order to post the captain upon a matter of which he knew absolutely nothing, and which demanded promptness for success. Yielding to my duty, and, I must also say, convinced of the idleness of Ellen's fears, I decided to depart. I clasped her in my arms, and recommending her to the tender care of Sampso, I mounted my horse and rode off.
It was ten o'clock at night. A rider was to serve as my escort and messenger in case I had occasion to write to Victoria on the road. The rider was chosen for me by Captain Marion, to whom I applied for a reliable man; I found him ready, waiting for me at one of the gates of Mayence, and we trotted forth together. Although the moon was not to rise until late, the night was luminous by the light of the stars. I noticed, although without attaching at the time any importance to the circumstance, that, despite the mildness of the season, my traveling companion had on a heavy coat the hood of which fell down deep over his casque, so that even in full daylight it would have been difficult for me to see the man's face. Although a simple soldier like myself, instead of riding beside me, he allowed me to ride ahead of him without exchanging a word. On any other occasion, and being like all Gauls of a chatty disposition, I would not have accepted this mark of exaggerated deference; it would have deprived me of the conversation of a companion during a long ride. But I was saddened by the condition in which I had left my wife, and as despite myself, my mind insisted upon turning upon the sad forebodings that alarmed her, the sense of sadness grew upon me in the measure that the distance separating us increased; consequently I did not regret being left to my reflections during a part of the night. Thus, the rider following me, we traveled away from the town.
We had ridden about two hours without exchanging a word; the moon due in the sky towards midnight began to show her disk behind a hill that bounded the horizon. We had arrived at a crossing where four highways, built by the Romans, met. I slackened Tom-Bras's pace in order to ascertain the road I was to take, when suddenly my traveling companion raised his voice behind me and cried:
"Schanvoch, ride back home at full tilt—a horrible crime is being committed at this hour in your house!"
At these words I quickly turned in my saddle. By the glamour of the rising moon I could see the rider give a stupendous bound with his horse, clear the hedge that lined the road, and vanish in the shadow of the forest that we had been skirting for some time. Struck dumb with terror, I remained motionless for a moment; when, yielding to an impulse of curiosity and anguish, I thought of dashing after the rider and compelling an explanation of his words, it was too late. The moon was not yet far up enough to justify my pursuing the fugitive through the wood, which, moreover, was unknown to me. Besides, the rider had too much the lead of me. I listened intently for a moment, and I could hear in the profound stillness of the night the rapid gallop of the man's horse. He was far away. It seemed to me that he resumed the road to Mayence through the forest, consequently by a shorter route. For a moment I hesitated what to do. But recalling my wife's unaccountable forebodings and comparing them with the rider's words, I turned my horse's head and dashed back to the city.
"If," I thought to myself, "by some unconceivable accident the announcement to which I hearkened was as ill founded as Ellen's forebodings, with which, however, it strangely coincided; if my alarm turns out to be vain, I shall take a fresh horse at the camp and immediately resume my journey, which will have been delayed by three hours."
With voice and heels I urged on the rapid course of my horse Tom-Bras, and I rode headlong towards Mayence. In the measure that I approached the place where I left my wife and child, the gloomiest thoughts crowded upon me. What crime could it be that was being committed in my house? Was it to a friend, or was it to an enemy that I owed the revelation? At times I imagined the rider's voice was not unknown to me, yet I could not remember where I had heard it before. That which, above all, added fuel to my anxiety was the mysterious accord between the announcement just made to me and the presentiments that alarmed Ellen. The rising moon aided the swiftness of my course as it lighted the road. Trees, fields, houses vanished behind me with giddy swiftness. I consumed less than an hour in covering the same route that I had just spent two hours over. At last I reached the gates of Mayence. I felt Tom-Bras trembling under me, not for want of ardor or courage, but because his strength was spent. Seeing a soldier mounting guard, I said:
"Did you see a rider enter town this night?"
"About a quarter of an hour ago," the soldier answered, "a rider wrapped in a hooded mantle went by at a gallop. He rode towards the camp."