"Upon none of those," replied Corse de Leon, "whom men are accustomed to depend upon. Not upon the gay companion of the winecup, who aids us pleasantly to spend our wealth or to squander our more precious time: not upon him, not upon him, young gentleman! Not upon the smooth-spoken and the plausible adviser, who counsels with us on things where our own interest and his are combined, and who uses our exertions and our means to share in our fortune and our success: not upon him, I say, not upon him! Not upon the sweet flatterer, who either dexterously insinuates how virtuous, and great, and good and wise we are, or who boldly overloads us with praise, in the hope of some, at least, being received: not upon him, I say. Not upon the pander to our vices or our follies, even though he sell his soul to pamper us with gratification: not upon him. Not upon the light wanton, who yields us what she should refuse, vowing that it is love for us which conquers, when love for many another has gone before: not upon her. Neither on the priest that preaches virtue without practising it; neither upon the soft hypocrite, nor upon the rude hypocrite; neither upon the one who assumes sleek sanctity, nor upon the other who builds the reputation of honesty upon a rough outside. There are some that will weep with you, and some that will laugh with you; some that will discourse, and some that will sport with you; but trust in none but him that you have tried, but him whom you know to be honest to himself, and who has proved himself honest to you. We were speaking of the Count de Meyrand. That he has betrayed you and deceived you most shamefully is his fault, not yours; for, though you believed him honest, you did not weakly trust him. It were well, when you find him, to nail his ears to the doorpost; but still you have nothing to reproach yourself with. I trust, however, that sweet and good lady is by this time freed from his hands, for one who loves her very well has undertaken that part of the task."
"But how," exclaimed Bernard de Rohan, "how came she in his power at all?"
Corse de Leon replied briefly, but with sufficient detail to show his hearer at one glance all that had taken place in regard to Isabel de Brienne since he had seen her. The deep and bitter indignation that gathered at the young cavalier's heart as his companion went on, was not of a nature that wasted itself in many words. "This must be looked to!" he said; "this must be looked to! And now, my friend, to think of this dear girl's escape. Can we trust to good Father Willand? Not his faith, I mean, but his power. He is there, it would seem, alone, unaided, unsupported, to cope with a man artful, rich, powerful, and numerously followed."
"We may trust him, I am sure," replied the other. "This count's art, like all pitiful art, will help to deceive himself; and in quiet wisdom he cannot compete with the good priest. Besides, Father Willand is not so unsupported as you think. It may seem strange to you to hear, but many of your own men, nay, I believe all, are with him or round about him."
"No," replied Bernard de Rohan, "that surprises me not. Most of them were born within sight of the lands of Brienne—most of them have often seen and know her well, and there is none who has seen her that would not willingly sacrifice life to serve her."
Corse de Leon smiled with somewhat of a melancholy expression. In life, when we have lost any of those sweet delusions which, like the radiant colours of the morning sky, clothe, at the dawning of our youth, thin air itself and unsubstantial vapours, nay, perhaps even the cloudy home of the future storm, with loveliness and radiance, and the most glowing hues of Heaven's own golden treasury—when we have lost those sweet delusions, I say, and any one with whom they still remain speaks of the reality of things whose emptiness we have proved, how sad, how profoundly sad, is the contrast suddenly presented to us, of what we were and what we are! how melancholy is the conviction of the emptiness of our dream-like life! And yet there is something sweet which mingles even with our sadness, to see others enjoying and believing what we can no longer enjoy or believe; something ennobling and elevating that shares in our melancholy, if the feeling of how unreal are life's best joys lead us to sigh for those that are more true and lasting.
Bernard de Rohan saw not the expression upon the countenance of his companion, although the night was clear and bright, and sufficient light remained in the heavens to make even small objects visible; but his eyes were at that moment fixed upon the castle of Masseran, and more especially upon one of the outstanding towers to the northeast, separated from the rest of the building by a space of two or three hundred yards, and only attached to it by walls and minor fortifications. In that tower there appeared a great light, at first streaming through some of the upper loopholes only. After a moment or two, however, it became brighter and brighter, and poured through all the windows of the story below. Bernard de Rohan could almost have imagined that, as he gazed, he saw flames come forth and lick the dark stonework of the tower; and he was soon confirmed in the belief that it was so, by the wreaths of pale white smoke which began to ascend into the dark air, and in a minute or two formed a cloud above the tower, acquiring a red and ominous hue as the fire below increased.
"Look there! look there!" he exclaimed, catching Corse de Leon's arm; but, even as he spoke, the roof of the tower fell in, and a pyramid of flame shot upward into the sky.
"Yes, I see," replied Corse de Leon; "but here come the horses! and we must go quick to the spot where I trust we shall find her whom you seek for. Then, get you across the frontier into France as soon as may be. Your own men will be sufficient to protect you, and will be glad to see you; for, notwithstanding that they may, as you think, love your fair Isabel well, they would not have gone unless we had put a light deceit upon them, and had left them to think, more than told them it was so, that you and the lady were together. Those I have with me here dare not set foot within that land, and the other friends I have are far distant. That was the reason I did not make her free myself, and punish that slight traitor as he deserves."
While he spoke, three or four horsemen appeared, leading two other horses, and, without taking any farther notice of the conflagration, Corse de Leon put his foot in the stirrup, and, springing into the saddle, rode on towards the little inn which we have often before had occasion to mention.