At the first village which they came to, it was found necessary to pause for the purpose of refreshing the horses of the litter; and everything that could be procured for her comfort and convenience was ordered with prompt and careful attention by the Count of Meyrand. When he had seen that a chamber had been prepared for her in the little inn, where she could repose for an hour or two, and that refreshments of various kinds were in active preparation, he ordered his horse to be brought round again, much to her surprise, saying, "It will be better for me now to leave you, Mademoiselle de Brienne. You will be in security here till my return; but I must go and scour the country towards Chambery, to make sure that none of this man's parties have crossed the frontier, and are watching for you on your onward way."
Isabel was anxious to put the best interpretation on her companion's conduct, and it seemed to her that this might merely be a delicate excuse to leave her for the time. She was willing to imagine that such an explanation had taken place between the count and Bernard de Rohan as to deprive the former of all hope of obtaining her hand, and she fancied that Adrian de Meyrand's conduct in the present instance might be guided by a wish to show that his purposes were only those of friendship and honourable courtesy. She would not, however, banish the suspicions to which woman's instinctive insight into the passion of which she is the object gave rise, and, for fear of being mistaken, she would not say one word to prevent his going, although she felt that it was scarcely courteous of her not to do so, and though she thought that there was an expression of disappointment on his face at the cold indifference with which she heard the announcement.
CHAPTER XI.
The Count de Meyrand and his horsemen wound slowly away from the door of the little cabaret, leaving Isabel de Brienne and her maid the only tenants of the place. Both were extremely tired; and the lady herself would have desired to lie down to rest at once rather than wait for the preparation of any kind of food, but that she was also anxious to converse over her situation with her attendant, and to see if, between them, they could not devise some plan of future conduct which might obviate the difficulties which surrounded her. She, therefore, did not even propose to take rest, and began the conversation at once; but, taciturn as the woman always was, she was at present more so than ever. There was not only a sort of sullenness in her manner, which somewhat displeased Isabel, but she spoke rather in the tone of one who had been injured than in compassion for the greater sufferings of her mistress. In answer to all inquiries regarding what had been done in the chapel after her lady had lost the power of observing what was passing, she replied merely that she had been as frightened as anybody, and thought of nobody but herself.
"You seem to be grieved, Marguerite," said Isabel de Brienne, after this sort of conduct had proceeded some time, "you seem to be grieved, Marguerite, that you have aided me in this business, and so brought some inconveniences upon yourself."
"No, mademoiselle," she said, shortly, "but I am very tired."
"Then I think you had better go to bed," replied Isabel; "I shall not want you for some hours."
"I will, presently, mademoiselle," replied the maid; "but I am very hungry."
Isabel had not the heart to smile, as she might have done on another occasion; for selfishness is, perhaps, less offensive when it stands out in its plain simplicity than when it is discovered through a hypocritical disguise. In fact, like ugliness, it is more ugly when painted. Almost as the soubrette spoke, however, the good woman of the house, who was a widow, brought in with her own hands and the hands of a maid-servant—which were exactly like another pair of her own, for they enacted nothing without her orders—several dishes for the morning meal, which were placed with all due reverence before Isabel de Brienne. The young lady tried to eat; but, as she did so, the thought of many painful things, of the probable situation of him she loved best, and of the dark fate that might be hanging over him, came across her mind; and, to use the homely but expressive words of old John Hall, when describing the conduct of the first famous Duke of Buckingham between his arrest and his execution, "The meat would not down."