CHAPTER XIX.
Bernard de Rohan waited long; and, though his imagination was not an active one in regard to difficulties or dangers in his own case, yet, when he thought of Isabel de Brienne, nurtured with care, and tenderness, and softness, never having known during life the want of protection, or the necessity of acting for herself, never having been an hour without protection—when he thought that she must now go forward to Paris alone, without any one loved or known to sooth and guide her; without any other protection but that of a few menials; with the bitter thought of having lost him she loved for ever, as the chief recollection of the past, and with the expectation of meeting her mother, who had been always harsh, and her stepfather, who had treated her with treachery and baseness, as the chief anticipation of the future—his heart burned to speed on, without the loss of a single moment, to protect, to console, and to relieve her from the deep sorrow which he knew too well must overshadow her.
Still one hour passed after another, the sun began to decline from the meridian, and the good hostess only visited him on two occasions. In the first place, to tell him that a party of travellers who stopped for half an hour at the inn were only peasants from a neighbouring village; and, in the next place, to beseech him not to go near the windows, or to show himself in any way, as a party of the Lord of Masseran's men had just passed, and another was speedily to follow.
At length the aubergiste himself appeared, heated and dusty, and, closing the door carefully, told him that he had found the man he went to seek, and had brought back with him a few words written on a strip of leather. They were deciphered with difficulty, but were to the following effect: "I thought you gone for ever. But, as you are still destined to remain with the rest of us, so let it be. I will visit you to-night, and you shall soon find the lady; but on no account go on till you have seen me! By so doing you will endanger her, endanger yourself, and delay your meeting."
Bernard de Rohan gazed upon the writing, and then turned a dissatisfied look towards the sky. "This is trifling," he thought: "I must be across the frontier as speedily as possible. Well might Isabel think me cruel if I remained here an hour longer, knowing that she is in danger, sorrow, and anxiety."
"Have you heard aught of a horse, my good Gandelot?" he said: "I cannot wait as he requires me. How far is it to the frontier?"
"Two hours' journey on horseback," replied the host, "and four or five afoot. But there is no horse to be found, and you must not think of trying it on foot, my noble lord. You do not know that the people from the castle are scouring the whole road between this and Bonvoisin."
"But they do not know me," answered Bernard de Rohan. "There is scarce one among them that has ever seen me. Five hours? that is long, indeed! But I could buy a horse at Chambery."
"Not before nightfall," replied the host; "and you had a great deal better wait here to see one who can help you more speedily than anybody else."